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Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I didn’t have much time to think about it–I was busy being a mother. But, I was able to enjoy two doughnuts in bed thrust at me by my eager daughter, and a couple of presents and cards (my son insisted on opening both of his himself).  I even received cards and gifts from the cats (although my daughter did admit to assisting Annie with the beaded bracelet–lack of opposable thumbs is a bitch).

I went through a bout of poor-me on the previous day (Saturday) as I drove around town alone, making my way through the crowds at Home Depot, Lowe’s, and Wal-Mart in my annual attempt at landscaping. I felt very small trying to haul big bags of Miracle-Gro infused soil onto my shopping wagon alone. And then, I don’t know if it was the vitamin D from the sun, or God giving me a swift kick, but it occured to me that I have a great opportunity to just be who I want to be, and maybe, just maybe I’ll show my kids that a mom can do some things that society doesn’t always expect out of her. I hope so.

So, here is to a new year for all moms, traditional and non-traditional. Peace to you all, and may you keep a healthy balance in the face of that inexorable challenge, motherhood.

This morning, a voice from the backseat:

“Mommy.”

“Yes.”

“I look like an angel.”

Today I picked up my son from preschool. One of his teachers, a woman I admire for her patience, wisdom, and strength of character, mentioned that he had struck a friend and another teacher. She was very surprised (as was I), because he’s usually a pretty level-headed little person.

I mentioned to this woman, who is always especially kind to my son and to me, that his father had moved out of our house, and that we’d had some changes, especially in the last few weeks. I watched as her face changed. I was suddenly not the good mother who had walked in the door. I could see my stock drop. And while it wasn’t pleasant, I expected that reaction from some people (though admittedly, not from this lady). What I was not prepared for was the look she then cast upon my son–a mixture of pity, sadness, and regret–as if this wonderful little boy was somehow doomed due to the actions of his mother.

I’ve struggled with the changes and decisions of the past year, and I know in my heart the right ones have been made. But I didn’t expect that simple reaction from someone to whom I’m not even really close to knock the breath out of me the way that it did.

So, I’ve spent the better part of my evening pondering the effects of those few seconds, and feeling terribly alone.

Time will pass, kids are incredibly resilient, and when my three-year-old has more words than grunts, he will certainly find better ways to express himself. However, that exchange will remained tattooed in my memory for a long time.

Today is the anniversary of my wedding.

I’m not sure what to feel.

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Why?
Say what you need to say
from “Say” by John Mayer

I feel so much better.

It is the theme of almost every new year. Take stock, clean out, reduce waste, and simplify. And it does feel good. Like the cold air that fills your lungs as you walk outside, it brings with it clarity, new energy, and just a little bit of discomfort. It’s a good, if difficult, exercise to clear the obstacles in your path; the things you’ve allowed to clutter your home, your mind, and your heart; to make room for what is to come.

I’ve been reading a wonderful collection of American literature, The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2007 (The Best American Series), edited by Dave Eggers with an introduction by Sufjan Stevens. If you are unfamiliar with the series, the proceeds support Dave Eggers’ young writers program and is actually edited by a group of the writers over the course of the year. Nonetheless, there is a quality about the selections, dare I say a clarity, that is refreshing. I recommend it highly. I imagine Eggers’ group is cleaning out their 2007 periodicals now and starting fresh on what will become the 2008 book.

In line with the theme of simplification, you may notice a new link on the page. It is to The Daily Haiku Project, a creative outlet written by Jon Culver at Auburn. I’ve long been an admirer of the haiku and how it encourages a writer to convey broad thoughts, poems, and narratives in very specific confines of syllables and lines. Give it a try! You might be surprised how liberating haiku can be.

Not unlike simplifying your life, really. Hmm. Deep thoughts.

The holidays are racing toward me at lightning speed. I can no longer feel the tip of my permanently-pressed-against-a-window nose (a gift from my father), I’ve pulled out my Peoria-coat (a story for another time), and yesterday, I paid way too much for firewood. I can’t help it–I’m a sucker for a hard-luck story.

And yet, I haven’t put up a single Christmas decoration; haven’t even retrieved the holiday-green Rubbermaid containers from the basement. I’m not sure why.

I’m usually quite festive by now. It’s not bah humbugism–I was glad to hear a quartet of tubas from the university band playing carols on the corner today. And, my 3-year old choir is clearly outsinging their 4-year old counterparts in rehearsals for the upcoming Christmas concert at church (I’m quite proud of them). I’ve even partially filled the fields in my holiday gift Excel  file. Go ahead, laugh! I won’t forget anyone, and next year, the redneck cousins won’t receive the same gift twice.

Maybe it is all the change in my life right now. All of the new decisions. I believe the majority of them have actually been made. The difficulty now is explaining them to all affected parties and dealing with the resulting consequences.

However, I need to refocus and remember my place in the cosmos. There is a reason I am here, yes. But there is a much bigger reason for the holiday.

I’m listening to Sufjan Stevens’ Songs for Christmas. It’s wonderful, and Sufjan does several versions of my very favorite carol, O Come O Come Emmanuel. And, the box includes nice stickers.

I have a student ID number. Rarely have I been so pleased to be identified by eight digits.

A poem by my friend, Doug Floyd. He is one of the most creative, curious, and downright funny people I’ve ever known. But the reason I admire him most is because of his ability to follow his dreams. Check out his blogs (he can’t be contained in just one).

Thanksgiving

This moment
A soft whistle rise from the gentleman reading his note cards.
A mother and daughters break bread together.
Someone sneezes
Someone else blesses
This moment
The lamp above my head slowly spins and sways.
Light flickers across the windows and walls.
Steam dances above the dark roasted coffee.
This moment
A young man collapses in grief, exhausted from the weight of love.
A mother and son venture out on their search for Christmas gifts.
A father wonders when, if his son will come home.
This moment
I breathe
Aware
Ever so briefly
Of the gift of
This moment.

11/21/07
–

http://dougfloyd.wordpress.com/
http://floydville.blogspot.com
 

It is a dazzlingly beautiful day today. The red and gold autumn leaves are reverberating against the blue of the sky in that almost painful way they do when you step from the darkness of a theatre into the light. I suppose part of that is me–I took another step forward today. I took my GRE this morning, and I’m still a little lightheaded and buzzing with adrenalin and caffeine.

There are two gingko trees outside my office building that have been playing games with me. You see, I have a photograph to shoot at the peak of their color (a brilliant yellow), and they utterly refuse to turn. However, I have had the most wonderful time enjoying each shade of green–kelly, lime, chartreuse–it has been a lesson in patience, in enjoying a process. Each day, I’ve picked up a leaf to examine the change in color. Each day, the leaf has been so individual, like a fingerprint. I had never noticed what strength those delicate-looking gingko leaves possessed. Despite their lacy edges and slender stems, they are tiny architectural wonders. I will actually be sorry to see them turn to their final golden color; while I can take my photos, it will mean only about a day before all of those fan-shaped leaves spin to the ground.

Another step forward. I find myself striking out at the air lately, fighting changes when I know that just makes it harder to take that next step. Maybe I’ll just take my cue from the gingko leaf: recognize that I am strong, and the wind is going to blow. I’ll just see where it takes me next.

I’m listening to Beautiful World by Colin Hay, which seems particularly appropriate today.