broken, apart, open

I do not even know where to begin


falling apart
pulling back together
hugging Della maybe a little too long, a little too tightly
trying to guard myself against images and image-provoking language that I know from experience can cause me harm, while also feeling that as a human being on this planet, those kids deserve my brokenness, my hurt, my horror, my attention

I pull it together, and then, stare at the curls that somehow know what they are doing, sproinging up from Della's beautiful head, and I think of all of the parents that will never look down and see those on their child again
and

wow

I just care barely cope.

Today, I feel nearly poisoned. If you told me I ate something toxic I would believe you.

And then I just watched/listened to a video sent by my Reiki teacher, prior to the events on friday, and I have to say I was both surprised and not to find myself sobbing.   The beauty stuck me so much deeper than it would have because I am so broken open.  No amount of intellectual over-ride would let me do anything other than watch and cry, truly touched by the beauty of the music.

How can I possibly turn this openness into healing good? I don't know, but I do know I am going to try to stay more connected to beauty, to my lucky life, to the minutes of thrown food and tantrum, to those crazy curls.... to love, the big loves, the small loves, the whiskers on my cat.

Here's the video.
The name gives it away, but the beauty really struck me.

*speechless*

My heart is just simply broken for those parents, those families, for Newtown, and for all of us. Violence against children should never ever ever ever ever happen.

push me pull you

Ok I'm going to do it. I am going to talk about my push me pull you relationship with the idea of weaning.

I don't want to do it.
I want to have it be done and over with and onward on the far side.
But I do not want to do it, I don't want to think about it, deal with it, experience it, strategize about it, fear it, mourn it.

There are parts of it I am still truly loving.
But there are parts that I am getting more tired about, fatigued by, and will not miss.

Della is showing no signs of slowing down in terms of her interest and desire to nurse.

But here I am thinking and thinking and feeling and feeling and I am just not comfortable with any way through this that I can envision except my dreamy expectation that it would just magically happen.

I imagined this: Baby led weaning.
Unicorns.
Rainbows.
Della would grow up and get more and more independent (CHECK), she would become more and more interested in other things (CHECK), she would eat more foods (half CHECK), and find other ways to connect with me (yes?) and that along with that, nursing would sort of quietly diminish in importance for both of us.
Gently.
Slowly.
Organically.

Ha.

I did not think I would have to *do* anything, expect respond to the natural turn of events.
And I did not want to mourn.

And, boy howdy, I still don't.

I know nothing that seems to ignite strong emotions and opinions as much as breastfeeding. The whole who/what/where/when/why of breastfeeding is about as sticky with intensity as any other topic I can think of. (pardon the dangling participle)
I am not trying to start a debate here.

I more just wanted to state my ambivalence because I know other folks out there might be feeling what I am and not quite know what to do either.
I just don't know how this will turn out. I just want it to be gentle. And I just don't want to be sad.

perfectly imperfect

I kind of did not want to post since I didn't want to bump Susan's photos out of the way. So I will include one here to make myself feel better.

Seriously? How incredibly lucky we are.

Ok, about the tree.  

Every year that we've had a tree (not too many now) there's been a bit of drama.

One year it was a Christmas eve sort of thing when my sister's family had to flee their home after an oil spill. 

One year it was me falling in love with a fat little live tree that we planted at  the edge of the woods at the house, and, as far as I know, it is still there. The face toward the house thriving, the face toward the forest, nearly entirely denuded of needles.

I don't remember the next year, or maybe those two were reversed.

Then we were here.

And I fell for a charlie brown tree up in maine, brought it home stuffed inside the car. 10 bucks or something.

And this year, we went out in the foggy rain yesterday, to The House By The Side of the Road in Wilton, and there were rows and rows of perfect trees.

But I already knew I was not looking for perfect. I was looking for the one that maybe no one else will want. 

And after walking up and down aisle after aisle of perfect trees, I saw it a few rows away. When it is clear like that, like so few things are, it is *totally delicious*. We pushed through as if maybe someone else might beat us to it. 

12 bucks I think. MINE.

At home last night we stuffed it into a large flower pot filled with compacted soil.  We strung lights, and decorated, and it is looking rather magnificent. 

A friend once gave me a bowl she had made in a pottery class. She had stamped cool symbols around the rim, and glazed it.  I Loved it.  The reason it was so lovely was that it was perfectly imperfect. I would have been anal about stamping at regular intervals, at making sure things lined up. And the bowl I would have tried to make would have not had nearly the life and love of the bowl that arrived into my grateful hands.  That bowl taught me something so very TRUE about beauty, that it is the irregularity, the imperfection, the rhythm of some kinds of uncertainty or surprise that catch my eye and my breath.

So, little tree.  Your needles are already stuck in my socks. Welcome.  

Della photos by Susan Mullen

It was *SO COLD* and yet, Susan still managed to make magic happen.
Want more?  Head over to Susan's blog.  Oh my my.

Scrambly

Sometimes treading water looks like you aren't going anywhere, because, well, you aren't. And the not going anywhere can very easily look like not very much... can seem like lack of progress, lack of effort, lack of busy-ness and productivity.  But there is a lot of scrambling motion under the surface keeping you from drowning, and boy howdy, that sure counts.

Inside, I am feeling all sorts of scrambly.

There's a lot of motion under the surface. A lot of inner work, adjustments, re-realizations, some discomfort, a new cold, many projects, not quite enough time, and no where near enough down time.

There is no down time.
I need to figure out how to figure that out. How to allow for it.  Make space for it. Fill the space with down time that feels like down time. I am working against myself at the moment, filling filling filling. Running out of time feels like a daily deal.

Even my dreams have been frenetic and over-filled. I wake puzzled by the flood of images, quests, seeking, complexity and nonsense of them and their too muchness.

Today I am trying to get some things off my list.  Some of the too much.  Some of the weight of unfinished business.  I am trying to avoid avoidance. Do stuff that has been dangling and lingering.  Just hit send, just hit publish.  Just put it out there, not waiting until or unless, but just trying to get things done *enough*, enough for now.

One of my new updates today is to my heartwork creativity blog.  Please feel free to check it out.
Note the new tab for consulting.
Note the new tab for coaching.
Note the coaching is currently FREE for an email exchange.  Interested? Contact me!

Back to my scramblings and do-ings, just have really missed being here.
Really.
Really, really.

playground

Today I took Della to the playground. I generally don't. We go to the farm, where we interact with each other and the animals and the tractors, but not really other families, other parents, other moms.

Today, we went to the farm, and the day was just so glorious, 70 degrees, warm breeze, nearly intoxicating...I could not imagine going inside. So, on the way home, we stopped at the playground.

I do this thing-- I feel like I am the new kid at school, spend time looking at my shoes, or just at Della, in some self-protective-feeling tunnel vision.  Wider awareness comes with something like monstrous trepidation, like I am a big fat faker. Like I am the only one making it up moment by moment, an interloper, a charletan.... something negative and out of place and yet
and yet

I am there with my amazing daughter.
And people smile at her and at me.
And people say hello, and so do I.
My internal scars and scarlet letters do not show on the outside.

I said hello to a woman looking my age with a 2 year old, and a 3 month old.
To a woman much younger with four kids, all under 5, the youngest 6 months.

But I am guilty of so many things:
envy,
a temptation to assume genetic connection,
a temptation to assume easy fertility,
to assume ease...


Today I tried my best to just be me. Not totally self conscious interloperKate. Just Kate. With Della.
But I still heard some sort of apology in my voice when I noted Della's diaper needed changing, and the bag was in the car,
I heard some sort of awe when I said "wow, four kids, that's really something"
I felt some sort of "less than" in the way I held my body


But all in all it was a glorious day,
we came home with sand in our pockets and dirt on our knees
we ate popsicles and talked about our big big day

and the evening wrapped up with me, in a tangle of rookie mistakes, tripping myself up with dinner and dishes and daycare lunch preparation when really, I should have just gotten down on the floor with Della, but instead found myself creating a perfect storm of dropped rice and a too-small casserole dish and sticky stuff dumped under the burner, while Della put on her own boots, stomped through the kitchen kicking clods off the treads, and was ratcheting up Mommamommamomma, increasingly calling for my attention and me, saying one more minute one more minute one more minute with a lump forming fast in my throat
and Della ended up lying on the floor crying
when all I really wanted to do at that moment was exactly the same thing
and it got alright once the casserole was in the oven
and I gave up everything else

so, tonight I am rewinding the day, reveling in the great day that it was
because if me
in spite of me
along with me

which is really what this is all about I think
magnificence.
stuff burning on the stove
and rice on the floor.