Nursing a headache, I sit upon the bed. Brownies in the oven; medicinal purposes only. TV is ahead of me and on - but muted. Baby asleep beside me and the father reads aloud to his children in the adjacent room. Sporadic laughter is heard. The washing machine beeps; signaling it's final cycle and dishes sit submerged under soapy-murky waters.
I am nursing a headache, a cough and a lack of motivation. I realize a regularity and dullness to this life. There is no complaint.
Just hours ago, i sat in a school parking lot. Minivan window down, MPR on the radio and Lucy bent in 'ready position' on the field at baseball practice. Nursing my son in the front seat, talking to husband on cell about dinner plans, I sense a mundane and commonplace reality. There is no complaint.
On this Wednesday evening, I am not taking advantage of time. I am peeking out my window as the darkness of the night covers my weedy garden.
At times, there are intense bellows and roars within that beckon accomplishment and excitement. Tonight, I wallow in their absence. There is no complaint.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
to karen
He takes the delicate bowl of her corollas in his hands, inhales them, and does not damage her.
Remember the daisy? This one, you daisy, high on your stem, playing Queen of the Mountain;
Only it's a bit of rock holding you up, shading your roots,
but to you, this is MOUNTAIN
You reach up and proud~ proud to be flower with no flowers around - for at least fifteen feet
(in the daisy world, this is far, far away~ leagues, even)
Without daisies, it is lonely
when the others nod together in greeting, or agreement
Raindrops tossed down, hit and slide over you
Large creatures try to crush the sweet juice from you
Flying things land on you
wings tips to taste you
Tree branches fall, and the hot broad sun pummels you
But, there you stand, open to the sky
Days eye, days eye, though you grow in our path
no one stops for you
Remembering you, I attempt to plant myself on the front concrete steps
Trying on lavender and yellow
raising my arms and spreading fingers to the sky
Tonight, I kissed a daisy~ the daisy
kissed me back, i think
her sourly tender, feathery petals
and tiny buds of powder moved
against my lips
I cradle her into the bowl of my fingers
and
brushing gently,
do not damage her.
Remember the daisy? This one, you daisy, high on your stem, playing Queen of the Mountain;
Only it's a bit of rock holding you up, shading your roots,
but to you, this is MOUNTAIN
You reach up and proud~ proud to be flower with no flowers around - for at least fifteen feet
(in the daisy world, this is far, far away~ leagues, even)
Without daisies, it is lonely
when the others nod together in greeting, or agreement
Raindrops tossed down, hit and slide over you
Large creatures try to crush the sweet juice from you
Flying things land on you
wings tips to taste you
Tree branches fall, and the hot broad sun pummels you
But, there you stand, open to the sky
Days eye, days eye, though you grow in our path
no one stops for you
Remembering you, I attempt to plant myself on the front concrete steps
Trying on lavender and yellow
raising my arms and spreading fingers to the sky
Tonight, I kissed a daisy~ the daisy
kissed me back, i think
her sourly tender, feathery petals
and tiny buds of powder moved
against my lips
I cradle her into the bowl of my fingers
and
brushing gently,
do not damage her.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Gathering Around a Smile
He makes his journey around the sun; evoking intense reaction, feeling and emotion. His spellbinding awakening of mind and spirit changes within the day.
He is cradled in his daddy's arms on this 42nd day of his incredible journey. He smiles.
He smiles and his family gathers behind the father to witness this moment. Each brother, sister and mother coo and make faces; hoping for reaction.
We are tied within his journey. He has us tight within his grip. He draws us in with his cries and expressions and now...his smile.
He is cradled in his daddy's arms on this 42nd day of his incredible journey. He smiles.
He smiles and his family gathers behind the father to witness this moment. Each brother, sister and mother coo and make faces; hoping for reaction.
We are tied within his journey. He has us tight within his grip. He draws us in with his cries and expressions and now...his smile.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Before the Egg Timer Dings
The long and stringy blond haired girl repeatedly spins with one leg around her Lemon Twist toy; mesmerized by its rhythm and spellbound within its hypnotic trance. She is of simple mind and innocent nature.
This blue eyed girl greets the garden menagerie with feeling of companionship. She is content in her solitude and safe within her small framed being. The sun’s rays tantalize her senses and she if off to frolic and be free; to bike, to skate, to sit, to dream, to be.
She sits now, again, within a quiet existence and a world….her world… in continual metamorphosis.
Her juvenile years have passed and she has brought 4 babies of her own into this world. The fondness of memories sparks desire within to be, to exist, to capture, to see, to hear, and to frolic. The stamp of who she was is embedded within who she is and the yearning of connection is strong.
Time has a hold this evening and the egg timer is about to go off. Her infant will sound off in his own world of innocence and the silent existence will not be easily attained.
The computer screen is once again blurred by the continual yawns. Her blue eyes are now weary and she watches the clock, knowing she must say good bye to this time.
She brings the lid down from her lap top, unplugs it from the wall, packs it away, takes one last sip, slings the backpack over her shoulder and nods to the barista. She is out the door and heading home.
This blue eyed girl greets the garden menagerie with feeling of companionship. She is content in her solitude and safe within her small framed being. The sun’s rays tantalize her senses and she if off to frolic and be free; to bike, to skate, to sit, to dream, to be.
She sits now, again, within a quiet existence and a world….her world… in continual metamorphosis.
Her juvenile years have passed and she has brought 4 babies of her own into this world. The fondness of memories sparks desire within to be, to exist, to capture, to see, to hear, and to frolic. The stamp of who she was is embedded within who she is and the yearning of connection is strong.
Time has a hold this evening and the egg timer is about to go off. Her infant will sound off in his own world of innocence and the silent existence will not be easily attained.
The computer screen is once again blurred by the continual yawns. Her blue eyes are now weary and she watches the clock, knowing she must say good bye to this time.
She brings the lid down from her lap top, unplugs it from the wall, packs it away, takes one last sip, slings the backpack over her shoulder and nods to the barista. She is out the door and heading home.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
DOCUMENTION OF LIFE
I finish off the last couple of sentences in Sidney's blog. Documenting the 6 ounces he has gained since his departure of the hospital. His increased sense of his surroundings, and even the hour spell he spent with his father and me late last night, wide awake and listening to us converse with him as he laid between us in our bed. Upon arrival home, a piece of paper was brought out with "Sidney's Schedule" written at the top. For the first two days at home, his feeding and sleeping habits were well documented.
My oldest two children have baby calendars that on specific dates, "first" stickers are proudly placed: First time baby rolled over, first time baby slept through the night, first time baby blinked, first time baby cried while changing of diaper, first time baby scratched his face with his tiny but sharp nails.
With the exception of documentation style, this baby is no different.
As i polished off the last sentence, i thought about his three older siblings. When was it documented that they solved a conflict on their own for the first time or when a word that was not heard before was explained to them. When was it documented that they finally have developed a taste for garlic or when they (maturely) spoke up for an injustice. Baby books last just so long and these generic stepping stones will soon be long lost and forgotten. We keep onto small art projects and report cards, and as a parent who loves to write, i have tried very hard to keep simple life steps well documented, but i have slipped. As i write about sidney's first doctors visit or how many visitors came to visit in a day, i will remember to talk about how Lucy just can't get enough of holding him in the rocking chair and how she has been displaced for 10 days to her brother's room because Grammie is sleeping in her bed. I will talk about Simon's transition as the older brother and how important it is for him to be recognized by both his parents as this child with the 'i am too cool for the world' attitude has an incredible fragile ego that needs to be loved just as much as this small addition and as I am carrying sidney around the house and monitoring my steps and behaviors, i will recognize my oldest son; my first born, who is trying admirably to be the oldest and most responsible of his siblings, and yet, he is still just 11....he is still my baby - forever and ever, he shall be the one for which i first held and kissed and promised my eternal love.
The documentation of life does not stop after the 5th birthday party or after the first hiccup or ingestion of solid food. it continues through each life moment, each small heart ache, each triumphant maneuver and each beat of the miraculous heart.
Today, I have given time to the documentation of life. thanks for listening.
My oldest two children have baby calendars that on specific dates, "first" stickers are proudly placed: First time baby rolled over, first time baby slept through the night, first time baby blinked, first time baby cried while changing of diaper, first time baby scratched his face with his tiny but sharp nails.
With the exception of documentation style, this baby is no different.
As i polished off the last sentence, i thought about his three older siblings. When was it documented that they solved a conflict on their own for the first time or when a word that was not heard before was explained to them. When was it documented that they finally have developed a taste for garlic or when they (maturely) spoke up for an injustice. Baby books last just so long and these generic stepping stones will soon be long lost and forgotten. We keep onto small art projects and report cards, and as a parent who loves to write, i have tried very hard to keep simple life steps well documented, but i have slipped. As i write about sidney's first doctors visit or how many visitors came to visit in a day, i will remember to talk about how Lucy just can't get enough of holding him in the rocking chair and how she has been displaced for 10 days to her brother's room because Grammie is sleeping in her bed. I will talk about Simon's transition as the older brother and how important it is for him to be recognized by both his parents as this child with the 'i am too cool for the world' attitude has an incredible fragile ego that needs to be loved just as much as this small addition and as I am carrying sidney around the house and monitoring my steps and behaviors, i will recognize my oldest son; my first born, who is trying admirably to be the oldest and most responsible of his siblings, and yet, he is still just 11....he is still my baby - forever and ever, he shall be the one for which i first held and kissed and promised my eternal love.
The documentation of life does not stop after the 5th birthday party or after the first hiccup or ingestion of solid food. it continues through each life moment, each small heart ache, each triumphant maneuver and each beat of the miraculous heart.
Today, I have given time to the documentation of life. thanks for listening.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
"We're doing science!"
This morning I was able to get away for a few hours while my children stayed home, having the run of the house. 'School' was not necessarily a pressed subject as I kissed them on the foreheads, goodbye.
During my visit, I called home to check in. My middle child answered the call. "Perry is organizing the play room and Lucy and I are doing science! Right now, we are working with honey and toilet paper.." As he began to go into detail, i interrupted, "Actually, spare me the details, just tell me that everything is going okay?" And it was....all okay.
I came home to my two youngest, still in the bathroom, explaining their 'science experiment.'
"This one has coffee grounds, and this one has a milk dud in it and this one has glue, while this one has sparkly lotion in it and all of them have yellow and green food coloring." When i mentioned that we had spanish olives in the fridge, the middle child bolted.
Science??? All in the name of science (laugh).
Monday, March 2, 2009
This is the latest journal entry that I have written for this baby to be. I can only assume that one day, his wife might enjoy the effort (smile).
Hello Sidney:
Yes, I said, Sidney. This is your name. 37 weeks and we have called you by name. You have wrapped yourself within the gray matter of my soul and I cannot escape you…Sidney.
Racing thoughts compete for attention; all astray within the prominent thought of you…Sidney.
Days are not our own and we watch the clock intently, continuing the fury of advancement towards you; marking your existence with ambitious efforts. We are reaching for you, yearning for you and deciphering where we all fit within this interpretation of self….Sidney.
The countdown of days has been a bittersweet symphony and parallel to the crowded New York streets on the eve of the new year. As the ball drops and the seconds indicate finality, the clatter of sound increases, the clamor of activity amplifies, and the exhilaration of thoughts mounts to satisfied conclusion.
God has known you. He has known your name. He has known of your time. Within my flawed human realism, it has taken me much longer.
Today, I now call you by name…Sidney Hans Avenson.
I love you. Mom
Hello Sidney:
Yes, I said, Sidney. This is your name. 37 weeks and we have called you by name. You have wrapped yourself within the gray matter of my soul and I cannot escape you…Sidney.
Racing thoughts compete for attention; all astray within the prominent thought of you…Sidney.
Days are not our own and we watch the clock intently, continuing the fury of advancement towards you; marking your existence with ambitious efforts. We are reaching for you, yearning for you and deciphering where we all fit within this interpretation of self….Sidney.
The countdown of days has been a bittersweet symphony and parallel to the crowded New York streets on the eve of the new year. As the ball drops and the seconds indicate finality, the clatter of sound increases, the clamor of activity amplifies, and the exhilaration of thoughts mounts to satisfied conclusion.
God has known you. He has known your name. He has known of your time. Within my flawed human realism, it has taken me much longer.
Today, I now call you by name…Sidney Hans Avenson.
I love you. Mom
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Journey
Because of you, i am on a journey.
Because of you, my soul slams upon it's padded cell
Because of you, i dress my wounds and await tranquility
It is not truth....no it is not truth - for in definition, i do not conform; but look to exist within my agreement
Because of you, i am intrigued and i fight to maintain
Because of you, i am hopeful in question and i am seeking, seeking, seeking - like a watchmen seeks the end of night
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for enjoying the silence with me
Thank you for enveloping me within the bashing of your sounds
Because of you, my soul slams upon it's padded cell
Because of you, i dress my wounds and await tranquility
It is not truth....no it is not truth - for in definition, i do not conform; but look to exist within my agreement
Because of you, i am intrigued and i fight to maintain
Because of you, i am hopeful in question and i am seeking, seeking, seeking - like a watchmen seeks the end of night
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for enjoying the silence with me
Thank you for enveloping me within the bashing of your sounds
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
....hang on....
I have heard this phrase more than once today and now the pressure is on!
Rooms still need to be painted, showers still need to be tiled, wood still needs to be stained and yet, i have been able to let go. I found peace within and found the blessings throughout.
"....i hope you can hang on..." says the ultrasound technician when she tells me that the baby is set to go. "He is just really down there isn't he?"
"Are you hanging in there?" asks my doctor as he confirms the abundant action of my son.
There is a light unsettling of my peaceful mind. Within the quiet moments; the "what ifs" creep in without notice. The 'what-ifs' settle and begin to churn.
I make my way to Target to gather the odd assortment ~ socks for me, baskets for baby's laundry, memory storage boxes. I smile now - but within the bustling processes of 'what-if',' i grab what makes sense. What makes sense? I welcome the 'what ifs' and plan out the remainder of the week...school for kids, home depot visits with family, the list of ' I needs' and ' I wants'
I am hanging in there and this is but a snippet of my moment in time.
Rooms still need to be painted, showers still need to be tiled, wood still needs to be stained and yet, i have been able to let go. I found peace within and found the blessings throughout.
"....i hope you can hang on..." says the ultrasound technician when she tells me that the baby is set to go. "He is just really down there isn't he?"
"Are you hanging in there?" asks my doctor as he confirms the abundant action of my son.
There is a light unsettling of my peaceful mind. Within the quiet moments; the "what ifs" creep in without notice. The 'what-ifs' settle and begin to churn.
I make my way to Target to gather the odd assortment ~ socks for me, baskets for baby's laundry, memory storage boxes. I smile now - but within the bustling processes of 'what-if',' i grab what makes sense. What makes sense? I welcome the 'what ifs' and plan out the remainder of the week...school for kids, home depot visits with family, the list of ' I needs' and ' I wants'
I am hanging in there and this is but a snippet of my moment in time.
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