reflection

One of my favorite bands of all-time, The Smiths, have a song with a line that goes something like, "I would rather not go, back to the old house..." That line is stuck in my head right now. As we spend our last Saturday morning up in this gorgeous home that isn't reallyours. Of course we'll still be spending a ton of time here. And it will be lovely to have Jeff's parent's back. There is so much getting to know of Solomon, so much reconnecting to do with Eliana.

As I've spent time at our little house this past week - getting things cleaned and sorted, compiling massive bags and hauling them to the Goodwill and Dumpster respectively, I've been filled with a total sense of calm that comes from being in my space. All of my things, exactly as I left them. My music. My artwork. My photographs and books. My close proximity to the park and Jumbo and school. My weird neighbors and new buddy a house away. But the vibe couldn't be more different.

Down there, we're in it. Up here, we're away from it. Down there, it pulses. Up here, it sways. Down there the view is the top of the mountains we're pressed up against. Up here the view is expansive, the whole valley, the grandeur.

I have noticed that Eliana and I have felt a sweetness together in our "little" house that is nostalgic, that is made up of her lifetime of memories. And as we approach Sol's first birthday, I get lost in memories of his birth, the sofa contractions, the shuffle from living room to bedroom to baby boy in my arms. The same candles I burned that night still sit, their nearly empty, lemongrass and lavender heads smile as if to say, "I remember too."

But we've had a good run up here. Managed to get some sleep. Managed to find some space. Settle into a calm. I am eternally grateful to Mort and Roseann and their generosity. It's really, really tremendous. Like one of those pauper/princess fairy tales. Thank you.


So this morning I sip my coffee and look out at the brown hills, the snow almost completely melted, and feel a surge of gratitude. My children are thriving. They are the coolest. Solomon is
so strong, so determined, so damn sturdy on his little tree trunk legs. Everywhere on his legs. Like I so didn't get the whole "babyproofing" thing with Elie. But little man. Wowzers. His ability to seek and destroy is baffling. And Cool. Filled with his own little brand of Solomon pride.


Eliana is so thoughtful and reflective. Her memory a steel trap, her musings and observations astute and aware. She builds intricate sofa forts. All of her dolls and stuffed animals have fascinating histories and unique personalities. She has a flair for the dramatic and can articulate stories replete with emotion like it's nobody's business. She even has a, "Baby Sister." Her name is Queenie. She wears headbands. She talks to her teachers about her. In Spanish. Don't even get me started on her Spanish. If only I could be more consistent in speaking it at home. Homegirl has an ear. Y una memoria.


She took these pictures of us the other night. They capture what most of our Winter afternoons have been like. Toys strewn. Children up to no good.

I feel like I leave this house a more refined Mama. Wiser. More grown-up. This fall when we fled our little house, I was wide-eyed and bleary. Trying so hard to do it all so well. Was taking it all really, really seriously.

I return feeling grounded. Like I'm finally coming out of the manic fog of two children, two jobs, one husband and one dog. Something shifted in me on my birthday last Wednesday. I don't know if it's due to the scare with Sol or just the marker of another year, but I feel like I shed some major shit. My mind talk has quieted. I feel confident and secure about the quality of my work as a mother, as a teacher, as a wife, as a friend, as a daughter. I feel more forthright. More appreciative. I'm choosing gratitutde instead of resentment. It's just not in my nature to be negative. Instead I will chose to say what I feel in the moment and not let it bottle up. I will take back the night on my thoughts, on my voice.



So here's to Spring! Can it be true? You wouldn't know it on this gray, colorless Saturday. But I feel it in my bones. That shift that hope brings. Spotty sunshine. Muddy lawns. Bulbs rearing their pointy, green hats. Longer days. Walking boys. Long, smart girls. Grounded, strong mamas.