and the world rolls on

It’s been two years since I woke to a day without my mom.  Two years since that jolt of knowing her journey here was over and the days of quietly holding her hand had ended.

It’s been two years, but my heart and head are still at odds.

I can’t believe she’s gone.  I feel that reverberate in my bones then, close on its heels, Mom was finally released from her pain and is in heaven…it seems other people take comfort in that when their loved ones die, but I don’t feel overwhelming joy when I say it.  Maybe that makes me a bad Christian.  Maybe it makes me conflicted.  Maybe it just means I miss my mom.  Either way it leads me back to I can’t believe she’s gone.

Moments still take my breath away.  That scene in the movie Wonder – the one where flashbacks with grandma reveal how close the granddaughter felt to her – knocked me off my feet.  I found myself frozen in the theater, acutely aware of Bear beside me and the ache I feel when I think of her and my mom.

It’s been two years, but it feels like just yesterday.

gratitude: not everyone has a grownup tree

I’m not surprised people feel a special fondness for Christmas trees.  They’re beautiful and often wrapped in a lifetime of fond memories, family and friends and nostalgia galore.  Some of them are actually gorgeous – grown up trees with a theme and coordinated colors, ones that make you stop and gaze in awe.

My tree isn’t a grown up tree, never has been, but I surely do love it.

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this moment: intentional love

I thought it was a cute story about a mother/daughter bonding moment.  A time when mom made it clear I came first…before plans, expenses, embarrassment, or expectations…all of that ran second to my well-being.

BrightSide didn’t seem quite as impressed by my story.  Not at first, anyway.

But it’s a moment I’ll never forget.

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Carole’s birdsong

Cool and crisp,
a September breeze blows
over summer bronzed legs
as I watch the cardinals
come and go.
They time their swoops
to the crickets' song,
stealing the feeder's best seed
before escaping to the closest tree,
hiding their fiery feathers
among green leaves
as they sing their birdsong
out over the water.
I close my eyes and breathe it in,
    rustling leaves
    the cricket song 
    a bird's cry
the world's cascading symphony
as a cardinal perches,
nibbling his fill.
I recognize my mom in his graceful flight
and see her freedom
in powerful wings.
Carole's birdsong rises to the heavens,
as the music around me
soars and swells
to nature's time.  

               - ljh 9/10/17

 

20 signs (aka some really good reality checks when you’re just too tired to nail this parenting thing)

“Most of the time, I am such a mom.

I care about checking homework folders and attitudes, about making the team, the dental appointments, nutritious little snacks, and memories. I’m a multitasking mofo. I plan. I punish. I pin shit on Pinterest, and then sometimes, I actually make that shit, for chrissakes! Most of the time, I mom so hard, y’all. I’m on the ball. I read all 36 end-of-the-year emails from the PTA. I show up for all 36 special assemblies, on time, wearing a freaking bra and everything. I do. I’m a mom. 

But sometimes? Sometimes I am simply a very tired person—a person too damn tired to juggle it all.”

20 Signs I’m Too Tired To Mom – Scary Mommy

mama moments 101

Are you concerned about flunking parenting?  That you’re scraping by with a C- simply by clothing and feeding your offspring?  Do you have the nagging feeling that you, and only you, are missing the genetic code explaining Garanimals, Lunchables, and Pokémon cards?

Fear not, brave reader.  You Are Not Alone.

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Forever Family: notes for my 20-something self

Lately I’ve been thinking about my younger days.

Wedding1

See that sweet face?  (Yeah, BrightSide, too.)  How innocent, how naive…ready to go along to get along, keep the peace, calm the waters no matter what.

Well, lately I’ve been thinking about what I’d tell that 20-something me.

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SoCS – measure twice, cut once

Boy, my mama could sew.

I remember going with her to pick out fabric for a new jumper or dress, running my hand down the row of bolts, looking at patterns and colors for something I’d love.  We didn’t have a lot of money then so Bee and I had to be sure before we made our final picks – there was no turning back once mom began cutting and laying out the pattern.  No “eh, I don’t really like this after all, the blue would have been better.”

Mom poured her time and talent into making those clothes for us, though I doubt I was as grateful as I could have been.  There were always kids who had brand name jeans, but whatever…we’ll call that character building.  She’d take the scraps, too (waste not, want not) and sew clothes for our dolls.  That made them extra special to me.

So with a talented mom like that you’d think I could manage more than a hem or button, right?  Except not so much.  Not for mom’s lack of trying – I seem to recall her trying to teach me how to work the sewing machine, but I just didn’t have the patience for it.  Probably best in the long run, really, considering how accident prone I turned out to be.  If it’s possible to sew two fingers together, I would have managed it.

No, Bee got all the crafting talent in the family and, as far as I know, can run an actual sewing machine.  If you’ve ever worked with one you know this is an achievement.  They have moving parts my brain just can’t seem to reconcile.

I have fond memories of my mom, though…meticulously laying out the fabric, patiently pinning on the pattern, carefully cutting it out piece by piece.  She put her love into everything she made for us.


SoCS 2

Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays are open to anyone who’d like to participate.  Pop over and give her blog a visit.  This week’s prompt is “so/sow/sew.”