Sunday, July 16, 2017

Ten Years

Ten years ago, our world cracked wide open.  Lightning struck the sky, heat moved from the dry earth, rain fell.  We knew right when the day began that we would finally meet you.  The summer day was spent doing summer day things -- a slow stroll in the park, a soak in the creek -- until it wasn't -- contractions and laps around the Birth Center, bracing myself on posts and tree trunks waiting for another to pass.  I will say though, that I was never scared.  I was so ready to meet you.  You blew our world open, flew from my body, no need to push, no need to do much beyond listen to what you were saying.  You've always known.  You've always known so much. 

Even today, the must anticipated day, you were thoughtful.  You were quiet.  You biked with dad and hiked with us, rode the chairlift and spotted Indian Paintbrush, picked huckleberries, but you were a bit beyond us.  Reflective in that quiet way.   Reflective and perfect.

Birthdays are hard.  They are full of expectation, anticipation, energy.  They're loaded in that magical, mystical way.  And we went big.  The girls splashed in the pool and you rode down the tubes, landing in the river of humans, all ten year old confidence and we've-got-this.  You hosted your first sleepover, did your nails, played with my make-up, had a pillow fight.  I'm not sure how many of these ideas came from you, but you roll with it, because that's who you are. 

Who else are you?  You are brave.  So brave.  You love the earth.  You love to sing.  You are music and show tunes and heartfelt harmonies.  You are ocean waves, consistent, clear, unpredictable.  You are so very, very kind.  Your empathy and intuition come from deep within and separate you from others your age.  I think that's why that sleepover was such a doozy.  Just a bit too much immersion in everyone else's junk. 

You are so loyal.  You take care of your brother to no end.  You love your dada and keep up with him outside.  And you love me.  You love our quiet times.  You love our special dates.  You love how connected we are. 

And we love you.  Your dimples and curls.  Your honesty and devotion.  Your absolute beauty that shines through and around and within you always.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Soli is 7

On the eve of his seventh birthday

His face slides across the road,
Anything to keep his dad from
Making another basket,
Eye, cheek, chin now red and swollen.
I hold the ice pack in place,
Hold his long body in the bed,
Back to chest.
We've always meant to go together-
His kind kind eyes and wild hair,
The way he races to find his buddies after school,
Takes another too steep hill on his bike,
Flips over the handlebars.
That was just a few days ago.
His knees are raw on raw.
Thank god for helmets,
Cortisone cream, bandaids.
Thank god for fierce loyalty,
For fighting hard and loving harder.
How I adore him with a ferocity,
With an acceptance
Of all I don't totally grasp,
His boy wild,
His fearless warrior of rad.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016


This is the winter I choose to embrace snow.  Ice.  Pockets of blue that arrive like grace from the clouds.  Red berries left on the Mountain Ash.  The way my skis glide up the trail and the view of the frozen creek.  Sulfuric waters that rise from the earth.  Small Montana towns with one quirky bakery and a cowboy bar.  Yellowstone and her bison, her geysers, the way they make the earth smell sulfuric and wild.  Hotel rooms and sharing space and sleeping in and moving slow.  The way the pockets of blue guide me through each day, living for them, for the light, for the moments of grace. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

in's, out's, and so many special days

I found this in my drafts -- I guess it never published.  For the sake of the archive, I'm doing a little spring Soli shout out in October...

Soli turned six on Tuesday.  Six.  I can't really believe this even happened.  And just like that, he's huge.  He plays with his buds in the hood for hours, battles and legos and trucks and soccer.  He had a huge party at the park and blew around in a pack of little ragamuffins, all slicky short glory.  He's radical. 

April was a heck of a month.  I was further geographically removed from my kiddos than ever before, gone for two weeks for work.  While I traveled to places exotic and exciting, I definitely left a big part of myself at home.  I am attached to my home.  My home and the people who live here.

Today is Mother's Day and while there is so much more to say, what I'm feeling tonight is absolute grace.  Today I did not want to leave my deck, the view of the green mountains, the sounds of my kiddos moving this way and that, my husband tidying up, chatting.  I waited for some burst of energy, some need to do things totally for me, to leave them and do yoga, meet a friend for a latte, a hike, whatever, but I really had no interest.  I wanted to be with them.  They did the hike with me.  We did our thing, enjoyed our hills and the balsamroot, our music and our odd ways.