Empty

There is a gun holster, lying in our ‘quiet room’.

On the table directly above the wayward holster, is a picturesque wooden statue of Buddha.  Buddha is sitting quietly (of course he is, IT IS a quiet room), with hands folded and eyes closed. But if his eyes were open, oddly enough, he would be staring right at the smoky-orange, plastic gun holster.  However, now that I take a second look, the holster is perching quietly on the edge of one of our meditation chairs.  So, I am left wondering, is the holster making a life-changing statement?  For it has presumably had some sort of falling out with its crooked counterpart – the gun, who is nowhere to be found - it appears to be choosing a more peaceful existence.

But now, my thoughts move to the gun.  This is a battle free home.  (Well, that is not exactly true – we seem to engage in battle almost daily – but for that we simply shoot sharp syllables, with surprising and superfluous punctuation, scattering sounds across the scene, like one flings feed for our feathered friends at a pond.)  I digress.  Ah yes, the gun and holster.  How did the holster come to rest on the aforementioned cream-colored cushion? Halloween. It was the belly-dancing princess warrior that required a gun.  (Well actually she wanted a sword, but we keep those locked up!)

In the end, I will simply dust around the holster.  I cannot blame it for it’s lot in life – and it seems to really want to change (it hasn’t moved a fibre in all this time – unbelievable commitment to meditation – don’t you think?)  One of the greatest lessons I have learned in this life is, don’t be judgmental of that which you do not fully understand.  

A Good Lap

Her legs looked endlessly long, her lean body relaxed and poised.  She appeared to move without effort; each graceful stride followed by another of equal value. It was like she was part of the path; she was in harmony with it. She pitched forward, stretching limb and body, and then was simultaneously caught and then propelled forward.  Her cadence was swift and rhythmic, as inevitable as the tide and as steady as a heartbeat.  She was ‘all-in’ – free - like a horse in canter.  

 I followed (as I was able) feeling awkward and uncoordinated. My ordinarily agile legs, felt fleetingly stiff and sluggish.  I was unable to feign rhythmicity, like that which I observed in her.  The glass from the window reflected back an image of a hunched and ungainly woman, shuffling through space with tension and awkwardness.  And though I have both grace and speed for someone my age, being cast into her elusive shadow – created a momentary disharmony.

She, who ran with such mellifluous elegance, is my ten-year-old daughter, Laurèn. I felt simultaneously joyous and disheartened.  I could not figure out how she came to be able to run with the grace of a gazelle and the stamina of a thoroughbred.  In fact, I felt as though I had, only a moment ago, let go of her hand and watched as she took her first steps without me.  I could not comprehend how we had arrived here.  And moreover, I wanted to stop the incessant running around and around the track, with only glimpses of her black and pink runners, and take her back to the time when we jumped into the pile of leaves in our front yard, or the time when she hung onto my neck in the pool as I dove deep, like a dolphin, giving her a momentary thrill. 

As she increased the distance between her and I on the track, I became vaguely aware that she is beginning to move at her own speed, and though I desperately want to be beside her every step of the way, I cannot.  This is the happy/sad place that other parents have alluded to.  It is a delight to see her stretch and even fly on her own, however, there is also the pain of losing that place where she fit so nicely onto my lap. 

As we continuously redefine ourselves within these immensely important relationships with our children, it is so important to celebrate that which they accomplish alongside of us, and also their independent successes.  But we would be remiss if we did not also honor the very real feelings of loss, as they let go of our hands to take steps and strides on their own, leading them beyond our reach.  So, for now my child has catapulted out of my lap, but I will endeavor to keep it accessible, for I know that she will need a warm and comfy place to land, should she stumble and fall.

It wasn't me!

I picked the kids up at school, and here is the conversation I had with Yohannes:
Yohannes: Mom, today at school, someone peed on the toilet paper roll in the boys bathroom.

Me: That's not very good.

Yohannes: And that is not all.  Someone peed in the garbage can AND someone put toilet paper into the sinks.

Me: That is terrible, that creates alot of work for the custodian.

Yohannes: But that is not all.  Someone plugged one of the toilets, and the principal made an announcement that said, that as soon as they find out who that is, their family is going to have to pay two hundred dollars to get it fixed.

Me: That is alot of money.  I guess the principal was not very happy.

Yohannes: No, she wasn't.
. . . . . . . . .

Yohannes: You know what mom, I know it wasn't me, and I know why....

Mom starts laughing.

Yohannes: Mom, why are you laughing?

Mom:  Well, usually if you know it was not you, you don't need a reason. (ie. you don't need an alibi)

Yohannes: Hmmmm....... Well, I know it was not me because - I don't even go to the bathroom when I am at school.

Mom: (still laughing) Okey dokey then.