dizzy

When I gave into the moment, it took me away-all while standing on my deck.

The sounds of outside began to slowly swirl around me.

The less I focused, the more the intensity grew.

Quickening in pace, increasing in sound

the crickets creaked, the catydids clicked

lightning bugs turned off then on all around me.

I lifted my head towards the evening sky.

The clouds covered my ears and took me away.

Time stood still and I flew~ dizzy

As I gave into this moment, I was taken away~ all while standing on my deck.

Confessions from the hood...the mother-hood

Yesterday as I sat in a pool of olive oil and black beans in the middle of my kitchen floor, my dear and generous son, saw me, wrapped his kind arms around my neck and said, "you are the best mom ever, and I love you just the way you are." (ahhh, melt)
How did I end up in this concoction, being comforted by my teenager? Well, I better back up some.

I have been having one of those days, (weeks, months...) where I feel like I just can't measure up.
To what? well, that is the part I figured out yesterday.
This newfound blog world has had me perusing all the wonderful mama blogs out there. I am amazed by all the creative and energetic moms. They are inspiring, provoking and educational. Blogging has given me a much needed creative outlet and a place to reflect and even feel connected. On the other hand it seems that I also compare myself to these great women and well, I feel like poo...when really I should be honoring their talents!
Lately, I have been trying so hard to fit this stereotype of mother/housewife. Making, well trying to make, pancakes and muffins for breakfast... cute crafting...baking...you know the whole thing...then I get pissed at myself that we're not getting up at the crack of dawn and being all organized, scheduled, and smiling neatly through our daily crafts... blah, blah, blah ( why don't I wear hand-made aprons and make Martha Stewart recipes? waaaa)
Yesterday I was in my, "typical as of lately", mode...trying to get pollywog and CJ to eat a good breakfast, do laundry, get rid of the ants that moved in yesterday, keep the kitchen clean (ha), all while trying to entertain and stimulate the kids and then, set the kiddie pool up in the front yard and let pollywog play in it b/c I was feeling guilty that we were not doing "summer things"- which was a task getting her in her suit, making snacks (that no one ate but me), filling water bottles (that no one drank but me), pool toys (that she didn't play with) , ahhh then finally in the pool, oh wait she would rather play in the grass...(of course) -okay it's nap time...now it's dinner time, let her play with dry beans in a pot while I make dinner and, (yes, clean up the kitchen) oh I forgot about the wet laundry in the washer all day...she is throwing beans all over the floor, large bottle of olive oil slips from my hands and breaks on the ground, olive oil everywhere----I give up and plop to the floor. This is where my son and his kind words comes in.
Thankfully my husband walks into the door a few minutes later and I promptly, walk out of it to get some air.
As I drove around I wondered, why am I having such a hard time navigating my life right now?
Well- I realized, b/c I am trying to live someone else's.
As I continued to reflect I realized- I don't know who I am anymore. I have been trying so hard to be this perfect mom, that I regularly forget to just be me, as a mom.
(I have also let fear take over my life. I envy mom's who don't worry daily about their toddler choking on foods, or getting hurt or sick. Letting them gnaw on sticks and explore their independence- (this is a whole other thing I am working on...I promise, I'm really not a total mess)
anyway.....a weight began to lift from my shoulders as I began to remember the me, under all this "stuff".
Me...the girl who loves to drive with the windows down listening to music. Me...the artist who sees colors and images and life in everything. Me...the wanna be surfer chic.
Me...the woman who loves to have a home full of laughter, creativity and freedom.
Me...the woman always ready to try something new. Me...impulsive, naive, silly and flighty. Me...the girl who still gets excited sometimes that I can stay up as late as I want. Me...the woman who loves to dance. Me...the mom who loves slumber parties with my hubby, son and daughter. Me...the lady who doesn't like to clean- and really doesn't like to cook except sometimes when I am in the mood (did I mention I cannot make pancakes to save my life.) Me...the girl who still puts on pretend cooking shows while cooking. Me...the little girl who is still mourning the loss of her daddy, me... my daddy's girl.
I love goals, and I still want to learn to sew, learn to play my mandolin, get up early and work out, learn to be somewhat organized, learn some craft ideas, learn some yummy recipes, learn to not let fear control my life...
The truth is that the skills... of being a mom and housewife don't come easy to me. I am just not good at it by nature. What does come easy is loving my kids, coming up with good ideas, having fun and always being there to listen, and supporting them. The rest, well I have to try really hard at.
but, yesterday I learned that my aspirations have to be my own, not someone else's. I also learned through the words of my son, that I am fine, just the way I am. In fact he said,
I 'm the best.

Be Still and Wonder

This morning we awoke to the life, giving rain- We sat in front of the window letting the mist, spray our face.
We watched the patterns the rain made- we pretended the rushing water in the drain outside was a river. I believed it
danced to Joni Mitchell and I closed my eyes and sang from my heart.
mmmmm, life...today... I grasp you... (or maybe, you grasped me)

flea market finds

In the midst of my grumpiness (read last post)...I did manage to sneak away this afternoon to my all time favorite flea market. I cannot begin to tell you how much I love this place. The way it smells, the items...My heart begins to swell and I feel like I am at my grandmothers house, or a little girl again, or with my dad. Everything reminds me of something. I walk into booths and can feel stories swirl around me. I wonder, who use to look in this mirror, what woman cooked in these old crockery pots, i bet the house that these embroidered pillowcases were in, was so cozy and warm. One booth in particular grabbed me. I felt my eyes begin to tear. This booth was overflowing with cowboy boots and hats, handmade wooden tool boxes, super old tools, old mexican blankets, and two paintings. I could almost picture the old man out in his shed working on stuff, tinkering. His whole life lay in the booth being sold. Suddenly I wanted to know him, I wanted to see his old, strong, wrinkled hands. I wanted my dad to get to be an old, wrinkled man.
I bet the man who made these things, never thought they would be enjoyed by my family.
What a small world we live in.












































The cubby shelf I was super excited about. I squeezed some lemon into a couple tablespoons of olive oil and shined it up.
Great for pollywog's toys and other items.
The other two wooden boxes are handmade, one with a leather strap- maybe used as tool boxes?... Made a perfect spice rack. The old milk jug and cloth napkin were super cheap and very summery... The cubby was 35.00 , the boxes $3 and $4, the cloth napkin $1 and the milk jug (there were tons) $2.50

are bunnies grumpy?

What a grump bunny I have been lately. I can't seem to get myself out of the "grump funk."
I don't know why. I really don't have any good reasons, i guess.
I wake up feeling good, and then slowly I'm up to my knees in irritable.
Pollywog is at a stage right now that is sometimes tiring. I try to do fun, age appropriate crafts, but her attention span is still small. We read, we build with blocks, we dance, we play outside- watching the birds and filling the birdhouse with seed (this is her all time favorite thing to do)-


but she will at no point let me out of her sight. While I am trying to cook, or fold laundry, or go to the bathroom, she is below me arms waving begging to be held. Most of the day she is just plain cranky too. She is perfectly content to lay in my arms snuggling and nursing. She is cutting teeth and I tell myself this is just a phase. If I happen to sneak into the other room she is quickly looking for me, "mama, mama" and I cannot resist her sweet, little voice and she always runs to me arms outstretched like she hasn't seen me for days... gosh, when you think about it I guess its not all bad...I am actually pretty lucky...so I am officially done being grumpy...for now.

daydreaming in the sun

Today the house is quiet. Pollywog is asleep~ The house is clean as we await the arrival of grammy and papa~ There is a calm breeze slowly making it's way through the house~ my chirping friends our singing their daily chorus all around me~ and I am foggy with dreams~

I am lost in thought while staring out my kitchen window. This is my favorite spot in the house. The concrete floors are cool under my feet. They are a deep, walnut color. Rugs woven of fiber lay across the floor. Succulent plants fill my kitchen. Aloes, Hens and chicks, jades. They hang or sit in pots I made from the clay down at the stream (this is truly my favorite nook). Outside my window, chimes ,tinkle and plunk together. I love chimes so it's no surprise that they are all over the yard and the trees. I am kneading bread that I will let rise on the patio, in the warm sun. The same patio that I poured my blood and sweat in this past fall, (literally). I found the stones by all of our favorite rivers, and Brian graciously let me hull them home in our truck each time. I have always had an affinity for collecting rocks and stones. They almost have a heartbeat to me. I love the stories they tell, the way they feel in my hands, and the colors. My patio's floor tells these stories and displays these designs, that spoke to me near the rivers and streams.
I love the smell of the patio when it rains. The rocks earthy smell steams, and the mint, lavender and lemon basil that surrounds the patio, is a mist of heaven I often stand under, letting my pores sip.
Brian and Henry built a wooden, trellis overhang that honeysuckle and wisteria crawl, creep and wrap around. Under this shelter of sorts, sits a wooden table and chairs, a large candle and and usually someone napping, reading or lunching.
Out in the green meadow of wildflowers, mint and whatever else has managed to push through, sits an old, grandpa oak- and this oak kindly holds our hammock. This tree and me have become dear, old friends. I have made so many promises to it and in return he has loved me in only a way a dear, old, tree can.
I am so happy we finally made it. We found the perfect land in our blessed Oregon. Purchased this land with a few, dear friends. Each of us building our little nooks and straw bale homes.
It is here that we will eat from our land. It is here that we will laugh at our quirky friends, the chickens. It is here that we will name and fall in love with our goats and ducks. It is here that I will mold my clays, paint, cook, watch my children flourish,learn explore and dance with the seasons. It is here that we will all sing, make great meals and enjoy our piece of earth. It is here that Brian and Henry and whomever else joins in, will make, build, invent and create.It is here that we will give to the earth and she will give back in abundace. It is here...our casa...

Dreams

Maybe it was the film I watched before bed...maybe it was the prayer I have had on my heart for years about adoption and Brian's prayer to do work in Africa...(he went on a Mission's trip there in college and has been forever touched)...or maybe it was the large, consumption of chocolate chip cookies before bed- whatever the case I had two very, vivid dreams last night that replayed over and over in my head. First one: We bought this beautiful land in Oregon that was surrounded by hills- we called it "Resting Mountain"- it had hammocks hanging, an outdoor kitchen, a common fire-pit and several little cabins. We called it "Resting Mountain" because we opened it to traveling missionaries, as a place for them to rest, after their journeys. In my head I kept repeating, "resting mountain for nomadic ministries" Second dream: we adopted this little boy from Africa named, Isaiah. He was so cute and sweet and I couldn't stop hugging him. He had never been hugged and loved and was enjoying all the attention. MMMM?

A Walk to Beautiful

Last night I watched a documentary called, "A Walk to Beautiful", on PBS.
It was about women in Ethiopia suffering with a condition called, Fistula. This is when there is a leak in the urinary tubing, caused by complications in childbirth, and urine leaks uncontrollably from the woman. A combination of physical labor (starting as young girls) and poor nutrition, causes poor development and they're bodies don't develop properly, causing them to be small. They are married off as young as 8 or 9, and pregnant as young as 12. So you can see how they have difficulty during child-birthing. Some of these woman labor for up to a week, (usually carrying a still born at this point) and without the aid of a doctor. This is a widespread epidemic in Africa. What is so sad, is the woman are ostircized in their villages. Because they are leaking urine (and feces in some cases), causing them to smell. Their husbands leave them and they are sent to live in makeshift shelters (if they are lucky) where they live alone until they die. The emotional heartache the women suffer is so horrible.
The documentary showed a few woman getting treatment at a clinic in Addis Ababa, specializing in Fistula. It was so wonderful to see their lives changed. One story in particular, (Wubete) was particularly touching. She had no mother, or family to speak of. Her father had married her off at age 10 and she kept running away. By age 12 she was pregnant and suffered complications. Her incontinence was not able to be surgically fixed, however they were able to let her go and work in an orphanage so she wouldn't have to go back to her village.
The whole story was touching and eye opening.
CJ watched it with me. Sometimes he forgets (as we all do) what others have to endure. It opened up our world a little bit.
I decided that the baby stuff I was going to sell could be better used at the orphanage (Grace Village), as they do accept donations.
This story will remain in my heart forever.
Check out the clinic and orphanage:
www.oasisfoundationethiopia.org
www.fistulafoundation.org/