Author Archives: momma maggie

Margaret, Matthew, Maggie & Mattie

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This story has been fully formed and waiting — for the right moment, and for a little ceremony.   I wasn’t sure when that would be — until today.  It’s my momma’s birthday, and this is for you, momma.  This is the moment this story has been waiting for.  Happy birthday and I love you with all my heart. ❤

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My given name is Margaret Mary Anderson. I’ve never quite felt like it was my own. I’ve been Maggie as long as I can remember, so it feels strange to tell people that my name is Margaret.   It has mostly been used by strangers, in doctor’s offices, and in other official settings where a legal name is required.  And though I love the story and the history behind my name,  I’ve never felt that the propriety of the name itself quite suited me. I always have been and always will be, Maggie.

Maggie Fitzsimmons now, which fits just fine. There was some agonizing over the decision to change my last name when I married Ken, to be sure, but in large part I chose it because I liked it.  And it’s got a sweet Irish ring to it, which also feels fitting. 🙂

Margaret Mary was my great-grandma’s name, and my mom chose it for me to honor her and the special bond they shared.   Margaret provided her with a constant, gentle, and unconditional love — a soft resting place. When I was born, my mom knew that she wanted to keep Margaret’s name (and legacy) alive by giving it to me, but that she would call me Maggie.

I knew and loved my great-grandma also, for the 13 years we walked this earth together.   I felt proud to share my name with my great-grandma, this woman filled with so much love. She was married to Matthew, and it is by no accident that this is the name we chose for our son (albeit knowing that we would call him Mattie). Margaret and Matthew had a great love, an expansive love that was filled with laughter and tenderness. Their marriage lasted over 60 years, until death did them part.

 

Margaret and Matthew Hahn Wedding

Margaret and Matthew Hahn Wedding

Matthew died first (colon cancer) though we all thought it would be grandma who would go sooner. Her dementia worsened quickly in their final years together, and grandpa cared for her (and all of us) tenderly and gracefully.  In his eightieth decade, he stepped into the stereotypically feminine roles previously filled by her — managing the household and all social activities — for the first time in his life.  Before grandma started losing her memory, she loved to visit and if grandpa answered the phone he would say a brief “hello” and “I love you”, passing the phone to grandma for the rest. But he was able to transition into being the one to do it all at the end of their lives together, seemingly effortlessly.

It was beautiful, in retrospect. At the time I just felt scared, sad, and concerned for my grandma, my namesake.

Margaret & Matthew 50th Wedding Anniversary

Margaret & Matthew 50th Wedding Anniversary

My great-grandpa’s death was the first I experienced. I felt such intense grief that I couldn’t imagine how I would ever recover and feel like myself again. I wailed at his funeral uncontrollably, trying to comprehend this thing called death that felt most unnatural to my child self, impossible to fathom.

At their house after the service I clutched my great-grandma’s hand, not wanting to leave her side, not understanding how anyone could eat or laugh or make small talk in the face of such tragedy. I can see myself there now, small and afraid, sitting in the blue wingback chair that used to be his, loving her fiercely.

Only two months later, on Valentine’s Day, Margaret followed Matthew. Although my sorrow was great, I was relieved that they were together again, somehow.

Eighteen years later, my own son was born, and while we considered many names, we chose Matthew.  We chose this name to honor my great-grandfather and his legacy — and to once again bring Matthew and Margaret together again — though this time as Maggie and Mattie, mother and son.  We carry on their love, tenderness and laughter, making it our own, moving it forward and passing it on.

Maggie and Mattie, Summer 2014

Maggie and Mattie, Summer 2014

Siren in the Night

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I am accustomed to hearing the emergency alert siren in Madison on a regular basis; it happens on the first Wednesday of every month at noon precisely. When I hear the siren begin to wind up into its high-pitch sustained whine, I pause to consider the day and time to confirm that it is only a test. My response to this conclusion is typically a mix of relief (that the sound doesn’t indicate an impending disaster), and slight irritation (that this grating noise is interrupting my day, albeit for only a few minutes).

I am NOT accustomed to being woken from a deep sleep in the middle of the night to hear this emergency siren, as happened earlier this week. At approximately 12:30am on Monday night, I woke to the sound of the siren.   It took my sleepy brain a few moments to register what was happening.   The siren was accompanied by thunderclaps loud enough to send the dog slinking over with her tail between her legs, shaking, and heavy rain – not falling in it’s typical downward trajectory but instead blowing horizontally, thumping against the house – making my bedroom feel like the inside of a car wash. Was this a tornado warning?? My first reaction was to grapple in the darkness for my smart phone to check the radar and verify the cause of the siren (hoping that somehow my technology was smarter than the siren and would indicate that I could go back to sleep). But before I could locate any information, Ken walked into the room and announced the tornado warning.  He’d first heard about it on Facebook, which he’d just happened to be perusing after midnight while unable to sleep – confirming that the news still travels fastest via the smartest technology of all — social media.

A more youthful and childless version of myself – feeling invincible and relying on a belief that surely tornadoes didn’t touch down in the middle of the city – may have thrown a pillow over my head and gone back to sleep.  But the stakes are higher now, and any recklessness I may have felt in the face of danger has been replaced with fierce protective instincts to keep my family and myself safe. Despite these strong instincts, Ken and I did hedge for a few moments weighing the consequences of being swept away in a tornado against waking the baby. While we usually do everything within our power to keep the baby asleep, this seemed like an appropriate exception.

Fortunately Mattie barely stirred when Ken picked him up and minimal rocking and shushing noises kept him asleep for the tiptoed trip through the house and down two flights of stairs into our basement. We settled down to wait out the storm in a nest of blankets from the laundry pile near the washing machine; me rocking and nursing my sleeping boy and Ken watching the radar on his phone.

Even though I still thought the likelihood of the tornado affecting us was small (yes, some of that invincibility still lingers), I felt afraid and imagined a variety of potential grisly outcomes.   But I was also struck by the timeless quality of this scene in the basement (minus the smart phone), and it made me think about all of the other mothers that have huddled over their babies in the darkness while sirens wailed around them. I imagined the fear a mother might feel while under the threat of an air raid or some other kind of enemy attack. Or of the mothers who knew that a tsunami or an earthquake was coming, but had no safe place to take shelter with their babies.

Maybe this was a coping mechanism of my mind – to imagine another scene to take me out of my own. Whatever it was, it instilled feelings of kinship with these mothers to know, if only for a few moments, the fear of a real potentially life-threatening disaster.

Like any mother, I feel tiny flutters of fear for the life of my child on a daily basis; the kind of fear that causes my heart to feel like it has momentarily dropped into my stomach while at the same time I forget how to breathe. This is usually caused by a close call of one variety or another, like when he almost falls from the top of the slide on the playground, almost runs into the street when a car is coming, or almost slips and falls in the bathtub.  I sometimes joke that my day consists of protecting Mattie from one life-threatening event after another, but today I am grateful for the normalcy and relative smallness of these everyday events.

On Monday night, the siren stopped after a short time (10 minutes?) and we knew it was safe to go back to bed, which we did gratefully. The next morning, I read in the paper that the tornado did in fact touch down in the middle of the city, even snapping trees, damaging property, and felling power lines on streets walking distance from my own.   While my mind drifted to the fates of those less fortunate than myself, maybe the fear that I was experiencing (and simultaneously avoiding) was more real than I dared consider.

At noon on the first Wednesday of next month when the emergency warning siren blares, I expect to feel more relief and gratitude than irritation. And perhaps I’ll even think to use it as a moment of ceremony, to remember all of those other mothers who visited me in the basement on Monday night; those who were able to return to bed like me, relieved and grateful that the threat of danger had passed, and those whose lives were lost or forever changed by a siren in the night.

 

Coloring

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Coloring has become a serious business at our house as of late. It happens at the kitchen table (where there is a dedicated coloring corner with a special booster seat and a plentiful supply of crayons, colored pencils, and paper), in the tub (with special bathtub crayons), on the sidewalk and the porch (with “chalk-it”)… and sometimes on the walls, floors, and any other hard surface available… but we’re working on this. 🙂

Mattie can stay engaged in this activity for a very long time – as long as someone is willing to follow his direction and draw all of the things he gets so excited to see come to life when crayon hits the paper. This currently consists of a long list of automobiles: buses, airplanes, cars, trucks, garbage trucks, boats, and helicopters; varying only in size (little one or big one) and color (seriously, he can name them all now). Frequently I haven’t finished drawing one blue bus before he’s asking me to draw another one…or a little yellow plane or a pink helicopter…a BIG one! I’ve gotten really good at drawing the things on this list (quickly!), but he’s started to challenge my drawing skills more often now by throwing in other things we’ve seen recently; a rhino, hippo, or giraffe (we went to the zoo) or a beetle, worm, caterpillar, grasshopper, or fish (he loves to visit the creek).

He draws and conducts the creation of this imagined scene with the same fervor. While he is instructing me on what comes next he is also drawing scribbles, circles, dots, and lines; they even sometimes come together looking like automobiles. I am astounded by how quickly his drawing is evolving; it’s only been a couple of months and already there are distinct differences from when he began. This is just one more way in which I am amazed by the speed in which he is transforming before my very eyes.

So yesterday afternoon I sat at the kitchen table coloring with Mattie in this fashion for a very long time. And while I’m sitting there feeling this awe and wonder over my beautiful boy, thrilled both by his delight and being able to simply satisfy his desire to see a world filled with automobiles of all sizes and colors… I start to notice some other feelings creeping in. First, I start to wonder if he is ever going to take a nap today. It’s way past naptime and he’s showing no signs of slowing, so I start to panic at the thought that I might not get any time to myself. I need to do the dishes. And start some laundry. Pick up toys. Pay at least one bill. Start supper. Work in the garden. Call the doctor. Take a shower! Respond to at least one personal email! (I’m getting desperate now…)

Then, as my panic and frustration start to build, another layer arrives. As I’m feeling this longing to move at my own pace, I also begin to think about Ken and how he “gets to” go off to work each day, doing work that is meaningful and that he’s passionate about, while I’m stuck at home taking care of Mattie. (Of course this is meaningful work and I’m passionate about doing it, but this information doesn’t exist in the moment when I’m trapped in the story created by my powerful mind.) In the story, I’m a victim of my own life – sacrificing myself, a martyr to the cause of raising our son, and all my feelings about being thwarted and unable to move at my own pace, NEVER able to finish any task that requires more than 15 minutes of my attention or EVER getting to do anything for myself… get momentarily projected onto my dear husband. (I’m sorry, sweetie.) I know I’m really deep in when absolutes like NEVER start to creep in – this is full-on unreasonable, petulant child, stomping my foot kind of language. Fortunately, it also rings the warning bell and alerts me to the fact that I need to breathe and evaluate what’s actually going on.

So somehow in this moment I found the wherewithal to ask myself… what would I rather be doing?

Yes, there was a long list of tasks in my awareness that needed attention. But would I seriously rather be doing those things? Not really…

And while I might want to go get a massage, read a book, go for a run, go dancing, see my friends, write, and take a trip to Italy and drink wine for a week, those desires will always exist and point more toward me needing to carve out more time to tend to myself. Which I’m working on…

But in the big picture…is there some job that I’d rather be doing that would make me happier than being at home with my son, teaching him about the world and watching him develop and grow more and more into himself?

When honestly exploring that question in this moment in my life, I found that the honest answer was … nope.   This is actually what I want to be doing. In fact, this is what I get to do. I get to spend my days with my beautiful son, coloring and reading books; taking walks; throwing rocks in the creek; hunting for tadpoles, worms, and beetles; splashing in puddles; and running through tall grass with the dog.

It makes me really happy… a lot of the time. And it’s really hard … sometimes. But what job that’s worthwhile isn’t?

"Chalk-it" delight

“Chalk-it” delight!

 

Where I’ve Been & Spring Through Mattie’s Eyes

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Whew, I’m back.  I made it through my big work deadline and I’m only just beginning to emerge from the long break from everything that we all needed. We took a much-needed vacation to Florida to reconnect as a family and remember the feeling of sun on our skin and dirt beneath our bare feet.   I thought I would write about it (and many other things) sooner, but I just haven’t had it in me.

My darling boy made it through my concentrated stretch of long work days beautifully (amenable to being with papa and his grandmas most of the time), but literally the day after it was over didn’t want me to leave his sight.  It’s like he knew that we’d gotten through something and he could fall apart and let all his built-up need out.  I’m grateful both that he was so adaptable during this critical time and and then also that his need could emerge fully and be met.  It’s been intense in the aftermath, as I’ve been really present to his built-up need and working to rebuild his trust, proving that I won’t leave him every time I walk out of the room.  Two months later, I think we’re finally on the other side of it and back in balance.

Balance.  Not an easy thing to achieve in any arena.  My life (our lives) feel like an undulating snake body that fills up and empties out, constricts and expands, coils tight and then slithers onward with a life and momentum all it’s own.   Too much of one thing, not enough of another…never enough. (Time, money, sleep…)  But then somehow it all turns out to be…just enough.   And like the snake, we survive.  We survive through the pain and the pleasure, and (hopefully) learn how to linger just a little longer in the moments of freedom and joy and fun, letting go of the suffering we cling to and can’t seem to live without.

(Whew.  Not sure where that last paragraph came from, but I’m trusting it’s arrival…it’s honesty…and it’s relevance to “where I’ve been”.  And moving on…)

A season of travel and exploration, it has been.  Whenever Ken and I reflect on our lives and prioritize the things we want for fulfillment, connection, happiness, (and balance?) we discuss how we can be more fluid with our physical location (jobs etc) and travel more.  So this spring we really committed to making more travel with Mattie a reality, and it’s been a great learning experience for us all.  In addition to our escape to Florida,  we just ventured on a cross-country pilgrimage to Skyline, our home away from home in northern California for my great-aunt’s 76th birthday.  It was a magical adventure (for Mattie especially) filled with throwing rocks in mountain streams, riding in the back of the pickup truck, feeding the horses and learning how to call the cows (Come, bossie!).  In addition to sweet connection with my great-aunties and my cousin, of course.  (More on this journey forthcoming, I hope.)

Maggie, Ken, and Mattie at Skyline

Maggie, Ken, and Mattie at Skyline

And while I’ve been absent from my blog, I did continue my Contemplative Writing practice, and a few weeks ago sat in the sunshine and wrote this bit below, which quite aptly describes where I’ve been in these early days of spring.

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Spring through Mattie’s Eyes

Oh sweet sunshine, soaking into my skin, my clothes, my hair, coloring the world red behind my closed eyes. How I am tempted to lay down my pen to sit and enjoy you alone, absorb your rays into my being, feeling whatever you stir in me on this afternoon of spring awakening.  You light up the world outside and in; the longer days of light, the first yellow crocuses inspiring delight, causing the frozen states inside to melt a little, soften, as we too have the chance to be born anew.

This morning we walked, Mattie and I, noticing signs of spring everywhere.  Walking at the pace of a toddler allows for noticing and absorbing more of the world than the brisk adult “busy, busy I’m so busy” way of moving through the world.

We crouched down next to the creek in the sunshine, staying in one spot for a long time, noticing. We saw a male and female mallard pair floating lazily through the water, then stopping to bask in the sunshine; robins flitting from ground to tree and back again in search of morsels to eat, I presume; a woodpecker flying back and forth, back and forth eventually settling on the tree closest to us and pecking out it’s unique rhythm again and again (causing us both to smile); a red-winged blackbird rooted on one branch, calling over and over, seemingly announcing the arrival of spring; and a blonde squirrel perched unmoving on a stump for the longest time, seemingly contemplating in the sunshine (just as we were). I named each wild creature for Mattie and he carefully repeated each name, many of them brand new to him.

For the first time he is witnessing the grass and mud emerging from the snow, being revealed for exploring with fingers (and event tasting!), the frozen sheets of ice melting into running water, and new wild creatures moving in and filling our environment with activity and sound; all of it new and amazing and filled with possibility.

I am astounded as I fully recognize my role in this, his earliest education, and how much power I have in determining what he experiences – or not.  And I am inspired to explore how I can continue to use the natural world and play and a variety of different environments to teach my son.  While it feels almost cliché to say, I am also so grateful to have the opportunity to try to see it all through his eyes, to appreciate it with the same intensity, curiosity and admiration – as though it were my first time too.  It feels like a sacred opportunity that I dare not miss – an opportunity to appreciate and admire the world just a little more, opening to all that it awakens. Today the sun and my son melt and awaken my world, without and within.

Mattie Exploring the Trees

Mattie Exploring the Trees

 

Coming To My Senses

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Oy.  My brain is tired and full, straining to remember and hold onto all the details that need to be coordinated over the next 3 weeks to submit 20 documents to the federal government on behalf of 8 clients.  I’m writing all day long, telling other people’s stories in the body of application templates — researching, analyzing, calculating, categorizing, strategizing – using my left brain far more than I’d like to.  I feel stressed and overwhelmed, like there’s too much work to be done in not enough time and the pressure is getting to me.

Especially since I’m trying to do it all – to work as much as possible AND be with Mattie as much as possible.   The result is that I feel as though I’m failing at both.  And the shift from being with Mattie most of the time to working most of the time has been tough.  I’m longing for this to be over so that I can return to spending my days with him and clear my mind to allow it to fill again with creative ideas, to play, and to write my own story.

Lately I feel as though all my senses are dulled in this all-consuming singular focus on my work.   I spend each day in our cluttered office: typing, thinking, talking on the phone, making lists, crossing things off lists, and sending email upon email upon email.  Then when I can’t stand it anymore, I get up from my black swivel chair, brush away the accumulated crumbs scattering my desk, and collect my plates & cups from the meals of the day.

I walk down the stairs that are increasingly cluttered with clean folded laundry, dog hair & other random items that (I cringe to admit) currently includes a box of brightly colored wedding thank you cards that were written and never sent — rediscovered nearly 6 years later in a recent cleaning frenzy making room for more Mattie gear.    If you are one of those people who never received their thank you card, please receive this as my formal apology!   Oh, the guilt!

I set aside the guilt, deciding to leave the collection of things in their places for one more day and complete my descent, unlatching the baby gate at the base of the old staircase.  I push open the shiny green curtain in the doorway to the living room & barely have time to set my dirty dishes on the seat of the oak foyer bench before Mattie notices my entrance.

And then I am his.

He reaches for me, needing me.  If I am lucky, I will be greeted by the two sweetest syllables I know, “ma-ma”.  But more likely, once in my arms he will just scramble to lift my shirt, desperate to nurse & reconnect after the long day apart.  We’ll settle into our spot on the worn leather sofa or a stool in the kitchen (if Papa is cooking) and drink each other in, skin to skin. I might sigh, overcome by his beauty, his sweet pudgy, sticky face and big brown eyes locked on mine.  His fingers are now busy exploring – stroking, twisting, and pinching all over.  He may pause nursing periodically to look at me intently and say “up” and “down” (pointing with emphasis), or “woof” or “naaa”.  And with a smile, I’ll confirm, “yes, that’s up, and down”; then look over to our dog “yes, there’s Girl,  she says woof”; and then locate his stuffed plush lamb strewn on the floor; “and yes, there’s your lambie, naaa”.  And he’ll return to nursing contentedly, satisfied that I’ve heard and understood him.

Maybe my senses aren’t totally dulled after all – I’m just saving them for this moment, letting them all slowly flood back in until I’m fully present.  Because this is when I need that awareness most, to engage fully in this intimate conversation between mother & son reunited, rooted in the sensual exploration of one another and the world around us.   This is what I’m living for these days.  This is what’s getting me through.  Yes, it’ll do.

Becoming Momma in 2013

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This post was inspired by the writing prompt from my last contemplative writing class of 2013.  It came out of the suggestion that there might be one word that could sum up the year…

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Holyshitfuck.

That’s the first word (a new one coined in our household) that comes to my mind when I reflect on the last year.  2013.

While Mattie was born in September of 2012, the bulk of this last year has been my first year of motherhood – of becoming Momma.  Someone said to me recently that they couldn’t imagine anything more tender and vulnerable than the first year of motherhood, and as this truth resonated through my being, I wept.

I feel like I may be just beginning to emerge from that state – maybe – just barely.  I certainly feel like I’ve come a long way from the uber-vulnerability of those first few weeks and months.  I remember feeling so naked learning how to be a parent in front of other people.   I felt like everyone was judging me, criticizing me – with their questions and assumptions and suggestions.  (Even when they were delivered with the best of intentions.) It’s taken a year for me to develop a sense of confidence in myself as a momma, and not take these things so personally.

So much of this year has been spent learning – and forgetting everything I thought I knew.

And I still feel so vulnerable and uncomfortable talking about many of our personal choices as parents. It’s not that I doubt them, but that we’re doing things differently than our parents did (than many parents do), causing me to feel the need to explain, justify, probably even defend.  And I find it so difficult to convey this with confidence, in a way that doesn’t come off as accusatory or know-it-all, without shrinking away and losing myself in my fear of being perceived as weak or overly-indulgent.

For example, nursing Mattie is hands-down one of the most amazing, powerful, and meaningful things that I’ve ever done.  It provides him (and me) with so much comfort, and is building a bond that is intense and beautiful and unlike anything I’ve ever known.  And of course it provides critical support to his developing immune system and his overall health and well-being.  These are benefits that I truly believe will last a lifetime, and I have no intention of weaning anytime in the near future.

And yet, while I know all of this in every fiber of my being, I still feel ashamed of breastfeeding my 15-month old son in front of most people.  After 12 months it’s officially called “extended” breastfeeding and the statistics about mothers who do this drop way off – like  a

c

l

i

f

f.

Like the cliff I feel like I’ve been falling from for the last 15, no make that 18 months.  Since the blood clot presented itself at 28 weeks, really.

When I’m feeling self-conscious while nursing Mattie in front of someone, I find myself spouting off the World Health Organization’s recommendation that all children breastfeed for a minimum of 2 years.  I’m glad that the WHO has my back, and that they do research to support breastfeeding worldwide.  But in reality, the WHO has very little to do with my decision to continue breastfeeding my toddler (or to co-sleep, or anything else we do that falls outside cultural norms).  I’m doing what feels good – for me, for Ken, for Mattie.  And I find this a lot harder to explain.

Our culture is strange in that way.  Anything that science can explain = real, true, and acceptable.  And the things that cannot be measured and summed up through peer-reviewed research; through statistics and flow charts and diagrams – the things that can’t be seen — just aren’t as real, true, or acceptable.

But human beings cannot be reduced to numbers and lines, dots and arrows.  We are far too vast and complex – whole beings made up of interconnected systems – that are too often viewed in isolation from one another.   We are body, heart, mind and soul – and when we allow each part of ourselves to matter – we are our most whole, liberated, and powerful selves.  And from this place it’s easy to remember our truth, and to know what we need.

It’s from this place that I’m trying to live my life.  It’s just not easy to stay there all the time.

Holyshitfuck.

 Yes, 2013 has been a year of muscle-building for me –

 Of s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g myself in many less-than-comfortable ways;

Of developing greater resiliency, confidence, and tenderness toward myself;

Of widening my lens on reality;

And learning to trust my knowing about

the things that can’t be seen.

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Note:  If you’re interested in more information about extended breastfeeding (both the statistical kind and the story-telling, feel-good kind):  http://kellymom.com/fun/trivia/bf-numbers/; https://www.llli.org/nb/nbextended.html.

Resistance and Snow

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Wow.  It’s been almost a month since I’ve been here.  I have a couple of excuses, and at least one of them is pretty good.

My biggest work project of the year was announced the week of Thanksgiving, with a February 24th deadline looming.  All of my “spare” time is now spent frantically trying to move that project forward.   This is my “good” excuse.

The other “not so good” excuse is that I keep wanting to (eloquently & comprehensively) define what this blog is about for me.   And when I try to sit down and do that, I get completely overwhelmed by the vastness and complexity of it, and quit.  So for the moment, I’m giving up on definitions and allowing myself to relax into more fluidity and imperfection.

Each week I attend a contemplative writing class with a small circle of women, wherein we meditate together for 10 minutes, write for 20 minutes in response to the prompt from our instructor, and then share what we write with one another in the remaining time. It’s a wonderful practice, and it’s one thing I can rely on to get me to write every week.  And because we write for 20 minutes, there’s no time to go back and edit or make it perfect – what comes out is very stream of consciousness – but  can be amazing and often surprising.

This week I was feeling a lot of resistance to writing about winter (the prompt), so I got up and grabbed a few brightly colored note cards.  I started by drawing a few snow flakes with a sparkly pen, and then this is the story that came out.  Each time I start a new paragraph, it’s because I ran out of space and flipped over to a new side of the note card.  It had an interesting effect…

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 “No.”

This is how Mattie pronounces the word “snow”.  It’s darling.

It can be easy to confuse with the word “n-o”, given that he’s been using a LOT of that one lately also, to convey what he doesn’t want.  No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner.  Only snacks and sweets and mama milk, thank you very much.  No medicine, no brushing teeth, no sitting in his high chair, no taking a bath, and especially no removing him from precarious situations (like standing on the end table, for example).   These have been his preferences the past few days, much to our chagrin.  With each refusal we learn something – about ourselves, and how we think to handle each interaction.  Parenting — the greatest self-discovery tool of them all.

But Mattie has also been beyond fascinated with the s-n-o-w version of “no”, drawn to pull Ken and I by the hand to look at it out the window, leading us to the door to let us know that he wants to go out in it.  It’s not easy for him to understand that we can’t just walk out onto our front porch barefoot anymore.  And the resistance and the n-o version of the word “no” come back in full force when it comes time to putting on his snowsuit…and his boots…and his hat…AND his mittens.  It takes great patience and psychological preparation for the shrieking battle these simple actions can invoke.

Once outside, bundled against the cold, calm returns.  It is an incredible relief to close the door behind us, leaving that particular moment behind, never to have to be repeated in exactly the same conditions.  I’m thinking of this in terms of contractions right now.  I remember living through a really painful, intense contraction and telling my midwife that I didn’t know how many more like that I could handle.  She told me that EVERY contraction is different and that I’d never have to do THAT one again.  Sometimes I think of parenting moments like that too.

But these last few days have been so bitterly cold and windy that the feelings of serenity don’t last long.  I put Mattie in his sled and pull it with one hand, grab Girl’s leash with the other and set off down the sidewalk, determined to get some sunshine and exercise for all.  But the gusting winds blow s-n-o-w into our faces, causing us each to gasp simultaneously, forcing us to return to the house in less time than it took us to leave it.  We return too soon, leaving at least one of us feeling dejected and disappointed.

Thank goodness we have the fire in the pellet stove to return to.  There is comfort there, at least, and from its warm and cozy glow we can look out the window together, pointing at the s-n-o-w “no”, talking about how cold it is out there.  Mattie signing the world cold is delightful – he puts both hands out in front of him in fists and clenches them (and his whole body – including his teeth and jaws) and makes a grunt like he’s exerting himself strenuously.  Uummhhh!  It’s awesome.

All of this until the next day, when we’ll likely repeat some version of the same maddening, frustrating, delightful dance of n-o “no” and s-n-o-w “no”.

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After thought:  It didn’t occur to me until after I published this post that there was another irony that I failed to note in my preamble.  I was feeling a lot of resistance to the writing prompt…and then I ended up writing all about Mattie and his resistance and how that impacts me.  So…interesting!

Birth

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I have been pregnant with the idea of this blog for nearly as long as my son, Mattie, has been alive (just over 14 months now).   I have taken great joy in its possibility; luxuriating in the longing and dwelling in the excitement around activating my creative mind with new purpose.

But in the last few months, as I’ve come closer to this moment – the one where I actually birth this blog – I’ve gotten really uncomfortable.  I’ve gone into labor, with contractions and all.  And the closer I’ve come, the more intense the contractions have gotten.

I’ve tinkered with setting up this WordPress account, designing the theme, looking through photos for a header, writing down countless ideas for names and taglines and topics.  And I’ve also come up with countless excuses to procrastinate, most of them fear-based or coming from a place of not feeling good enough, each causing a contraction in its own right.

And at each pause point, I’ve usually decided that I’m not doing this at all.  Time and again I’ve come to the conclusion that the vulnerability and rawness of writing and being this exposed is too painful.   And so in an effort of self-preservation, I’ve walked away, soothing myself with the notion that I don’t have to do it – or anything else that feels hard or risky or scary.

But here I am – knowing in my heart that I can’t turn back, wise with the knowledge that once in labor, there’s only one way out.   I want to write and I want to share my tender, vulnerable self in this new momma state.  I don’t want the possibility of this new creation to get lodged uncomfortably somewhere deep inside; providing a constant, painful reminder of what could have been.  I want instead to be brave, to let this new creation come up and through me, accepting its imperfections – my imperfections – rather than not risk trying at all.

So with this post, I am pushing forward and punching through my fear and my image of perfection by telling myself that the purpose is not to be perfect.  The purpose is to stretch and grow by putting myself out there in the world – as I embrace and explore what is real and raw and messy in this human experience of parenting and being in relationship – and trusting that this act that benefits me may also benefit another.

That’s what this blog is about for me.

So in that spirit, I’m not going spend another second agonizing over what this first post says or how the site looks.  It is what it is — and it can grow and change over time.  Publishing now as I surrender into the great unknown about what comes after birth…

Welcome to the world, Momma Sound!