Thursday, July 28, 2011

Two Yummy Pasta Recipes

Because I'm a sucker for pasta and thought you might like these.  Both are light (low points in WW speak) and healthy.  The bolognese could be made from scratch and I'll be working on that recipe soon, but for now just look for a good quality jarred sauce.  It makes it easy and easy is good in my book.   Also, the carbonara can be made dairy free if you subsitute rice milk for regular milk and skip the butter and parmesan.  It would still be yummy.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Loving Me Some...

Mindy Gledhill right now. Especially this song:

Such an empowering song. Love it. And I'm needing some empowerment right now.

Wednesday, July 06, 2011

Just Call Me Delilah

Only I was the one who cried and felt the loss today when I longed to play with those lovely blond curls. Regret and sadness and yet... He is soooo handsome.

Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Of Things Lost

According to my subconscious, my two youngest children died this month.

A few weeks ago, our family was swimming in a strange, stone complex of lifeguardless pools. There were lap pools and wading pools. All had stairs descending to the bottom; all were surrounded by gray, stone walls streaked with lime and rust and calcium deposits. One pool held my particular fancy. It was like a cube of water: twelve feet by twelve feet and twelve feet deep. It reminded me of the hippopotamus pool I used to stare into at Hogle Zoo when I was a kid. I couldn't see it, but like that pool at the zoo, I knew that somewhere behind me was a display of things that had been lost in the pool: false teeth, candy wrappers, sunglasses, purses... I watched my three oldest children swim confidently back and forth across the gaping green-black abyss. Then, Ammon, my youngest child waddled over from the wading pool and leapt fearlessly into the deep water. I was right by him, near the edge, and I jumped in, reached for him. I felt his soft flesh against my fingertips, but could not find a handhold, anything to grip. He slipped beyond my grasp and sunk like a lead ball to the bottom, one more addition to the collection of lost things.

Then, two nights ago, Jack and I played together at the top of a cliff. We were, in turns, at a carnival, a spectacular show, a meeting, a worship service, but always at the edge of a dizzyingly high cliff. Below us were trees and sandstone arches and white-picketed-suburban neighborhoods. At the last, we stood together in front of an audience, swinging back and forth on pine two-by-fours, holding tight to the rough and splintery rope that suspended the boards. People on the cliff above clapped and cheered, the immense scene of homes and arches and trees spread forever below us. We swung and laughed, exhilarated. Then Jack let go of the rope. "Grab the rope! Hold on tight!" I shouted, sure he was about to fall. I reached for him with one hand, caught just the seam of his shirt as he pulled away from me and plummeted to his death. The dream did not have the mercy to end there, but seemed to drag for months as it followed me through my grief. All of my days were dark, everything was inkstained black. In one scene, I had just given a powerful reading of my poetry. Then, as people asked to buy my chapbook I kept lowering the price. $4. $3. $2. It ended with me parting gladly with two copies for a handful of homemade, purple, sparkly play dough. I gave another copy away for a bowl full of noodles. 

I'm not sure if every parent feels this way, but for years I've been waiting for that proverbial shoe drop, anticipating always in the corner of my mind the day when one of my precious ones is taken from me. Each year it doesn't happen I heave a sigh of relief and brace myself anew.

So, dreams of disaster aren't uncommon for me.

These dreams, though...  They have a different feel—like my spirit, my soul, the universe, His Spirit, is trying to speak with me in the language of things that are lost.

I've felt no great sense of losing my little ones, no catch-your-breath falling feeling in my waking hours, but I have felt a slow, creeping inkling of loss.  Inch by inch, these gorgeous boys are getting away from me.  They are growing up too fast. I will not be the mother of little boys for much longer—these next few years will probably feel like a fast, fleeting dream.

But is it more than that?

Of course there is the mother-guilt.  How can I be going to school when these boys are so little???  But, the path I'm on right now was also dream-wrought, shown to me by soul-whispered and divine guidance.  And I've received powerful confirmation, even very recently, that it is the right path for me to be walking now and that I am walking it at the right pace.  

That moment I sold my poetry for so much less than I think it's worth said a lot to me, though. There are things that, soul-purpose or not, are not the most important things to me.  And am I selling myself short?  Exchanging my time and energy for the lesser things, the things that will enrich my life and the lives of those I love the least?

I only have questions right now.  No answers.  And that's ok, because that questioning, open, humble space is where I learn the best.  I know that something in my life needs to change, that it has something to do with my children, my motherhood, my priorities.  I'm praying and seeking and trusting that a whisper will come soon and show me the way.