The Boy is sometimes very wise. there is this moment from years ago i carry with me, a moment in the kitchen. i was particularly upset and had been for some time. it was a time of darkness for me. my son looked at me and said (words to the effect), “mom. you are going round and round in a circle. every time you get close to the top you get pulled back down into the circle. you need to be a ray.”
as a math person, the circle and ray analogies are good ones. i can visualize these. the circle, the cycle. and a ray makes sense. starting at one point and going ever-outward. never returning to the very initial point again.
as a sun person, the ray is also good. it brings beautiful images of streaming sun through the clouds, of warmth and light. a ray always brings light; it gives light. it is light.
good words, my beautiful son. yes, indeed. be a ray. shine.
The Girl and The Boy were little when i wrote and recorded this piece of music GIVE ME ROOTS, GIVE THEM WINGS. the title wording was deliberate; it was stunning to me how rooted having children made me feel and yet i knew that, even from the very start, just as i was giving them roots, i was also giving them wings. the toughest part. that letting go thing. The Girl told me today that i was high maintenance. me??? “what???” i said. she said, “have you ever MET you?” wow. straight to the gut. lol. she made me laugh. i guess as a momma i may want a littlemorelittlemorelittlemore time….
when The Girl was a baby, jenny gave me a cross-stitched picture with the words “give them roots, give them wings.” bittersweet words. how little i knew back then.
no matter any other job i have had or will have or any other work i have done or will do, i will always consider motherhood the most important. i cherish every moment of all of it, even the very hardest moments. The Girl and The Boy are out in the world, doing what makes them happy, close or far away.
they root me. yes. even as i continue to watch their wings lift higher and higher.
david’s painting SHARED FATHERHOOD makes me weep. it is a powerful painting of two fathers tenderly and humbly holding their baby. it is love in a pure form. it makes me think of my son, The Boy. i can see him in this painting and the possibility of him choosing one day to share fatherhood.
SHARED FATHERHOOD, mixed media 39.5″ x 51″
in the very corner of this painting is the morsel i chose for today. a doorway. or is it a window? either way, it struck me as a morsel image, especially in the context of this painting.
so many figurative doorways/windows, so little time…. is it a doorway into acceptance? into inclusion? into openness? into home?
we sat this morning, over early coffee, and talked about our perception of ourselves. how we can’t see that we exhibit the very things we tout we aren’t. or, conversely, how we aren’t (in whole) the things that we tout we are. how scary is that? it’s human. we ponder and perseverate over the things we believe. and we realize in moments of self-judgement that, yet again, we have a view of ourselves that is perhaps somewhat inconsistent with who we are. that goes both ways, however. the times we believe we are not enough, we are incomplete, we don’t measure up – those times are also inconsistent with who we are.
the doorway in – to acceptance of where we are, what we have been through, where we are going – to learning more – to growing – to knowing we are held in grace – to forgiveness of others and ourselves – to trying again tomorrow – to home, a place of as much gratitude and peace we can muster and then even more – this is a doorway/window in to shared fatherhood (read: parenthood) of the world, where each of us is responsible to do our best, bring our best, try our best.
listening to this piece i wrote and recorded in the midst of the AND GOODNIGHT ~ A LULLABY ALBUM, i am reminded of moments with my babies, The Girl and The Boy. I WILL HOLD YOU FOREVER AND EVER…oh yes. moments in that rocking chair in the nursery, moments gently dancing to marvin gaye’s‘i heard it through the grapevine’ in the sitting room (oddly, the only song in the early days that would quiet The Girl to sleep), moments holding hands and walking, moments of hugs of joy, of hugs of encouragement, of hugs comforting hurts, moments carrying boxes into dorm rooms, moments painfully driving away from the places they each live across the country. it does not matter if i can wrap my arms around them. i will – forever and ever – hold them.
this is on the lullaby album for just those reasons. the album is a compilation of old lullaby songs all performed solo piano; it was a project of love.
but this piece of music could just as easily been on an album of love songs. a while ago i thought about a wedding album and this would have been a track. for as i think about the comfort of being held and holding another, the holding-on-tight-dancing-in-the-kitchen, the letting-go of everything as you embrace, the end-of-day laying down together, the wherever-you-are-there-i-will-be of love, the exquisiteness of understanding the words ‘forever and ever’, i can see where it plays a dual role. for, yes, we hold all who we love and have loved forever and ever.
i don’t have to look further than my two children for examples of being relentless.
The Boy decided, early in high school, that he wanted to change his attention from baseball to tennis. now, most of his classmates who were tennis players on the varsity team had played since earlier childhood. The Boy had only hit the ball around on the court a few times with his very-best-growing-up-friend-miles or pierre-who-hung-out-here-all-the-time-in-high-school but his decision was made and he pursued it with zeal. a part of the jv team, he practiced and took individual lessons, group lessons, worked with his coaches. i, on the sidelines, sweated and watched, trying hard to be quiet as he pushed himself. he, a natural athlete, was moved up to the varsity team and doubled-down on the hard work of tennis – a “game” possibly more psychological than physical….ridiculously tough on a mom. he went to a university that welcomed him on their tennis team and, for years, i spent the better part of tennis season (and tournament season) driving all over the state and beyond, proud to see his skill on the court, proud to see his drive and, mostly, that it paid off for him. now he applies the same strategic tennis-approach to his life, his career. he was – and is – relentless.
The Girl decided, upon moving to the high mountains of colorado, that she, having never been on skis or other propelling-downhill-snow-gear (other than a sled), wanted to snowboard. she was working in a professional (indoor office) position out there, but she spent every spare moment on the slopes, striving to learn. every now and then she’d report in about her experience on copper mountain or keystone or breck or vail or …. she broke her arm, she twisted limbs, she broke her helmet. she persisted. time passed and she traded up for better snowboards, more equipment; she asked more people for advice or pointers; she was a learner beyond compare. she boarded in aspen, in snowmass, in patagonia. she dropped off ledges and split-boarded up vast mountains. fast forward just a few short years and she, no longer in an inside office doing the piece-of-paper-from-the-university-of-minnesota-work-she-was-trained-for, has taken the learn how to learn, learn how to persevere, learn how to dream – from life, from college, from her own purposeful heart – and is a snowboard instructor and a snowboard coach for a team in aspen. she offers more than snowboarding to those around her; she is the picture of excited zealousness. she was – and is – relentless.
so i………who read to them as little ones and tucked them in and drove them to music lessons and sporting events and played with matchbox cars and dressed barbies and ran alongside two-wheelers and crossed my fingers as they sat behind the wheel of the car and tried to instill a little appreciation of beauty and respect, and helped with homework and stayed up all night while they worked on last-minute-projects and rocked them to sleep at night with a well-loved-tattered ‘goodnight moon’ falling off my lap……..now learn from them. to be relentless.
there is this adorable couple from mississippi on hgtv these days. erin and ben star in a show called Home Town and they are working to restore their tiny town of laurel one beautiful home at a time. my favorite moment, as they run commercials for this very popular show, is erin passionately looking into the camera saying, with the most charming southern drawl, “get up and DO it.” you can tell she means this about every single thing. and to her call to action, i just might add – and be relentless.
my name is kerri and i was a razor-flip-phone-holdout. it’s occurred to me that i might have been the last person who ever had one; i went from having my own brand-new-razor to The Girl’s hand-me-down-razor to my friend’s hand-me-down-razor to my friend’s daughter’s hand-me-down-razor….you get the picture. i would hold tightly the little screws keeping both halves of the flip together as they loosened and fought to cease and desist – just to not have to move on and decide on (read: learn) a new phone.
The Girl and The Boy generously gave me my first iphone for christmas a few years ago. it was an iphone 4 and it was groundbreaking. all my fears of smart-phoning disappeared and i became a part of the 21st century.
if it weren’t for texting, there are few conversations i would have with my children-who-live-far-away-and-are-too-busy-to-be-on-the-phone-with-mom (i knowww you can relate.) it was always remarkable to me how fast The Girl could text; i teased her with thoughts of entering her in national contests. she rolled her eyes. apparently, this is not an uncommon skill. i have to say, i flipped out the day, some time ago, that my iphone deleted my string of texts from The Boy. these text-strings are pieces of life.
i have graduated one iphone beyond the 4. skipping the 5 i now have a 6. well, technically, a 6s (there are varying opinions as to what the ‘s’ means.) it still amazes me the kind of connectivity with the world i can have with this little device, how truly smart it really is.
text me when you land makes me laugh. an absurdly funny cartoon, you have to admit, texting is alive and well in all places.
may 15, 1990. the day my life took an unchangeable turn. the girl was born. i became a mother. nothing would ever be the same. and i am beyond infinitely grateful. love became more than a noun and a verb – it became a person in my arms. every fibre of me was in love with this little wonder. i still am.
nothing can really prepare you for this feeling that is undeniably the most intense thing i have ever felt. i had my first taste of this when my niece wendy was born…the first of my niece-nephew-niece trio. i was young then – just eleven (sorry, ben…that really dates you ;)) i fell in love with each of them and, to this day, i’m quite sure they have no idea how much they are loved. but motherhood was different. it took my heart to a different plane entirely. i wondered how it would be -how i could love any more- when i was expecting my second child. when the boy was born i felt as if i had grown a whole second heart, as bottomless as the first one.
i am so very fortunate to be the mother of these two amazing people-in-this-world. my daughter ‘the girl’ is beautiful and fiercely independent and talented and smart and funny and -will always be- one of the reasons i breathe. my son ‘the boy’ is beautiful and fiercely independent and talented and smart and funny and -will always be- one of the reasons i breathe. i have been moved by their presence in the world. i have learned in countless ways. i have struggled with the balance of wanting-them-near and having-them-far-away. i know that there is not anything else i have done that is more important. they are the first thoughts in my mind in the morningtime and the last at night. i have been changed. i will never be the same.
this past week, like too many times in recent years, has cut to the core of my heart. i have felt overwhelming empathy for mothers (and, of course, fathers) who have lost their child to violence. i am not protected so much that i believe the events of the past week are the only children being lost to violence. i am no less appalled by the loss of a child to famine or war or domestic brutality. i just can’t imagine it. the raw brokenness-of-heart is unfathomable for me.
our children, like anything else that really counts in life, do not come with a manual in which you can look up ‘how’. we can read and study and research and google, but every situation is different and caring for and raising children is – and, by sheer importance, absolutely SHOULD be – the toughest thing you have ever done. and, if you have chosen it, the most momentous. it counts. it is the shepherding of life. it is life begetting life. children are the breath of the (what-kind-of-world-do-we-want?) world that continues. not just for their parents. but for all of us. because it doesn’t just take a village; it takes a world to raise a child, to raise children. they ARE the best thing.
every time the girl texts me and says “dude!” i laugh aloud. i have to say i prefer “mom” or “mommommommommom” to “dude” but i’m just happy to hear ANYthing at ANY time from the girl and the boy that ANY name goes. i’m guessing AllMomsEverywhere get that.
there is a sweet bistro in town called wine knot that we love to go to. our favorite spot is at the bar at the end in the corner, where we can people-watch or chat with andy or jeremy, awesome bartenders who, for the longest time, knew to order – wait for it – brian’s amazing meatloaf split and two glasses of merlot – the instant we walked in. there is something smalltownish and heartwarming to be said about this. kind of like one of the things we all loved about watching the show cheers with a cast of ted danson & shelley long, kirstie alley and woody harrelson, kelsey grammar and george wendt and other regulars who became a part of our living rooms and lives. given our new dietary restrictions (gluten free/dairy free -more whole30 compliant and feeling good!) we haven’t been to wine knot as much lately; we are cooking more with glasses of wine on our counter. but sometimes it is nice to just go and sit and visit on a stool in the corner.
this past saturday we were at the cedarburg winter fest, an annual trip for the up-north-gang, an unparalleled and beloved cast of characters. we walk around town, in and out of fun boutiques and shops, laughing at merch together. we watch the parade of firetrucks and snow plows and scurry to the frozen river to cheer for the bed races. it snowed a bit and was very “winter-festival-ish” (as dubbed by dan) this year, as opposed to last year when it was, oddly, almost 70 degrees and forced the bed races to be on the street. we – without fail – end our day together at the crowded pub the silver creek brewing company. dark beers, gluten free ciders, wine and kettle corn are our fare of choice. it’s a total blast. everyone talks at once; the topics are all over the place.
this flawed cartoon wednesday in the melange makes me laugh. the “duuuude”, the (oh-so-wisconsin) “cow-eyes” pun, the bovines at the bar. every opportunity to laugh. it’s a good thing. happy wednesday.
sometimes – in this world – there are really no words. this is one of those times.
instead, there are images, sounds, visceral emotional responses, reassurances and reminders…
i walked down the stairs into the studio. david had just finished this painting.
it is called “i will hold you in the storm” and it is the image, the sound, the visceral emotional response, reassurance, and reminder in my day of this time.
i walk downstairs to his studio often while he paints. i sit in one of the rocking chairs and watch or talk or sip coffee with him. and i fall in love. this happens again and again. it’s on “repeat” – this falling-in-love-with-a-work-on-the-wall. something jumps out at me or gently reaches out and shimmers its way to my heart and i am forever connected. and i say, “you can’t sell this one!”
he can’t sell this one. my heart is ever-connected to it.
now, of course, for someone who makes a living as an artist, eliminating pieces from the mix of those available for sale can be somewhat exasperatingly limiting. but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. and sometimes, when he paints, i want to keep it. (actually, that happens often, so i should get credit for not always acting on my heart-impulse.)
we were at ukulele band rehearsal a few nights ago. i had my phone out because i had forgotten to bring a AA battery for the clock on the wall and so i needed my phone handy for timing. my uke band does not want to go overtime, unless the patio and wine are involved. suddenly it dinged and there was a text message. and i needed to share with them…..at that moment david’s sister had texted that his great-niece, who was in labor, had begun “pushing”. in a short time there would be a new baby girl in the world. shimmering, indeed.
so many shimmering moments. sitting with dear friends around a potluck meal and laughing uncontrollably. the moment the boy calls to show you via facetime their new apartment. noticing the moon at night. a glass of wine by the chiminea. the first glimpse of color in the woods. seeing the girl in the flannel shirt you passed to her from your dad, her pa. a combed beach. tears of joy. holding hands in prayer. waking up pretzeled together. rich bass notes on my piano. a bite of a really good pear or a honey crisp apple. the dog and cat laying together. holding your child, tiny or grown. telling old stories. turning your head while driving the car to see your husband gazing at you. a first cup of morning coffee in bed. seeing the birds lined up at the bird feeder. listening to gabriel’s oboe.
it is sobering to think about all that is happening at any given moment, all over the world. our connection to all -through all the layers- makes it all ours. the good and the bad, the exquisite and the devastating. which should probably make us realize that any moments we are having that are particularly difficult are also shared by others. never alone. we are all in this together. this life thing.
david reminded me that at the book reading the other night author joyce maynard said, “it is my obligation to live!” it is. to find those shimmering moments. to let them shimmer. to not blunt them or try to put out the flash of fire they give us. the fire to keep stepping. through it all. all that shimmers and all that doesn’t.
seeing the girl in the flannel shirt you passed to her from your dad, her pa. a combed beach. 
tears of joy. holding hands in prayer. waking up pretzeled together. rich bass notes on my piano. a bite of a really good pear or a honey crisp apple. the dog and cat laying together. holding your child, tiny or grown. telling old stories. turning your head while driving the car to see your husband gazing at you. a first cup of morning coffee in bed. seeing the birds lined up at the bird feeder. listening to 
