my mother, my hero

i don't remember my mother being giant-sized when i was growing up.

i remember the chocolate chip cookies.
i remember saturday morning crepes.
i remember that one really bad goulash.
i remember books (the chronicles of narnia, the indian in the cupboard, the Bible, that other one i can't remember...).
i remember our cats.
i remember the time we came back from a weekend vacation to find that our closets (and all our clothes) smelled like the pot of beans she left on the stove...
i remember our "hunkering down" days, when she would unplug the phone (really the only way people could get in contact with you short of knocking on the front door, back then!) and draw all the window shades and we'd stay inside and do nothing but read.
i remember the pies.
i remember the big cups of water she'd take everywhere.
i remember her crying at all the sappy parts in movies.
i remember shapeless sweaters.
i remember her taking her glasses off to clean them on her shirt whenever she cried or laughed....so basically all the time.
i remember evening walks around the st. edward's university track.
i remember asking her to help me with my pre-calculus homework and then watching her sit down to read my math book (and then i took it back and did it on my own).
i remember, too, when she got remarried and started to become "domesticated" (to a degree...she still didn't cook dinner), which is probably all she ever wanted.

my mom made her own kombucha and dried her clothes on a clothesline in the backyard before martha stewart made those things popular again. she was a fan of natural products (or really, no products), simple living and simple pleasures, long before that was ever a thing. she loved cappuccinos before starbucks was a household name. she didn't wear makeup (at all) or much jewelry. her favorite perfume was chanel no. 5, but she hardly ever wore it.

my mom would not have professed to be "good" at many things. she was absentminded. she was a slow grader (high school math teacher). she didn't like to cook. she always fell asleep when i was baring my soul to her.

but she was extraordinarily good at laughing.

today i looked in the mirror and saw my mother's face. i think i have her eye shape. i definitely have her jaw and smile and hair type. maybe her eyebrows too. and, i got her freckly, smile-line-wrinkled skin. i loved the crinkles around my mother's eyes. i thought she was so beautiful.

growing up, my mother was my bedrock. she was identity, safety, security, love, joy. she was home. but she wasn't mythic or epic-sized. she didn't have wings. she couldn't do everything.

i don't think it was until i was grown up that she became my hero. now i can't even comprehend the amount that she could and did do.

she raised me to be strong, independent, to take care of myself. in some ways, i've always thought that it was being the child of divorced parents that made me like that. now, i see it was just her.

she taught me to do my own laundry and pack my own school lunch at 13. she gave me an allowance and taught me to save for what i really wanted. (and then she endured my ceaseless obsessive talk of getting a dog for years before i finally did.) she held us while we cried after she told us about our cat dying at the vet (our pets didn't ever got to "the farm"). she believed we could do everything, but she didn't push me to do anything.

even though i feel sometimes like i see my mother's face in myself, what i hope i'll see is her — the mother that she was to me.

i have no idea what i'm doing on this motherhood ride. sometimes, yes, there are days—when dinner gets made, the kids eat all their veggies and give each other spontaneous hugs, my chores get done and i manage to exercise and do a little something on this blog—that i feel like i have it together. but then there are the other days, more often it sometimes seems, when i realize i am getting it all wrong. when i realize if i should read more parenting books and pray more desperately. when i doubt i'm up to this herculean task called raising children.

my mother made it look so easy. i think from her i got the desire to have children in the first place. she made mothering look fun. and even though i could do without all the new wrinkles spots i see on my face lately, and even though it's just a face, i feel bolstered by the idea that at least a little bit of her is in me.

i've struggled all my life with what i want to be when i grow up. but i've finally realized — all i want to be is my mom.

she was the ultimate, the best, the most beautiful and wonderful mother in the world.

i hope one day my children will think that even slightly of me.

my typical day as a stay at home mom (a film!)

when we started making little movies a few weeks back, i thought it would be fun to make a movie all about my typical day as a stay at home mom. i find the idea of routines and schedules and typical days endlessly fascinating, and i love seeing what other people's days are like. little did i know how hard it would be to actually have a typical day and film it too! ha! but no, actually it was lots of fun to make this movie and to "see" what my day looks like (in fast forward;). the funny thing is that while i felt a little hectic making sure that i actually filmed everything, the kids were strangely calm and happy this day, so you don't quite get to see the chaos that sometimes happens around here. ;)

i'm so nervous! i felt so silly recording my voice for this video! hope you like it though! :)

P.s. the cookies that i made for our afternoon nap/craft-time were these sugar cookies from hey natalie jean, and they really, really are THE best sugar cookie ever. they are perfect. i'm obsessed. like, i might have to make them again this week, even though it's really not sugar cookie time of the year anymore. go make them!

Pumpkin Patch! (also, Wilder in 2014: week 42)

over the weekend we finally made it to a pumpkin patch--along with the whole rest of the world it seems, and why not, it was a pretty wonderful thing to do this weekend! we chose a farm that was low-key on the activities list but so picturesque it was killer. there was this whole outside plant nursery part that i could have spent a whole bunch more time in, pretending it was my garden on an english countryside estate;) i am really loving plants these days. too bad i can't keep any of them alive for long!

papa woke wilder up saturday morning telling him we were going to go see goats on a farm and for the whole drive (and rest of the day), all we heard from him was how he wanted a goat (at least that's what we think: "Oahna goak" meant;). the animals were his favorite part, of course. he especially loves to see cats these days.

all the pumpkins and gourds were really beautiful, too. sadly, we didn't get to take a tractor ride because it got too late and crowded, but next year! it was a good day.

my sweetheart.

boiled peanuts. i will never understand the fuss. 

pumpkins!

and more pumpkins...

i just love this.

how do these pumpkins even exist?

pulling all the gourds out of their bin...

spying on the goats.

GOAT!!

some mean geese.

a very suspicious cow.

really more like a viewing barn.

all the plants!

these flowers are just dying to be planted in an english garden. by me.

cute little wagons to pull kiddos and pumpkins around.

um, and a tepee?

we tried them again. still not really a fan.

wilder gives this pumpkin butter on his waffles two thumbs up. 

April's family photo shoot

in april we got to do a family photo shoot in a little park tucked away in Buckhead. we had been trying to do it since the fall but bad weather, bad weather and more bad weather kept preventing us, so when we finally made it out in April and everything was beautiful and blooming, it was so dreamy. also, april was perfect because everything was green again and it was nice and cool outside.

we had so much with with our photographer, who captured our little breakfast picnic of croissants (wilder's favorite part) plus coffee cake and clementines so beautifully. we could not have asked for a more beautiful backdrop for our first professional family photo shoot!

wilder was thrilled that he had so many clementines to bite into (oops! we didn't realize until half way through that he was actually biting through the skins, haha.). i just love this age. everything is new and interesting, and since he doesn't really know exactly what's going on, even boring family photo shoots are fun!

i'm really happy with these photos. i think we look so young and carefree, which is not at all how we are feeling these days, haha. ahhh parenthood. it just makes you feel old and tired and a little crazy half the time, doesn't it? or maybe that's just us? but anyways, it was so nice to take a morning off from real life to dress up and eat croissants in the park. i highly recommend it. ;) i'm already making plans to do it again soon.

modern motherhood

why is it that motherhood and guilt seem to go hand in hand (at least among this generation, in this country)? lately, i've been wondering how to achieve a little more motherhood/personal life balance. and perhaps i'm projecting, but i feel that as soon as i utter those words i am inviting judgment, because it seems like in past generations, there was no difference between motherhood and personal life. is it just me or does it seem like motherhood is your personal life, once you become one? i know that i have never been more thrilled with my day job. i am thrilled to be at my baby's beck and call, thrilled to have a little life to take care of, thrilled to be so full of love. but sometimes i'm even more thrilled with the idea of some time off, to do other, grown-up things. and yet, the very idea of this is like a prescription for guilt.

there is so much joy in being a stay at home mom. but it is hard, too. sometimes, i think i am living in the '50s—when i've just hung some freshly laundered cloth diapers to dry, spent the day freezing cubes of pureed chicken and veggies, making greek yogurt, feeding what feels like a multitude of mouths, and loverboy comes home from work, after the baby is in bed, to a dinner i serve in front of the tv (or is that the '70s??). but then i get online and see the successful, productive businesses of countless other stay-at-home moms, and we are right back in modern times. people often tell me that there is nothing better than getting to stay at home with your kids. and mostly, i agree. but the fact is, in modern times, it doesn't seem to be enough. maybe it's not enough when you're educated (+ more educated), because you've been trained to expect to do something that's measurable by society's standards. measurable against other people. measurable in terms that can be written on a CV or boasted about in conversation. being a mother is not measurable by the tangible yardsticks of money or awards or esteem. there are no promotions, no raises. the only "project" you're "managering" might be pretty close to taking his first steps, and the home-made, one-of-a-kind, priceless "product" you've "collaborated on" might have the very best smile on the planet (at least that's the word in our house), but you don't exactly get a round of applause for that.

well, you might get one tiny little applause from one tiny little person. and seriously, that's better than all those things put together. it truly is it's own reward.

but it's really easy in motherhood to feel anxious all the time about messing these sweet, innocent little lives up. at first, it's ALL up to you to keep them alive (as one of my friends said recently, and i concur; it's very scary). and then, when you suddenly think you know what you're doing as far as nursing and getting them to sleep and remembering to do tummy time, it's time to start solids and baby sign language and reading books. before you know it, you're babyproofing your house and little pieces of finger food and introducing the word "no" and sippy cups. 

and sometimes, in the middle of this really mundane but incredibly important thing called raising a child, i can forget the miracle we are party to and feel the pressure to do more. either through comparison or because of all that education or simply by way of self-criticism, i never feel that i'm doing enough. i don't think that of any of the moms i know. i think, instead, how do they do it? how have they managed to juggle feeding and caring for these tiny, perfect people, themselves, their spouses and their houses? and also, how do they maintain their sanity and self-esteem and identity? because i know how hard it is. but when i look at my own life (and how quickly the time is going), i can feel disappointed with myself that i'm not doing more.

i think the truth is, motherhood is just plain different from the way things used to be. now, we can have kids and (theoretically) do those things that fulfill our modern expectations of making money/creating/accomplishing stuff. it can be exhausting, stressful, and overwhelming. (truly, there is no end to the things you can potentially feel guilty about.) but maybe, it's more exciting? recently, i've decided to start spending more time on projects i've had on back burners, because you know, sometimes a mama has to remember to take care of herself, too. anyways, i'll let you know how it goes.

now, back to diaper duty! (ha)

but really, look at that cute face. can you imagine a better job?

survival of a winter, herald of spring {an essay on grief}

the snow has melted. that is, i suppose, the way in which some people know that winter is over. for me, it happened on a saturday afternoon; the baby and i were driving from a nice afternoon at the fernbank museum—where we tried not to get stepped on by a myriad of small people who were all rudely using two legs instead of their hands and knees to get around (in real life i am never this sidetracked in conversation, you know. i hope??)—anyhow, we were on our way to meet up with the papa for some outlet mall shopping. the sun was shining on the downtown Atlanta skyline, the heater was off, i had no coat, and that is when i knew: winter is over! put away your groundhogs!

and here we are: the ground all soft and somewhat browner from its encounter with two snow "storms," our galoshes caked in mud, our dogs shedding early, and not one plant left alive inside. if i never see another bowl of oatmeal it will be too soon. you know what i mean. winter is a time for eating oatmeal and lusting after fur coats you can't afford and unsuccessful attempts to have your fireplace brought up to code and planning beach vacations. check check check check.

this winter was not so bad. i wanted to join in with the rest of the january/february-haters and say this winter brought the doldrums, but is that really fair? i mean, can i really blame a season for any apathy/tiredness/discontent? and was it really that bad? it didn't seem like it while we were going through it. but, the moment that springtime hit on saturday, i knew we had been under a bit of a cloud. a staying inside all day, playing with the same dull toys (albeit learning great, new and wonderful tricks like teething and crawling and standing and cruising and sleeping through the night!), eating the same bowls of oatmeal, marking the same terrible anniversaries kind of wintery gale.

don't get me wrong, all the newness of this baby turning into a pre-toddler has made it seem like we have our own private sun shining in our house every day, and we have had the best winter in years and years and years.

but i'm not sorry to see it go. i think we all need some fresh air. a chance to open the windows and breath deeply. a time to turn our face to the sun. to soak up some vitamin D and let it come out in words  we've been keeping inside too long.

here is what hit me on saturday, in the wake of spring: i am happy.

such a little thing to say. so vague. so presumed. so often not true, too. but in a larger sense than the immediate situation—which, if you are a parent (or a human being??), you know that the immediate situation changes startlingly drastically from one moment to the next throughout the day (can someone make a comic strip about that please?)—that is the kind of happiness i mean. a happiness that has nothing—and yet also something—to do with my immediate present. a happiness that i have very slowly found my way back to. i wrote a little about it here, a year and a half ago.

they say you change every seven years. maybe that's just your physical body, i don't know. but it has been seven years since that moment that i have not been able to talk about, which has yet informed all my writing, all my existing, and gripped me in an intractable embrace of silence and fear.

i think sorrow is not the word for it. sorrow is what you feel when you acknowledge it, and i didn't want to acknowledge it. instead, it was a continual drowning. a continual fear of the pain of sorrow. but instead of escaping sorrow, it became fear.

i read this essay recently and it struck me how much healing i robbed myself of, by not really letting myself grieve. i think mostly i was afraid to grieve. afraid of what it meant to acknowledge it, which is to let it be real. i didn't want to, and i didn't know how.

and yet, that didn't change its being real.

i think you have a choice. maybe you can either travel through the wasteland of grief, physically, painfully, forcefully, despairingly, but with acknowledgement and sorrow.

or, you can get lost in a wasteland, physically, painfully, forcefully, despairingly, but in denial and in fear.

and maybe you don't really have a choice. maybe you can only choose what you will choose because that is who you are. maybe it just takes some longer to acknowledge it, to accept the sorrow. maybe seven years is not even very long, comparatively, for a winter.

but i'm ready for spring.

the birth of a heart

the leaves in our bountifully wooded yard are clumping in bothersome, wet piles, resistant to all attempts of blowing and raking. loverboy is home for two days, going crazy because of all the yardwork-halting rain. the muncher is happily crawling everywhere willy nilly and we are stocking up on baby gates. and thanks to that 24-hour visit to the ER a few weeks ago and a recent bout of sickness, we've been hunkering down at home in true winter fashion. in other words, 'tis the season to be grateful.

i think maybe it's unfortunate that i can't think of happiness without sadness. i can't think of birth without death. maybe it's because, as they say – they are two sides of one coin. the bookends of what it is to be human. but it's really, i think, just because of my own history. and when you've spent so long miserably, bitterly wishing you could change—or just forget—your own history, it comes as a surprise, a shock, a wonder, to find that you do not want to miss another second of life. to find that you must open your eyes. open your heart. to find that you have a heart. that with the birth of your own child, you've birthed a new heart. or maybe it's your old heart, just reshaped: a mother's heart.

“Making the decision to have a child — it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ” 
― Elizabeth Stone

it is frightening, it is wonderful.

the first week home with my baby i cried because it was going by too fast. because i knew that it was only the beginning of a lifetime with him, and that a lifetime would never be enough. i cried in anticipation of the bittersweet passing of babyhood into childhood and then adulthood. i could taste the pangs of missing his brand-newness already. i cried because i couldn't stop time, and oh, how i wanted to. i'd cried for the same reason in a completely different moment before, and maybe that is what informed this feeling. i knew the fragility, the ephemeralness of human life.

i have so much gratitude for this year. not just because motherhood is more magical than i ever could have imagined. not just because this baby of mine has a smile to light up the moon. not just because i get to spend all my days watching him pull himself up on our baby gates and stomp his little foot, determined to find a way over it, which will probably happen by tomorrow.

but also for this heart.

my response so long has been to stay busy. to stay ahead of it. to keep moving. and now i have to slow down. to get on eye level with the carpet. to crawl. to marvel over crinkly paper and the perfect shape of a button and the thwang of a doorstop and the taste of a table leg.

this heart walking around outside of me has been a salvation to me. teaching me again, to crawl, to see, to taste, to feel.

i cannot comprehend yet, the healing of this new heart. but i am so thankful, every day.

thankful for a happy, healthy baby

last thursday we were in the children's hospital with wilder, which was so scary and awful, but everything turned out fine and the neurologists diagnosed him with the apparently completely harmless "shuddering spells." we are so thankful to the Lord Jesus to be able to go home with him safe and healthy. it's made me feel that parenting is just about the scariest thing you can ever do. and i really feel for all the parents whose children are in the hospital with worse conditions. i don't ever want to take his health for granted. we are so, so blessed.

also, both of us somehow picked up fevers and runny noses from our 24 hours in the ER/hospital, and so this week we have been laying low, as you can imagine. except wilder, who is thrilled to be home and back on the floor where he can crawl to his heart's content. 

anyhow, now that we are home and happy and healthy, i wanted to share a few photos from over thanksgiving weekend of my boys playing. they have this special game where papa waves a sheet over wilder and wilder waves his hands around and giggles (this was pre-crawling). it's moments like these that make me wish we could stop time—or maybe bottle it up to be relived again and again.