Wednesday, February 27, 2013

40 scenes - my day

  1. wake alone, my snoring drove mike out of the bedroom.  damn tonsils.  this cold is hanging on.
  2. the sky just starting to lighten
  3. girls asking for warm milk
  4. boil water for coffee
  5. owl shirt, braids, yearbook order form (really, for kindergarten?)
  6. dress, brush, feed amelia, send her out the door with mike
  7. attempt to work on school work while the cutest three-year-old on the planet distracts me
  8. make aven's lunch
  9. realize that it is amelia's day to bring snack and she has already left
  10. panic over the 22 kindergarteners that will be starving because of me
  11. chop wood, stoke fires, pack my school bag
  12. shower, dress, make tea for the road (coffee is long gone)
  13. buckle aven into her carseat, drive off forgetting the mail
  14. deliver creative-last-minute snack to amelia's school
  15. drop aven and her lunch at preschool
  16. park, walk, relax my shoulders
  17. ask myself why the rush, what would happen if you just relax for a second?  Enjoy the blue sky, the wind, the nearness of spring
  18.  photo 015-10_zps10a3b9c8.jpg
  19. relax shoulders again as I walk into class
  20. mind is blown by the guest presentation of an orthodox rabbi
  21. contemplate giving more of my soulbrainmind to faith.  decide i cannever willnever be orthodox anything
  22. race to pick aven up
  23. race to get gas and get home before amelia's bus
  24. haul aven's sleeping body out of her carseat.  strip her of shoes and nestle her into my bed
  25. meet amelia's bus with seconds to spare
  26. gather eggs, feed chickens, fill cow water tank, carry two five gallon buckets to the horse
  27. watch thrown hay as it is caught by wind as it arcs into jack's pasture from my hands
  28. watch as ruby chases a fox out of the windbreak, watch as she gains on the fox before looping around and returning to me as I shout her name into the wind
  29. chop wood
  30. scratch together enough leftovers for dinner
  31. take aven's temperature as she sits at the dinner table with flushed cheeks.  102.1
  32. efffffffff...
  33. swap her dinner for a lime popsicle and tylenol
  34. dishes, jammies, brush teeth
  35. dance with amelia to wilco, the weepies...ipod is stuck on 'w' artists
  36.  photo 018-12_zpsd1aa95e8.jpg
  37. read two chapters of the boxcar children and the guinea pig ABCs. 
  38. mediate a quickhot fight over a seashell
  39. haul blankets, water glasses and sleepy children up the stairs
  40. tuck them in and kiss their sweet faces
  41. stoke fires, finish a glass of wine, and realize my take-home test is due tomorrow
  42. sit down and stare at the computer screen.  make this list.  hit publish.
 photo 012-17_zps01737aa8.jpg **Here I am.  Another day.  And I am still standing.**

Monday, February 18, 2013

weekend: wild girls & dragons

"All good things are wild and free." ― Henry David Thoreau  photo 037-10_zps3ee9581f.jpg  photo 041-7_zps4d4cd6c7.jpg *just look at her face...
 photo 022-11_zps2abe5dc5.jpg
*am I ever stylish...

 photo 007-18_zpsaaaed200.jpg
*liquid sunshine from the tips of tree branches to the tips of pigtails*
 photo 008-15_zpsde79eef9.jpg  photo 060-7_zpsd6eaa47f.jpg
*waiting for a dragon*  photo 052-7_zpsbbec5395.jpg *still waiting*  photo 063-12_zps296597cc.jpg *The dragon emerges from the front doors of the Silver Bow County Court House *  photo 086-2_zps0da6b43f.jpg *It's good luck to make all the noise you can*  photo 073-14_zps9e504fcb.jpg *Happy Year of the Snake from Butte, America*

Saturday, February 16, 2013

(early) morning notes

It's six-thirty on Friday morning and quiet.  Amelia is asleep in our bed after coming downstairs at five for more tylenol and cough drops.  Mike has left for work already and I've had this unexpected pocket of time fall in my lap.

Yesterday, my professor asked the women in my class to talk about how we feel we're different from our grandmothers and mothers.  He was looking for cultural, societal shifts, to demonstrate to us that the world is changing.  That what we are capable of and our expectations of our lives are much different now than they were for earlier generations.

I told him I was raised by feminist parents, that I was brought up to believe I could do everything.

Good, he said, good.  Next?

Wait, I said, that's not everything.

It's not real.  It's a basic tennent of physics.  We only have so much time, so much attentions, so much room in our lives.  We can't have EVERYTHING.  We have to choose.

Part of me loves being back in school.  I love the discussions, the thoughtfulness, the new ideas.  But as I'm hustling Aven out the door to preschool, grabbing mittens and backpacks and last-night's homework I am also utterly filled with longing.  Longing to put it all down, and just pick her up (while I still can).  To spend the afternoon walking along the Big Hole River while she collects rocks, or reading, or just listening to her talk, giving her my undivided attention. 

Everyone told us we could have it all, the family, the career, the free time to pursue our passions and balance it all out.  And I have moments where I really feel the balance.  There are times when this all feels possible and true.

But there are other truths.  Like I left a job I really loved to become a mother.  Like I juggled the management of the community garden I established, my babies, and time to take care of my own body and brain for years.  How nearly impossible it is to feel like you're giving the important things in your life the attention they deserve.  How something is almost always falling through the cracks.

Or that I'm not sure where to go from here.  My gut feeling is that something inside needs to shift.  I need to give up something, even if it is just my own preconcieved expectations of what my life should look like.  I want to get to a place where I give myself peace.  Where I feel those fleeting moments of balance more regularly. 

I'm thinking about it.
I'm working on it.
And the sky's getting light now
and I can hear the birds going wild
for morning
even with every window closed.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

a thursday glimpse

of my favorite traveling companions,
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a quick weekend jaunt to the desert...

of a really lovely (free) printable calendar that now adorns my kitchen wall,

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I actually have mine turned to February like a good girl...

and this song...

what better advice for a sunny morning in February,
when spring doesn't feel that far away.

Hold On.
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