The Monarchs

It's no secret that I love butterflies and fairies, so of course I've shared that love with the boys.

Last Spring we were at my mom's friend's house and she had a lovely Mexican Milkweed plant with monarch caterpillars munching away.  In the background along her wall and fence were gorgeous green chrysalises adorned with gold specks.  I fell in love, while Z peeked around and fell in love with her cats, Butterball and Loki.

My mom called a local garden center, The Great Outdoors, and waited until they had some Mexican Milkweed in their nursery.  We were stoked and headed down there with the boys.  They only had a handful left so I got one yellow and one orange.

We headed home to plant them after wondering around the gorgeous plants, discovering friends from the park while meandering, playing near and feeding koi in their awe inspiring pond, and admiring the wind chimes that are as big as a small car.

I put one in the boys' garden and one on the side of the house.

We lovingly tended to it all summer long, and awaited the return of the Monarchs as they migrate from up North through Texas on the way down to Mexico for the winter.  It's an amazing sight to behold during October as thousands upon thousands of monarchs flutter through town and stop to chow, pollinate our lands (thank you Monarchs!), and lay their eggs.

Since the Mexican milkweed is their host plant, and they loved all our other flowery plants, several came by and hung out in our garden.

This was the day after Z's fourth birthday, October 22

I was careful not to water the leaves as the eggs were delicately placed under them.  We kept vigil, eagerly anticipating the caterpillars and soon enough, the plant was crawling with them.

We watched them grow and grow, getting fatter and fatter, until one day most of them had disappeared from view and had built their chrysalises.  A few died, and we lovingly buried them in the garden.

Instead of looking the cycle up, I thought we'd just observe like the scientists and existentialists that we are.  Every day we headed out to see if anything had changed.  

Then two Sundays ago our first big freeze was expected.  

I figured that Nature knew what she was doing.  She always does.  We usually have really cold weather by now, so rest assured, I headed out to soak the gardens and my plants so that I could cover them later, as usual.  

I noticed a monarch struggling on the ground.  

My first thought was, "Aaaw.  He looks hurt or sick."

Then, "Why is there a monarch here in December?"

I got down closer and saw his wrinkled wings and immediately knew what just happened.

This precious being had just birthed out of the cocoon.

All I could do was pause in awe.  And remember what an amazing journey had just taken place right in our yard.  There are miracles everywhere, but this one seemed so special, since we had watched and waited for over half a year, patiently expecting it.  I love Jena Strong's words about the metamorphosis process.

After a few moments I called for Z to come witness our blessing.

He ran outside and I asked him to gently put his hand out, and let it crawl on if it wanted to.  He was so eager, but so patient, and he did as I asked him to, and lo and behold, it did.  He was just giddy with excitement.

I explained that our first huge cold front was already on it's way, and the butterfly is ready to fly south, but it has to grow first.  I pointed out it's still crumpled wings, and then decided to witness the miracle, instead of talk about it.  There's always time for that.  It fluttered to the ground where I asked him to help me place it back on the Milkweed and it could finish the expansion process from there.

Before we knew, it had fluttered off, to continue it's journey.

I stood in awe the whole rest of the day.

Every day, we are born and reborn, so many times, in so many ways, in constant flux.

We grow, transform, expand, and spread our wings and fly when it's time.

We are the cycles of nature.

When we pay attention to nature, we are paying attention to ourselves and what we need.

I am so grateful that we witnessed it all.  Every single step of the way.

Gorgeous wrinkled wings, expanding and growing every moment

Z loving the Monarch

"Look, Mama, he loves me!!!"

  

Love = Attention

Mama and Z riding the ferris wheel together at the Christmas Fair

In the last several months, and especially the last several weeks, Z has said "I love you" with increasing frequency.  So much that the last few days I really paused to reflect on it.

The other afternoon, I noticed that he does it especially when he knows that he has my full attention.  He feels my presence, and we are doing things together, not just side by side.

It's also his way of expressing gratitude.  He's saying, "Hey, I'm glad for this, right here.  I love you.  Thank you for being here."

He says it when I am listening to him, taking into account his point of view, and not forcing feelings or my point of view on him.

It comes out when I respect him, and his space, and allowing him to make his own choices, and learn through mistakes and trial and error.

He utters it when he knows that I see him as his own person.  Not just a son, a brother, but Z.

He says it out of the blue.  Out of pure love.

This shows that love really is attention.

I love this boy more than the universe.  He has my heart in his hands.

Beef Stew

Grandmother gave me many gifts, which have been handed down for generations.  Simple family secrets about how to nourish your body and soul.

I imagine that every mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother before her passed them on by silently working side by side with every future generation, whether they were paying attention or not.

They are a part of my soul.  They are in my blood.  They are who I am.  They are who my children will be.

One of them arrived silently the first time I made beef stew all by myself.

She had written down many recipes, had given me her recipe books, and prepared many Sunday dinners as I watched from below.  As a child, she never told me the recipes, but she guided my young hands, and showed me what to do.  I can't say I recall any measurements, much less seeing her measure much of anything.  She just knew what to do.

I heard many a story about her mother, and Grandfather's mother, and the mothers before them, as they grew up in the countryside of Arkansas.   It was where Grandfather said, "you never knew where the depression began or where it ended."

She grew up on a farm, her father gone most of her earliest years, sick with tuburculosis.  As the story goes, he snuck out of the hospital and she was conceived.  Blondie Raye was born in a blizzard on Valentines Day, in a small home on in the mountains, into the hands of a thirteen year old girl, as her young older sister sat nearby.

Her life began the hard way, as future generations didn't.  They killed their own food, and canned, and froze goods for the winters and future seasons.  She struggled and treaded water most of her life.  Grandfather worked in the family's Gowens General Store, and eventually together they ran the Rainbow Cafe before they set off to make a life of their own.

She carried every secret with her on how to make good country food.  She knew how to improvise, and make something out of what some would see as nothing.  She probably baked thousands of cobblers, cakes and dinner rolls.  Stirred countless beef stews and chilis.  And when it was time shared it with me, her only grandchild, a the female, born of one of her two sons.

Before I had children, I could burn cereal.  Baking was another deal altogether though.  I luckily had that gift from early on.  But, after getting pregnant I decided I had to learn how to cook.  Some of my fondest memories were sitting in my Grandmother and Nana's kitchens.  They always smelled like food, home cooked meals three times a day.  I wanted the same for my children.  I love that they can sit side by side as I make hearty, healthy food to nourish us.

So a few years ago I decided to make beef stew.  The hard headed woman that I am I decided to take it on alone, and see what I could pull off.  I gathered the ingredients, searched a few recipes to make sure I had it all right, because I had no idea about the spices.  I always figure the simpler the better.  I wanted to surprise myself, and her.

Stew meat, carrots, potatoes, onions, beef stock, pepper, salt, rosemary, parsley, and corn starch sat out on the counter.  I browned the meat, added the spices and stock and simmered it about an hour.  Just before the timer went off I thickly sliced the carrots, potatoes, and onions, and prepared a few teaspoons of corn starch to pour in.  There were no measurements, just the thought of getting it just right.  I simmered it about another hour and during that time the kitchen smelled like my Grandmother's home.

I haven't ate meat in years but decided to taste it.  Somehow, the recipe was in my bones, in my blood, and I had pulled it off.  I made Grandmother's stew.

That's how so many of our gifts come.  Invisibly, silently, handed down from heart to heart, hand to hand, full of love.  They are given when we aren't even looking, and aren't sure we're really paying attention. Then one day, we look up, and they are there right in front of us.

It reminds me to be careful of what I do and what I share, because it will linger for generations to come.

Last night, on a cool Fall evening, we sat down around the table, and all my boys shared Grandmother's stew.

Thank you, GG.

What are some favorite gifts passed down to you from generations ago?

Hang On

Getting two kids out the door isn't the easiest task.  

Sometimes, Bodhi is just adamant about following me around, and not being left to play, while I am getting us ready.  Yesterday morning was no exception.  I was almost done, so I whizzed by and said, "Just a minute, honey.  Hang on."  He stood at the gate with my keys in his hand, trying hard to get out. 

Something else came up.  Doesn't it always?

"Just a minute, honey.  I'm sorry."  He screamed and banged on the gate.

I decided it wasn't fair.  He had asked politely by calling my name for attention.  He fussed.  Then he screamed.  

I opened the gate and he rushed to the door with the keys in his hand and pretended to use the keys on the doorknob.  He peeked back at me with a huge grin that said, "Do you see what I did?  I figured it out!  I know what to do with these keys."  

So we sat for a few minutes playing with the door.  

There's always a few minutes.  I know this, don't I?!  We've got all the time in the world.  I am so grateful to be a home with these boys, and able to give them a few minutes when they ask for it.

When I can "give my full attention when the request comes", as Myogen Steve Stücky reminded me a few years ago, life is much happier around here.  I would have avoided Bodhi being sad and frustrated, me feeling stressed, and above all taken care of what was most important.  

What is right in front of me is always what's most important.  

Hopefully, I will always give you those few minutes, because your requests are so simple.  And even if they're more complicated, that's okay too.

Listen

Yesterday was an epic, repetitive battle of the butting of heads for me and Z.

It began when I woke up and realized I forgot to buy coffee for the morning.  That's pretty much a tragedy, which started the whole day off on the wrong foot.  (Damn you, coffee addiction.)  It didn't help that Z just wanted to mess with Bodhi while I fixed the snack they wanted, which pretty much nixed me doing any morning Yoga at all.  Strike two for me.  I had to almost drag Z into the truck for a coffee run.

As soon as I had my warm soothing sweet mocha in my hands, I asked Z if we could start our day over.  By then I guess I had been so much of a jerk, that his reply was an automatic and stink-eyed, "No."  I took responsibility for my jerkishness and decided I wasn't going to let our day continue like that.

I am not quite sure where things went wrong, but through out the day, we kept butting heads.

He'd knock Bodhi down while looking me in the eye.  I'd respond all wrong.  He'd do it again and I'd yell.  He wouldn't get ready for the pool.  I threatened not to go.  Wrong, just wrong.  Over and over.

My poor mom was there to witness our mini-epic battles of our wills.  She had packed such a beautiful lunch in a cooler for our pool trip, so I was determined to go enjoy the day.  Attitude be damned.  Or so I thought.

We got to the pool, and being 100 degrees outside, I was hot and flustered and still annoyed.  At least I'd have help and he'd get to play with Grandma, while I wandered around with Bodhi.

I swear, between the heat, and our strong-willed nature Z and I were just not seeing eye to eye.  It's supposed to be me who lets it go and does the right thing.  You know, the whole "be the change you want to see" attitude.

The whistle blew and it was time for a break.  He knocked his brother down for the last time, I had decided.  I took the opportunity to pack our stuff up and leave.  We'd been there for hours, enjoyed our picnic, Daddy was about home, and honestly I was done.  He didn't want to leave.  By then I was afraid if I didn't go the day would end worse than it began.

We got to the truck, and he started saying bad words, just to piss me off.  I responded by screaming at him.  I was so angry I didn't care.  It wasn't about power, it was about pure unadulterated anger, seething, with the hundred degree weather adding to the steam under my collar.  We yelled in the truck as my mom tried to make the peace.  I almost wanted to yell a her to stay out of it, but I looked back and saw her heart breaking.  By then, all thoughts of peace were a distant memory.  I decided to try and be quiet.

Gladly, the ride home gave me some time to simmer down a little.  I promised him food, we sat down to eat.  Grandma headed out and I took the boys to the bath.  By then, I was trying my hardest not to be fake, but also not to be a jerk, so I said as little as possible.  He felt me, steaming, and didn't even mess with his brother until we got out of the bath.  I asked him to sit in his room, okay, I made him, before I lost it again.  I was determined for us to cool off.

Finally, he came downstairs, and I went to take his brother to bed.  The whole time, I was dreading putting him to bed.  Then I walked out of the room and saw that Daddy had beat me to begin putting him to bed.  Whew.

He called for me to read him a story.  I decided to take my armor off and surrender.  I lay down and we made eye contact.  We both felt the sting of our tired defeat.

I asked him, "What happened today?  How can we make this better?  What did I do wrong?  Be honest.  Tell me the truth, please."

He replied very quietly, "You didn't listen to me."

I asked if he could tell me how.

"You make me drink water when I'm not thirsty.  You made me go when I didn't want to go."

Tears swelled in my eyes.  He was right.  Not only did I not listen to him most of the day, I didn't trust him to meet his needs.  I wasn't showing him respect, and he wasn't showing it to me.  Many moments of how I didn't listen flashed in my mind.  (Well, besides it being a hundred degrees, and wanting him to drink water, that was a talk for another time.)

I asked him if we could hug and kiss and start our day over today, and tomorrow.  He smiled, hugged me tight, kissed me, and all the frustration melted away.  I should've done this earlier, I thought, but anger can get the best of me sometimes.

I told him, "Let's work on using the word listen with each other.  If I'm not listening, please remind me.  If you're not listening, I will remind you.  Let's make it that simple.  Okay?"

"Yes."

We picked up A Light in the Attic, and read poetry until his eyes got heavy.  We said goodnight, and I sang and tickled him to sleep.  By then, I wasn't angry, but felt remorse.  I watched him sleep a while before I slipped downstairs to watch a movie with Daddy.

Today is a new day, and we've begun again.  We've already reminded each other to listen, and I've written the word on my hand.

The least I can do is listen, and really pay attention to him, and my anger when it arises, and let it burn off appropriately.

I am grateful for his honesty.  I am grateful that we can talk.  I am grateful for this beautiful growing boy, that teaches me to pay attention and listen, even if it takes me all day.

In The Moment

Sometimes I have a hard time staying in the moment and paying attention to what's in front of me.

My mind is often pulled in a hundred different directions.

Most moments are fleeting, they only last a second or two, 

and we can miss so many when we aren't paying attention.

The interesting thing is,
my mind is the only thing that tries to bring to life what isn't there.  

What doesn't need my attention.

I have a way to help me stay present, in addition to sitting on the cushion. 

Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's easy.  All I have to do is remember.

When I'm watching Z and Bodhi play, a smile pass their lips, my name being called, 

I can center myself by meditating on what's in front of me.  

I can breathe in and out and say to myself or aloud, especially to Bodhi,
"I am watching Z play."  

"I am chopping carrots.  

Feel the smooth hard skin and knife as it pushes through.  

Listen to the knife hit the board.  

Watch them fall.  

Smell the earthy fresh fragrance of newly pulled carrots.  

It tastes so good.  

Want one?"  

"We're walking upstairs.
Let's change your diaper.

I'm laying you down.  

I'm taking your diaper off.  

I am putting on a new diaper.  

Let's go back downstairs."

The funny thing is I learned mostly from talking to the boys.  

I always try to describe the world to Bodhi, as I did Z when he was a babe.  

I still have to help Z find the words or notice his feelings.

It helps me just as much as them.

It helps me not make the situation more than it is, as I often can.
It helps me to not focus on what I don't need to be doing or thinking about.

It's funny how often I find myself noticing so many feelings and extraneous thoughts.

It feels good when I give my full attention, which is giving all my love.
It's the best gift I have.

What Gets My Attention?

I have to pick myself up and dust myself off.  Sometimes, again and again.

I've been in a funk lately and having a hard time pulling myself out of it.

There's no time like now to ask myself what needs to change.  Some things take a ton of my time, some only a little, but lots of little things can add up to a lot!

Lately, most days I feel pulled in a hundred different directions and spreading myself thin.  I'm not a great multi-tasker.  It does no one any good.  How can anyone give their full attention to more than one thing?  It's hard with two children.  Harder than I ever imagined.

I also get overwhelmed when I think of all the different hats that I wear.  Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing 20 hats at once.  That's enough weight to pull anyone down.

I am working hard, paying attention to where my energy goes and what matters.  If I add the right things to my plate the rest won't fit.

Noticing it is the first step...

I'm pretty good about following my daily rituals.  My little pauses bring such gratitude to our day.

I'm always learning how to connect with and guide Z, and Bodhi, and give my full attention.

I'm trying to breathe and think before I speak or yell.  Sometimes it happens so fast!

I'm getting my butt on the cushion every day.  Even if my name is called, I figure five minutes is better than no minutes.

I want to make a little art or create something fun everyday, with myself and with Z.

I'm slowly taking more time for myself here and there.

I'm slowly learning how to ask for help.

I'm slowly learning how to let go more and more of the things that don't matter.

I'm slowly diving further into the things and people that do matter.

I'm slowly learning how to let go of others' judgements, sooner than later.

I'm unsubscribing more and more.

I'm checking Facebook and e-mail less and less.  

I'm leaving my phone inside or in the other room.

I'm stopping reading so many damn parenting articles.  (By the way, up yours, Time Magazine.  I am just a mama.)

I'm going back to reading more offline than online.

I write only when I have something to say to or remind myself.

I want to write more letters.

I want to journal more.

I'm thinking about who I spend my time with.

I'm working out ways to spend more time with each of the boys alone.

I'm thinking about how to spend some time alone with Daddy.  I can't even remember the last time we hung out without the kids.

I'm my harshest critic and I need to be more kind to myself.

In the words of the beautiful Karen Maezen Miller, "Attention is the most concrete expression of love.  What you pay attention to thrives.  What you do not pay attention to withers and dies."  

What are you paying attention to?

Attention

"Attention is the most concrete expression of love.

What you pay attention to thrives.

What you do not pay attention to withers and dies."

Karen Maezen Miller

I read this every day.  

Sometimes I need the reminder.  

Even if this truth right in front of my face.

I Try to Remember

I love and adore my kids but I can get frustrated.  Babies, especially require a lot of attention and most moments and days I am willing to give it all.

Staying at home with them means that I have 24 hours and 7 days a week with the boys.  And to top that off, not that it's bad, but I haven't spent time away from Bodhi since he's been born.

I wouldn't trade being with them for anything but I get very little time to do just what I want worry free.

There are times when I think, "Geez, just give me ten minutes...!"  Ten minutes without being 100% aware of tiny beings, holding a tiny being, being jumped on, followed, worrying about what Z's doing, or being asked to do something.  At least sometimes Z gets absorbed in playing when Bodhi's asleep or (gasp) they both nap.

Sometimes it makes me antsy.  Can you dig?

So there are a few things I try to remind myself of when I don't want to slow down and give the attention that Bodhi needs.

When I get frustrated that Bodhi doesn't want to be set down,
I try to remember there will come a time when he won't want to just sit still with me.


When I get frustrated that Bodhi won't just sit and swing when I'm cooking,
I try to remember that one day all he'll want to do is run off.


When I get frustrated that Bodhi doesn't want to sit in one spot with me,
I try to remember that sometimes I don't either and he's just asking for a little help to see the world.


When I get frustrated that I want to do something and Bodhi begins to fuss for my attention,
I try to remember that one day he won't ask for my help.


When I get frustrated that Bodhi does anything I'm not in the mood for,
I try and consider that it's me that's the problem, not him!


Now, Z?  Well, that's a whole other story, as well as the inspiration for my reminders.

I Don't Want to Rush

"If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made… How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?"

How often do you actually "stop to smell the roses"?  

We do often.  

Having kids reminds me to do this more often than ever before.  

I think it's important to take time to see what's in front of us and pay attention to simple joys and things. I hope to teach my children that they can and should stop, linger, see, hear, smell, taste, feel what's in front of them.  

Don't rush past it.  

Don't always be in a hurry.  

Make the time.

There is enough time.  

There's always time.  

I don't want them to miss what's in front of them, like the people in this video.  They couldn't take five minutes to listen to the beautiful music?  I wonder why.  It makes me sad.

Children notice the most simple and beautiful things and they will bring you into their world.  

I am grateful for my children who remind me to stop. 

Look and pick up that beautiful leaf.  Talk about it.

Stop and watch the lights twinkle.  

Smell the dinner on the stove.  Observe how it sizzles and pops.  Let your mouth water.  Taste it.

See how they rearranged the magnets.  There's a whole world right in front of you. 

Play with your shadow.

Just watch their face.

"Be here now."

Last week I wrote a note above my kitchen sink, where I spend plenty of time.  

It says "STOP.  Say yes."

Yes, I think I will.  

Through His Eyes

As a parent it's easy to get caught up in what we think we need to be doing.  It's easy to get frustrated at the "mess" that surrounds us every minute.  Of course thoughts pop into my head then I try and see it through his eyes and really needs to be done -play together and give him my attention.  I am eternally grateful for being taught to slow down, be in the moment and let things go.

I see the carpet needs vacuuming.
He sees confetti, sparkles, and color everywhere.

I see toys thrown off the table and they need to be picked up.
He sees the earthquake.  It's there on purpose.

I see twenty books on the floor.
He sees choices to sort through.

I see five ornaments clumped together.
He sees "friends".

I see a deathtrap on the stairs.
He sees a mountain racetrack.

I see marker all over him.
He sees Mad Tiger.

I see filthy tub water.
He sees an ocean of possibility.

This is why I let it be and clean when they go to sleep.  Yes, we pick up little by little together too and I get some stuff done bit by bit.  But making the mess is way more fun than demanding a perfect house from minute to minute.  We're all the happier for it.

And like magic we start all over again the next day.