Be Still My Mama Heart

Kids have an uncanny way of grabbing a hold of our hearts, twisting them like a soaking wet dishcloth and watching us go limp in front of their innocent little eyes.  My kids did that tonight.  They have a way of wringing me out in this fashion when Tim is out of town.  Or maybe I slow down enough to allow for these moments when Tim is out of town.  Because I know I have to pace myself to keep all of us alive and somewhat happy.

Dude over-reacted to something his sometimes well intentioned sister did at dinner (this happened to be one of those times), so I asked him to sit on the steps to take some deep breaths and think about being more respectful.  This process brought about a deeper level of frustration, which landed him firmly in his bedroom. After Squirt and I finished our Trader Joes beef and broccoli, I headed upstairs to chat with my 8 year old darling.  I asked him to tell me what he was feeling that made him react so strongly to his sister's dancing arm movements and this is what I got.....

"Mom, I just think that was a small situation and you acted like it was SOOOOO big and I just don't care about small situations!  I'm so confused why this is so big."  Mmmm...Interesting.  I explained that being disrespectful to his sister and his mom is not indeed a small thing and that God would like us to talk about having more respect in situations like that.  He bowed his house and gave me a "Yes Maam."

Then he said, "Mom, can I please change the subject?  I need to say that I don't feel like I have control over my reactions like that.  It's like when you get sick and you just can't help it, my reactions come out like lightening and I don't even have time to breathe before it happens and then it's too late."  He was shaking his little fists and his eyes were welling up as he spoke.  My heart was tearing at the seams.  I saw a more grown up boy in my midst as he spoke and this might have been the first time I truly saw him in that light.  I responded with, "I'm so proud of you for telling me what your brain and your heart feels like and I appreciate you being able to talk to me about your feelings."  He broke down in uncontrollable sobs and forced out, "I just thought it was time to tell you."

He might have heard the remaining tearing occurring inside of me at that moment.  When I asked him if he wanted to pray with me to ask God to help us with our reactions he said, "No thank you mom.  I asked God to take away my Tourettes and He did not do it, so I just want to be able to be myself and over-react like I was made to do."

If I wasn't already on the ground friends, I would have taken that position in that moment.  I told him that I understood his frustration with God and that it was okay.  I also told him that my job as his mom is to pray for him when he feels too frustrated to pray.  I told him that he was perfect the way God created him, but that doesn't mean it's always going to be easy to be ourselves.  I told him that I over-react and have to ask God to help me every single day, something 10 times.  The power of prayer is tricky and complicated to me at 37, so at 8, I need to give him the space to question it and not provide all the answers for him.  Because I suspect he'll come to me with more wisdom on the subject than I'll ever be able to offer him.  That's the way it works with him.  My wise, over-reacting little man.

After that emotional overload, I headed downstairs to my over-compensating 5 year old angel who had single handedly cleaned the entire kitchen, without being asked.  The dishes were in the dishwasher, the table and counters wiped down and she was changing her wet PJ top from all her hard work.  She offered up her "I did that" smile and I hugged her ferociously.

Thank you for these little beings God.  Truly.      

  

Oregon Coast

My Texas friend Amy and I are real pros at leaving our husbands and children for girls weekends. Sometimes twice per year.  This year we commemorated our (23rd) birthdays by meeting in Portland for an Oregon Coast Writing Retreat.  We met in the airport, chowed on some Cafe Yum (a Portland airport hot spot) and rented a car for a three hour (turned 4 due to directions from an Oregon travel guide who knew NOT what he was talking about) drive up the coast.  We ended at an unbelievable beach house in Seal Rock.  There were a slew of other women from around the US, complete strangers to each other, but sharing beds none-the-less.  Us writer types aren't afraid of intimacy. Luckily, I've slept with Amy many a times, so this wasn't an issue for us.
 

This retreat was hosted by the glamorous, hysterical, sarcastic, constantly laughing, down to earth, legging wearing, blogging Mama of five, Beth Woolsey.  A friend turned me on to her blog and I immediately noticed this unbelievably inexpensive writing retreat via her site.  I signed up without hesitation - not sure if I even asked Tim before I did it.  It advertised lodging, prepared meals with clean up, alcohol and writing guidance for under $400, which we assumed was too good to be true. We figured it would be worth the nightmare stories if it indeed was too good to be true.  

Surprise, it was awesome and just what the doctor ordered.  14 kick ass women, all varying flavors, a phenomenally beautiful setting on the sand, gourmet, gluten and dairy free diet approved food, unlimited booze and 3 days of writing guidance, sharing, and ugly crying.  All wrapped up in a Beth approved bow, which is not your typical bow.  A very colorful, spicy bow.  

 I borrowed all these photos from fellow retreaters who thought ahead to bring their cameras.  My cheapo Cricket phone captured rather pathetic versions of these.  

 This was Amy and my favorite spot.  Can you blame us?  

 

I did write one piece while I nestled into the coziness of this retreat, but that'll be for another day.  It's way too heavy for all the loveliness noted above.  Thanks to Beth and all the other feminitas for a memorable retreat.  I'll close with a piece written by our sweet and soon-to-be-famous pod caster, Aileen.

We leave Seal Rock today. It's actually sad. I seldom do girly things and, honestly, try to avoid them mostly. But my heart is filled with morsels of sisterhood with these women. I am old enough to be mother to at least half of them. Listening to their stories and writings has filled my heart and soul with yet again another perspective and, too, with hope!

There are heart-rending stories of loss and grief. Struggles with the dark abyss of raw emotion. To these, I can so closely relate. The stories are not mine, yet they encapsulate mine so clearly. There are bits of levity that we enjoy so purely and thoroughly together. The tears and laughter have shaped a bond that we will carry from this place as a shield. We have formed a ya-ya sisterhood of sorts from our short time together.

I depart this place with my heart charged and renewed. My focus and purpose are validated. I have accepted and now own the mantle of writer. I am she!

One Whole Hand (plus a month)

One month ago, our sweet, sassy girl turned a whole hand old.  5 seems ways bigger to me than 4 and she'll attest that her maturity level increased substantially overnight.  Curious George is way too baby now, headbands stay on top of her head all the sudden, showers are taken independently, and soup is now a palatable option.  All of these things are more, simply because we're 5 now. 

I volunteered on the big day to be the mystery reader in her class and boldly brought Enzo with as an added bonus.  He didn't poop the floor, so that was a success.    

Molly joined the fam for restaurant night, Squirt's very favorite thing to do.  She has a strange affinity for eating out - perhaps she's speaking to my lack of culinary skills (or use of them at least).  Squirt got matching PJ's to Molly...simply because I anticipated the cuteness of these pictures.

 This one just speaks to my heart.  It has nothing to do with Squirt's birthday.

On to the MAIN EVENT.  Squirt requested a Frozen party, (weird and completely unique I know) so we went big.  Tim and I promise each and every year to stop this big birthday party business and we really mean it, in the moment.  Our new neighborhood comes stocked with an awesome clubhouse, free to our use.  No brainer.  

We hired Elsa (the REAL Elsa as Squirt will explain), to surprise all the littles and it was worth every single penny.  The whole thing was borderline ridiculous in how endearing it was to watch their eyes light up and see the complete awe on their faces.  Elsa was incredibly impressive - she greeted them, marked them with fairy dust tattoos, sang and danced, and read her story (she tried to read, but the 15 princesses and 1 prince filled in blanks every 3 seconds).  

 Our new prized posession - a magic snowflake from Elsa herself.  A treasure.

 In love.

 Elsa had no idea her sister Anna would be at the party.

 Even neighbor baby love got a moment in the sun with Elsa.  

 They may have knocked Elsa flat on her ass, but she smiled through it none-the-less.

Happy birthday little beauty.  We really do adore you, inside and out.