Remember Me?

It comes in pieces, like hearing the melody of a song you barely know, or a waft of the exact blend of candle wax and flowers from the church you married in, a bite of some forgotten flavor that carries with it somehow the warmth of the sun on your shoulders and the last peal of laughter from a long lunch years ago.

Have you ever had the feeling that you are coming back to yourself, though to be truthful you had not known you were away? That sense of, "Ah, yes, this is me." The me underneath the bills and mopping and baby weight and political news, the one who leaned forward in college in passionate conversation, who read long and laughed long and listened long. Her.

She has slipped back into my skin these last days. It has not all been easy or pleasant, for she brings with her the memories of why some prickly relationships are prickly, why some sins that seem persistent have their roots deep in the past, why life is messy.

But on the whole, gloriously messy. Take her subtle return for instance. She glimmered around the edges of a ranging and wandering and wonderful conversation with a precious friend. She waited around the edges of an art fair, her idealism and hope blessed the eco-changes we are making in our little home. She rustled in the pages of an absorbing book over the weekend. She settled like the blanket of lessening heat at an outdoor concert, wrapping the dulcimer and guitar and banjo, and the four year old who listened raptly.

She wore red on Pentecost, she rose to say, "I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth. . ."

Stress or worry or just the round of life can dull our senses and cause us to forget our essences. Only God, Who made us in His image, could create such a variety of mysteries and marvels, wrapped in skin and set to spin on this green and blue ball of a planet. To connect with that real one He made is to live out the unique journey He authors.

So today is about the smell of homemade bread, pasting paper to paper, drying towels on the line and kissing boy cheeks and ruffling boy hair. CD changer loaded with dusty Cd's, a barely-diminished stack of books and a needle threaded to finish a present. What are the things that take you back to yourself?

From There to Here

The days of May are spinning away. I picture a bobbin on a sewing machine, giving over its thread to the progress of the seam. There is no stopping.

This picture was taken on our camping trip with our friends, only two weeks ago. In the odd ebb and flow of time, it already seems long ago that we pitched our tents, built the fire, and saw our children play together. And yet, like yesterday that we were college students together, when all of this life was only imagined.

As Joshua's K5 year comes galloping to a close, it has been a long journey, and a blink. It seems only an hour ago he walked away with his dad with a Darth Vader backpack and without a backward glance. And yet I know the fall festivals and chapter books and art projects and parachute play and playground heroics and heartbreak that have filled many busy days since that August morning.

We are a long way from the blueberry-eyed baby laid in my arms almost seven years ago, and for that matter, a long way from the tired and terrified mother who received him. And yet, and yet I can feel his slight weight, see his unbelievable smallness and complexity. Feel the fear and joy pounding in my veins, and how I then felt a long way from when that child was a hope, a prayer, a promise, a flutter.

The reality that gives me pause today is that despite the elasticity of my mind and heart, the odd speeding up and slowing down of memory, we are making something in these days. The bobbin spins, the stitches advance no matter how I perceive them. What am I making of these days? Is the seam straight with purpose? When I survey the endless and flying year past, I am grateful that there is another Hand at work, whose grace weaves and breathes through the moments and days, Who knows the end of the creation and is the Crafter of Love itself.

Fluffing

It is a nice day when Sam and I are just puttering-- no big tasks to do and nothing on the schedule but hometime. I was so very productive yesterday, on a family project for my father-in-law, and laundry and menu planning, and tomorrow is for bread baking and cleaning. But in the middle, a sunny Tuesday that began with a cool breeze. We ventured out to water our plants and all our baby shrubs. I considered a spot for my Mother's Day rose, and Sam found a new rock for he and his brother's growing pile in the carport.

When we came inside, I decided the time had come to change the mantel. It was all green and golden pottery and candles, with my huge rusty metal star over it, and I'd been very happy with it when I arranged it in January. But it began to look tired and stuffy and wintry, and made the whole family room look that way. (I should really add, that it looked that way to me-- John was content and the boys oblivious.) What I would really like are new cream slipcovers for the furniture, painted walls, and about fifty bucks worth of fresh flowers. But no driving + no cash = my favorite sport: moving all my accessories around.

We had the fabulous mirror from a clearance sale at Hobby Lobby, and I gathered the shells from the closet, and the candles, and the cake stand and birdcage from other locations. (thus the inevitable domino effect-- I was fluffing for two hours) Sam was my chief encourager, and it was fun. And now I look over at the end of the family room, at my one decorate-able surface in this den of books and toys and roughhousing and television and life, and it feels like May. Not a bad trick for a Tuesday!

Celebrating Mommying

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and for you mommies reading this, I hope you were celebrated by your husband and children, I really do. I hope you were carded and gifted and brunched and lunched. Perhaps you were scented and flowered, or maybe even pearled and silvered. I'll happily say I was-- with a rose destined to sweeten many summers, with other flowers and bath goodies, with the precious heart-thoughts of my boys in crayon and marker and construction paper glory. With my favorite chocolate with toffee from my sweetie. It was a happy day.

But mommies, I want to celebrate you TODAY. Back in the trenches, diving off the high dive, climbing on the treadmill and embracing this May Monday.

I celebrate the breakfasts you made and the socks you found. I celebrate the homework you checked and tucked into backpacks and the urgent discussion you had about what your little one should be NEXT Halloween.

I celebrate when you felt impatient and held your voice steady anyway and smiled anyway. I celebrate when you lost it and then came back to say "I'm sorry."

I celebrate the boo-boos you kissed and the fairy dust you sprinkled and the armies you defeated, all before nine AM.

I celebrate you, reading the favorite book for the 99th time and remembering to use all the voices.

I celebrate the sheet you laid over the dining table and the sandwiches you served in the fort, or the teddy bear you dressed in silk for the tea party.

I celebrate blowing bubbles and poster paint and rings in the bathtub, popsicles dripping down knobby wrists and one more question, "Why?"

I celebrate cooking dinner and quizzing on spelling and explaining the life cycle of butterflies all at once.

I celebrate toys on the floor and happy faces at the table.

I celebrate the lullabies and the one more stories, the tiptoe out and only the energy left to say, "Thank you."

I celebrate these everydays, the threads of what we do, and I take them up again.

And Away We Went

. . . up into the beautiful mountains, where spring has really just arrived, and everything is that shade of green that is vibrant and tender all at once. Camping and meeting up with dear friends and sharing the unique joy of watching our kids play together. Likely there will be other pictures this week from our brief getaway. It was wonderful, and we were especially thankful to have a pretty afternoon on Friday, and to have all our things loaded on Saturday just as the first drops of rain fell.

The last bits of post-camping laundry are drying on the line and we are diving into another week. We are now at the point in the school year where events are heralding the end and we speed toward summer. It is a bumpy but delightful tumble downhill to the first of June. Let's go!

A Sprig or Two

A peek out of our sliding glass door onto the patio, where my herbs have their home this year. I had already bought a few plants, earlier in the season, and yet I bought more when I returned to the Farmer's Market with my friend Mollie last weekend. Another sort of basil which I believe is called "Pesto Perfect," a lime thyme, another lemon thyme, orange mint, a Tuscan Blue rosemary. . . Many will stay here on the patio, convenient to water and use, and to winter over, and others will go in the ground. A little English lavender and the rosemary are already planted by my Julia Child rose.

I love herbs. I cook with them when I have them, of course, but I also love their usefulness, their variety, their fragrances and the way a sprig of lemon thyme is spring to me.

Have a happy day, and think of the bruschetta and roast chicken with rosemary to come!

She's back!

I have returned from the land of no-posting, from the land of husband out of town, outbreak of strep throat, and nothing to say. From the land of boys missing their daddy and mommy being cared for by precious friends.

Instead of a recap of the adventures and misadventures of the last two weeks, recountings of exactly how bad my throat hurt and how good antibiotics are, and reflections that my husband and I really are just the teeniest bit co-dependent. . . instead of all that, I'll offer you a modest list of delights that strike me fresh and new this week.

--the first morning, after being sick, when you awaken and realize that you feel yourself again, weakened perhaps, but YOU, and life is wider than tissues and medicine and really bad TV

--an aired-out house, smelling like breezes and spring and health

-- morning coffee

--a clear sky lightening over the mountains

--sheets stretched over the bed, washed and line-dried and promising peaceful rest at the end of the day

--gifts of fresh flowers everywhere-- roses, lilies, iris and peonies (thanks Mom, Rachel, neighbors)

--a Saturday plant festival with a good friend, filling her car with herbs and flowers

--Mrs. Meyers Lemon Verbena Ironing Spray spritzed over tea towels, taking the chore out of ironing

--bread baking

--the four of us around the table

--bedtime kisses, morning cuddles

--laughing at Jon Stewart

--hot buttered popcorn

--reading together: An Angel for Solomon Singer and I Like to Be Little, mommy choking a bit over the words, smiling through tears

--praying for help and being cared for by Jesus followers-- seeing His fingerprints all over their acts of grace

--thankful for a voice, for a little community to return to

Really, a list too long to count. What simple pleasures fill your days?