beautiful and true

My marriage with Mark is beautiful because it’s real and honest and true.  It’s hard and good, oh so good.

For some time now, I’ve wanted to write a bit about marriage, specifically my marriage.  I write about mothering — the good, the bad and the ugly — and I can wax poetically about my Little Ones.  I write for a number of reasons, but often it is just as much a tribute to these Little Ones and a way to remember our journey together.  My desire to write marriage stuff is not unlike this, too.  I am often moved, sometmes to tears, by reading other’s writings about living out marriage together, and I know that I have things to say about it, too.

But.

I find that I have shied away from this.  I have yet to stick as much as a toe into the waters and I am afraid of what lurks underneath.  I am afraid — afraid mostly of what you will think.  I am afraid that I will come off as condescending, as if we have it all figured out, this perfect package of marriage.  I am afraid that it will be too real — will I have crossed some unspoken boundary?  I am afraid that I will embarrass my husband, he of deeply private sentiments.  Too, I’m afraid of what I might discover.  I am afraid of what I will learn about myself.

Isn’t it interesting, how this topic of marriage can seem taboo?  Most of us are neck deep in these trenches, much like with parenting, but other than an occasional rant about the sink full of dishes or a funny story about daddy-style parenting, I find that it is uncommon to discuss our married lives.  To go deep in talking about real marriage, even with our closest of friends, is hard.  It is ok to admit our parenting challenges, our gaffes and our successes, to share stories here and in person that illuminate the truest shades of mothering.  But brag a bit about my husband?  Write honestly about what makes our relationship so thick and so worn and so good?  I’m just not sure it is encouraged in the same way.

I’m going to think about this one a bit more, decide if it’s something worth writing out, working through in this public space, or if it is writing that I might just keep to myself.  Until then, I will share with you some who are bravely, and beautifully, doing just this.

Sarah Bessey at Emerging Mummy writes occasionally about what their love looks like.  Here are a two of my favorites: In which [love looks like] a real marriage and In which [love looks like] a handmade bed.  Oh, and this one to: In which our [love looks like] 10 years of moments. 

Also, Amber at The RunAmuck and her husband have been writing marriage letters to one another.  Here is a good one: On the Sexy.

the christians and the pagans

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table, 

Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able, 

Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old, and 

Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold.
Dar Williams, The Christians and The Pagans 

I’ve had this post bumbling in my head for a bit now, and though my head feels a bit mush-like these days, I thought it better to try to spit it out anyhow.  Something about being so very pregnant, mixed with the potential-crazy of the holiday season, and some good old fashion family drama has rendered my brain next to useless.  All apologies.

Santa comes to our house.  We’ve written letters.  We entice him with cookies, milk, and reindeer food.  We listen intently for bells, and wonder how he gets into our house without a chimney. We’ve read “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” countless times this year, and even the Littlest knows pieces by heart.

But before you cast your scorn in my direction, and suggest that we are missing the mark of Christmas, let me also tell you that my Little Ones clearly know why we celebrate this season, and Santa isn’t it.  They know that Advent is for preparing our hearts, waiting for our Rescuer.  Together we have been anticipating the birth of our Lord, and they can tell you with truth and sincerity about the shepherds, the angels, the wise men and the star.  And with quiet wonder, they can tell of the Christ-child born to us.

I don’t think that this is a case of either/or.  We sing all sorts of songs: ancient hymns with powerful, spiritual lyrics, sung by the sweetest little voices, as well as jolly jingles about Santa, his elves and reindeer. In our house, we celebrate the birth of Christ, but we welcome Santa Claus, too.  There is too much magic in all of Christmas, every bit of it, and I don’t want my Little Ones to miss out.  They have the rest of their lives to be expected to be rational, logical, and straight-forward.  I want their childhoods to be filled with fantasy and fun.  I’m not about to be the Grinch for them.  I know that my Little Ones have the God-given capacity to  figure out what is True and what is fun.  I don’t worry that I’ll have polluted their own intuitive ability by making Santa a  part of our tradition, too.  I heard someone say that if her daughter wants a present she knows to ask Santa, and if she wants something in her heart, she knows to ask Jesus.  And this was a four-year old she was talking about!  I’m certain that we don’t give our kids enough credit sometimes.  Santa weighs the naughty/nice balance; Jesus doles out the Grace.

And, yes, I’ve heard all the arguments about Christ not even being born at this time of year, but instead in the Spring, and how the Christmas tree was part of the Pagan Winter Solstice tradition.  And I’m glad that we’ve appropriated these things — that we’ve incorporated bits and pieces from other traditions and made them part of our Christian story.  Who doesn’t need something to celebrate at this time of year?  The Winter Solstice marks the longest night, the darkest day, and I’m thankful that we have chosen a reason to gather as family, to light candles and say prayers, and to welcome Light himself in the midst of this darkness.  I don’t want to wait until the Spring.  There is plenty to celebrate then — and our own Christian calendar reflects this no more so than in forlorn Lent and then joyous Easter.

This time of year can become so complicated.  So many different traditions are being celebrated, with just as many variations within them.  Instead of creating lines between them, I’d rather recognize the ways in which these holidays can bring us together: sharing in joyous feasts and celebrations, giving to others out of the blessings we’ve been given, embracing those in need of an embrace, and offering Hope in places of Hopelessness.  There is Magic in all of that.  Jesus-Magic and Santa-Magic.

Elizabeth Esther writes a bit more about why she believes in Santa, and fairies and elves:  you can find her here.  

“To embrace the mystery without needing to unveil it, explain it, understand it.  I’ve made it safe for them to be wonderstruck and awestruck and to hear sleigh bells on the roof.”  Elizabeth Esther

And while we’re at it — what about talking snowmen? Or flying reindeer?

November’s Call: on seasons, ritual and hibernation

It is with a sigh, of relief, almost, or more accurately surrender, which I see this November sky.  It is familiar: gray and haunting, threatening snow from the formless clouds, curlicues of wind blowing crunchy leaves skyward.  This makes more sense.  Yesterday’s rain storm brought down what was left of October’s regal color: hues of burnt sienna traded for shadows of heather gray. This is the weather that, though I don’t long for, I do sink into because it is just so November.  Unlike the days we’ve had recently, full of sunshiney surprises.  But the truth is that I need these authentic November days to remind me of where we are.  This sky acts as a compass, pointing me away from October’s harvest, towards November’s feast.

We’ve turned our clocks back, tucked into the darkness as it creeps closer to our living space.  In college, once that change took place we would even eat our dinner meal earlier, longing for the shelter of the warm dorm against the blistering reality of winter in upstate New York, swapping clothes for PJs, microwaving  hot chocolate to nestle in for studying.  There is something about the gray, the dark, the barrenness of this landscape, that feels like a natural reprieve: a calling towards hibernation.  I, for one, am thankful for the call to stillness, especially to ready myself for the jubilation of the holidays.

There is rhythm to the seasons, ritual that has been integrated in the lives of generations past, as we mimic this change.  It is one thing that I yearn to teach my little ones: the sacredness of each season.  The new growth and promise of Spring means little without the desolate underbelly of a dark Winter.  The harvest celebrated throughout Fall is not possible without the sweat-drenched long days of Summer.  Though our lives are more about this metaphoric rhythm than the literal dependence of previous generations, I feel it is still important to stay connected to these rituals.

This sense of rhythm, of ritual, of time moving forward but with repitition and familiarity, is something that I want to incorporate in our family life.  I want my Little Ones to be influenced, as I am, by the movement of the sun, the moon, the earth around its axis.  I want them to know this air to feel different in their lungs, recognize it’s perfume in their noses.  Just like I crave this hibernation and stillness in these November moments, I want to give this gift of season to my Little Ones.  I want them to feel freedom in the unfettered glory of sitting before a fireplace and peace in those places where only piles of books in pajamas will suffice.  I want them to know the way a mug of hot tea feels on these cool days, just like a cold lemonade quenches July’s blistering heat.  I want them to lean into the full days in the kitchen baking up pumpkins and apples, knowing that it will one day, not too long from now, be time again to return to the simple meals of grilling outside.

Of course, the school calendar and curriculum dictates some of this seasonality, and the commerical consumerism we see every where supposedly taps into some sort of change.  And it is easy to see one day bleed into the next, and forget to even notice the changes until all of a sudden it’s dark at 4:30pm and we have a long list of Christmas goodies to shop for.  I guess that is why I so strongly want to root myself in what I feel is more natural: to choose our own rhythm and ritual, to emphasize what we already hold sacred instead of glumly swallowing the mock values around us.  It takes intent: to choose how we see this season, how we live into this Fall, this Winter.

I will put on my pajamas after dinner tonight — a dinner, set with candles,  a bit earlier than our summer meals.

fresh starts

I don’t know how we got here: tears glistening in the corner of both of our eyes, misunderstood and at the end of our ropes.  My Eldest and I have tripped into a pattern this morning, an order from which we are having a hard time unsticking ourselves.  My body aches in it’s third trimester weariness; my mind aches from having to orchestrate this time, feeling like I can’t find harmony or melody with him, and I’m pierced to admit that I, too, am contributing to this discord.  He is my mirror:  his pride, his arrogance, his tongue, his wit.  It is uncomfortable to see myself so reflected, and he watches me wiggle.

We tried, and we try, to have new moments of grace: these fresh starts.  Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t: I cannot hide my frustration from the moments prior; he cannot see things as separate.  We both fall prey to exhaustions and lack of patience builds.  We hug, and cry, and continue to ask for new love and forgiveness, together.

I can get twisted up about these days.  I know that we all have our moments, our days, and family life is no different.  We shine, and then we all need space to lose our glitter.  I get that.  We had an amazing weekend, where I asked a lot of my little ones.  We were stuck in the car, road tripping to family and friends, and I heard nary a complaint (“I didn’t even ask once if we were there yet!” He bragged the next day).  He was gracious, and charming; funny and friendly; smart and calm.  Even tired at dinner, he concentrated on writing his letters on napkins with crayons instead of complaining.  I smiled broadly as I tucked him in to bed that night, and he knew the praises he earned.

Even yesterday, the beginning of the week, with Daddy back off to work and less to look forward to, still tired from the weekend, I could have understood a moment to fall apart.  But instead, we followed the sunshine outside again, and ran and played at the Gardens.  Again, another stolen golden November day.  With charm and gratitude we began our week together.

But today is a day of drudgery:  I sat paying bills at 8:30am, drinking down my coffee, throwing another load of laundry in.  The bickering began, and I pulled out my referee whistle.  The clouds are fierce in the sky, pulling us back to November’s reality.  An outing to the grocery store loomed as both a threat and the highlight of today’s activities.  The Littlest struggles less on days like today.  She delights in open space for play, and happily cooked up her own plans.  But the Eldest sometimes doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of it.  As much as it is one of our core family values that we carve out intentional space of nothing, and that I long for and encourage my children to confront their boredom with wit and wisdom, with creativity and imagination, he sometimes can’t get past the struggle.

It is quiet in the house now.  We are all taking time and space to ourselves, and I know that this will help rejuvenate our day.  It may not make everything peaceful and copacetic, but it is a start.  Here is what else I know: a day full of chores and tasks makes me grumpy, too.  I need to keep my own grumpiness in check, so that I’m not feeding his.  I will put on the kettle, then with hot tea snuggle in to read a bit before naptime is over.  Yes, the dishwasher needs to be emptied, but I’m choosing to nourish myself for the sake of the little ones.  When I asked him about our struggles today he told me simply that he wanted me to pay more attention to him.  While this is not always possible, and he does need to adjust his meter a bit, I know that I can turn my attention toward him in positive ways this afternoon.  Maybe I’ll help him start a castle out of blocks; maybe I’ll sit and read books with him for a bit.  I forget how simply setting time out for his needs, even in the middle of our struggles, can forge a connection that will set things straight.  I also know that some fresh air will be good for all of us, so though it is cloudy and we’ll miss the essence of sunshine, we will head outside for a bit of play before it gets too dark.

I have not had my finest moments as a mother today.  I am thankful for the chance to pause, reflect and begin again, in each moment.  I am thankful for my tender little boy, arms wrapped tightly around my neck, who knows of my deep and aching love for him.  He forgives quickly, and with grace.  I am thankful for fresh starts.

learn to like what doesn’t cost much

Learn to like what doesn’t cost much.

Learn to like reading, conversation, music.

Learn to like plain food, plain service, plain cooking.

Learn to like fields, trees, brooks, hiking, rowing, climbing hills.

Learn to like people,

even though some of them may be different…

different from you.

Learn to like to work and enjoy the satisfaction of doing your job as well as it can be done.

Learn to like the songs of birds, the companionship of dogs.

Learn to like gardening, puttering around

the house and fixing things.

Learn to like the sunrise and sunset, the beating of the rain

on the roof and windows,

and the gentle fall of snow on a winter’s day.

Learn to keep your wants simple and

refuse to be controlled by the likes and dislikes of others.

Lowell Bennion

I’m letting these words wash over me, settle in my soul, today, this rainy-play inside-stay in pajamas ’cause we’re not feeling all well-day.  It seems to echo a theme for me, of the lessons and truths that we’re embracing as a family.  Frugal Girl illustrates this beautifully with some gorgeous photos.