misplaced mama

It’s been four years.  That morning the heat finally broke in L.A. The air still thick, but thick with fog and dew instead of warmth and sun, and you were born. I remember I held you so tight, raw skin to skin,  massaging your back willing you to take a big breath and your daddy and I whispered to you over and over again, We’ve been waiting forever for you, baby, we love you.

I guess that’s why it doesn’t seem like a mere four years.  It’s seems like forever.  And because I believe life never stops, the body may die and our blood may dry-out and our bones crumble, the breath of life has been blown into us by the wind.  The vibration of creation is the sound our soul makes, and sound is immortal, as you and I will always be. We take on the Universe, twisting and turning and leaping into different planes of reality, and in this one, my beautiful smooth and thorny vision from the soil, I am your mama.  So do not fret over mama dying; something you have been asking me about here and there these past few weeks, with a tear in your eye, I see that you are uncovering that you are part of this life and you question it, along with the rest of us. I don’t want mama to die and leave, you beg.  Just as there truly is no real birth, no real life, there is no real death.  We are just dreamers, living this dream.  We will continue to dream on together.  This I can promise.  If you ever get lost or it becomes a nightmare, just meet me at the bright star between Scorpio and Sagittarius…you know the one where the sparkly purple and aqua unicorn hangs out.  I’ll be there waiting for you.

You are four now, big, bright girl, and things are shifting.

Lately I have been questioning my ability to mother you.  I alternate from feeling empowered to feeling like I failed.  This happens about 10 times a day.  I rise and fall, rise and fall.  I will start off this new-year with you explaining why this is happening.  I am strong-willed.  A powerful woman who usually never doubts myself or does a double take of the roads I walk down.  I have never listened to anyone who tried to get me to follow their game plan or rules. I will admit, I have spent much of my life as rebel with a cause.  And then  along came you and shook my world all crazy.  You are strong willed, a powerful girl-child who never doubts herself and chooses not to follow another’s game plan.   You make your own rules and explore this world in your own perfect way, usually naked and smeared with paint.  We mirror each other quite a bit.  And so we are close, closer than I thought I could be to another.  Sometimes I think you are the small child inside of me and this is my opportunity to heal karma by letting you be totally free and uninhibited and this is such a wonderful thought.  And regardless of how much alike we really are at the core, at the same time, we can struggle, a game of tug o war we play.  This is not something I am proud of.  I just walk my path (with your best interests in mind, so I think), you walk yours and we although we refuse to walk separate from each other, we refuse to switch paths. My aim is to get us on the same path every morning; not mine or yours, but one that we both can find joy while traveling.  I think I know what is best for you.  But in the end, you know what is best for you.  I trust that, wise one.  Unique one.  Wild one. Messy-haired, always dancing to the beats one.

I look back on this year with you and the changes that happened make suck in my breath in awe.  Last year at this time, you were just learning to connect with meanings; life, people, words, vibrations, and now you think you are the meaning of life, you are BIGGER than life, proving that you are ruler of your domain.  Last year you were still my baby, far from unattached to me, still trying to pull my shirt down and hold my breasts.  This year you are big girl, looking at me so many times a day and saying Maaaaaa, leave me be, I can do this on my own!  Your independence is refreshing. It reminds me of all I can do without validation or permission. You are so curious about everything and ask questions constantly about how things works or why things are the way they are. I am learning how to ask you more and more questions in return rather than give you answers.  I want you to explore and discover on your own.  While we drive it’s a stream of Mia’s voice chattering on… How can the refrigerator stay so cold?  Where does the water go when we flush? How do you make a bathing suit? Who made our car? How does it work? Why does the moon follow me? Why do I get scabs and why do I like to pick them? Why is my hole so tiny and my poopoo so big? Why do people throw-up? Is someone singing inside the radio or are they in a studio?

The Libra in you can perform the most amazing balancing act.  Just look at who how perfectly split you are between princess diva and  wicked extreme girl, willing to get filthy dirty and climb anything high and rugged and jump without a second thought.   I love it when I see you wandering around the yard in a frilly dress, tiara and rain boots digging for worms with a stick (not many worms in our desert ground, but soon my love, you will be running from rainy day worms) or holding your fathers tools and designing the perfect house.  Yesterday at your little birthday party, you went over to the stereo and turned up the volume and said, okay guys are you ready to rock? And then proceeded to count and-a- 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8. in perfect timing from when the introduction started and the song began.  I went over to you later and asked you what song you were rocking to. You sighed, The new White Stripes, mama, White Stripes.  Like, really, how could I not recognize what Rolling Stone called “the greatest rock band ever”.  I do not deserve to rock with you, Mia.  Never had.  Never will.  You spend your days making up songs as you go along, Maple tree!  dumdedumdum! Maple tree! dumdumdedum.  Birdies! Let’s go and sing!  Birdies let’s go and sing!  Let’s get syrup from the maple tree! Dumdedumdrum! Or my favorite kind, in your soprano voice: I love you sun, I love you moon, I love my world, I love all the people, I love sugar and I love my dogs, too. We got the flowers, we got the flowers, when the flowers turn green, they love eachother! We water them, we water them with everything and they fly upon the leaves! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! The best way to reach you has always been through song.  If I need you to do something, all I need to do is put it to a song and you will move right along. Let’s go Mia, dance, dance, pick up your bottom and prance, prance, time to leave the library/store/house and go somewhere else, dance, dance, ALALALALALALALALALALALA. Unfortunately, my voice sucks.

And speaking of rocking, your world for the first time is rocking, like a boat, not a beat.  I never thought I would see my little one stress at such an early age, but everything you have known, everything you remember and connect to is about to change.  You are moving, my love, moving to another house, another state, another eco-system.   And this is hard on you.  I am trying with all my might and love and compassion to gently guide you through this transition.  You share mixed emotions.  You hear your dada and I speak of how much this move will help our lives, help us raise you consciously in a more natural and community-oriented environment.  You are excited to get a boat, sail with dada, go watch Orca Whales and play in the snow on Mt. Baker.  Your eyes light up when I say we can have picnics on the sand, at the beach, anytime you want.  And on the other hand, you are petrified, my love. Scared outta your freakin’ mind.  And I understand this.  Home is home, and this home is the only one you remember.  You first home was a wee little apartment in a big crazy city, but you left that before you were a year old.  Since then, here has been home: Your lime green and lilac room, painted with stars and moons; the corner in your house where you will sit for hours leafing through books or doodling in a notebook or playing with your horse, the beloved Chamomile; your favorite Chestnut Park, just a walk up the street; your beloved library where we spend whole hot afternoons, digging through books and cuddling on the over-sized stuff bear claw/chair and reading until my throat is sore; your local coffee shop which makes chocolate milk just the right way for you with lots of cream; your friends, all the little ones who have grown with you, the ones you have learned to share with and how to be a gentle and kind friend to (which you so very much are); and more than anything, your family, your little cousin Sophie who has been a big sister to you, guiding you, loving you, sharing her fabulous wardrobe with you and other things that make me cringe…like Toaster Strudel, teaching you about makeup and the songstress, Hannah Montana…regardless of all that, leaving her is the saddest thing in your little mind.  Will Sophie come visit me?  And Tommy and Kristi and Benny and Anthony, too? Yes, my love, your family will all come visit you.  Nobody can stay away from your magnitude, your attitude, your bright and shiny aura.  They love you so much and will miss you as much as you will miss them.  And when we get sick of the rain, we get to come here and be with them and soak up the desert sun for little holidays.

We are moving for you, Mia.  For you and your sister and your new little baby.  It may be hard to imagine and we can’t even explain it but this is for you.  We want to give you more than what we have here (not more stuff, actually less stuff).  We want to give you a home, a place where someday when you get stressed or scared or need release; you don’t oppress it or fear it or shop it away on junk; instead you go climb a mountain and get to the top and sit still and listen to the wind.  Or to run on the beach and collapse in the sand and feel Mama Earth cradle you and let you know you are supported; provided for. This is the kind of life we want you to have.  Where we are now, it’s hard to even see the moon from our backyard.

You can do everything and anything.  Write your name.  Write mama’s name.  Draw the most amazing pieces of art of whales, and giraffes, and dinosaurs, and ghosts and cakes and my favorites are when you draw pictures of the baby in mama’s belly.  It’s always a lumpy circle enclosing a spiral that has a line (the cord) attached to it. It’s quite breathtaking. You are in love with your little baby now.  For a long time, you didn’t want to admit we were having another, but now, you curl up against my belly and whisper, hi baby, it’s your big sister, Mia, and I love you. Are you cozy and warm, baby? You still claim you want to be in your own room, hiding under covers, when the baby comes out, but I get the feeling your curiosity will bring you to where mama and dada are.  And the offer still stands: big sister gets to cut the cord.  And yes, baby may be bloody, but baby might be just a creamy white, like you and your sister where.

This morning at our Birthday breakfast for you I told you that you were old enough now to pick your Spirit Animal.

 Your spirit animal is your guide whenever you feel sad or nervous or scared and angry.  Your Spirit Animal is right by you and you can call it to come help you when you need it.  So, think about it and then tell me what your spirit animal is.

 You sipped cocoa slowly for a bit, it dripped down your chin, and you chewed your inner lip like you always do in deep thought.  Sula spilled her cocoa, but you didn’t even flinch, you kept thinking.

Finally you put the cup down carefully, wiped your mouth and looked at me with a smile.

My spirit animal is a giraffe!  A very small giraffe

A giraffe?  Awesome!  What is your giraffe’s name?

Sarah.  Her name is Sarah and she lives in my heart.  You pat your heart and closed your eyes.

I think that sounds perfect.  You smiled big at me.  Picked up your cocoa and sipped away.

I love you.  I love this person, little-big person you are becoming, or always have been, but just slowly revealing.  You are sensitive, my love.  You heart is gushy and soft.  And even though you act like a tough girl sometimes, you are as soft as a cloud.  My wish for you is that you surround yourself with people who respect and understand that light and airy softness and celebrate you, for who you are, smooth petal-like, yet as rugged as they come.  The more and more I grow with you the more I am learning how careful I need to be not to squash your soft side.  Many things make you collapse in tears and scream in opposition.  And I am seeing now that this is not ill-behavior but instead your soft side feeling stress and instead of discipline, you need love, lots and lots of love.  And girl, loving you makes me a better person.  Thank you.

Happy Day.  Happy Year.  My big girl.  My big girl with short, sassy hair that you cut all by yourself.  I could love nobody more.  Ever. I breathe in every moment and smell the miracle of you.  How did all this happen?  I am a lucky woman.

Bless up,

Mama

I may be writing too soon.  But today is the day there should be a signature penned on a contract that claims that this house will be passed on to another.  I can hardly breath.

Okay, maybe I don’t want to move.  This is scarry.  My kids, my house, my life.  For the first time ever, I have something to risk, to bruise, by taking off and moving. My children’s security, our financial semi-stability, and the lack of mold and humidit do make this place kinda attractive. I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a mama.  I should just stay…on this couch…eating cheese and watching the girls play ballerina together….

and then on the other hand…

Holy Effin Shit!  I am finally bringing my burning up bones to a place for a good long quenchin’.  I am heading down that path that presented itself to me; fearless, unattached, open to this journey. There is nothing keeping me from growing and expanding and learning more about myself and how my feet step around on this world.  There is nothing I want more than to slowly watch my children play as we wander up the coast, catching fresh fish for dinner and staring for hours in tidepools looking for slimy small shelled life.There is nothing more fulfilling right now than this health and wealth I have been given; to move and become more of me.

I hope that paper gets signed because yesterday we bought a slide-in camper, equipt with a kitchen, full stove and ‘fridge, 1 double bed and 2 singles, heat and air.  And it’s vin-tage, my friends, aka, 80’s ghettolicious.  Pretty much perfect for us and after doing a few things to it to funk it up a bit more; ripping up the small carpeted area and putting in some marmoleum (with 2 dogs and beach dwelling, I am not about to have carpet in there) and painting the cuboards a lovely shade of something and something.  And curtains, it’s gotta have some custom curtains. The girls loved it.  It cost us less than a grand and it’s just those cozy place with no distractions that our famaily needs to dwell in for a stint.

*** 

And now the anxiety has hit in.  I thought that by eating the whole chunk of double cream brie would help calm me down (I know I’m not suppose to dine on the soft cheese while pregnant but I thought it’s heaviness in my belly would just stop me from floating up to the freaking ceiling, it’s a bit crazy up there with no wings and all and I’d perfer my feet on the ground), but the cheese helped nothing and just made me constipated.   So much to do by October 8th if this deal indeed does go through. Where to I start? Breath.  Breath. Breath. Sit down.  Write. List.

Begin Packing for Big Move.  Luckily when the house got staged we packed over fifty percent of stuff, getting rid of most of it anyway.  But there is till quite a bit of organizing to do and let’s say I failed that subject in school. And Movers will be moving our stuff like a week before we actually leave…which means I will have nothing in my home while I live in for a week…hhhhmmmm. And the last time I packed a kitched we arrive with absolutely every plate broken into bits. And when I pack I tend to just sit and stare.  Into space.  For long periods of time.

Begin packing for 3-4 weeks of traveling up the Pacific Coast.  So then I have to seperate what will be needed as we three-quart camper-camp and one quarter hotel-it.  Starting out in the desert and then heading to warm southern California weather going all the way up to the damp and mistiness of our countries own personal rain-forest I am going to have to get tricky with packing for 3 different eco-systems. Organize a food supply list and girl’s stuff for entertainment while driving (art stuff? car seat trys? books on tape? travel I Spy? or screw it and let them look out the window and string cheerios on string?).

Buy warm clothes.  And rain gear.

Buy fishing gear. One of Mia’s birthday gifts is a fishing pole, actually.  Her dad and her are so excited to catch us some grub.

Buy Marmoleum for Camper.

Rip of carpet.

Install Marmoleum. 

Buy paint for camper. Paint it.  Take before and after photos. 

New eyeglasses so I can drive and not kill us. 

Order new double stroller for exploring new beach towns and get some walking in.

Order composting toilet and solar shower for the camper. 

Order transformer for my laptop so I can charge it on the road.  Writing this trip out and snapping some shots is my job this trip.  B’s is to be the full-time parent.   

Download about 1000 songs on I-Pod. 

Keep working on unofficial itinarary.  Drive slowly and stop often to play. Head to Grand Canyon for a night.  Then to Zion National for a couple more days. Then head to Southern California for 4 days, camping at Point Magu’s Sycamore Cove and planning a beach party for all our So Cal friends and family so we can see everyone at once. Then to Santa Cruz for a couple.  Big Sur and Monterey for about 3 (Make hotel reservations at Hotel Pacific where supposedly we can hear the sea lions sing all night long).   San Fransisico for 1-2. The Redwoods for an indifinite amount of time (book room at Arcata Hotel). Figure out where the best spots are up the Oregon Coast, spend 2-3 days in Portland. Seattle for a visit.  Olympic National Park in Washington where we plan on taking at least 4 days to explore.  Then off to the San Juan Islands by ferry and then by ferry again we land in Bellingham, somewhere around October 26th give or take. Ahhhh, deep, big sigh.  Just in time for the Hallow’s Eve festivities.

 Find a place to live in Bellingham.  Yes, that’s right.  We have no home there.  But I have visions of renting a smoochy little cottage with lopsided floors and walking distance to the water and downtown.  Then I guess we’ll play it by ear and allow that piece of land needing someone to take care of it come looking for us. Then we’ll build. Industrial Modern meets roots and culture. Okay, a bit ahead of myself now,  just start with what you know: pack.

***

Right before I was ready to hit publish the phone rings.

Baby? 

I don’t say anything because fear attacks me and paralyzes me.  What if….?

M? You there?

Yeah. I more breath it than say it.

They signed.  It’s a deal. 

B honored the moment of silence he was met with at my end.  I let the tears roll down and I slowly slithered to the floor and spread out like a pool of water, totally bodiless.  Relief. I was done.  I’m done with cleaning like a 50’s housewife at the ring of a phonecall.  I’m done dragging my girls out of the house in the middle of a nap or while playing so sweetly together and then throwing them in a steaming hot car just to drive around aimlessly waiting for a showing to start and end. I’m done with this heat.  I’m done with being surorunded by concrete.  I am done wishing for change and wishing for a needed earthy vacation with my family.  I am done with longing for the sea to be my neighbor.  I am done waiting.  Now I pass through the middle of this crossroads and walk the path that we have sweat clearning with our barehands.  Ah.  Blessed be this journey.

Sula, I adore you.  Some children come in the form of great challanges, like a desert thunderstorm they take over your life without a bit of warning and pound through you until you might feel like you’ll collapse. And those children open the heart and the soul in divine ways, they are a mirror to look in and love unconditionally.  And some children are just easy breezes, mellow and grounded, and they come to help us acheive that sort of surrender and peace. You, my dear, are that gift; easy. An easy breeze, not unlike the kind at dusk on the top of a rolling hill surrounded by purple and yellow flowers. That’s the kind  of a kid you are. I can learn so much from you. 

And I love you so much.

Even though today you called me A Dumb Shut-Up.

sigh. 

I know.  What a way to describe something.  And it’s not really my yoni, exactly, but the pubic area, the upper pubix, the spot where if you are into maintanence it is just a neat triangle or strip of hair and if you aren’t it’s the area that would qualify you for Big Beautiful Bush Magazine (like me).  Regardless, the bottom line: I have what looks like a package almost big enough to satisfy penis admirers of all kinds.  It’s a bulge that runs diagonally across my hair area.  It throbs, like a cock.  There is heavy blood flow to the area and it gets hot, like a cock; except that it’s not a cock.  And the throbbing hurts like hell. I mean, I have to stand on one leg to relieve pressure.  It’s what my midwife thinks is a varicosity.  Down there. How fucking wrong is that?

I will admitt, at times the heaviness and aching have been totally unnatural and unbearable.  I guess I have to give up those squats I so love with the weights.  Even my precious SweetnessSash isn’t going to cure this thing. It’s supposed to be hereditary, but my mother, who carried 7 children, had nothing of the sort. The woman never even got a stretch mark.  And now, less than 3 kids away, and I have grown a vein the size of a cocktail weiner in my groin.

After poking away at it, Midwife sighs and walks into the other room.  She comes back with a brochure in her hand.

I don’t even want to give this to you.  She says this shaking her head and holding the tri-fold paper.

She is kinda trying to swallow her smile. 

What in god’s name do I have to wear? I sensed only a horrible contraption was going to take care of this vein and only something god awful would make her hesitate in handing it over to me.

She hands me a brochure.  It is covered with the most ghastly models wearing the most horrifying girdle thing I have ever seen.  It looked like a mix between the Kotex belts of the 50’s and 60’s and a girdle for someone really trying to squash their goods all down to nothing.

NO! nonononononononono!

M laughs as doesWonderful midwife Apprentice, C.

You don’t even wear underwear!! C says to me, in sympathy, yet I can see that after a long day of prenatals this may be the humor they needed.

I pass the brochure over to Bill.

Kinky, ain’t it baby? We’ll cut a hole in it and make it crotchless.  Does it turn you on? And then I ask, Well, will it make me look skinny, at least. If I’m gonna wear a girdle it better make me look skinny.

 
And all day today I can barely walk from the pain in my vein under my pubes.  I had decided that I would not buy the girdle, named Fembrace, yet. I would wait until I could not deny this any longer.  Right now I live in pain and look like a hermaphrodite in my bikini (no offense to hermaphrodites) but what will it be like in 4 more months? Denial may be just about over.

And now I am freaked out because after a 10-day internet fast, I got back on and searched and searched for info on what this condition could bring about. prolonged 2nd stage of labor. abnormal bleeding during birth. blood clots. I have never once, not in either of my other pregnancy have felt the desire to receive any medical care (see a doctor).  But I do now.  And this scares the shit out of me.  So much that I have been putting off calling a doctor for a week.

For a good laugh on me (or to send me a pity party), log on to www.fembrace.com. Oh, and it’s still at least 105 degrees in the desert.  Won’t that be a comfy fit in the heat.

after i wrote that rant below i thought for a bit about the nerve i have to even question the Universe, like it was some kind of authority figure instead of being the very essence of what i am. 

i gave up on wanting or caring where i was or who i was with or when we were going anywhere; be it the store or another state.  it felt good to just float in this space.  i am so blessed right here and right now i don’t need another thing.  and i figured if i lived here for the rest of my long life, i’d be a lucky person.  i am provided for. my kids breath deep and we can run fast.  my cupboards are full of goodness and my house vibrates with music.  i have more than health and wealth than 80% of the world.  and for that, i need to shut up and live this life, right now.

and then at my midwife appointment about an hour after accepted these ever-present thoughts as my person truth, M is feeling my baby through my belly, and B gets a ring on his phone.  we got an offer.  if all goes well we close Oct. 10th, on the road and entering a new place just in time for my new year: Hallow’s Eve.

how humbling to just relax and be glad for what you have.  and how natural, of course, that when i accepted the long-term of my life anywhere, i get the go ahead: now you can fly.

this life sure lives.

Dear Universe,

I am not sure where to start this letter but I’ll just give it a go.

I guess I‘ll begin with gratitude. To be part of you, to be open to you, to be you Universe, that indeed is a great gift and I give thanks.  But to be grateful doesn’t always mean I don’t the have some questions. 

Like why?

I mean why for instance tonight?  After a mellow weekend of letting the kids make a mess, with markers and clay, no less, and leaving dish after dish in the sink, and then BBQ-ing and making a bigger mess, does someone call and want to look at the house?  At 7pm on a holiday?  Why?  And then of course the ritual begins.  Kids in front of a movie make my magical house selling brew (in a pot of water: whole cloves, cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods and vanilla and put on the stove to boil). I start at the back of the house and B starts in the front.  I am huffing and puffing and sweating like a pregnant pig, and then at some point we cross over and I am in front and he is in back. We double check each other.  The counters get cleared, the dishes thrown in the dishwasher along with already clean ones so tomorrow I won’t know what the hell is clean or dirty and I end up cleaning double or we eat off dirty.  The sink gets scrubbed, the windows quickly washed, the floors swept and spot mopped, the table cleaned and set.  Toys back in their homes, clothes lying around to be put away are hidden somewhere (in baskets or the dryer, clean ones mixed with dirty again, so I never know which is which) pillows are fluffed.  Mirrors cleaned.  Toilets quickly cleaned and flushed.  All lights on.  Candles lit.  Everything that needs to be vacuumed gets vacuumed.  Backyard tidied i.e. pick up Mia’s underwear and clothing thrown like a garden across the grass, sippy cups reeking of sour milk and dog crap all go). Kids dressed.  Jump in the car.  Hope that this is The One.  This time around, we barely got the kids and the dogs in the truck, backed out of the driveway and took a moment to discuss where we’d go; dog park or gelato, when the potential buyers came walking out of the house.  Done.  In about 7 minutes.  Over 1 hour of cleaning for a 7 minute showing to a woman who probably wants a Toll Brothers track house in the first place. Why?

In the whole greatness, never-ending of your presence, Universe, I understand that I am just a speck of nothingness. Transparent nothingness.  But at the same time I am intricately the same as you: I am you. And so I just wonder what this is all about. I figure if I am indeed you and you are me, then one of us must have some understanding of something, right?   I mean, we did our homework, fixed this place, and priced it right.  We buried Saint Joseph facing east (or should it have been north?) We made our goddamn board (fuck that stupid ass Secret movie. You cannot relay ancient teaching and mysticism in a low budget self-help video without it loosing the point.).  We mantra until are throats are raw everyday, feeling each seed syllable exchange from belly to throat to air.  We believe in the power of our souls dancing in conjunction with the stars.  Are we just fooling ourselves? Do you run on a non-system of utter chaos and like chips, we get tossed up and our lives fall where they may in randomness?  Or are we pre-destined?  Our lives mapped and planned and pinned down to exactness and no matter what we want we better just take what we get and follow that lead?  If change happens, does it have nothing to do with our own will? Or do we actually have a say here? My Great and Endless Friend, can we reel in what we are called to, can we journey towards the sparks reflecting in our eyes, moving and shifting our energetic fields? Be who we want to be?  Be the architects of our own life? Or are we players in someone else’s game?

Perhaps we have not learned all we needed to learn here, in this current situation of a house for sale and literally aching to move.  Is that it?  Is this some big test?    It is because we are utter amateurs when it comes to budgeting finances and keeping records in order?  Is it because we have given up too easily on this hot-rock where one of us goes to work and one of us stays home and weekly trips to the gelato shop and a quick peak into a box of sex toys get us off and a splurge here and there keeps us content and a trip north once a month to camp Pines should be just fine for us? Is it because I still can’t control my impulses and sometimes I scream really loud?  Is it because I still have not figured out when the time is right to change the oil on my car and I drive on E for days?   Is it because we have little patience for ignorance?  Is it because we think moving will bring happiness and happiness is truly only within?  And we should not crave anything or want anything ever? Or at least expect to get anything in return? I can see my issues, Universe.  I know what they are.  I like to run and run all over the place when I get bored.  I detach and run. But I am not running.  As a matter of fact I’d like to take my time and make it a long and leisurely drive to my new destination of choice.  Is it because my feet burn like embers and to breath deeply on makes me ache more to fly? But I swear, it really is only to spread some kind of seed, to deliver something in service.  Don’t ask me what yet I just know it’s time. 

Do I sound desperate?

Do I want too much?  Am I asking when I should just be giving? I am surrounded by so much love and compassion and creative energy and blessings through people and material things than most will ever see and I know that and I am sorry if I am being selfish about wanting something else.  Because I am grateful for it all.  But there was this moment, when I met my husband and we found out we had the same dreams, those dreams continued and less than a year ago we both came to each other, on the same day and said: We want to go North.  And West. And that was that.  We knew the time had come to continue with those dreams.   I am just one who sees something and goes after it especially when that something, ultimately, is a dream to serve others.  We have some plans, you know, Universe, and I know you can’t “plan” but you know what I am talking about.  Those plans were given to me through you; looking up at the stars from atop mountains and looking at people’s eyes through campfires.  I knew my path then and something about moving is that path.  I have always aimed my centaur arrow and shot the bull’s eye, the first try.  This missing the target and needing to wait thing is something new to me. And I will be honest, beyond all life plans with my partner and kids, I will admit, I live for the adventure and experience.  Some people can live 1 or 2 places their whole lives…and I see the beauty in that, I really do, and I wish I could be still, but it’s not me.  No, my feet move.  They yearn to dance from place to place. Plus there is a real live kicking baby inside our Inner Universe.  This baby needs a home, a place to come out, and a fireplace to lie down next to the first night of its life.   Time is of the essence in this situation.  I am pregnant and I can’t slow that process down. I still happens while I sit, waiting.  Attracting.

Or is that it?  Is this place I am to stay?  Did we sell our souls when I cut off my husband’s natty hair that one day and sold my dream art and yoga center to the first person who wanted it and we put our creative existence on hold and said: we must go now and own a house?  Get a “real” job (one that apparently judges you on your hairstyle) and pay bills?  Live in a sleepy and materialistic suburb in the middle of the goddamn desert and be responsible?  Or in our own words: Go Under Cover?  Did we sell our souls then? Should we have trusted? Had faith in who were at that moment and stayed, despite the pressure we felt to become something other than what we were? I don’t like to question things after it’s done, it’s just not our style, and we did have faith and trusted; in the decision to move here for no longer than three years, but in times like these it’s hard not to look behind me and wonder why this is taking so long? Big Universe, did we make a mistake?  Did we hold things of no value way too highly?  Like money and homeownership?  Because I mean, money burns under fire and homes, they sit on land that belongs to the Earth, not me.  Did we want some false security and sheltering for our kids and in that we left behind the real lessons?  If that is the case and being force to stay here and embrace this new kind of struggle, where my karma returns, just tell me now okay.  Spare me the details so I can stop cleaning my house.

Though it does seem like I want a lot I swear I don’t claim to know a lot.  As a matter of fact, I know nothing and that’s why I feel so comfortable wandering and exploring and asking you all this. I sat still for a while now, over three years and have learned the same lesson I always learn:  I know nothing.  I know nothing about birth or death or life in between.  I know nothing about parenting or what lies within any situation.  I do not know what is right or wrong.  I am not wise.  But I have to ask, are my desires some kind of false knowing that I must let go of? Is that it?  How do I let something go that seems to truly dwell in my heart?   I have remained unattached every time I have to scrub the house on a moments notice.  I clean each surface and pay attention to each wipe I make, loving the house and cleaning it just for the sake of cleaning it. I try so very hard not to clean for any outcome, for any result except to just feel that I am cleaning and that dirt is coming off.  And by just cleansing, I almost enjoy it (though I would enjoy eating chocolate or playing paint with my kids or taking a yoga class much more).  I learn how perfect and simple it can feel to just wipe away dried milk of off the table or shine little painted fingerprints of a window or leftover gunk stuck on the stove.  I smell my own mix of vinegar and lemon and soap, and enjoy the freshness of it.  I sweat and clean for the sake of it all.  I try not to expect the cleaning or the ritual that goes on with it is going to get me anywhere.

But when I put a For Sale sign in front of my house and get over forty people walking through abso-fucking-lutely loving it, then I do expect someone to but it.  Or at least make in offer.

So why?  What I am doing or not doing that I need to do or not do?   Is this just the luck of the draw that I pick to sell my house in the slowest market in years? I feel like luck has always been on my side; Jupiter is my guide, my planet. So doesn’t someone out there need a house, not for the whole real estate game of things, but just a place to live? It’s a good home, I like it.  It feels right inside, lived in yet clean and open and it smells good.  Maybe there are a few flies here and there and maybe the floors are a bit water-stained in a couple places and perhaps the roof droops a bit, but it’s a lovely little place.  My husband built the bookshelves with his own hands and we carefully picked out small touches with such love and hope. Granted, not on a big budget, or a budget at all, but we did it.  And it looks good. Well, to us at least.  But we are not those who like “perfection”.  The track home aesthetic is not what we are about.  I like a croaked floor and a little chipped paint.  I like realness.  This house is real.  Where are the real people here?  Universe, SEND THEM ASAP.  PLEASE.

I am obviously missing some point, aren’t I?  I am racking my brain to put myself in your place, Universe.  What is it that I am meant to give, or take, or act upon before I can draw a buyer?  Or if nothing, and there is no individual or universal truth that I am meant see flash by me for a moment, the why?  Why? Why? Why? Is my cup full?  As my husband says to me don’t empty it, just be an expanding cup, one that can never be filled. I am trying to expand, endless and open.  I am falling, I will admit, falling into doubts and judgments about myself and my choices. I am loosing patience.  But I catch myself. I do.   Isn’t that the point? To catch the self and plant the feet down and let the heart open once again? To feel patient.  Because in those moments where I playing with my girls, pretending that I am a vendor at the fair selling them a ticket for a ride or the lady at the market selling them tomatoes, or when I smell their little kid breath in the morning,  I could be wherever with them forever.  I can find the patience. 

I am trying to live each moment instead of counting them.  I have embraced this heat like it’s a cool breeze. I have sat in the sun and felt it ripen my skin.  I have tried to stay out of petty relationships.  I have tried scrimping and saving and I have tried, spending freely,  giving my money away even when there was none to give. I have tried sitting still and doing nothing and I have tried getting out there and marching across the whole ground.  I have tried to be a present and conscious mother and lover and friend. Part of this consciousness to move is for my kids and my lover. He grew up on the sea, and I feel how landlocked he is, how lonely he is and how different he is from most people here.  He deserves to be in a community where he feels comfortable.  I think it’s harder for him than for me, and of course he is more patient in the long run. And for my kids? There is some deep mother knowing that tells me my children are subtly guiding me out of the desert. They want a life of running through yards and spending hours lost in tide pools searching for crabs and playing in the rain and the snow.

Can I ask again?  Why?  Why all this over a simple thing?  Sell house.  Move.  Experience newness.  .  Why and what?  I am expanding and listening with my whole body.  What I hear is that I just can’t rush this.  And to trust. I hear that I have to trust even more.

I know that moving is just an idea, and it’s not a truth.  I will accept what is given.  But I can’t help but to explore and think I have other options, choices even. Until then, I explore here, in these words.  I explore daily with my children.  I continue not to know anything, Universe, but can you just speak louder with your guidance.  I truly need it.

So instead of asking you why again, I will just listen.  As a matter of fact, I just heard you say something else to me and I felt it with every body part.  I will surrender to it all, especially to this question: Why.

(But don’t expect me not to have a break-down again soon and don’t be surprised if you get another long-winded rant in the near future.  It’s all I have to pass this time.)

Bless up and Big up, Universe,

MB

Ten things about today that brought such love into my space.  Happiness.

ONE
Waking up and having 2 hours of cloudy, overcast morning.

TWO
Climbing “hills” for 4 miles on the tread-mill at the gym and doing 100 different variations of squats. They felt so damn good, my muscles were burning and alive, the energy moving throughout my systems and stimulating them all. Sometimes stillness is where it’s at, but other times movement brings me such joy. I don’t love a good workout. Gyms repel me.  I love being outdoors and sweating and a yoga practice, but I am allowing this different type of adventure (the gym) bring me joy.  It feels good.

THREE 
Coming home and finding five  ¼ eaten apples on the floor in the girls bedroom closet.  This is not what made me happy, wasting food pisses me off, but  I got excited because I finally had to make applesauce, and it was really good.  Apples, agave nectar, tons of cinnamon, water and the juice of a lemon.   

FOUR
The roasted beets I had for lunch and tossed with olive oil and lemon and garbanzo beans over greens.  So fresh and alive.  My fingers are still pink from chopping them.

FIVE 
Finding this in the mail.  I can’t even explain how comfortable, and comforting this band is.  I feel really supported and strong. It comes with this little insert filled with lavender and flax and it goes in a zipper pocket right in the center of your belly.  It smells divine.  When the baby is born you can put it in a pillow next to baby or just lay it on the bed.  On the under-side, right in the center of the belly we well, is a perfectly embroidered Lotus flower. 

SIX
Re-finding this bad-ass comfy, kinda sexy tube dress which works perfectly for a pregnant night out.  Or in.  As a matter of fact I wore it to dinner at a local bistro and then came home and slept in it.  Gotta love the duo purpose clothes. And it looks great with the Sweetness Belly Sash. It comes in a billion different colors and I may have to get a couple more. You can also wear it as a skirt and a shirt. (Americal Apparel)

SEVEN
Getting a letter in the mail, handwritten (that doesn’t happen often) along with a fun tourist brochure of Bellingham and Mt. Baker.  The short but to the point  letter says: Dearest Bill, MaryBeth, Mia and Sula, Just wait till you get to see this most beautiful place in the world.  There are more blackberries here then I have ever seen. Every corner, even in the city, has a bush full of blackberries and I am pretty sure they will still be ripe when you get here.  Lots of Love, Jason and Anne Dorthe.  Thinking about blackberry pie and brumble makes me very happy.

EIGHT
My husband’s arms.  I thought I was going to have to sneak a snap and not tell him I was going to post here.  I could hear him saying, my arm on your blog? Please don’t.  But then I forgot he Man, proud of his muscles made from Hard Manly Work.  He actually made me take like 5 shots because he didn’t like the angle I was shooting at.  And he posed!  Finally he sighed and said I had no concept of perspective.   I told him to watch it because slowly his arm was going to be cut from my happy list. But really, it’s not.  It’s big and strong and beautiful and it makes my day when it holds my kids and wraps me tight when I feel like shit.

(this photo refuses to downsize.  kinda like my husbands ego right now, hhhmmm.) 

NINE 
My Mia’s day of easiness.  Not once did she throw a raging tantrum or talk in the demons voice or whip  something(like her sisters dolly stroller or a book) around the house in a fit of anger?frustration?saddness?.  This has been happening lately, quite a bit I am am sorry to say.  Of course, I kept judging myself, WHAT I done wrong to make her like this?   I started doing the ‘time outs’ and then I started giving ME ‘time outs’ and then I tried rationalizing with her and even bribing her (ugh). I tried the corner, which broke my heart. But, after serious discussions with my man, we realized this was a gift of life, actually, as we are being asked to practice deep, deep exercises in patience and love.  So instead of judging my/our/selves for why she is  being like this at this moment in her life, we are being conscious of how we react to who she is being. We let her be this person.  But while she is in these super hard places, we just hold her (which hard to do to someone who may me trying to hurt you or throw something or raging with words), we tell her we love her so much and we understand how she feels. That it is okay to feel so mad. She allows us to hold her, she welcomes it, too, which I was surprised to find. I figured she would push us away in rage. We come now from a place of compassion instead of control and frustration (and that is NOT easy to do, but it is doable I am finding out, And fullfilling).  I think we might have figured out what she needs right now. We need to be her tools, her examples. She is a brilliant and energetic little girl, and as she cusps the age of four she desires lots of attention while we have been preoccupied with the move.  She is also a bit nervous about a move, understandably so.  She as well is a perfectly clear mirror for our own stresses right now. She wants to know that regardless if she needs to turns into Lucifer with nefarious wings, we love her madly.  So now we just show love to her when we least want to.

 (this photos refused to downsize, kinda like my daughter’s ego right now….)

TEN
Watching my girls eat ice cream cones tonight.  We took them to the ancient Mary Coyles in central Phoenix. Their little tongues swirling the sweet cream, and then licking their lips made me swoon.  They both picked their chips of chocolate out of the cone with their little hands, examined them, and popped them in their mouths, enjoying the melting on their tongue. They worked hard to crunch their cone without letting their ice cream drip down in waste.  They were so careful not to spill on daddy’s new truck (instead of going inside we just sat in the back of  truck under the stars and night heat.  It was the most simple, sweet pleasure of my day.  To observe.  To swallow up whole what this life, this moment is all about.

AND BONUS 

So of course this list was written yesterday and never got posted.  But this morning when I got up I had one more to add.  This right here is why I get up in the morning.  To laugh with them, and at them.