angelbirdflies

SWING!!!!

The verdict---- WHAT WAS I THINKING!

Okay, Bodhi and I began a new school year and Bodhi is in a new classroom, mine, and we both have very turbulent feelings about it. He is having a hard time adapting to the rhythm, transitions and newly defined role of student/teacher/son/mom. I too am feeling ambivalent, uncertain if this is the best choice for my son/student. The classroom is looking beautiful and the students began arriving this week. There is a lot of NEW in our lives right now.

Okay, Owen began a new school year at a new school this year and he LOVE'S it. So far they have gone looking for crawdads, played loads of games and are planning a three day camp trip (not optional) in two weeks. They are given a lot of responsibility and freedom, which translates into respect for and from a nine year old boy.

Bodhi and I made a lovely lavendar batch of play-dough. I then showed him how to roll it out with a rolling pin. I left him rolling, or kind of rolling, attired in his favorite summer wear- nothing. A few minutes later he handed me this perfectly flat piece and said, "LOOK MOMMY!!". "Wow, Bodhi, did you roll that out". "No mama, I'll show you." Then he placed the play-dough on a table, stepped on it once to slightly flatten, then sat his bare butt on top of it and bounced up and down smiling before standing up, pointing at the flattened bit of dough and beaming up at me, "SEE MAMA!". Well there's more than one way to roll out your play-dough. If you'd like to try this out on your favorite little person, here's the recipe, however beware of working in the nude: Play Dough (stove-top recipe) -best texture and lasts for months when refrigerated in an air tight container. 2 cups flour 4T oil, scant 1 cup salt 2 cups c...

Grief is defined as a deep or intense sorrow. I have been thinking a lot about grief, about it's wide and sticky reach, about the watery quality of it's absorption and the agonizing effort of swimming to shore. Intense sorrow happens. It is a part of life. Yet we press against it. We try to eradicate it. How? We encapsulate our grief in a story, thus effectively removing us from the immediacy of the pain. The mind promises salvation and begins to tell a story, over and over and over. We listen to the inner ramblings, the constant diatribe, the neurotic attempt to avoid the experience. When someone is hurting we listen to their story, we talk about it, we recount our own story, but we certainly don't jump in the waters of sadness, instead we sit on the bank of our familiar longing. Once, when I was floundering in deep grief, my youngest brother knelt next to me and held me for over an hour. He didn't speak. He didn't commiserate. He just jumped in the ...

Bodhi just said, "Behind my Mama, there is a girl". Yes. I love that kid.

So I came home from a weekend laughter workshop (amazing and I will tell you about it later) and the boys (aka. Papa, Owen, Bodhi and Owen's friend) had been to the thrift store buying up used sheets. These were promptly handed to me with the enthusiastic directive, "We want an Ali Baba tent!" to which Bodhi added a cadence of "fort-fort-fort-fort-fort". After a short sewing session we had the first room....apparently there will be others in the near future. Ooh the work of a mama is never done.

Oh what a difference a day makes. Yesterday we were hamming it up at the aquarium And today... ...the boys are sick in bed...well Owen is sick in bed and Bodhi has contracted a case of sickness envy so we moved his doll bed into Owen's room, where they are now lying, reading, nibbling grapes and being watched over by their canine angel Maya.

What do we do when the person we imagined ourselves to be doesn't really match the person we are. Well first things first...pine, pine, pine. I often see myself as this very creative mama and imagine that somehow the artist will take over the course of my life, illumining the shadows with her palette of colors and directing the drama with an eccentric flair toward wide horizons. I find myself all too often agonizing over the unfulfilled details, the unfinished canvas. And then...the ludicrousness of the situation dawns and I look around and see that there is a beautiful life right in front of me, not nearly as glamorous or outwardly affirming, but beautiful still. The distinct awareness dawns, "THIS is my life" and I can choose to continue a subtle war of resistance or can open to it, become curious and inhabit the unique experience that is mine. It is hilarious really. We continue to resist our own beauty on the pretense that it isn't enough, and thus we block the e...

Huh? Never had 'em. Now I do. Not sure how I feel about em. But there they are.

This kid!!! Bodhi has adopted a staged smile whenever a camera pulls into view. See what I mean?

And we are all glad to see him.

Move over Jackson Pollock Bodhi is home and every surface of the kitchen and laundry room is covered with fabulous, colorful creations. After an hour of painting with temperas, we brought out the shaving cream and food coloring. This is always a perennial favorite. You simply pour some foaming shaving cream onto a baking tray and add a few drops of food coloring. Soon the mixture was coating hands and arms with a squishy, laughing enthusiasm. I get it!!! We save all these fabulous artistic results, for wrapping paper and other recycled art projects. Gotta love it!

This was my garden a few days before I left, lush with beans, basil, cucumbers, tomatoes, pumpkins, flowers, lettuce, chard and more. This is the same, although sadder garden upon my return. In my absence the house was hit by a devastating hailstorm that literally stripped the trees of their leaves and laid waste most of our lush and beautiful yard. Look at the flower bed in this picture posted a month ago and this is the same bed today. I can't tell you how much sadness this inspired on my arrival. I plod through winter with the anticipation of the glorious lushness of the warmer months. It is a hard feeling to stare out at a barren yard, a ruined garden and leafless trees. And yet mama earth will revive, she always does, and I will be here to watch and wait and hope.

Bertie entertained Bodhi for countless hours telling him tales of lions and owls, and sharing insights about angels, fairies and love. At the end of our visit, my dear soul-sister and friend, Auntie Yve arrived. Our travel duo quickly became a traveling trio. Yve performed an impromptu concert with Uncle Leroy and all too soon it was time to say good bye to Farmhome and Aunt Bertie. Leaving Aunt Bertie is like diving into icy water. The warmth and peace of her abode, shrouded in prayer and buoyed by peace, are always difficult to release. But there is a time for everything and the time had come to drive home. And so with Yve as copilot and Bodhi as entertainer we set off. In St. Louis we took a break to explore the famous arch and enjoy the view And after twelve more hours on the road we were home.

When I was a little girl, Aunt Bertie and Ma would take us on long walks down the lane and into the magic forest. A wood full of fairies and elves, vibrating with magic, fun and possibility. It was such a treat to get to explore the same wooded horizon with Bodhi, who takes everything in with a smile and a sense of fun. With puddles for splashing, blackberries for picking, ivy for avoiding, and balloons for letting go, we had a lovely and magical excursion.

On the eighteen hour drive to Aunt Bertie's house, Bodhi and I had ample opportunity to chat, plot and plan. Somewhere between Kansas and Missouri we decide that the fairies needed to have a party once we arrived. So our second day was spent in preparation and celebration of this wonderful plan. Bodhi created some spectacular crowns with a little help from mom and we set to work making a feast fit for a fairy. What do fairies eat, you might ask, well today they enjoyed a heaping fruit salad, water melon, chocolate muffins and tea. The muffins were an adventure in themselves. Bodhi and I mixed and sploshed and labored over the batter and then preheated the oven. In a very short time the house filled with a horrid smell, which Bertie proclaimed in a matter-of-fact voice, "dead mouse". I quickly turned off the stove gagging, sputtering and choking. We drove the uncooked muffins to a neighbors waiting oven and in a few minutes we returned to an incense filled house, c...