All Women Need a Garden

 There’s a woman that sits in the front of her home, nested in her spring garden, re-growing,

in a black wooden chair, faded just right from the eastern morning sun.  

It’s mostly an uncomfortable chair, but a throne for seeing. The rotating guests that come and go to sit next to her make it delightful, a royal meeting place, for all things essential for living. 

There’s a small girl with a bright pink scrunchie loosely attached to her long ponytail, with fierce kindness and conviction in her eyes. She’s magical, whimsical, a garden fairy.  Moments ago she was crying in despair about a hurt feeling. It was gentle conversation she needed, understanding and ice cream. 

Ingredients for carrying on. 

There’s a boy made of dirt and fire, in a green eagles shirt with eye black face paint adorning his perfect, rosy cheeks. He’s lucky and protective, a garden gnome. He sits down, shares his pleasantries and also enjoys a bowl of ice cream. 

Ingredients for carrying on.

There's a light breeze and a perfect temperature. It’s trash night and the things that we set aside are lining the curb. How little we need and how much we use, I contemplate. The ingredients we need are right here, in this tiny garden. 

Time to reflect. 

A space to be understood. 

A vast blue sky to send your dreams and prayers up to.

Ice cream. 

Birds surround us, squeaking with anxiety, as we disturb their work of making nests to prepare for new life. All creatures can share this garden, I want them to know.  All thoughts, needs and dreams for homemaking and regrowing are welcome here.

Perhaps a woman that sits in her garden long enough can see life with such simplicity that she understands all she needs to know in her world. 

All women need a garden,

For carrying on,

And re-growing.

Disney Simple Joys

For 17 years, one after another, a child of mine has fallen in love with Nemo, on repeat, and then sea life, the water, animals, preservation. Nemo and Friends, Turtle Talk with Crush, the manatees, with my girl today solo, round 4 of this simple love, at the age where it is all magic, has me all choked up. It’s the good stuff. God, thank you for giving me the gift of 4 rounds of this kind of simple joy.

Time Makes You Bolder

 Time makes you bolder. Even children get older. We’re getting older too ❤️🙏 #OneBeautifulLife

When Storms Roll In

 When storms roll in, I love it and always watch by the window. The kids all come home from their wandering. We stay close. I stay still and I love when they linger. Tonight the boys stayed close, together. I love their 3 different age stages and eclectic mix of fascinating 17, 14 and 8 year old perspectives. We watched the storm run out of rain, together. “They always do,” I comment, hoping they’ll remember the analogy when they need it. I’ll always remember them this way, and so many other beautiful ways. Motherhood is divine in the sun and in storms, and especially while sitting still and making space for their lingering love. #OneBeautifulLife 

(they’d kill me if I knew I was taking these photos 😉)

 

I Took My Time with This Moment

 I will remember this moment.  I savored it. I took my time with it.

I read yesterday a poem that drew an analogy between raising children and opening and closing doors. It’s stayed with me deeply, on my admittedly tired and weary heart, born from burning a candle at both ends these past months. And the guilt of sitting with that. 

Here in this moment tonight a door closed and one has opened. It was a space in the middle.  Jack and Vincent at their respective soccer practices, doors ahead of my two littles. Gaps in age between the kids revealing how fleeting it is, how soon they open wings, how busy their lives become. Gaps in time reminding me to take the deep breath with my babies before they walk through the doors ahead.  

I told Leo and Addy that sitting at the counter for casual conversation is my favorite. I begged them to stay awhile and they did. I told them I was taking a few photos so I’d bottle the memory forever. They loved that. 

The poem said , “sometimes raising our children feels like a long hallway of doors.

One and then another and another and on – stretching out farther than we can see.

A vast corridor of firsts and lasts and all the spaces in the middle. 

Between each door exists a season, a stage, sometimes simply a fleeting moment.

But then again and again, their hand reaches forward, clutches the knob, and opens the door welcoming in a new milestone, a new chapter… and in doing so, the door behind them gently falls closed.”

And so, I paused on this weary day. I enjoyed their beautiful joy, while my soul ached as the time thief stared on. 

I noticed. I paused. I was acutely aware this door would close. I took the decision to hold the moment on my heart and through this lense. Before they grab the knob to the next open door. 

I simply made the decision that I wanted to remember this space tonight between doors. And I will. #OneBeautifulLife

My Mom Mom

My grandfather was waiting for a dance, jokes at the ready. Her mother was waiting to sit with her on the big porch in rocking chairs. Her father had a huge hug upon arrival for his baby girl. Her brother had a tennis racket in hand and one by his side for her, a match long overdue. An army of friends, family and animals that had gone before her lined the music-filled, lavender entrenched gates, led by Muffy the German Shepherd and Taffy, her Golden Retriever. She walked so many souls home in her 99 years. It is now her turn for peace. Heaven will delight in her company and name a simple corner Quaker Acres now, and the breeze will flow through just right at dinner time. You can close your eyes and feel it, she will make sure. None of us here know quite what to do without her, as she’s carried us all through a lifetime. But, for her, as she would demand, we will carry on, in time. It is and has always been my honor to be the only granddaughter of Marge Michener. As she would tell me, “You know, we just clicked from the very beginning.”

My memories are so vast, they’ll surely work to repair a broken heart, in time. Love you, whole heart, my beautiful and extraordinary Mom Mom. 45 years, well, it simply wasn’t enough. As it goes with time, as you said it would be, there is simply never enough.

o

Mom Mom's Obituary

Happy 73rd Birthday, Dad

 God created the most spectacular, kind, patient, humble, responsible, humorous, bass singing, loving, nurturing man, of the tallest stature, with the most shining eyes and heart of gold. He gave him to Joe, Patrick and I with the noble gift of calling him Dad in this #OneBeautifulLife. If you know our Dad, big Jack, well, you know.

Happy Birthday, Dad. And so we were missing chunks of our weary hearts tonight, but always, we gather, eat cake and sing, with our littlest crew at the ready. We love you, as you love us, beyond measure.