full of greatness.
I have finally had my falling down on the bathroom floor, cheek on the cold tile, fists clenched, begging some god, somewhere inside or out to please tell me what to do (you know, just like the woman did, the one who wrote the book I should have written?)
It was not over my marriage, though.
It was about my kid.
And I am about at the moment where I am not sure where or how I can summon the energy to get through this day, this week, this fourth year of her life. I am mad, hurt, exhausted and abused. Today I don’t like being a mom; don’t want to be a mom; wish I never made the choice to do so. There. I said it. And so, saying that, I will write. I have no choice but to write about what makes me full of greatness, what makes me alive. I won’t write all the reasons I want to strangle my daughter, because all of them would be born from a source of morbid illusion and a place where my ‘story’ has gotten stuck, skipping, repeating the same bad habits and patterns. I choose to change the theme of today, release the tension and believe in what I know to be true. Then I can step back into my role, like I slip into a bath; softly, smoothly, clearly ready to feel it’s beauty and peace and yet prepared for that occasionally scorch of hot water on the delicate skin of humanness.
Soft moss. For just walking on it across my front yard to gather sticks from the fallen tree to use for kindling later on. I am grateful I got married, barefoot on a field of soft green moss.
The buzz of a dragonfly, when they wiz by my head, reminding me I am the keeper of my own time.
Slow roasted potatoes sprinkled with fresh sage and rosemary, salt and pepper.
Sounds that never fail to heal me: ferocious winds, high tides beating against rocks, fire crackling, Mia singing songs she makes from the heart, My girl dog licking away at her paw, crows and owls sounding, the beat of drum skins under my husband’s hand, the meowing of a newborn baby, the sound of the last load of clothes spinning in the dryer. Krishna Das chanting. Big Youth deejaying. The flipping pages of my journal when I am writing in a stream.
My circle of women: writers, healers, sisters.
The Three Grandmothers who, in spirit, always hover above me, come to me when I call upon them, guide me thorugh the mother labirynth.
The harder our kids are to raise, the closer my man and I become; our golden chain becomes tighter and stronger; our partnership transcends rules and we walk, merged and melted, trying to just live this parenting thing with grace. When we blunder and trip and fall flat on our faces, which happens often, I am grateful for the outstretched hand, the pull back on up.
Nettles, Red Raspberry, Yarrow, Peppermint, and Oat Straw, just to name a few. Each day that I commit to taking these green allies, I reaffirm my body wisdom. I choose health. The same goes for apple cider vinegar. It has been such a friend to me this pregnancy, this time of slow healing.
My deck of intuitive tarot cards.
This ripe and gentle pregnancy, this little person who makes my belly bump with an authority and sensuality I cannot recognize as myself, though I am know I must possess. I walk with an empress empowerment, I feel like Queen, large and round and taking up empty space with a slinky knowingness. Everywhere I sit feels like a thrown. I am so grateful I get to love another person in that way only a mother can. I am so grateful that in less than two months, I get to cuddle with my dove. My dove, I thank you.
Zappos.com. I am so pleased with my two new pair of boots; one black and furry, one wine colored and sexy. Just in time for the first sprinkle of snow.
Light snows.
Lattes.
Beet Juice.
My mother.
Black nail polish.
Hilly neighborhoods.
The one who seems to bring me to these places of despair, the daughter that led me to this once blank page.. Through that despair I have no other choice but to reach my arms and heart out, stretching for the other side of my story. I can’t live on a heap on the bathroom floor. I can’t take off and travel, sewing my seed of creativity into a global coat, but I can sit and remember what is full and great in my life. And it’s her, the one I wanted to strangle. Her idiosyncrasies and iron like will, whose behavior can sometimes be compared to big blood sucking gnats that create boils on the skin; she’s the one who guides me to this place. This place where my story is gratitude. For her, her rosy glowing skin against the silver of snow, I give thanks.
The magical snow. And magical child. Wow.
Oh, my MB, how our iron-willed girls are so alike. So freaking fierce. They are Fire Dance; hard to resist, but sometimes really scary. The singe us and make us strong, strong, strong. They make us bend and flex until our bodies end up…like you said, on the floor, curled and moaning and sinking deep into Earth.
They are everything about ourselves that we have forgotten…
You are an empress. Always. Dove has added that extra sparkle but everything you touch radiates with that light of LIVING. Me and M spoke of Dove last night, as rain pounded the roof of the home she is to leave soon. We spoke of Dove’s power and sensuality. I cannot wait to meet this babe in earth realm.
Love you,
Me
Comment by Leigh — December 1, 2007 @ 8:22 pm
For you. It can make life a little harder sometimes, but in the end, it’s good to keep that fire alive.
Much love.
Comment by gearhead mama — December 1, 2007 @ 9:39 pm
Oh your story sounds as thought it could be similar to mine. I have felt that exact same passion of utter-frustration and desperation over my Oldest Boy. Yet in the end, hands clenched and crying, on the floor, numbed, I find that peace as well. Why is it so intense? God I hate that place, but I love how I manage to find a clear view once the salty tears have dried up. Kind of like getting snow in your eyes on a cold day; suddenly there is a sting, and then the view is as clear as it could ever be. You feel alive in your purpose. Hugs to you - this was poetry that I completely relate to.
Comment by Joanna — December 2, 2007 @ 3:10 am
My 4 year old girl brings me to me knees unlike my son for sure. She makes me question how I can possibly be strong enough to be her mother. And then she is so tender 5 minutes later.
Comment by Beth — December 2, 2007 @ 5:07 pm
Missing you.
Comment by Doulala — December 2, 2007 @ 5:39 pm
And a damping smooth hot chocolate with a snowy white cream swirl in the middle for you. Chocolate always helps
Comment by Sanne — December 2, 2007 @ 7:06 pm
sending you strength and love
Comment by Chris — December 3, 2007 @ 3:33 am
..maybe she’s upset because she wont be able to go outside for the next 5 months?
Comment by weather — December 3, 2007 @ 7:22 am
I’m so there with you.
I feel clueless these days with Leo. And as you wrote with passion and magnificence, he is also what makes it worth it.
Nodding my head. Aching in my heart. Reaching out to welcome the pleasure to be had on this earth.
You are my teacher today.
love to you.
Comment by bella — December 3, 2007 @ 8:15 pm
dear weather,
i know who you are. i know where you live. i can even hear your voice as i read your comments (under different names). and i still love you.
mb
Comment by misplacedmama — December 3, 2007 @ 11:30 pm
Have you seen that Elizabeth Gilbert is on Oprah tomorrow (Tues)? Just making sure you know…
Comment by Jessica — December 4, 2007 @ 6:06 am
Okay, so I sit down at my computer after just having ‘lost it’ on my son and I need to connect to someone, anyone, wishing and hoping somewhere out-there in the internet world there would be a voice to save me, to give me some validation that I am indeed a good mother, having a bad moment. Thank you for so beautifully expressing yourself and sharing with such honesty what I keep only in my head and cry over when alone. This is hard work,being a parent. I have often told parents of the children I have cared for that they are working at the most challenging job they will ever have. It’s true. Thank you M for seeing the light & beauty in your little one even at a dark moment. It reminded me to do the same and to breath. Right now more than anything I am thankful for this computer connecting me to you. In PEACE MM
Comment by Jennifer — December 5, 2007 @ 4:57 pm
Beautiful Post!
My younger son sends me into that realm more often than I care to admit. The power of those emotions at the time seem to strangle me, to have a hold that’ll never release me. But once they do, I take in a deep breath and allow it to comsume me. I feel relaxed that I let the anger out and that I do have the strangth to be his Mother. God chose me, and I plan on doing it right.
Even though it’s difficult and he can be difficult, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I think I feel more alive in those moments than I ever have felt.
Which I guess is something to be grateful for.
Jillian
Comment by Jillian Curtis — December 5, 2007 @ 6:54 pm
i know what a challenge mothering can be! my boy is such a chore sometimes…I am so grateful for you. your truth. your beauty. your strength. you shine so brightly,sister!
sending you love and many blessings to all of your family.
love,
beth
Comment by beth — December 6, 2007 @ 5:28 am
Beautiful blog, even when you are falling down on the bathroom floor. We all have those days.
I just found you through Bella. I am waiting for baby number three, too. And, soon moving away from the concrete jungle. And soon, soon, sooner, leaving my job; then I will have time to dig in and digest more of your wonderful words. And then we’ll both be crazy and sleep-deprived.
Comment by RocketMom — December 6, 2007 @ 8:36 pm