somewhere in between.

i am somewhere in between now and then. my head is cloudy with thoughts of next and what if and when.

but then grubby fingers on either side of my cheeks pull my eyes back into focus.

"me me mommy. me."

yes you, little fingers. yes you little toes. you little eyes, smiling up at me, calling for me to enjoy the here and the now and all that is good and great in this little world. sunbeams. gentle rain. afternoons spent dumping rocks in a wading pool. changing shoes three times in ten minutes. "walk walk!" yes, you little girl.

and you, growing fingers. hair in your pretty brown eyes, almost too pretty for the rough and tough boy you try to be. you are a sweet soul. trying to be big, trying so hard. your silky red cape flying behind you as you climb mountains and fly space ships and hunt tigers in a jungle of lilacs. you, my sweet boy.

thank you for being with me in the inbetween. for calling me to the now.

zooming.

may is a month of hope. it is warm. the sunshine is more meaningful. the air is heavy, filled with growing things. the sunlight now filters through leaves that seem to visibly grow by the day.

life feels less fuzzy. pull back, sharpen the focus. lets look at things with new eyes.

and so life is for us these days. that cursed what-is-next question clouds my brain so i struggle to zoom out.

the big picture is one of blessed living. zoom in, the details of the day make this reality that much more beautiful. not all fluff and nonsense. this is the real deal. this is what life and living is. the big picture is God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world. the details show that reality. they are not to be missed. but how hard this is, pulling back to remember what is what, yet living in the moment and being thankful. this can leave one dizzy. or, more likely for me, one gets caught in one perspective or the other... focusing too much on the day to day i take the little moments for granted. i lose my gratitude. i get crabby. caught up in the big picture i start becoming obsessed with what is next, impatient with the present. crabby.

perhaps i need the bigger big picture to be the prominent. that of God is in his heaven and all REALLY IS right with the world. then the day-to-day automatically reflects one back to the big picture.

its all about that balance. that perspective. claiming that peace.

spring...said best by e.e.cummings.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

rainy march day

its been grey and rainy for two days now. grey. rain. my brain is foggy too. perhaps its the terrible sleep this week. we started on monday with a lovely yet completely overindulgant meal which led to poor sleep and somehow, a pulled neck/shoulder thing...bad sleep on a monday is never a good way to start the week. the babies are whining at the nanny upstairs. ayla is teething.....or something. i always say its teething but who knows, right? its the perfect whiney baby excuse.
and so.
i have been thinking. all the above realities are life. my life.
its crazy sometimes to stop and think that at 33 i am living the life i dreamt of as a little girl. babies and a husband. meaningful work. friends and family. a lovely home. all these things. stranger still to think that i am the person i was becoming then. stop to think about that a minute. you are the person you were becoming. the person that that little blonde haired girl was becoming. you are her now! i am her future!
ok, maybe i am too tired to write this out properly. but its just gotten me thinking, pondering, life direction and etc. that somehow the day feels filled with more meaning. i am living out that little girls future!
i used to trick myself into falling asleep by dreaming about my future house, my babies. what my thrilling life would be like. how i would decorate, drink tea, be spectacular.
and now. i am her. i am that woman. i have a duty almost to be spectacular for her. that little dreamy girl. to hold my own blonde girl. to laugh at my little superhero dashing around in his green frog rainboots. and loving every freaking minute of it. embrace it. live it. be spectacular.  

thoughts on mommyhood...

its amazing how quickly babies grow up...it seems just a few weeks ago i had a tiny baby bundled up to my chest...now that tiny girl is taking steps, laughing, hilarious, eating, talking...it doesnt seem real. of course, she is still cuddled up to my chest for many of her naps, she is right now. her sweet baby breath gently rising up and down, tiny hands tucked up to her big round belly, strong legs dangling limp at my side...
such a nice baby. and soon she will be one. still a baby........but on her way to being a big girl. growling at brothers dinosaur books, proudly climbing into the rocking chair and rocking back and forth, triumph on her little round face. what a girl. what a big girl.
the joys of motherhood kind of creep up on you, dont they? you never wouldve guessed how amazing a tiny body feels, pressed up against yours in a hug, little round cheeks to kiss, that sweet sigh that little boys make when you kiss them in their sleep. god i love that. all of who i am means nothing...but to get to hear that sigh...that is my triumph.

on haiti

By the poet Kalamu ya Salaam

Iron Flowers

sluggish, semi-stagnant
the water in Haitian gutters,
small gullets, trickles green sewerage green,
here even the dirt is poor
and there is cloying dullness camouflaging even strongly persistent colors  
in squared, white-walled cemeteries
funeral flowers are made of painted iron
i see no roses rising through this Port
Au Prince poverty  
i hesitate to take pictures
it is like thievry
almost like i am stealing precious light that
these, my brothers and sisters, need to live

*   *   *   *   *

Tomorrows' Toussaints           

this is Haiti, a state           
slaves snatched from surprised masters,           
its high lands, home of this           

world's sole successful           
slave revolt, Haiti, where          

freedom has flowered and flown           
fascinating like long necked           
flamingoes gracefully feeding           
on snails in small pinkish           
sunset colored sequestered ponds despite the meanness           
and meagerness of life           
eked out of eroding soil           
and from exploited urban toil, there           
is still so much beauty here in this           
land where the sea sings roaring a shore           
and fecund fertile hills lull and roll           
quasi human in form            
there is beauty here           
in the unyielding way           
our people,           
colored charcoal, and           
banana beige, and           
shifting subtle shades           
of ripe mango, or strongly           
brown-black, sweet           
as the suck from           
sun scorched staffs           
of sugar cane,           
have decided           
we shall survive           
we will live on            
a peasant pauses           
clear black eyes           
searching far out over the horizon           
the hoe motionless, suspended           
in the midst           
of all this shit and suffering           

forced to bend low           
still we stop and stand           
and dream and believe            
we shall be released           
we shall be released           
for what slaves           
have done           
slaves can do            
and that begets           
the beauty            
slaves can do

wintry impressions...

The sky is white. The color of the snow. The whole world pale. Trees puncturing the whiteness, frail and faint. The winter fog laying heavily on barns, trees, and fenceposts, coating everything in a white film.
I drive. Past familiar country roads. Past broken down tractors. Past little farmhourses, chimneys bellowing smoke. Cows mellowed under the foggy influence.
My brain drifts. Brought to reality only by sleepy little voices. Requesting apples, toys fallen on the floor, a new song on the radio.
My soul aches. Longing. Hazy desires, unmet. Many, oh so many, have been met...and yet...I long. Soldade.
I am restless. Driving this road. I want to keep driving. To see where it takes me. Let the fog and haze envelope me. So comforting, that presence, pressing down on all sides. Like a blanket after a long day, caressing my cheeks, softening reality. Afterwards, blue skies of Minnesota winters feels harsh, the sun a cold bright light.
Give me soft grey. Let me stare at distant forest lines on the horizon and dream. Without words. Soft thoughts, impressions, as the trees are softened by the mist. Dreams that beckon.
Dancing children. Dusty streets. Vendors shouting. Jungle sounds. Sunsets over the desert. Clear blue lakes. Aqua seas. White beaches. Cobbled streets. Laughter echoing as the stars come out. Calls to prayer. Silence shattered by the crackle of gunfire.  Crops growing in moist fields. Mist over rounded islands, jutting out of the water. Oh, an infinite number of places, faces, tongues. Oh, to venture into the unknown. To become one again who is now buried and forgotten. The brave. The strong.
And yet. Oh, how the present self is stretching too. Feeling skin settling onto tired bones, that still reach to hug and caress. Finding voice, becoming more than ever conceived. Learning to speak again, this language of motherhood. Expressing the inexpressible joy. Bathtime squeals, two fuzzy heads bent over books, dishes cleaned, sleepy sighs, rising bread.
New self emerging from the fog. Rubbing eyes, blinking in the sunlight, yawning, stretching these new muscles. And now, strength pulsating into eager limbs...running down the present path, into the unknown.