(go ahead: duh-duh  duh-duh  duh-duh  aye-aye-aye)

i’m trying to understand what the faint baby throw up smell on my hand could be.  the smell of nourishment and basic needs being met.  it’s faint and delicate.  i’ve not held a baby today. i’ve washed my hands within the last hour. and instead of simply washing them again or figuring it out, i pull my hand to my nose breathe in a little deeper.

this moment was meant to be.

each moment is. each moment is known. each moment is an opportunity. each soul settling moment. each heart wrenching moment. each moment that sends one to imagine evil among us. each moment that leaves us numb. each moment that offers the surges of energy that can only be spirit.

each moment is meant to be.

bear with me, real life friends, who will smile and shake their heads at my grappling. they’ve heard me many times wonder and muse over the possibilities that we might be pawns, beautiful pawns, in this game of life. is it possible that our maker knows and watches and offers us clarity and hope?  is it possible that that is enough? together we’ve claimed climbing aboard the crazy train to cling to what we need to.

horrendous things happen to the least of us and the greatest of us. might god stand by and watch, knowingly surround us. knowingly feel the pain even more because there was knowledge of what was coming?

i know there will be pain in my children’s lives. i’m so grateful not to know yet what it is. i don’t think i can stop it, i don’t want to pretend that i can, i don’t want to deny it. i want to stand by. i want to collapse on the wood floor of our dining room with them or meet them at the back door, opening the broken latch before they even reach the handle. i want to remind them of their centers, their true selves. i want to cry out at the injustice. my stomach will lurch at the pain. when the horrors of this mortal life come, i like an image of god pained and weary and strong enough to embrace the mystery.

i remember years ago trying to explain to an older friend that i get an image quite often: i am one woman in this world, infinitely small and encompassing the earth all at the same time…i can see her as both things at once…with his wise and logical mind engaged, his furrowed brow said, i don’t get that.

so this baby smell on my hand can’t actually be baby smell, but it can be everything about it. it can be reminders and possibilities. it can be a gift with or without logical roots. a moment meant.

and now, now i will park this crazy train for night.

thank god for the potential. for knowing all. that it is well.

. . . .

after writing here for these last minutes, i remember that i have new lotion.

with rice milk in it.
i wore it today.

so now i’m thinking of my babies eating their first bites of rice cereal…
organic flakes mixed with breast milk, the spoon with a plastic tip…
my heart sings with gratitude.

this moment is meant as well.

choooooooooooo chooooooooooooooooo….

 until one has loved an animal,
a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

anatole france

may your eight year old soul continue to awaken. happy birthday, my love.

“life moves pretty fast. if you don’t stop and
look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

ferris beuller’s day off

sweet naomi, on this fifteenth birthday,
i celebrate that you notice life…
indeed it has gone so fast.

the weather matches my spirit these days. or is it that my spirit matches the weather?

the still and sparkle. the messiness that is left after hours of play. the wind proved by swirling flakes. hills that beckon us to use muscles we haven’t in a while. the magic of standing in a real life snow globe. the laughter that erupts from seeing piles so big. sun warm on faces while bodies are cold from a chair made of snow. corners of untouched snow that beg for us to fall in. the accountability of snow…every move is marked. no one can hide. it’s really hard to cover your tracks. there is safety in it.

naomi turns fifteen in a few days.

the next day eliza turns eight.

when i was eight i remember feeling safe during snowy weather…i could tell who had been where, i would pile under a pile of blankets and my parents would delight in the silliness of it.

when i was fifteen i remember feeling powerful and powerless all at the same time…a bit like the flakes that fall today. they go where they will, but when caught they disappear.

i’m grateful for the beauty of the snow, for the reminders of our strength. i’m grateful for days home with my family, for warm rooms that feel like all the home we need.

and i’m stunningly grateful for the two lives i’m reflecting on most. go team birthday marathon.

i have two scrapbooks to make. today. yow.

but i found this in my inbox this morning and i’ll go with this:

If you see to it each day that your conduct is impeccable, the following day will be completely clear, and you will be free to carry out your plans, always vigilant that you leave no loose ends. In this way, each new day will find you free and well disposed.

Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov

a few minutes ago there was a request to use dad’s phone to record her voice. now i listen to my youngest child sing phrases into her dad’s phone. now i hear him play back the “voice changed” song.  her voice is merged with police sirens and meshed with bird calls. i’m pulled to write.

right now my hands are tingling from the hot dish water, the pruned pads of my fingers feel funny on the keyboard. i have a tea towel that bleach won’t clean thrown over my shoulder. i had to move a stack of mail off my computer to find it. i hear my daughter’s voice turn chipmunk style. my oldest daughter is near them on the couch.  my son is there too.

jerry’s glass of wine is half full…though he may call it half empty. mine is full and each sip is a reminder of intention. the living room is littered with after school play. the dog keeps going into a yoga style “dog pose” as a request to go out. the barn door is open from chick choring. the kids don’t have school tomorrow but i need to remember to go.

there was a kitchen kiss that reminded me of who i used to be, where i am now and what i want in years to come.  all in one moment.

over the garlic bread’s few minutes under the broiler, jerry and i shared stories of our days. stories of caring for children who aren’t our own. the youngest and the oldest of the classrooms in our town.

we reminded our complaining children that instead of their candlelit pasta supper we could have left them home with pb and j (not that there’s anything wrong with that…), but instead we chose this night this way.

eliza just wandered through with ukulele and complete costume.  all for this private family moment.

i’ll finish the dishes.  i’ll clean up my valentine-making scraps that are all over the basement.  jerry will make a fire.  the kids will bargain over which hulu show to watch since we can almost never agree on a full length movie.

and i will remember.  i will remember.  there were many years that i would have given almost everything to have this. and i imagine there will be moments that i will give almost everything to have it again.

so, with garlic on my hands and a blanket thrown over a messy corner in the basement, happy valentine’s day.

i love this cheesy movie.  i love the mom.  i love the talking stick. i love the house full of kids. i love this quote.

homes are for free expression, not for good impression.

and while i much prefer a tidy home…a home with clean floors and no dirty dishes, a home with a toilet that you’d feel comfortable hugging to throw up in (note:  this will probably never be the case), a home with a yard free of loose parts, a home whose smells don’t include animal, a home with smooth wood surfaces (though i quietly rejoice in the carved names my children have done over the years)…yes, while i prefer this, it is clearly not my priority all the time.

when people are here, including my own family, i want them to feel relaxed but not grossed out. and when we’ve invited people over, i do admit my desire to make a good impression.

i tweaked my back on a run a few days ago (when i was running extra far on a ditch slope skipping over occasional pop bottles and holes).  this limited my ability to bring our home to a good impression state.

side note: kudos and light and hope to all who live with chronic pain.

but jerry and the kids moved the last batch of chicks out yesterday.  their poop hit the stage of smelling like actual logs of human waste.  i accused my kids of not wiping adequately one day and then realized it was the chicks.

now there is one corner bleached down and clean. and just to it’s right, another corner expressing itself.

i like to think of it as tangible proof that life happens.

“mom, this is the most important day of my life.”

it was cold and rainy.  there was barking and bawking, shivering and coffee drinking.

it was pet blessing day at our church. kudos pastor renee. thank you for asking what each of us could give and then honoring eliza’s offer to help with a pet blessing. eliza made pet treats for all the animals and talked about this day for hours.

pastor renee blessed each animal, live or stuffed, and eliza gave them a treat.

Lord, may we love all your creation,

All the earth and every grain of sand in it.

May we love every leaf, every ray of your light.

May we love the animals,

You have given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled.

- Fryodor Mikhailovich Dosteivsky (1821-1881)

we brought our sally, chubby and the baby chicks. sally was freaked out-clearly. for the week before the blessing, eliza would respond to sally’s antics by saying, “oh, good thing you’re about to get a blessing. you need a blessing.”

this was one of those moments when i saw my children embrace church.

church embraces them all the time. children are given space in worship. children are encouraged to ask questions. children’s voices are allowed. toddlers’ screeching is considered joyful noise. children light candles and take communion and play instruments and drink coffee and wander the aisles. they are embraced for who they are.

and this day i saw my kids hug back. i’m grateful on so many levels.