Little Pepper Feelings

She always finds Beckam's bottle.
Climbing in Ferguson canyon

Last night driving, Pepper whining in the back seat, her shrill voice scraping down the back of my head.

"Be Quiet Pepper!!"

Well...actually, if I'm being completely honest, what I said was,

"Shut-UP Pepper!"

Yes.  Not one of my prouder Mom moments.  I know I'm not supposed to say shut-up to my kids.  Somehow I thought it would get the point across better.  It didn't.
My rear view mirror is pointed at a sharp angle, so I can see both her and Beckam.
I peak up just in time to see her face melt and she wimpers,

"Mom, you are really hurting my little Pepper feelings right now..."

Home-made poncho at the REAL game.

I clamp a hand over my smile so she doesn't see it.

"I'm sorry Pepper.  I shouldn't have said that to you."

"I'm not very good at this right now, Mom.  I am not very good at being this girl."

She looks sincerely lost.  She looks out the window for an answer in the fast-wizzing world, and finding none she looks back to me.
Everyday.  She needs my reassurance everyday.
Pepper is my most sensitive child, absolutely.  Like a long, slender champagne flute, she is transparent, and easily tipped over.  She is also a beautiful vessel, and whatever liquid she holds, becomes magical.

Mom Rope

I woke up at 6:46 this morning, my feet sticking to the wood floor in the kitchen.  I looked up from my feet to find a rose bouquet perched on the counter.  Next to it was a card with my name scrawled in fimiliar cursive.  People rarely write in cursive anymore, but my husband always does.
I told him early on, 'The best gift you can give me is a real letter.'
Now we have been swapping letters for 7 years, on Mother's Day, Father's Day, Wedding Anniversary, and  Valentine's Day.

I sat with my coffee, on the bar stool, and read mine today.  I can still feel the stickiness the tears left when I read it.  He validated my work.  He told me he would try harder to remember.  He said all the things we are too busy to say.  He wrote it after I had gone to sleep.  I had to wipe tears 3 times to get through the whole letter.  I looked around at our kitchen.  It is such a common place thing we are doing, raising this family, being married.  At this counter I make waffles, administer tylenol, cut carrot sticks for Sophie's lunch.  I hop up onto it while Andrew gets his coffee before work.  We get about 5 minutes.  Sometimes he comes and wraps arms around me before he leaves.  He kisses my forehead.  Sometimes I stand arms folded across my chest and we exchange silent glances sideways.  All he gets is a curt, 'Bye.'  The door slams extra loud.  We are not always nice, and that's ok.  We have something better than nice.  We have trust.  I trust we will always come full circle.

At an earlier time, this would have scared me.  But now I can't spare the energy.  I have 3 kids to care for, and Sophie has to be at school in 45 minutes.  The cycle starts again.  Just as Andrew and I have varied degrees of patience and affection for each other, I vascilate with my kids.  Some mornings they can spill Cheerios all over the kitchen, and spend 10 minutes feeding the fish, run around naked in juggly delight, and I will just smile.  Other mornings, if Sophie shuts the fridge too hard, I yell at her,
'Beckam is still sleeping!  Be quiet!  Hurry up!  But be quiet!"
She rolls her eyes and struts her gymnast butt down the hall.  I apologize to her daily.  In our family there is a trickle down affect.  He apologizes to me, I to her, she to Pepper, and Pepper to Beckam.  Imagine if we never softened to each other.  This is how it works.  It is a series of tiny recognition, surrender and apology.  It is how the flow continues between us.

St. Patty's day spread

I was taught originally by my Mother.  She sang to me at night in her tangy voice, just small enough for a little girls ears.  She smoothed back my hair and sat with me until  I was asleep.  Now I do this for Sophie and Pepper.  It is not easy at the end of a long day, but I do it, because she did it for me.

She created magic at every holiday.  She sewed me Easter dresses, complete with a hat and gloves.  She made me a quilt with tiny pink roses on it.  I still remember the thin white ribbon she tied it with.  I got it for Christmas.  On holidays mornings, I knew there was a spread waiting.  It was SO hard to stay in bed.  All those gifts laid out looked like a shimmering lake at sunset and made my tummy tickle.

Easter spread

As an adult she taught me about a different kind of magic.  She helped me get sober.  She taught me about recovery.  She showed me the door.  Since then I have found teachers everywhere.  All around me, the trickle down is in effect.  I find the small experience I had as a child is happening simultaneously to a powerful degree.  It makes me less afraid.  It helps me let go of my own children, and trust the world of mothers.  Now I can walk far and free.  This is what I hope for mine.  I hope I can plant a love so deep that it can never be uprooted.  I hope they carry it and swing wide.  I hope they trust it to catch them.

swing wide Sophie

Thank you Mom.