Notes to My Loves

 "It takes a village". We have all heard that phrase that is touted as an African proverb. I admit that when I was in the pre-parenthood phase of my life, I disagreed with it. Why would I need other people to help me raise my child? If I couldn't step up and do this on my own then I had no right to be bringing a child into the world. This young creature was my flesh and my responsibility. Period. Then I had a baby and all that "I don't need a village" crap went right out the window, along with napping, going to the bathroom in peace, being able to form a complete thought, and fitting back into my pre-preggie pants. The truth is, all across the globe, women help each other in motherhood. Villagers help each other. From the rice paddies of Thailand to the mountainous regions of Tibet. In the hills of North Dakota to the winding river Nile. Women are woven together like a maternal tapestry that spans generations and geographic locations. We rely on each oth...

Before I was a parent I judged. I judged a lot. I listened to how children whined in stores and vowed that mine would have a good “ thing coming to them ” if they dared have that type of attitude. I saw boys with shorts on during cold weather and wanted to take them home with me. I wondered what type of parent they had not looking out for their child’s skin on a chilly day. I looked at houses of friends with small children and wondered why they couldn’t see the grimy dirt on bathroom walls, or manage to keep the clutter contained. What were these people thinking? Before I was a parent, I made promises I couldn’t keep. My children would have home cooked meals each night for dinner. We would routinely bake cookies for no special reason and our Christmas cookies would ROCK! In addition,  I would make sure to not be “THAT” parent who scrounges to get last minute supplies for school projects. I vowed that my kids would be in bed promptly by 8 each and every night o...

An impish smile. Sparkling green eyes that mimic a dark mossy redwood forest. An imagination that you share with me on a daily basis.  You make me laugh, wonder, and ask questions of my own. You are a wonderful creation. One so perfect, I could not have even fathomed such a lovely creature in my dreams.  Just the right amount of timidity and tenderness. Bravery mixed with bossiness, while adding both vivaciousness and velocity. You are the sparkly pink whirlwind in my life. The small hand that clutches mine when you are scared, yet pushes me away when you are ready to explore. The artist of mine who knows what she wants, and the little inquisitive explorer of mine who asks away when her mind is wondering. You, my love, are a piece of me, but only one. For you are made of so many pieces that have been fashioned together to make you YOU. A brilliant, dazzling, mosaic of times before and those who have long departed.  You are your own girl.  Your lit...

A balm to a wounded heart or a verbal lashing to a tender one. Carefully crafted to be both inspiring and intentional they propel us to accomplish the seemingly impossible.  They are equally prideful and powerful. They can be both honorable or hateful. Calculating and cutting, they have the power to shred us. Witty and wonderful, they make our souls laugh and our hearts smile. Compassionate and carefully woven or quick tempered and flaring, they leave their mark. Quietly uttered or clanging, they are remembered. Poetic and powerful, they nestle in our hearts. Beautiful and buoyant, they are a beckoning beacon of hope. Words. Spoken by 7 billion people all over the world . We absorb them in poems. We devour them in prose. We cherish them in songs that we listen to over and over again. We buy them in cards that line the shelves on any given Tuesday. We connect to them even though they were not written by our own hand. A stranger's thoughts that mirror our own. A stranger...

There are times in our lives that we get the right picture. We capture the precise moment when something wonderful is happening. The focus is there. The lighting is absolutely National Geographic quality. Perhaps it is the award winning smile of a little cub scout getting a trophy for his first Pinewood Derby win. Maybe it is the the high note on a brass trumpet for a fifth grade ensemble, or the smile of the sweetest little girl belting out her first holiday concert in a smart red plaid skirt. These times are snapshots of our lives. They are the events that weave the fabric of our hearts. A fabric that will keep us warm long after those days are over. We can look back over those pictures and remember the moment. They bring us back to where we were when we shot that image. They allow us the ability to time travel with both our hearts and minds.  These images allow us to relive times that brought much joy and happiness in a world that is often swallowing us with sorrow and gri...

      A 'silver lining'.  The belief that even in the darkest of circumstances there is a positive outcome that will make everything better. Often when we deal with obstacles or events that just didn't go the way we planned, we cling to this proverb.     However, in this life of ours here on earth, sometimes there isn't one. There is no light shining down from the dark clouds. There is nothing silver. There is no light. There is just darkness. There is just grief. There is overwhelming sadness and confusion.  The questions bombard our brains with no answers that make sense of loss. A loss so deep that time doesn't really heal it at all. It just makes the pain throb less.      Sometimes it seems that the world is just a tad off kilter. Kind of like the lens of a camera that is just not quite in focus. A picture that is slightly out of focus and crooked no matter how many times you try to right it.      I see it in the...

The other night, little sister came proudly into the kitchen, placed her foot upon the table and asked me, "Mommy do you know what this is?" I paused, as if it was a trick question....thought about reminding her of proper table manners and then said, "Um....it looks like a purple flower you drew on your foot with marker." After a long sigh, she replied, "No Mommy, it is my IMAGINATION!" That was it. A trick question indeed and with it she captivated me. That simple word has been floating around in my head ever since. For many of us, our imaginations have long since gone silent. We can't remember what it was like at 3 1/2 to make up stories, and songs, or dare to dream. We have long since silenced the stick ponies that were ridden down the hardwood hallways clomping all the way. Our days and nights become synonymous with the old "Time to make the doughnuts" commercial. We feel the drudgery, we hear the background music to "Groundho...