Monday, October 30, 2017

Time capsule

Ferris Bueller was right: Life can move pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it. I haven't sat to write here in awhile because life does move fast. And sometimes slow. My days and hours and minutes are all used up with demands, responsibilities, work, mothering, marriage-ing, eating and sleeping, so sometimes recreational writing takes a hit. But I want to remember these days. I want this time capsule to keep filling with memories and moments that, I know, will amount to some of the best years of my life; The years with young girls who still think I am the moon and the stars.



Each Friday afternoon, an hour and a half before the school day ends, I pick up one girl and we go on a little adventure. Nothing too grand or costly, just something memorable, wherein we have a chance to talk and be together, just us two. Abby's first kindergarten teacher told me she did this with her kids and I'm so glad I remembered it. I hear what is on their mind during unhurried conversations, no competition from other voices. I see their faces and really stop to look at them in these freeze frame moments, feeling what it is to be grateful for them just as they are. These Friday afternoons are such a blessing.


I am writing. I come home from dropping the girls off at school, make a cup of tea and get to work. I research and write and review and submit and try to keep up with the steady influx of paid work. It feels very fulfilling and my mornings go by so quickly. I eat lunch with my boyfriend, I mean husband, and then I either return to my work, cross house fix-it/maintenance stuff off my list, get dinner started, or run errands. Then it's back to school to get the girls, come home for tea and funny poems, dinner, bath, bed, make lunches, yoga or work a shift at my part-time job and collapse happily exhausted.


I am remembering where my motherhood journey started, way up North. Up there, I saw some pretty severe parental neglect, some really cool hippy families living off the land, some slower-paced lifestyles and some stark tragedies that taught me the value of time with family. Amidst those memories, it seems silly for me to be worrying today about whether I am doing enough, being enough, raising good enough daughters and achieving good enough personal accomplishments. I am. Security, comfort, love, and nurturing are enough. Everything beyond that is gravy. Nearly nine years in and it serves me very well to remember what my motherhood is truly about.


Our seasonal changes have taken shape as leaves pile, harvested good sit in the pantry, the furnace is turned on and the baking increases. The baking, oh it is key. The sourdough and muffins and biscuits and cookies. Our days may be structured differently with the girls in school, Rich home recovering and me working, but the baking keeps us all fed with my own take on soul food. Leave the oven door open a bit to warm the kitchen, and let the smell of fresh baked sourdough fill the house better than any fall scented candle.



1 comment:

  1. Every parent has a different style to love their children, and we don’t have a right to judge them. I belief in 9 months we are so attached to the child that we don’t see anything other than them.

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