{missing} love

Thursday, December 29, 2011

My apologies for the not very gentle intro, but I'm not sure of a more eloquent way to go about it.

We did indeed lose my Auntie...on Christmas Eve day.

And today we said good-bye with a most amazing celebration.

It's been a hard week. An exhausting week.

But today was good.

Of course there were tears, loads of tears, but there were many, many glimpses of joy.

Joy that she's on the next leg of her journey. That her hurt is gone. That she gets to see her mom and dad and ride the wild horses of the Ya Ha Tinda and eat the custard in Cuba and let her gypsy spirit explore to her heart's content.

It is such a struggle to reconcile love with loss, grief with joy, letting go of a body but holding onto a spirit. And I don't think the struggle ever goes away. I don't believe that time "heals" so much as allows for the instances where we are left crippled and breathless by grief to gradually become more fleeting.

There are so many things in my heart I would love to say but am afraid my attempt at putting it all into words would not be sufficient.

This is a poem my cousin read at the funeral today and I think it is about perfect.

“I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, "There, she is gone!"
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout;
"Here she comes!"

And that is dying.”


When she read it, I could just picture my Grandma and Grandpa waiting on the far horizon...arms open, smiling big, welcoming her back to them.

{surrounded by} love

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

B's favourite room at the ranch is the porch.

I have been able to decipher through careful observation (nah, not really) that this is most likely for the following reasons:
1) He knows the porch is the final step in escaping to the blissful freedom of the great outdoors,
2) He feels fairly independent out there as we often just leave him to his own devices, and
3) There's almost always one or more critter on the dog bed in front of the heater to cuddle with!

 *also, he's a wee bit feral*


We just came home last night from a really special few days at the ranch and I have many, many photos to edit.

Obvi, you can expect a photo-heavy post in the near future.

Until then, stay safe and warm and, following B's example, try to cozy up with love wherever/whenever you can!

{tiny alcoholic} love

Thursday, December 8, 2011

I once read an entire article in a parenting magazine.

Seriously, once.

As fortune would have it though, the one time I did opt to peel open one of those well intentioned yet often generalizing magazines, I came across a piece of pure genius.

I would love to just link to the actual article, and credit the author, but this was about three years ago and I have no idea where to find it anymore. Soooo, I'll give you the gist.

In the article the author, a mumma herself, compared having a new baby to having a new lover. Remember that new love phase? When you are consumed by thoughts of this incredible human gift in your life, when you spend every possible moment together, when you cannot stop yourself from gazing adoringly at this person, when you marvel at the simplest things like how beautiful their hands are or how sweet their top lip is. No denying, we've all been there.

It was a lovely, sugary beginning and, being only about a year into mumma-hood myself, I was left feeling a little bit nostalgic and a little bit teary.

She continued on to describe life with a toddler as analogous to being married to an alcoholic. The lustre of that sweet new love phase is gone and, while you still love them to death, your significant other has suddenly become prone to embarrassing public outbursts, they have incredible emotional highs and lows (sometimes, often times, all in the space of ten minutes), they cannot control their bodily functions, their communication skills are often limited to pointing and grunting, they are emotionally and, sometimes, physically abusive...I think you get the idea.

Oh sweet heavens, being only about a year into mumma-hood myself, I laughed, I felt relieved and I felt a little bit teary.

I. Was. Not. Alone.

Here was this kindred mumma who knew. And she was brave enough to write down AND publish how hard a toddler/parent relationship can be.

Some days it shouldn't even be called a relationship...more like a pirate ship!

So, today we hustled and bustled around. We tobogganed, we crafted, we made homemade soup, we drew pictures for Kev, we did puzzles and played the clean up "game". We were busy and we were happy, but there were definitely more glimpses of the tiny alcoholic side of my wee men today then there have been all week!









{inspiring} love

Sunday, December 4, 2011

"You are the author of their storybook, writing memories and elements of their character every day. Make it meaningful. Give them wonder." -Kelle Hampton

Such a simple, and full to the very brim with truth, thing to say.

As a full time mumma, I find that some days it is easy to fall into the trappings of being too tired, too busy, too impatient, too rushed, too stressed, too much work, too little reward, too messy, too little "me" time...too, too, too many excuses.

We all say it regarding one thing or another in our lives. 

"I wish I could be/do/achieve such and such, but I am too this and that."

But after reading that simple quote, it shone a whole new light, and a very bright one at that, on how I really am writing my boys' story. EVERYDAY.

Am I really too tired to play our twentieth round of hide and seek? Am I really too busy to read whatever book is hot that day for the fourth time? Am I really, really, truly all the "too" things that I say I am?

Nope, not for these sweet little dudes.

I recently read another quote that said something along the lines of, "if you want something with the very core of who you are, then you will stop at NOTHING to achieve it...".

At my very core there is one very simple, enduring desire; I want to fill my children's lives with joy, wonder and contentment. I want them to be steeped in the knowledge that they are so deeply loved that nothing in my life will ever be more important than they are right at this very moment.

I know that there will come a day when I will no longer be their world. When I will no longer be the maker and breaker in what constitutes an amazing day. When I will no longer be able to soothe away all the hurts. I will have to let them go and watch them create their own joys and survive their own struggles.

Ah, but for now?

Bring on another thirty rounds of hide and seek if it keeps their eyes wide with excitement every time they find me or I find them. And, heck yes, I will read that book four more times, complete with the proper voice for each character, if it keeps the belly giggles coming.

I will, I will, I will.





 

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