the beauty of the rain

Spring is in full fury here.  We’ve been teased with her sun and glory, and today are pained with her brittle rain.  I’m tired; nobody is sleeping well.  Today, this is all I can muster.  The lyrics of this song have been in my head, as I’m embracing the opportunity of this rain.  I am thankful that Dar Williams penned the words to recognize the beauty.  I share it with you:

The Beauty of the Rain
by Dar Williams

from Many Great Companions

And you know the light is fading all too soon
You’re just two umbrellas one late afternoon
You don’t know the next thing you will say
This is your favorite kind of day
It has no walls
The beauty of the rain
Is how it falls, how it falls, how it falls

And there’s nothing wrong but there is something more
And sometimes you wonder what you love her for
She says you’ve known her deepest fears
‘Cause she’s shown you a box of stained-glass tears
It can’t be all
The truth about the rain
Is how it falls, how it falls, how it falls

But when she gave you more to find
You let her think she’d lost her mind
And that’s all on you
Feeling helpless if she asked for help
Or scared you’d have to change yourself

And you can’t deny this room will keep you warm
You can look out of your window at the storm
But you watch the phone and hope it rings
You’ll take her any way she sings
Or how she calls
The beauty of the rain
Is how it falls, how it falls, how it falls
How it falls, how it falls, how it falls

 

on birthdays

Last week was my birthday.  (Remember these)?  I’m not much of a birthday person.  Oh, I don’t mind a celebration — I look forward to raising a glass to toast most any occasion.  But to celebrate me?  Maybe another time.  I get squeamish with the attention, awkward around opening gifts.  Did I give the proper response?  Did the giver feel the proper delight in giving?  You probably should have just saved your time and money.  Sheesh — what a pain I can be!

I have found, however, with the advent of small children in my life, a new willingness to be lavished.  This year, the Eldest has really understood the concept of “birthday.”  Countless times throughout the day, and even some since, he paused, glanced up from a puzzle to meet my eye, and quietly, with that smile, delicately declared “Happy Birthday, Mommy.”  I will receive that any time, my friends.  I know I have the proper response for him.  Let me also coo about the Littlest — she, in her tender voice, has been singing “Happy Birthday” to me (yes, singing).  Now that is a treasure I know how to keep (though my husband insists that she sounds like Marilyn Monroe singing to the President).  Add to these the drawings and cards, the whisperings behind the door as daddy brings them alongside his schemes, and this year I have been gifted beyond my imaginings.

Birthdays are celebrations.  I want to celebrate my children on their respective days — I want them to feel like royalty.  Knowing this, I also need to model how to graciously receive these celebrations.  As uncomfortable as it can be for me to recognize it, I know that I am adored by those in my life.  Embracing my birthday is just as much a gift to them as it is to me.  And let me tell you, those cupcakes were quite a gift, thank you very much.

some days (are better than others)

My mother is great.  And quirky.  She doesn’t fit into any box; she is purely her own.  I strive to be like that in so many ways.  One of her quirks is something that I have inherited as well:  she likes to edit children’s books as she reads them.  Of course, most parents do this in some manner or another.  This books is too long to read before naps, so we skip a few less-than-important parts and move on to the good stuff.  Or we don’t use the word “stupid” in our house — it always becomes “silly.”  But one instance of my mother’s editing has been a life lesson that I’ve grown to appreciate.

In reading any fairy tale, my mother would always change the ending.  Most fairy tales end with, well, a fairy tale ending. Not in my house.  Nope.  In my house, fairy tales always ended with “and some days were better than others.”  Call her a realist, but my mother wanted to be clear that even when Cinderella finally overcame her struggles and landed Prince Charming, they still had to figure the rest out.  It is never the end of the story.  There are daily struggles, even after the dragons have been slain.

This is true with most things in life, and none more so than life with kids.  Family life can be beautiful, meaningful, momentous and oh-so-many other wonderful things.  But it can be a challenge, too.   Some days move swiftly, gracefully and we are all engaged in this story that drips of royalty and love.  Other days we are stepping on each other’s toes, behaving much more like wicked stepsisters.  Some times I find that I have supernatural patience, as if bestowed upon me by fairy godmothers.  Other days I’m run ragged trying to put out the fires around me.  (My line from today: I can only do one thing at a time.  How many times did I say that?)  Some days I manage to breathe more deeply, letting the moments come.  Other days I’m struggling to even find my breath.

I do have my own fairy tale.  It may not be the glossy Disney version, but more like the true gritty Grimm’s tales.  There are moments of betrayal (even if I’m just betraying my own desires); moments of love at first sight (those eyes! My eldest’s, of course); even fatal moments of eating the poisoned apple (when losing my temper seemed the only choice left).  Sometimes the story ends with wedding bells and cheers from the kingdom.  But most often, it’s recognizing that some days are better than others.  And thankfully, there’s always tomorrow.

today, right now

I am:

* basking in the sun.  We have this crazy old sunporch, and it’s destruction is a major part of a plans for the summer.  But right now, in the beginning of spring when the sun is glowing but it’s not actually that warm out, it is enjoyable.  It amplifies those rays, and with the door wide open is is warming up my kitchen nicely.

*surrounded by fruit.  We had a desperate trip to the grocery store this morning, and I’m thankful that, while part of me strives to live more locally, we also have access to oranges in March.  And apples.  And strawberries.  And blueberries.  And avocados.

*descending from a great family weekend into the reality of Monday. Sometimes a weekend with nothing planned can be daunting, and sometimes, as the case was for us this past weekend, it allows the freedom to just be with one another.  Sure, in the end, we did a lot, but none of it was planned, and that felt good. Now, I’m delving back into our routine, and falling on these familiar rhythms feels good, too.

*motivated.  We got quite a bit accomplished this past weekend, and I plan on riding this wave a bit longer.  I have found that if I balance the have-to chores with the reward of a more creative, fun project, I am both more productive and happier about the work.  Up next:  filing local taxes, practicing for sewing projects, trying a new bread recipe, continuing my closet purge, washing the windows.

*planning — meals, errands, activities for the little ones, family time and outings, the aforementioned projects.  All part of our week, and I’m trying to be a bit more organized about things.   Also, planning our garden for the spring/summer — both flowers and veggies.

*interested in reading, should I find a spare moment or two:
Condesencion, Condemnation and the Cross @ Storied Theology
The Best Part of Parenting @ Motherlode (Anna Quindlen guest post)
You’re Not the Boss of Me: The Charms and Challenges of Raising Healthy Boys @ Renaissance Mama.

*thankful.  Always thankful.  Truly full of thanks.

What are you, right now?

{this moment}

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember — inspired by SouleMama.