Thursday, June 20, 2013

Normal Day

normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. 
let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart.
let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. 
let me hold you while i may, for it may not always be so. 
one day i shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

- mary jean irion

when afternoons drag on and i wish i were relaxing on a beach somewhere, anywhere, instead of sitting at a desk or trying to trick my toddler into eating spinach, i think of this quote by mary jean irion. i try to remember that my normal days shouldn't be taken for granted. sometimes they're long, and frustrating, and rainy, but my family is healthy and together. and that's what makes life great right now. we're so lucky to be enjoying life's simplest pleasures: gathering for dinner, blowing bubbles, feeding ducks, reading bedtime stories, and celebrating every birthday and holiday with too much food and too many presents. someday, i may miss today's normal.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Fun at the Farmer's Market

fresh and local
on saturday—beautiful, beautiful saturday!—we had fun strolling through our city's farmer's market. we bought flowers, ate gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—i'm talking walnut butter, apricot jam, goat cheese and bacon—pushed evie on the swings, and, embarrassingly, sweated profusely in the near 80-degree temps. (does anyone do anything profusely besides sweat?) we oregonians aren't used to heat!

i'm kind of obsessed with these new sandals i just bought for evie. (she's much better dressed than i am these days.) i like them almost as much as i liked that outrageously delicious pb and j. 

Thursday, June 6, 2013


not mommy, as in “mommy, will you tie my shoes?” or mom, as in “mom, have you seen my reading folder?” not even mother, as in “oh crap, here comes my mother!” 


a mama rocks her newborn babe for hours. she folds tiny t-shirts and socks. a mama squishes bananas and avocadoes with the back of a fork. she has a baby on her hip, and perhaps a toddler on the back of her legs.

a mama tends to be covered in undefined substances: milk, spit-up, crusty food.  she may look a little disheveled. people understand why when they see the small people clinging to her: she is a mama. her life is difficult and wearying, but there’s a simplicity, a singleness of focus, that she will look back on one day with envy.

when you’re a mama, you know exactly what your priorities are, because babies don’t let you forget.

evie calls me mama, but i don't feel much like one anymore. not the kind that squishes bananas and wears undefined substances on her clothes, anyway. she's becoming more and more independent each week. recent milestones: learning to drink—without spilling (much)!—from a cup without a sippy spout and handles; playing independently for an extended period of time, allowing me to cook a good dinner or wash dishes; picking up new words and phrases daily (mawning, as in "good morning"; oh die dosh!, as in "oh my gosh!"). 

on the one hand it's great, having room to breathe. on the other, i'm left craving the feeling of rocking a newborn, locking eyes with her and staring deep into her soul, feeling amazed by her beauty and strength and fascinated by the mysteries she brings with her from beyond. 

meagan francis is right about looking back on even the hardest days with envy. it's funny how we forget the up-all-night, no-time-for-yourself, still-in-so-much-pain-from-the-birth stuff so easily!