Tressa & Eliora

We're travelling and I didn't bring my journals that I'm keeping for the girls.
So, I want to note some things that I can write out for them later.

This weekend was Tressa's Uncle Nathin's wedding.
We talked about it for a few days before we came. We're going to a wedding, Nathin will be the groom. He's marrying Julie - she'll be the bride....This is her first wedding, so I wanted her to have a mental picture of what would happen.
At night when Tressa asked, "Tell me a new part of God!" (ie, tell me a new story), I told her the story of Jesus going to the wedding at Cana. Jesus went to the wedding, and they ran out of wine, and Jesus made some more....

We bought her a new dress for the wedding. As she put it on before the wedding, she said, "Mama, I'm wearing my wedding dress!" With her voice full of delight and joy, full of possibility of what a wedding would be like. -- Mental flash forward to twenty or so years down the road, when she's wearing her white wedding dress. *Gulp.*
Precious is way too overused a word. But, Tressa is precious. Not in the precious moments sense, but in the priceless, unique jewel sense.

Eliora has turned a corner. She has spent this whole weekend being held by someone other than me. Sometimes its Mimi and Papa, often its total strangers. --- And, she's loved it. She's really eating it up. I'm so glad. She may not end up a misanthrope after all.
Also, even though she's on ear infection number four, and has in all likelihood been in intermittent pain since April, she's a total joy. Even with an infection and no nap yesterday, she made it through the wedding and the reception and the dancing afterwards. In fact, she LOVED the dancing and the music. She'd wiggle and "dance" when people were holding her and when I danced with her in my arms she bobbed her head and patted on me in time to the music. Her smile lights up the room, and my heart.
(Then screamed for the 30 minute drive home, but we'd pushed it way over the line.)

Christmas in June

This just in.
You've got to see these. Totally freakin' hilarious.
Nativity scenes gone horribly wrong.

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities

Friday Poetry - late submission (9)

Perpetual Motion

Sitting across from a woman at the coffee shop.
She...twitches.
So clearly not comfortable in her own skin.
I sit VERY still.
I am comfortable in my skin.
I don't twitch. I’m calm.

I sit still and resist the urges.
I defy the internal imperative to adjust my hair.
I don't shift in my seat to look thinner.
I don't look to see who is noticing me.
I don't twist my hands in nervous perpetual motion.
I'm comfortable with me.
I know who I am.

But, I don’t. I'm not.
She only acts what I so often feel.
Squirm.Writhe.Flutter.Tremble.

Fix hair. Straighten glasses.
Scratch ear. Apply makeup.
Stand up. Sit down.
Shoulder roll. Facial tic.
Shift in seat.
Glance over shoulder.
Stretch neck.
Defensive look around room.
Straighten up. Run fingers through hair.
Slump.
et cetera, et cetera, et cetera....

I feel it all, and hide it.
I only act twitchy at night.
Right before sleep
The day's defenses and public persona slide away.
Tics and shudders come out.
I feel it. She embodies it.

The woman-in-motion is writing, also.
Maybe she’s writing about the woman who acts so calm.
The one who sits glued to her chair, refusing to move.
The one who only makes deliberate glances.

Go with God, may peace find you this day.
Both of you.

Gardening

This morning I pruned in our flowerbed.
Culling out the dead flowers. Pulling up weeds.

Praying as I went:
God, prune the dead parts out of me.
Cut out the flowers that are past their prime.
The parts of me that I was so proud of!
Take them out, so I don’t dwell on the past.
I want to be looking ahead, rather than looking behind to where I’ve been….

I deadhead flowers so that they don’t go to seed.
That way the plants can put more energy into new flowers.
Not sure where this goes in the metaphor.
Because – in life I’d rather have fruit than flowers.

The flowers die, they wither, they bulge out and get ugly.
Then they look totally dead, then the seeds drop to the ground.
Then new life can begin.

God, if there are parts of me that can produce new life –
I pray that you will bring that about.
Even if it gets ugly in the process. Even as parts of me need to die.

FP - the Eighth

Empty

Emptiness.
Nothing.
A void in heart and mind.

Should I fill it with fear?
There’s plenty to fear – enough to worry over.
Fear – looking back to where I’ve been.
Looking ahead to the paths that others take from this point.
But the fear is not there. Its not real, yet.

Should I fill this emptiness with faith?
I could conjure up some…
But the conjuring belies authentic faith.
The faith is not real. Its not there yet.

Empty – I wait.
Wait for what’s next.
Wait for the morning when all is new.

Clouds tonight.
laura

May 2005
laura

Auditory Poetry -- 7

Soundtrack

Laughter:
Baby chortles
Throaty chuckles
Tiny-belly laughs
Big sister giggles
Happy shrieks.

Singsong coos and musical babbling.
Swiftly sucking-in-air gasping:
Audible, tangible, excitement.
Syllables: Ba, ma, da.
Going-to-dreamland-under-protest cries,
‘I’LL.NEVER.GO.TO.SLEEP’ screams!....
Baby snores and sighs.

Feet peppering the floor
Crocodile wails (tears aren’t enough)
Frustrated demands
Whining ("I was gonna...!" "I wanted...!")
Catch-me squeals and happy shouts.

Barking. Meowing.
Phones ringing, beeping, chiming, buzzing and “playing that funky music”.
Computers whirring.
Washers filling. Dryers spinning.

The sound of today.