Aug 042010
 
…for some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don’t want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn’t the one I’ve been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next one, when we are convinced our lives will start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from that mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves and the faint odor of last night’s meandering skunk.

The Life of a Day, Tom Hennan




Today was a good day, Little Ones.


Because of our picnic blanket under the pink tree in the front yard.




Because of the colorful chalk scattered across the sidewalk, just dying to be held and used.




Because of our front porch and its space and its swing and its shade.




Because of wagon rides and laughing so hard we can’t hear ourselves anymore.



Because of quiet moments alone. Moments when I watch you and remember, That’s right. You are a whole person. Who needs some time to herself now and again. How strange and amazing.



Because of our baby insisting that she’s not ti-red. Till she’s going…



Going…


Gone.



Because of a big brother whose rapidly changing face, voice, and demeanor keep insisting that he’s ready for more. Maybe a big yellow bus, maybe a brand new school and new friends, maybe a little life of his own beyond our front yard.




But not today. Today he’s still ours.


 




Because of a little girl who makes me think: I should probably quit now. Because I will never, ever make anything more beautiful than you.










Because of a teeny one who has recently discovered that life is not fair. Because of a baby who is, officially, TWO.




Who now points at me in the midst of her fury and yells, “I SAD AT YOU, MOMMY!” And thus, the separation has begun. She has learned that not only am I not the solution to her problems, but perhaps the cause of them.






And so she flails and kicks on the Time Out stairs screaming, “I SO FWUSTWATING!




To which I reply, “Oh, sweet girl. I just couldn’t agree more.”




Because, in our family, nobody suffers alone. Although I really wish they would.







Because all three of you were in the same place today. With not much on your minds, other than each other, and your snack, and the breeze, and When’s daddy coming home? and What’s for dinner, mommy? Which is cereal and pickles, for your information.



 


Because daddy surprised you and came home early. Because I left him a message at noon and said: You gotta come home, baby. You’re missing a special day. It’s TODAY, honey. And because daddy said, Okay, I’m comin’. And he did.





And because after the squeals and the hugs and the You’re HOME, Daddys! it was up the stairs and across the porch and Me first! and into the house to wash off the dirt and the chalk and the sweat of a delicious summer day. And because of pulling your slippery bodies out of the water and wrapping you in towels and smelling your necks till you wriggle away, and watching you scurry bare bottomed through the kitchen. Chasing each other. Always chasing each other. Sisters.






We have days ahead of us, my babies. Big, eventful, memorable, important days. But there will never be one more beautiful than today.


Don’t ever forget that.


Sweet Dreams.





Happy Weekend, Monkees.







Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery on-line community on Facebook, Twitter & Pinterest


Aug 042010
 

So, we’ve decided to continue Momastery for another year, and I’m excited about that.

Many of you insist that Momastery has become a special community of women that shouldn’t be disbanded. I like that word, community. That seems like the right idea. If we are a community, then it follows that each of us is important and has a responsibility to one another. I will continue to do my part, which is to show up here several times a week and offer something hopeful, something funny, something true, something to help streamline your housework. And then, if you feel moved at all, your responsibility will be to respond. Me too or thank you or that was funny or I disagree will suffice. No need to say anything brilliant, no need to stick to the topic. Let this be a safe place where you share what’s on your mind, what’s in your heart. Let yourself be heard. Because we all know that the comments are what make this place a community. It’s the risks people take there, the relationships that are born, the stories that are told and read. It’s the chorus of me toos that comfort and inspire. Because let us be honest, bloggers are a dime a dozen. I don’t make Momastery unique. I am not a community. We are. Listen, I know you’re busy, I know it’s scary to put yourself out there, I know, trust me, I know. But it’s four am friends, and I’m here. Sodon’t eat and run. Leave comments, sign up as a follower, email me, share a poem, a song, a picture, a thought that will help the rest of us get through our day. Show us what beauty you’ve found. Each time that I do. We need it. I need it.

There was this guy who lived like a million years ago named Hafiz. He was a mystic, which means that he didn’t believe he needed religious rituals to communicate with God, because he knew that God was always holding his hand, whispering in his ear through other people and nature and stillness.

Hafiz experienced his entire life as one beautiful miracle after another. He was so excited about his big, loving God and his little, beautiful life that he could barely see straight or even speak in complete sentences. All he could do was skip around, hugging people and reciting original poetry. His joy was so boundless and ridiculous that they call him and his poetry ecstatic. I trust people like Hafiz. I’m inclined to listen to what they have to say. Because if your God doesn’t leave you awe-struck, then I’m not sure we’re talking about the same gal. Honestly, if I want to hear a list of scary rules and what horrific things might happen if I screw up and break them, I’ll just re-read my HOA documents. I think talking about God should be exciting and joyful and very, very confusing. So confusing that eventually we all give up and ask each other: Should we quit trying to hammer out the details and just hug and skip and write poetry together instead?

Anyway, in addition to being an ecstatic, mystical poet, I think Hafiz might have been a blogger. I read this the other night.


At This Party

Hafiz


I don’t want to be the only one here

Telling all the secrets -


Filling up all the bowls at this party,

Taking all the laughs.


I would like you

To start putting things on the table

That can also feed the soul

The way I do.


That way

We can invite


A hell of a lot more

Friends.



 



Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery on-line community on Facebook, Twitter & Pinterest


Jul 312010
 

Dear God,

Please help me become real. Even if the process makes me a little shabby and worn out, God. Please keep on holding me tight until I learn to love, until I become real, like the Velveteen Rabbit.

Love, G


A Psalm of Singlemindedness


by Joe Bayly


Lord of reality
make me real
not plastic
synthetic
pretend phony
an actor playing out his part
hypocrite.
I don’t want
to keep a prayer list
but to pray
nor agonize to find Your will
but to obey
what I already know
to argue
theories of inspiration
but submit to Your Word.
I don’t want
to explain the difference
between eros and philos
and agape
but to love.
I don’t want
to sing as if I mean it
I want to mean it.
I don’t want
to tell it like it is
but to be it
like you want it.
I don’t want
to think another needs me
but I need him
else I’m not complete.
I don’t want
to tell others how to do it
but to do it
to have to be always right
but to admit it when I’m wrong.
I don’t want to be a census taker
but an obstetrician
nor an involved person, a professional
but a friend
I don’t want to be insensitive
but to hurt where other people hurt
nor to say I know how you feel
but to say God knows
and I’ll try
if you’ll be patient with me
and meanwhile I’ll be quiet.
I don’t want to scorn the cliches of others
but to mean everything I say

including this.






Thanks, Wendi, for posting this poem, which made my heart sing.










Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery on-line community on Facebook, Twitter & Pinterest