Soaring and Stillness: Life with the Chickadees

Confession: I started this post on Thursday. It us now Tuesday eve and i am sitting here in the car at dance (with a pup on my lap) attempting to finish it from the iPad. It's how most of the last few weeks has gone...so I'm rolling with it. . . . . . My voice has been silent for the better part of the last few hours. (Insert wide eyes and gaping mouth expression here) In the whirlwind of the drop offs and pick ups and more drop offs and pick ups I've chosen silence. It has been glorious The chicks have been busy with end-of the-year rehearsals and performances and even a competition for the Grace Girl. I've been sewing costumes and pointe shoes and putting hundreds of miles on the vehicle. The professor? He's been illin' with pneumonia. A quarantine was issued and much cleaning done. After eleven days and an antibiotic he's finally at 50%. We've missed him. With a compromised immune system and two lives who depend on my cape-wearing anti...

In the days before Little Bit joined our world, I was the queen  of moment capturing, printing, dating and filing. The pre-digital camera days were full of snapping shots on 800 speed film with our 35mm Minolta from every angle.  As soon as the last image was taken I'd rush out to the Exchange  we were military during those years  and immediately have the film developed. When it returned, I'd promptly pick it up and meticulously caption and date the back of each picture, which would then be lovingly and immediately put into the next slot in the book.  If I had a title for those years, it would be, "I dreamed of scrapping"...mostly because I planned on creating masterpieces with the images as soon as my Grace Girl went to school for a few hours a day. Ha Ha Ha....this is me laughing at my decade ago self. I had such big dreams. In late 2003 all of the organizational photo beauty ended. It mimicked those scenes in the movies where the main chara...

When life gives you puddles... Grab a partner in crime Take a leap Hold on tightly Laugh with abandon Rest Make a big splash Empty your boots Begin afresh

Her maturity astounds me. How this girl woman at the most unexpected of times shows me how to accept what seems unthinkable and unfair and cruel. Her arms wrap all the way around me, the cap of her hair no longer nestled at my chin but at my high cheekbone. No tears are shed. Her sister, a wisp of a lass, sobs when I break the news. My grace girl?  She envelopes the little in her chest and repeats what I am already murmuring..."I'm so sorry, sweet pea, so sorry...we'll find something else, we'll make it alright... He'll make it work out the way it is supposed to..." I believe it. I believe that there is a bigger plan in place in our lives. I know I am not privy to all of the details. I trust, most times, blindly. I incorporate the trust, the belief, the letting go into my life and consequently theirs. Faith. Not that things are all going to turn out rosy, but that they'll turn out according to His plan. I'm tha...

She knows how to stand, both feet firmly planted on the floor, without the slightest movement. A picture of stillness, so rare in someone her age. My girl, the one who twirls everywhere, never skips a beat when I ask her to grind to a halt. Patient Sweet Understanding She knows the quiet concentration required; statuesque she remains. My internal dialogue is awash with frustrated tones, pursed lips, hints of anger, and an occasional word that I'd never speak out of my head crossing my brain....pure frustration for her  that at seven she's prohibited from bounding around as I try to catch the back of her frock, a normal  for most. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and she smiles gently at me. She asks, "Would you like me to find something different this morning? I can always change this afternoon...." Her baby blues showing empathy as she holds my gaze. Sigh "No, I'm almost there, only two left...", my words trailing off as I once again tac...

Overheard in the nest ... "If I was a sewing machine manual, where would I be?" "That seriously sounded a whole lot like Jonathan Edwards..." "I think he was drunk. That's the only thing that could explain it." "Get out of the toilet! Toilets are NOT for drinking out of...Now she smells like a toilet!" (in reference to the dog) "She's better than I am at piano...even if I practiced as much as she does there's really no way I'd be that skilled. But I don't care if I'm amazing at piano, so it doesn't really matter." "Mama, I really appreciate you sewing my antlers for me." "What does the ___word mean?"  My response: "Where did you hear THAT?" "How many people does it take to sew a comb on a headband? Two...especially when the Mom's hands don't work and the wearer has to hold the elastic while said mother sews with both hands. Two people. Four hands. Pit...

She needs a friend. She searches it out in me, her Mama. The one who sets the rules, makes her brush her still falling out baby teeth, tailors her curriculum, disciplines, and tucks her into bed at night. I look forward to the day where I am less parent and more friend, but that is a good decade or more in our future. She desires it now ...and it makes me wistful that I cannot yet gift it to her. For the time being, I am charged with shaping her heart. She needs a comrade to pal around with, giggle, and share secrets...with which she can be a goof. Her soul, sweet and tender, often bruised by the unkindness of those around her. She’s always been Sensitive Intuitive Reactive In one-too-many ways, grown-up before her time Being incredibly intelligent doesn’t help things; other ten in less than two weeks eleven year olds don’t enjoy better yet prefer conversations with adults or consider those three to four years older “peers”. Most of the tweens she knows are into Tiger Beat magazi...

I said last Thursday I'd back on Monday... Or, on Tuesday.... smile Because Monday? It got away from me. ___________________________ ...He was there with me. I was not alone. I mean, I've sung the perennial favorite What a Friend We Have in Jesus and read the poem Footprints more times than should be allowed by law, but coming to the realization that He never leaves me was to say the least daunting. In fact, if examined from a logical viewpoint, even a bit creepy, as pointed out to me by my then three year old. “Mama, does God watch over you when you’re sleeping?” asked Little Bit as I snuggled her into bed a few years ago. Never skipping a beat my reply was, “You betcha!” “Even when you get out of bed to go to the bathroom,” she paused “Is He there, too?” She sounded slightly nervous at this point, and I was beginning to get her drift. My response, blithely, was to the effect that she’d never need to be weary of the dark again. Unfortunately, I should have been a bit clear...