Growing Versions

Itchy to be somewhere else, anywhere else for a little while. Needing a fresh perspective and a breath, period ? May I suggest a 15 minute vacation. Travel times can vary, but they can be as little as one minute. A package deal may include a quiet rock to sit on, a warm drink and no precipitation. Where did you take your last one ?

Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation. When something's let go of, it circles; and though we are rarely the center of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve. Rainer Maria Rilke

1 quarter 1 dime 1 nickel down one slide, best two out of three wins. 1 quarter, 1 dime, 1 nickel down another.  "Woah, this slide give shocks! High five me and you will see. " The quarter (especially) rolls right off the edge into the pile of leaves. 1 quarter, 1 dime, 1 nickel down again, more shocks, more high fives... again, and again. The curvy slides makes my stomach feel like jello, not so good for quarter, dime and nickel racing, but let me try one more time, upside down. There are a lot of things to do on a holiday weekend.  Not a lot that only cost 40 cents.

 Where pipe cleaners used to do the heavy lifting in the preschool years. Duct tape is required during the elementary ones.  

I ran out of things to say. Going to stick to pictures for a while.

Funny how only mothers are riddled with guilt and accused of guilt tripping. I've been afflicted by the first and "guilty" of the second, I guess... While I am not a big fan of "guilt trips", I have been "guilty" of reminding my children of how their actions might negatively affect someone else, somehow. However, I am starting to wonder why it is moms who are so famous for this. Is it because they are the ones who are assigned the task (more often than not) of  nurturing perspective taking in their kids? I get that "explaining consequences" can be misused.  I know what it feels like when I have been guilt tripped and when I have guilt tripped someone else. But it doesn't happen that often (thank goodness!), does it? We fear being accused of it, but maybe just maybe so called "guilt tripping" is mislabelled.  Maybe instead of "guilt trip" we should replace it with teaching kids empathy, helping kids th...

 Parents of children who are older than 10 years old like me may think that cradling is no longer part of the job description.... ...but it very much is.  As our kids learn to walk away from us and grow past us, we cradle them with carefully chosen words, holding our bodies just so so that we can absorb the scariness of a dream or by sweeping away yesterday's mess so today's can be born. The other day, my mom asked me lovingly.  "When was the last time you went for a swim? You should go."  Her cradling work continues.

Did you know that our inner voice starts speaking to us at age 2? Before that, maybe the voice is learning to speak our language or is very very quiet. Or maybe, it is listening intently to everything we are listening to. After that it has a habit of talking over us, at us, commanding us, issuing judgements and nattering away. It is very used to being ignored. We are told to listen to our inner voice.  There are times when I do not hear it at all. Sometimes she won't shut up.  Apparently, according to  research , she's not always trustworthy. We know from experience it is rarely kind. We learn to tune her out or channel  or amplify her.  Most of the time I like what she has to say,even the smart ass comments. She feeds me great lines. The other day I felt completely lost.  I mean really really stranded on a street with no name, without a passport in a new town.  The voice was gone.  I thought, it is time to turn off the netflix an...

For several years, since I have had kids, the concept of house plants in my care has been so overwhelming I flat out refused to have them in the house.  A non-talking being needing care and tending on top of my staggering caring load was inconceivable. The few times that a straggler got through the front door, I was burdened by guilt as they slowly failed to thrive and die a parched, neglected death.  As the roots dried out, I treated it , if at all, like another piece of clutter.  Before I thought of watering it, I'd wonder, should I dust it? Lately, I have started caring for plants again. My childcare duties have been alleviated , the kids can now dress themselves, have a solid concept of time and can feed themselves.  There is now a little wedge in the pie chart for plants. My good friend brought me three charming characters a few weeks ago. I have learned somethings from taking care of them.  They are alive. they are alive like me. And like ...

One day when my son was in preschool, I noticed he was playing with one child, but not another of his close playmates. When I asked him about it, he responded "Mama, I only have 2 hands." Those words have remained in my mind all this time.  Now I know why.  Now I finally understand what he meant. People who you love and care for need care and concentration.  Loving is a kind of concentrating. When I was breastfeeding, I was constantly astonished at how consuming it was sitting on the couch in front of Law and Order nursing an infant.  I didn't expect it, but it really demanded a lot of concentration.  I was so busy, I forgot that the reason I was busy was that I was concentrating on attending to the needs of another person, deeply connected to me. The breastfeeding relationship is long over, but not the tending. The little ways we nurture the little people in our lives. The noticing, the re-framing, the encouraging, the timing it all takes time. On ...

I was humbled by a full-size copy of this CNN photo at the Human Right's Museum in Winnipeg last fall.  It is an arresting image. I'm sure I saw it or one close to it before that day in the museum. However, I also am sure my eyes scanned it quickly on my phone or in the paper, and although, I work with refugees and am saddened and hurt by this picture, it quickly faded into the background. In person, it is impossible to look away.  The hope and desperation co-mingle and cannot be dismissed. I came across it today and it had an even deeper impact on me.  It looks like the Last Supper or another Biblical tableau--a lesson as old as before we can all remember.  Reach over that chasm.  Take my hand.  You are not a stranger.  Let me hold your children while you find your footing on holy ground.

My grandmother died a long time ago, more than 30 years ago.  I have very fond memories of her. I treasure my own memories but also the memories that my dad shares from his childhood. I got extremely lucky the other night and I heard a new one to me. My uncle was telling a story about how his mom liked his kids to learn by doing things. So one day she actively encouraged them to boil sap on the stove to see if they could make maple syrup. The house they were living in had a plaster ceiling and the billowing steam made a big mess of the ceiling (and very little syrup). I like this one memory of her almost more than all of my own.  It gives me an insight into how she parented and how resourceful she was, making up fun with next to nothing. It makes me feel closer to her because although I haven't let my kids make syrup, I like them to just go ahead and try stuff to find out for themselves how it will turn out. I like the fact that all the stories about her have ...

a vein of sea you cannot view is buried deep inside of me. the world goes round, the cars rush past, but still the waves churn underground. beyond the where that you can view, there is a place that is deep it holds a mystery that will not be known, it's a secret that I can keep.

For the longest time, I did not consider myself a musical person.  I have always described myself as more of a visual person. I added to a youtube playlist now and then when I heard a song I liked on a tv show or on the radio but I almost never listened to it. Occasionally, I was moved to listen to it or parts of it. It was not my go to mind releaser when I was writing. I prefered to either watch something or listen to talk radio.  It was my preference to be distracted by discussion.  Maybe this came from doing homework at the kitchen table.  For some reason, I found music intrusive. I played piano as a child, but gave up after a few years. Again, just not my thing. A couple of years ago though, I got gifted a keyboard and I started to play around with it.  It was like muscle memory.  I did have one or two musical bones in my body after all.  I craved more.  It was really relaxing in a way that t.v. or reading was not. Lately, I've drift...

The advice was a little late for me, I didn't hear it until after my kids graduated out of infanthood, but it is such good advice that I apply it to my life now even without babies keeping me up all hours. The advice is this: when you have an infant keeping you up throughout the night, keep going back to bed until you accumulate enough hours of sleep that you are used to.  This is not easy if you are at home alone with kids, but it's good advice in principle. This advice applies to anyone.  Ignore it at your peril. I did, but now I am taking it all the way to new level of enough.

Sometimes life gets on top of me.  I am either so busy living my life or coping with something that consumes all my energy that it is almost like I become deaf. I vaguely notice that something in my body is not working, my knee hurts, or my head pounds.  I tripped over a pile of things when I was sweeping a while back and jumped back up.  10 hours later, I started wondering, "why can't I grip anything with my left hand?" It was not until a while later that I remembered, "oh yeah...I fell on it." This deafness to my self causes me to block out pain and work too hard. The voice of me inside gets so muffled I start doing things based on old information...ways I used to think, old beliefs and discarded notions. Recently, I've had a chance to unwrap the cotton wool from around the crevices. The wool that was insulating me from me. The padding that was allowing me to fall flat on my face and not notice until several hours later. In the process of u...

We never reach yonder. Just as we approach it, another one replaces it.

Anytime I have been stumped by a problem, I have turned to my trusty pet solution: Work Harder. Money trouble? Work Harder Relationship trouble? Work Harder Career trouble? Work Harder Lice? Worker Harder Lately, I've been introduced to a new solution: Learning. What should I do about this problem?  Working Harder seems to be making it worse?  Learning how to improve things and when to forget it seems to be a better solution. So far, I've learned a lot and I've had more naps. Seems to be better already. I found this  article  a very interesting take on learning our way out instead of working our way out.

My daughter is growing up.  She is funny and caring and she loves to write. Like many mother and daughters before us, our relationship is getting trickier.  Her job is to grow up and apart, my job is to help her doing that safely and steadily (isn't it?).  Those two job descriptions are, as you would expect, often at cross-purposes, or so it seems. I have come to expect that a certain level of conflict in our relationship is inevitable and normal and to back off when I get too sucked into its undertow.  However, at times, I miss those easy days when she looked to me first for ideas, suggestions and merrily (usually) went along with them. These days, she is exercising her birthright of controlling her own life by rolling her eyes at my harebrained schemes, feeble attempts at getting my children out of doors or socializing. I miss the discussions most of all where we had time to talk, not just about video games, but about things she thought were interesting....