Courageous

Before my toes lies a yearning heart, trusting eyes and a mind of unyielding depth. And all of the sudden I'm a philosopher, a referee, a psychologist, and a therapist. I'm the dreamer that sees endless potential, the teacher that inspires vivid creation, the director that fabricates scenes of wild imagination. I'm a being of incomparable zeal that explodes the realm of simple reality in which we exchange our feeble attempts at transcendence. I'm the Statue of Liberty, you are Martin Luther King Jr. We are courageous and we will change the world.

I am a bent-over heap of frustration; inadequate and stumbling at every turn. You are the pink, heart-shaped sticky-notes with scrawled quips of love and kindness that cover the wall. I am the pile of unread books, missed opportunities and dissipated dreams. You are the sequin-bedecked chiffon that lights up the room with rainbows, reflecting the most powerful source of light in our universe.

You climb the scaffolding of my visions and see beyond the horizons of my insufficient sketches. The winds of my torrential self-doubt can't tear at the banner of your confidence and you hold it high, higher than the strength of your own vibrant voice. I carry you on the sloping shoulders of my heart and trust in the changing tides until they sweep you away to the places only wings can take you.

I will remain in the aftermath of your departure, taller than I was with the bricks of your unconditional love and fervor as the foundation of my aging cavity; fuller than I was with the encompassing warmth of your irreplaceable presence.

(photo taken October 2017)

sunday photo

it's not often daddy is home with us on sundays. today he gets to enjoy our new found traditions of a photo shoot, quiet time, reading a chapter of little house in the big woods, and watching a movie together while eating pancakes for dinner.

intermingled in there (with unnerving frequency) they will fight, argue, scream and cry. they play beautifully but they fight just has horribly. we have to capture the beautiful moments when they're there and not deny the ugly ones when they rise up. 

we gotta be real about everything after all.

july

sunshine, water, laughter, endless days outdoors, family, music and fireworks. 

we had our first Ric Medley reunion this month of july. unforgettable. swarms of little children and even more little voices screaming with joy and equally with offense. it's difficult to share things which the possession of seems unquestionably a matter of life or death. i don't believe any of us will forget the trade of kittens going between the young girl cousins. 

i have made a conscious effort and decision to withdraw from my various social media outlets. or inlets, i suppose; they release you "out" of your present moment or they suck you "in" to their world. i have found that the human mind seeks incessantly for escape. though i have eliminated my escape into the screen, i do find my to-do list, books, projects, stresses, worries, etc. all eager to fill the void. it takes a concerted effort to stop and really see those beautiful, amazing, inspiring little faces that stalk my every move. in my attempt to really see them, i often leave my camera behind in the cupboard and try to capture them with my hands and heart instead. the prolific amount of photographs has admittedly dwindled, but i hope the sweetness of life's undulation grows exponential. 

little moments

when their toes start peeking out from their jammies and teeth emerge from the gummy smile.
when their tongue starts twisting to form new sounds and the bangs grow over those mischievous eyes.
when the simplest upset brings a high-pitched scream that makes your hair stand on end,
and everyone's lucky to be alive when it's over.
legs grow longer, fingers grow more nimble, humor grows more sophisticated, tantrums grow louder, and will grows stronger.

but each night it's nearly the same.
eyes closed, heavy breathing, body sprawled over the mass of blankets necessary for slumbering companionship. the door slides open and the hall light illuminates the cherubs safely sleeping.
we look on and like to think we have something to do with their brilliance and beauty.
the door slides closed and dreams take the little souls away until the sun wakes up.
and we do it all over again.
for moments like this, i'd do it forever.

in awe of it's spledor

green with life and veins pulsing with sustenance,

trees cling to their leaves under the nourishing sun.

days full of light, warm and comforting nights,

this season never lacks hope and is never dismal. 

the trees flourish, grow in beauty

and watch over all in their magnitude. 

as some provide shade, others bear fruit

and none is left wanting from these steadfast towers. 

then comes a season where the sun takes longer to rise

and is more quick to fade away.

nights grow longer, and more chill.
as the bleakness of weather descends,
the trees turn inward to survive,
gleaning life from their own merit.

the cold which pierces and sun which wanes
cast a wash of orange, yellow, and red
across the expanse of life's journey.
it is the season when onlookers no longer ask or want
but look on to appreciate the vibrance that strikes the soul.
it is when each tree stands out in it's own fighting color
to tell of it's own story and join in the chorus of autumn;
a chorus of human suffering and strife.

i know now.
i know that when autumn falls upon the soul of a human,
that is when the soul truly sings and cries in vibrant glory
of it's own tale, of it's own strength.
and yet stands not alone, but with the tall and the strong.

and so, cry not for the suffering you undergo!
but cry for those who cannot see the vibrance of their soul
which shakes the earth into awe at it's splendor.

'life's an hourglass'

It hurts how fragile the presence is

And when I try to hold on to it, I can only cry for when it’s gone.

Life’s beauty brings so much pain -

To hold tight to something precious

Only brings the stabs of when it flies from your hand.

Life brings waves of worry and doubt,

They overcome and cloud the window panes;

Dew of years past is left between the glass.

Only one deep breath and a ray of light

Brings me back to right where I am.

In the princess dress, there’s a broken heart,

The sweet voice brings unheard tears.

As the horses play, the dreams fade away.

Why must I cry that the little life may one day see the grey?

Today I will catch the dew that keeps the light from tiny feet.

A firm hand and dashing smile wrap me in young love

But I’m caught up on a park bench -

Neighbored by grey hair and wrinkles of adventure.

As I try to see what’s before me,

It is only a mirage of what will too soon be the past.

And so I sit in silence,

And write the words of my heart.

To take a little piece of this moment,

All wrapped in black and white,

And maybe then it will last forever.

me

it's hard to talk about myself. wait, who am i kidding - all i talk about is what i'm doing, thinking about, wanting to do, planning to do. allow me to rephrase the statement: it's hard to talk about what i think about myself. here i am often candid about the love i have for my girls, how beautiful they are, that even though life is arduous and often dismal as a mom of little children that when i sit down and think about who they are and what i'm doing, i cry uncontrollably over the depth of human beings that roam my world day in and day out.
but today, i'm looking at me and i'm talking about it. i look at this photograph and i see a beautiful woman who loves life, her children, her husband and all good things. she is confident, radiant, powerful, strong, thoughtful and wise. she has a voice and everyone listens to her, respects her and sees her for who she really is. she loves herself and prides herself on being noble and virtuous.
but that's not what i choose to see everyday. i see the spare tire, the bags under my eyes, the unkempt hair, the makeup-less face; i see every little detail that is not put in it's place and kept tidy. i see more sleepless nights, more tears of frustration and discouragement, more tantrums, screams, and dirty diapers. i see an endless pile of laundry and dirty dishes and a fight that just never ends. and when i look at my life this way, i honestly cannot take pride in what i do.

but i read a poem today.


Little Bird
Some days are different. 
One could almost believe that one day is just like another.
But some have something a little more.
Nothing much. 
Just a small thing. 
Tiny. 
Most of the time we don't notice these things.
Because little things are not made to be noticed.
They are there to be discovered. 
When we take the time to look for them, the small things appear.
Here or there. 
Tiny. 
But suddenly so present they seem enormous.
The small things are treasures. 
True treasures. 
There are no greater treasures than the little things.
One is enough to enrich the moment.
Just one is enough to change the world. 
-Germano Zullo

i am a little bird, an enormous bird. i am enough to enrich any moment, i am enough to change the world.

fall

thought i would share this journal entry tonight

I feel like every day I am falling. Continually falling. Sometimes I can't even put one foot in front of the other because I'll just trip and find myself flat on my face once again. I cry, I pout, I shout, I exasperate. And I have a mirror that looks mysteriously like my two and a half year old... and that mirror reflects back at me with disconcerting clarity.
I imagine that it would be easy to see all the bruises covering my elbows and knees and the callous on my hands from clawing my way back to a wobbly but standing position over and over each day. When does this poor mama rest? "Between heartbeats" says my Dad. But my baby looks up at me with her deep blue eyes and doesn't let go for a second. I often think of what she sees; I know it's not the imperfection that I so readily identify with. She sees every need and every comfort her little soul could ever ask for.
I must not be falling in her eyes; I must be floating.

a walk with the lady

the girls have been sleeping peacefully for nearly three hours and the house is quiet. i should go to bed but since when does anything worthwhile come without a little sacrifice? a little less sleep never killed anyone, though it has nearly cost me my sanity. 

the lady and i took a walk today. she may have trekked up the street, thrown rocks, climbed cinder blocks, picked flowers, ran, and watched a street cleaner go down the street with intense curiosity. but not me. i went into her little world and stayed there and didn't dare budge.

i've lost all hope that i can look at photographs of my children and not weep. in awe of who they are, in sadness for how far they will venture from my side, and in humility for how they look at me with such unyielding love and devotion.

i could curl up and sleep in her wispy locks. i could press my cheek to hers just plain forever and never tire of the scent of her skin or the writhing she would do to be free of my clutching grasp. 

we live in a world that winds faster and faster with every breath. but time stops dead in it's tracks when this little lady stands there and i open my eyes. 

sweet memory lane

i found these photos today and i instantly cried.

and i may still be crying, though it's the tenth time i've looked at them.

i cried because we don't live in that house anymore; for two years we tended the flowers, vacuumed the carpets, peered out the windows, soaked in the sunshine, played with toys, colored, laughed, broke down, got back up again, and took many first steps together.

i cried because jade is not a little munchkin anymore. she is tall, she has hair, and her cheeks and ears have finally receded and her eyes eat me alive every day that she continues to exist. she doesn't fit in my arms like that anymore. but at least she still fits in my lap. what will i do when she is so big that she can't fit in my heart and needs more than just her mother's love? i won't let it happen - ever.

she's mine forever.

i cried because that is not me anymore. you grow and you change. don't ever take for granted who you are today because that's not who you will be tomorrow. and something inside you, which you can't explain, will miss it. you will miss it's innocence, it's foolishness, it's shortcomings and simply the fact that you can't ever be who you were yesterday.

so live it up my friends.

photos by sarah smylie

real mama campaign

i heard a podcast about this woman and was moved to action; i read her article and i was moved to tears. daily i lose myself in the mothering of my dear, young children and i realized that i am also losing myself to self-deprecation. my children are beautiful, it's easy to see why pictures and posts about them are transcendent. 

but me? 

why say anything about myself? what do i offer in a 'glamour' shot or why is a 'cute' thing i did worth sharing? believe me, there is nothing glamorous or cute about this mama. but there is something noteworthy and beautiful; it's the unkempt hair, the bags under my eyes, the fluff-and-stuff around my mid-section, the snapping and sighing in frustration while cleaning up poop, boogers and throw-up. 

i hide it because it's not creamy white like Eliza's cheeks, it's not drop-dead gorgeous like Jade's eyes 

- it's not easy to look at. 

but i am the life-blood of my home. i am here day in and day out; sweating, crying, laughing, jiggling, teaching, cleaning, cooking, praying and all the while trying to sweep myself under the rug with all the other unpleasant things that collect in the corners.

but no more. 

i am a mama, i am beautiful and i am present.

self-portraits

play group

i hosted play group today. toys were thrown and grabbed, kids crying and learning to share, mom's laughing and commiserating. i found this when i went back to jade's room to put her down for a nap.

i loved it. i loved the tears and the craziness. there were kids jumping like monkeys on the furniture and locking the doors. each having moments of quiet imagination with new toys. a glimpse into the mayhem of multiple children. there is something indescribably beautiful about all these wild little people we so nonchalantly call kids. yes, indescribable. i need say no more.

mortality

there are two aspects to mortality; the physical and the spiritual.

i go back and forth dwelling on the vulnerability of the two. sometimes, i realize the frailty of the physical- it's limited duration, it's complicated and easily thwarted system, the ever-changing and unexpected. other times, i realize the frailty of the spiritual; the emotional ocean, the unrelenting weakness, the doubt.

these passionate and fickle spirits lie at the helm of life. "life is 90% mental and 10% mental."

a photo essay of one man tells the stories of women, thwarted by the unexpected storm of physical pain and mutilation, who's spirits soar above the physical limitations of this mortal life. we are forever beings and the strength that is seen through suffering is testimony enough for me.

the scar project

the link below is life changing
young girls with progeria

a chuckle for your day...

if men were equally at risk from this condition - if they knew their bellies might swell as if they were suffering from end-stage cirrhosis, that they would have to go nearly a year without a stiff drink, a cigarette, or even an aspirin, that they would be subject to fainting spells and unable to fight their way onto commuter trains - then i am sure that pregnancy would be classified as a sexually transmitted disease and abortions would be no more controversial than emergency appendectomies. ~barbara ehrenreich