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.