tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12064153095181984932024-03-05T00:00:30.655-06:00mama here nowfannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.comBlogger364125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-29430855322501021422014-05-27T12:03:00.000-05:002014-05-27T12:03:47.713-05:00quiet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNc982H67DQiKCvp27574D2mfdI8BG1lhfLqhrHD2cNvOUSWeem-vVZnExNrY1mSXrOjj2VWmEMOhCJ_NpjZcPDt4FKjHVq7F7695-tdjoDnNNTcEDyLmqxfrGh6L-RXEaSHhHziBw58/s1600/IMAGE_537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNc982H67DQiKCvp27574D2mfdI8BG1lhfLqhrHD2cNvOUSWeem-vVZnExNrY1mSXrOjj2VWmEMOhCJ_NpjZcPDt4FKjHVq7F7695-tdjoDnNNTcEDyLmqxfrGh6L-RXEaSHhHziBw58/s1600/IMAGE_537.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's been quiet around here. Funny, that, since quiet is what I crave.</div>
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The last couple of months have taken me for an emotional wild ride. There have been just so many raw days. Old layers peeled back and falling away. New things rising for the surface, asking for an unflinching, clear gaze. The ground is shifting underfoot. So much isn't what it used to be; so much still becoming.</div>
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The truth is that posting here has been scant at best. But still I was pushing myself, <i>post, post, post.</i> There has been a whole lot of striving, of reaching, and precious little to show for it. So I have not so much come to a decision, as realized that a choice has already been made: I will be quiet here for some time still.</div>
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I need time. I need space for what is unfolding. </div>
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I wrote in my journal this morning <i>I don't want to push myself to do anything. I don't want to push myself to do anything. I don't want to push myself to do anything.</i></div>
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I no longer want to hustle for my worthiness. I crave space and quiet and ease. </div>
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I love dearly this space I've built, and grown and expanded into. I will be back, I know. But I don't know the when or the how.</div>
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Thank you for your continued support. Your eyes on these words mean the world to me. I will go off and gather some more for you.</div>
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Meanwhile, if you wish:</div>
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<a href="http://instagram.com/mamaherenow">Instagram</a></div>
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<a href="http://mamaherenow.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></div>
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Love to you. More soon. xo</div>
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-12487969488097954862014-04-16T09:19:00.000-05:002014-04-16T09:19:33.883-05:00in time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These have been days of not knowing what to say. Spring blooming blue along the roadsides. Doors open, winding whipping the late leathery leaves of the live oaks to the ground. The itch, the stunning sneeze of allergies.</div>
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Babies coming too soon and dying, tiny and perfect, in the middle of the night.</div>
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And I think, He had his life and death in the time of bluebonnets. And I think, Who was he, who hardly was. And I think, What part her grief, what part her joy, to hold and behold and let go. And what of mine, for her.</div>
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It's been going on too long, this fully awake nightmare, this slow-motion loss. The story isn't mine--it is my darling girl's. Over a week now of waiting and wishing and giving up and relinquishing hope and starting all over again. A lifeline of thumb-typed texts, flurries of fucks and xo's, not nearly enough, but everything we've got. And, so, also, kind of enough. </div>
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Last night--I feel I was awake in the sliver of time right before the final text came, the candle I lit for her, for them, keeping vigil by my bedside. His end for her beginning. I blew out the candle. Got up, threw back a shot of Jack Daniels, my own babes snug and sleeping. Why me, why her. All of the searching and not a damn bit of hope of finding the right answer.</div>
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What is there to say? I spoke of beauty, his, and sadness, all of ours'. And space. I left space. For what will grow out of this season of loss. For what will be shed, and then blow away. For what surely, in time, will bloom again.</div>
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~<i>Written last week. For WNV, 4-10-14.~</i><br />
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<i>Joining <a href="http://writealm.com/april-prompts/">Amanda's April Prompts link-up</a>.</i><br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-53462272976410305482014-03-20T12:04:00.000-05:002014-03-20T12:04:15.484-05:00calm amidst chaos: a four-step practice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been feeling depleted of late. Both my boys are ratcheting up the intensity level and my inner resources aren't up to the challenge. Some days, I have access to my inner wisdom, and can lean into practices that have been helpful to me over the past three years of learning what it means to be a sane and grounded mama. Some days, I need reminding. <i>Lots</i> of reminding. I write this post today for me and for you, that we may both remember how to find a bit of the calm we long for amidst the chaos that is our lives with our littles.<br />
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What follows is a quick four-step practice for slowing down, connecting with the body, and letting go of unnecessary tension. It need not take more than a minute of your time. It helps me immensely, and I hope it helps you, too. I did not come up with any of these steps; rather, they are my own synthesis of the voices and practices I turn to most often in times of need. I am deeply indebted to the wisdom and kindness of <a href="http://pemachodronfoundation.org/">Pema Chodron</a>, <a href="http://karenmaezenmiller.com/">Karen Maezen Miller</a>, <a href="http://susanpiver.com/">Susan Piver</a> and my own teacher and mentor <a href="http://www.experienceshakti.com/jenn/">Jenn Wooten</a>.<br />
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1. <b>Pause</b><br />
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I cannot emphasize the importance of this enough. <i>Stop. What. You. Are. Doing.</i> When you feel yourself tensing up, your shoulders are hiking up to your ears and you feel the yells rising in your throat, <i>stop.</i><a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2012/12/margin-breath-practice.html"> I wrote before about how powerful it is to stop</a>, to put down the tension and irritation of one task before moving on to another. This might mean to pause in the hallway after closing the bedroom door where you've just put your baby down to sleep. Or to rest your hands on your thighs as you sit in the car before putting the key in the ignition. Interrupt the momentum that is carrying you from one angry task to the next. Make space.<br />
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2. <b>Breathe</b><br />
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I don't know of anything more powerful or profoundly helpful as taking three deep breaths: inhaling long and deep through the nose, filling the lungs and letting the belly soften out, and exhaling out through the mouth with a soft sigh. <i>Aaaaaaah</i>. Recently I learned a new technique, which is very effective at diffusing tension and stemming the tide of a rising mama tantrum: to breathe out forcefully through pursed lips. This breath does a great job of activating the parasympathetic nervous system and ushering in a sense of calm. For extra groundedness and connection to your own deep wisdom, close your eyes and place a hand on your heart.<br />
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3. <b>Check in</b><br />
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Stress and tension that we are unaware of in our own bodies are a silent drain on our resources. After your three deep exhales, take a moment to take an inventory of the sensations in the body. How does the belly feel? The throat, the jaw? Are parts of your body tight, clenched? Do you feel bound, constricted? What is the quality of your mind in this moment? What emotions are present in the heart center? Sometimes just bringing our awareness to these areas helps them to soften. Sometimes just knowing about what we're carrying is enough to defuse some of the tension. As Pema Chodron wrote, <i>Never underestimate the power of compassionately acknowledging what's going on.</i><br />
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4. <b>Move on</b><br />
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In the full knowledge and acceptance of what is true about your experience of your breath, your body, and your mind in the moment, take the next step into your day. Do the next thing that's in front of you. Wipe the nose, peel the apple, pack the bag, put the kettle on. As you do so, keep your mind on the movement of your hands, on your feet firmly planted onto the earth. Root your awareness in sensation. Remain present to the breath. Drop the storyline and the blame, and instead dive deep into the now without judgment.<br />
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<span style="text-align: start;"> </span><i style="text-align: start;">Freedom is instantaneous the moment we accept things the way they are.</i></div>
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<i style="text-align: start;">-Karen Maezen Miller</i></div>
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-90846125975908359952014-03-04T12:51:00.000-06:002014-03-04T12:51:39.446-06:00return<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's March 4th. Do you know where your New Year's resolutions are?</div>
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One of <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2014/01/new-habits.html">the intentions I set for myself this year</a> (I prefer the term "intention" rather than "resolution" as I find it holds gentler and deeper meaning) was to focus on my writing as craft, and to do so, I would devote 10 minutes a day to <a href="http://thesunmagazine.org/issues/335/keep_the_hand_moving">writing practice</a>. This would most often be done longhand, and following one of <a href="http://writealm.com/march-prompt-a-day/">Amanda's prompts</a>. I started strong early in the year, with a new notebook (!) dedicated to this purpose. And, most nights, I made the time to write. And then February happened.</div>
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Not. One. Page.</div>
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(Of course I do plenty of writing in my Moleskine journal but those pages have an entirely other purpose. Keeping me sane, for one. Keeping me clear.)</div>
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So last night, cuddled in bed against the biting bitter cold, with a hot rice bag tucked at my feet and a hot cup of tea at my elbow, I decided I would come back to writing practice. And the prompt? <i>Return.</i> Ha!</div>
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Isn't is such a beautiful word? There is a sound of comfort in it, an echo of <i>home. </i>Of the relief we feel when we come back to where we are meant to be.</div>
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<i>To return </i>is the basic meditation instruction. When we sit to begin our meditation practice, we place our attention on the breath, on the gentle, wavelike rising and falling of the breath. The idea is to keep our awareness on the breath throughout the whole allotted time, but the understanding is that our mind will inevitably get carried away from its object of attention. But the fact that the mind strays from its goal is not considered a problem. In fact, the hallmark of a successful meditation practice isn't whether or not the mind wanders, or how many times, but rather <i>the gentleness and kindness with which we return our awareness to the breath</i>. Meditation is <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2013/09/the-practice-of-being-mama.html">the practice of starting over</a>. And over. And over.</div>
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I feel that we very seldom allow gentleness and kindness to lead us when we set intentions to either start a new habit, or to release an old one that no longer serves. Instead, we muscle into it. We make brave and rigid promises about frequency and duration and give ourselves stern talking-tos about how we really mean it this time. And in doing so, we set ourselves up for failure and disappointment because (say it with me!) <i>to err is human</i>. Launching a new habit or practice takes dedication, yes, but also a lot of time and kindness towards ourselves.</div>
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What if we entered this business of resolutions and intentions as we do a meditation practice? By taking it as a given that we will stray from our path, and not viewing such wanderings as a problem. What if we measured our success not by a strict adherence to our prescribed course, but rather gauged the worth of our efforts by the spirit of kindness with which we bring ourselves back to the path? What if we gave ourselves the grace of fresh new beginnings, not just in January but all the time, every day, with each breath? What would you begin again if you hadn't already convinced yourself you had failed? How would you return home?</div>
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Tell me. I'd love to know.</div>
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<i>Find excellent meditation instruction <a href="http://susanpiver.com/open-heart-project/">here</a>.</i></div>
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<i>Following Write ALM's <a href="http://writealm.com/march-prompt-a-day/">March Prompt-A-Day</a>.</i></div>
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<i>Having waaaayy too much fun with the <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/diana-photo/id694075857?mt=8">Diana Photo App</a>.</i></div>
<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-1261723177376199372014-02-01T20:59:00.002-06:002014-02-01T20:59:42.146-06:00first things first<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My eyes blink open in the dark mere seconds before the chorus starts from his bedroom. Did I hear him in my sleep? Or did my spidey-mommy-sense anticipate his waking? Before I can check the time--5:15am, 5:45am, past 6am if I'm lucky--I hear "Mama where ARE you?" echo across the hall. I pause. Plant my reluctant feet on the cold ground. Hand on my heart. There deep breaths. <i>May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I be safe. May I live with ease.</i><br />
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Where <i>am</i> I? Here, always. Rising from the warm, tousled bed where my love still snores. Padding across the black hallway and opening his door, greeting his full-on embrace of the new day. When he wakes from a nap he's groggy, cranky, slow to open to the world. In the morning he races out, all eagerness and messy bedhead. I trail after him, brushing the night from my face.<br />
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If I'm lucky I have a chance to put on the kettle, maybe even pour my cup of hot water and lemon before the baby begins to warble and coo. (I used to start straight with coffee. My nerves can't take it. I have to earn my caffeine with hydration and protein. It's a bum deal.) I scoop him up--all smiles--from his little crib, and we snuggle in the dark bedroom, in the pale celery-green chair, worn to threads, where I nursed both my babes. He takes the breast. Often these days I haven't seen or heard him for twelve hours. Not yet nine months and he needs me less and less. Let this time stretch. <i>May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be safe. May you live with ease.</i><br />
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There will come a day when it will be reasonable to rise before they do. The early darkness and silence will be mine and I will share it with a warm cup and an empty page. That day isn't here yet. In fact, my mornings are a buzz and a blur. But if I can slow down a little to the pace of the breath, and notice the spaces between the breaths, I can find little pockets of peace in those first few minutes, and for the briefest moment make a home for myself there. It can be enough, if I choose for it to be.<br />
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<i>Metta--or lovingkindness--meditation phrases adapted from <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/practice/725">Sylvia Boorstein</a>, as written in Dani Shapiro's memoir, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Devotion-Memoir-P-S-Dani-Shapiro/dp/B006W425JM">Devotion</a>.</i><br />
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<i>Playing along with <a href="http://writealm.com/">WriteAlm</a>'s <a href="http://writealm.com/february-prompt-a-day/">February Prompt-A-Day</a>.</i>fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-88405275288478076352014-01-28T20:50:00.001-06:002014-01-28T20:50:35.088-06:00on solid ground: a mama three-years wise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday my firstborn turned three years old. We celebrated his birthday on Saturday with a construction-themed party, good friends and good cake. He was crazy excited and ran around the room, jumping up and down exclaiming "Birthday! Birthday! Woohoo!" each time someone new arrived. I had almost as good a time as he did.<br />
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In the days leading up to his birthday, I've often been overcome with emotion. Tears come easy. I<a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2013/01/silas-birth-story-part-one.html"> wrote about his birth last year</a>: it was a long road, with my water breaking early and labor never starting and ending up in a C-section 69 hours later. It was a far cry from the cozy homebirth I had imagined and was deeply invested in having. Having a C-section was my worst nightmare, and it was, in fact, the hardest, most traumatizing thing that ever happened to me.<br />
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But it's been three years, and in that time I've done a lot of internal work to process what happened and absorb the lessons of that experience. It was all that deep work that led me to have a much better experience giving birth to Cash last May. Though that birth, too, started at home and culminated in the OR, it was a much more positive, empowering experience. I feel I've pretty well integrated the events surrounding the birth of my first boy. It has become a meaningful story for me, and it deeply informs the work I do with expectant mamas in my prenatal yoga classes.<br />
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And, yet. Tears.<br />
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<i>This was the day my water broke</i>, I thought on the 24th. <i>This was the day we went to the midwife's office and the day I took the castor oil</i> I though the next day.<i>This was the day we spent at home and I madly paced the backyard, listening to Madonna and Beyonce, trying to get labor started. The day we gave up and went to the hospital </i>on the day after that.<br />
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There is gratitude. Gratitude for a healthy happy boy. Gratitude for being a mama three-years wise and having come so, so far from the pain and confusion of those early days and months. Gratitude that I never have to go back there again. Gratitude--yes, even for this--for that event that knocked me down and the story of getting back up again which I can, and do, share, over and over, so that other mamas can walk into their birth experiences with a bit more knowledge and fewer expectations.<br />
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But also sadness--so much sadness still, as though I'm uncovering deeper and deeper layers of feeling. All of this emotion, still, after three years?<br />
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Trauma lives in the body, the same vessel that carried both my boys. Seemingly random things will set off a land mine of tears. Sometimes, lying in savasana at the end of yoga practice, I'll flash on being back there, lying on the operating table, gazing up at the stark cold lights, my heart broken and my belly slashed. I'm--still--always ready to cry at the thought of the water birth I never had, will never have.<br />
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The deepest layers of sadness aren't for me, now, but for who I was then. For the tender mix of hope, despair, vulnerability and strength that characterized the days surrounding the birth and the first several months of my son's life. I want to reach out through time and hug her, and cry with and for her. But I also want to let her know that, though it isn't anything like what she envisioned, whatever she is experiencing is ok. That she will be ok. That she was a good mama from the start, though it would take her months and years to believe and affirm it. I would tell her that this is just part of the story, that there is so much good ahead. That she just needs to be patient, and kind with herself.<br />
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But there's space for these tears now. There is a safe container for them. They no longer threaten my equilibrium. Three years after the birth of my first son, eight and a half months after the birth of my second, I am more grounded, more resourced, happier than I've been at almost any point since. My feet are firmly planted on solid ground. I am connected to my strong center. And so I have the freedom to open my arms wide for these boys of mine, and the strength to hold themfannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-88814199735531928222014-01-13T11:49:00.001-06:002014-01-13T11:49:27.732-06:00revelation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The simplest things can be a revelation. The way we keep on relearning the same old familiar lessons, and are struck by their freshness again each time. How good it feels to be outside and how good a poached egg tastes. Answering that ancient ache in the bones by lacing up the running shoes again and pounding pavement with your feet. How it feels awesome and awful and awesome over and over again. The strange alchemy by which we get more energy by spending energy. Feeling clear about what I most want, I am focusing<a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2014/01/new-habits.html"> on a few simple things this year</a>: being outside more, writing, saying yes to what needs to be done in the moment. It's extraordinary the freedom that clarity brings, and how, knowing what you truly want, how you most dearly want to move in the world, creates space for your life to settle itself around what really matters. So now we are going outside everyday, me and the boys. I strap Cash in the Ergo and Silas grabs his diggers and off we go. It's a dumb, simple thing but for so long it was so hard. Everything was so hard. But knowing what I truly want makes it easy. We say hello to the goats and to the horsie that live next door. Silas scoops and dumps and I play with iPhoneography and dance to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8Ymd-OCucs">Lorde</a> in the middle of my yard and feel truly happy. It helps that the weather is gorgeous, January in Texas being more like April or May back in Canada, where I'm from. This new year feels truly new. It's exciting. But the newness comes not from introducing new things or goals or practices but from choosing to hone in on the old stuff, the stuff that used to make me most happy before I became a mother, before I lost my way a bit, caring for myself caring for the boys. It's a bit like returning home, to who I was with the poetry and the running shoes and the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pilgrim-Tinker-Creek-Annie-Dillard-ebook/dp/B000W91350/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1389634885&sr=8-1&keywords=pilgrim+at+tinker+creek">Annie Dillard books</a> and all of the tea and writing. The yoga and the breathing. Elemental happiness. The truest beauty of making love, and the tenderness after. Returning to the deepest nourishment I know and finding the happiness that blooms from that place. The revelation is in the roots. Go there.<br />
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<i>Joining <a href="http://www.thehabitofbeing.com/journal/">Amanda</a> and friends playing with <a href="http://writealm.com/january-prompt-a-day/">Write Alm's January Prompt-A-Day.</a></i>fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-48067300177792571212014-01-04T20:09:00.000-06:002014-01-04T20:09:47.513-06:00new habitsThere are years, said Zora Neale Hurston, that ask questions and years answer. In 2014, I intend to find my way into some answers, and to begin, these three new habits:<br />
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<i><b>:: spend 15 minutes outside everyday ::</b></i></div>
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Already this has made a huge shift in my days, in the way it feels to be in my body. Either in the last cold minutes of light around sunset, or going out for hikes as a family, I've made a point to step outside each day. Most often with this sweet boy, who delights so much on being outside, who wants nothing more than to play, no matter the weather. I have so much to learn from him.</div>
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<b><i>:: <a href="http://gretchenrubin.com/happiness_project/2011/05/observe-the-one-minute-rule/">if something takes less than a minute, do it right away</a> ::</i></b></div>
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Filling the dog's dish, taking a sock to the hamper, checking a phone message: so many little nagging tasks that are so small they're almost too easy to ignore. One of the ways I want to show up for my life is by not ignoring the seemingly insignificant little things, but instead to tend, right away, to what is in front of me, and thus prevent the small nagging tasks from turning into an insurmountable pile.</div>
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<b><i>:: <a href="http://austinkleon.com/2013/12/29/something-small-every-day/">make something small everyday</a> ::</i></b></div>
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Whether it's blogging or doing some <a href="http://thesunmagazine.org/issues/335/keep_the_hand_moving">timed writing exercise</a>, every day, I want to write for ten minutes, <i>outside of</i> the clear-my-head morning-pages style of journaling that I do daily. This year I want to focus on writing as craft, and this is my commitment to that process.</div>
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What are some of the small things you're doing to change your life in a big way? I'm really curious to know.</div>
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<i>Playing along with Amanda at <a href="http://writealm.com/january-prompt-a-day/">Write Alm--January Prompt-A-Day</a></i></div>
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-91072226134101916872013-12-02T11:47:00.001-06:002013-12-02T11:47:49.371-06:00six months in<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our little chicken recently turned six months. Six! I feel like this declaration ought to be followed with the usual musings on how fast time flies, where does time go, doesn't it seem like just yesterday he was a wee newborn, etc etc... But no. It feels pretty much exactly like it's been six months. Six hard, beautiful, transformative months of really, really shitty sleep.<br />
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But it's been slowly getting better and, some days, dare I say it's a bit easier. We made a big switch a few weeks past, moving Cash from our bed, where he'd nurse Lionel Ritchie-style (ALL NIGHT LONG), to his own crib, and he's taken to the change admirably. Miraculously, even. My quality of sleep is slowly improving, and there is more freedom and space in our days now as his sleep schedule is regulating. But even such a positive change can leave us reeling. One night early in this transition, with both boys in bed, asleep, by 8pm, my husband and I were circling around the house in a confused daze: what? no playing tag with the cranky baby? now you're it, now <i>you're</i> it? We hardly knew what to do with ourselves. I'm sure it won't take us too long to figure out.<br />
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One of my mama friends, who already had two kids, told me when I was pregnant with Cash that the first six months are the hardest. We're over that hump now, and I feel I'm breathing a little bit easier. While having two small boys has been exponentially harder than I thought it would be, and in some ways I did not anticipate, still, as I'd hoped, there were some ways in which it was easier than adjusting to life with our firstborn.<br />
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Here's how:<br />
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<i>Lesson 1: You're already broken in</i><br />
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This was my greatest hope heading into the life of a mama of two: that all of the hard, hard work of learning to identify as a mother I did with Silas would pay off. And it did. While learning to mother two children is one hell of a learning curve, there's a lot you've already figured out. You've already given away all of your time. You're used to being interrupted. You know you're not the mama you <i>thought</i> you would be, and you've settled into being the mama your family <i>needs</i> you to be, and you know that's a much better thing. You and your partner have more or less figured out your roles as parents and partners. Your house is already trashed. In some ways, life with two doesn't look so much different than life with one, because <i>you're already broken in</i>. Which is good, because...<br />
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<i>Lesson 2: You've lowered your expectations</i><br />
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...because life with two kids is <i>a whole new ballgame</i>. In fact, often it doesn't even look like the same sport. While this is wildly disorienting, and will shake you to the core of your being, one thing it won't do is be too much of a surprise, because you've learned the first go round to <i>let go of expectations</i>. Or, at least, to not take your expectations too seriously. You already know it won't look or feel anything like what you thought or imagined. You've already learned the hard way that most of your unhappiness stems from wishing hard for what you don't have and failing to embrace what you do have, which is this moment, your body, your breath, your baby, unvarnished, just as it is. You've learned the freedom that comes with accepting life as it comes. You know it's just that simple. (You also know that simple doesn't mean <i>easy</i>.)<br />
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<i>Lesson 3: You know to wait it out</i><br />
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This may be the biggest one. I remember so keenly, holding a small, sleepless Silas in the dark hour of night and thinking, and really believing, that I would never sleep again. It felt like dying. While I could reason that there was little chance that this would be true, that Silas would grow up and no longer need me to soothe and feed him back to sleep, because I hadn't <i>experienced</i> it, I couldn't conceive of <i>how this would possibly happen</i>, so completely was I caught up in the discomfort of the moment. But once you've witnessed one child go from nursing all night to sleeping all night in his own bed THANK GOD, you know this: <i>this new baby will, too</i>. You know this baby will learn to sleep, eat, walk, will wean and speak, and often with very limited input from you besides your willingness to wait it out and let things unfold in their own good time. You know what's needed is less of your thinking and more of your patience. And so you wait, and in doing so, you get to relax a little. <br />
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<i>Lesson 4: Things change</i><br />
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You know to not get too comfortable with anything, good or bad, because your children are both evolving at lightning speed, and what holds true today may be history by tomorrow. Adaptability is key to survival, which is true as much of parenting as it is of the evolution of species. Change is the one true constant. Now you're more willing to plug your nose, jump in, and go with the flow.<br />
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Some days I look back at the first few months of my son's life and wonder, how did we manage to survive? But the fact that we're here is incontrovertible. And one more thing is true: I can hardly remember what it was like to have only one kid, just like I cannot fathom what my life was like before I had children. We are now a family of four. I am a mama of two. Life is sometimes hard, sometimes messy, sometimes scary. But it's always beautiful. Always.<br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-91609433516360613602013-11-26T10:37:00.001-06:002013-11-26T10:37:52.244-06:003 practices for a sane & smooth Thanksgiving (redux)<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #777777; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
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We're just a couple of days away from Thanksgiving here in the US, and so I thought I would re-post what I shared last year: my best practices for having a Thanksgiving day that leaves you feeling grateful and pleasantly full, instead of cranky and depleted. My husband and I usually host at our house, and we're ahead of the game this year as we've already got the fridge deep-cleaned. This weekend I made some pastry dough and homemade veggie stock and I'm looking forward to a long day of cooking and eating and enjoying family come Thursday. When I follow the following steps, cooking can be a deeply grounding and nourishing experience, even before I've put a morsel of food in my mouth. I hope it will be the same for you. Happy Thanksgiving! I am deeply grateful for you, for taking the time to stop by and read my words. It means so much.</div>
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1. <u>Start with a good breakfast.</u> This falls into the "do as I say, not as I do" category of advice. Inevitably, I get excited about what needs to get done, jump in, and all too soon find myself famished and spent, a state that can be hard to recover from. Next time I hold a big gathering at home, when I am planning my menu, I will also plan what yummy, sustaining thing I'll be having for breakfast that morning, to ensure that I start the day fueled up and ready for the long haul.</div>
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2. <u>Begin with a clean kitchen</u>. I can't stress this enough. The morning of the big day, my husband usually does all the dishes, as well as clears all the old, dead leftovers from the back of the fridge. (Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.) This ensures that a) we have a fresh and clean space to begin with; b) all our dishes are ready for prepping and serving food; c) we have adequate receptacles and space to hold those all-too-important leftovers. I'm always amazed what a big difference that makes, both to the smooth running of the day, and to help with a relatively painless clean-up after all is said and done.</div>
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3. <u>Take a yoga break</u>. Usually, once either the stuffing or the roasted root vegetables are in the oven, I sneak away for 20-30 minutes to take a "yoga nap." This means either <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/663" style="color: #88bb21; text-decoration: none;">this pose</a> or <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/690" style="color: #88bb21; text-decoration: none;">this pose</a>, an eye pillow, and earplugs. <strike>Yesterday, since I am pregnant and a day in the kitchen inevitably takes its toll on my low back, I also did parts of <a href="http://www.mamasteyoga.com/product.htm" style="color: #88bb21;">this sequence (#17)</a></strike>. (Yay for not being pregnant this year!) This is the very best advice I can offer you: take some time out to rest and refill your well sometime in your big prepping day. Sure, you could fold napkins or iron linens or sweep the floor instead, but I promise you that your guests will notice your shining, rested countenance much, much more than they will your shining kitchen faucet. You will be able to be more present with your guests and actually enjoy their company, and isn't it what the big day is all about?</div>
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BONUS! If you are still in need of some menu inspiration, here are a few roundups of recipes from my favorite food bloggers. Bon appetit!</div>
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<a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/vegetarian-thanksgiving-recipes-recipe.html">Vegetarian Thanksgiving Recipes at 101 Cookbooks</a></div>
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<a href="http://naturallyella.com/2013/11/17/a-vegetarian-thanksgiving/">A Vegetarian Thanksgiving at Naturally Ella</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.shutterbean.com/2013/a-thanksgiving-brainstorm-by-tracy-shutterbean/">A Thanksgiving Brainstorm at Shutterbean</a></div>
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I'll be making <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2013/11/apple-and-herb-stuffing-for-all-seasons/">Smitten Kitchen's Apple-Herb Stuffing</a>. She has <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/recipes/#Thanksgiving">other great ideas</a>, too.</div>
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I'm curious: do you have any big-day tricks you can share? What are your plans for this Turkey Day? Are you inspired to incorporate a new self-care routine into your to-do list? I'd love for you to share how it went!</div>
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fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-21897176610506811222013-11-11T13:37:00.000-06:002013-11-11T13:37:22.358-06:00I dared<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Nine years ago today, I dared to sent an email.<br />
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It was 2004. Blogs were barely blogs back then--remember when we had to do all of our own HTML? the days before drag-and-drop web design? Online dating was in its infancy, too, and I, whom my friend Matthew liked to call a Luddite, was weary of both. But it was this friend Matthew who urged me to start a blog and, almost in the same breath, told me he's found the perfect guy for me.<br />
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He was a poet and a philosophy major and liked the same bands as us and had the same sense of humor. He lived in Texas and Matthew had met him on a message board.<br />
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I'm sorry I said, but Internet guy from Texas? That is so not happening.<br />
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Still I started a blog, and checked out this guy's blog , and true he was funny and deeply intelligent and <i>dude could write. </i>It was clear to me that if we'd lived in the same city, this would be someone I would try to date. But he was still the Internet guy and he was still from Texas. So no.<br />
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Many months passed.<br />
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One day, after a conversation with a work friend who was having great luck dating boys she'd met on Lavalife (!), I decided to check out the site.<br />
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None of the boys could spell or punctuate properly. No dice.<br />
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But then I reasoned with myself: if I was now desperate enough to scroll through Lavalife to try to find a love interest, couldn't I maybe give this Texas Internet guy a try? I knew at least he could write.<br />
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So I sent Daniel an email. The subject line was Belated Hey. This wasn't the first email exchange we'd had--we'd struck up a small correspondance via our blogs--but this is the email that started it all. The email I sent thinking, What if? Thinking, What the hell. Today is Rememberance/Veteran's Day, but in our household, it is referred to as Belated Hey Day.<br />
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I remember the email as being just barely flirtatious, and containing a Czeslaw Milosz poem. His email back was mildly flirtatious, and included another Milosz poem. And we were off.<br />
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This was before Skype, before Instagram. I wasn't even on Facebook, didn't have a cell phone. I don't think we ever did instant messaging. I think I had dial-up Internet. It was, basically, the dark ages.<br />
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I lived in an adorable, uninsulated little cottage overlooking a horse paddock and a pond under pines on Vancouver Island. The water stank with sulphur. It was one of the happiest and loneliest times of my life.<br />
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Over one short month, we wrote breathlessly and fell in love.<br />
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On my birthday (December 16th) we decided we were "a couple," whatever that means when you've never met in person and live 1,900 miles from each other.<br />
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Just after Christmas, we said I love you.<br />
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On March 12th, he walked off a ferry and we embraced for the first time. Later that day, we kissed.<br />
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Less than a week later we were engaged. We got married on August 8th, 2005.<br />
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We have not lived a single day since in which we didn't delight in each other. We have a home and two beautiful boys. We have a love and friendship stronger, deeper, and more beautiful than anything I could've wished for.<br />
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I"m still stunned and grateful we ever managed to find our way to each other. I can't imagine my life without him in it. I don't want to.<br />
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And all because I dared to take a chance on the Internet guy from Texas.<br />
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<i>Isn't technology great???</i><br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-59535043590816510632013-11-05T21:32:00.000-06:002013-11-05T21:32:20.296-06:00seasons change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>This post has been lingering in my draft folder for over a month and it speaks of a weather change that occurred weeks ago. But this is <a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-topics/blogging-social-media/nablopomo">NaBloPoMo</a>, and it's late, and I'm tired, and it fits in with <a href="http://writealm.com/november-prompt-a-day/">today's prompt</a>, and hey! Here's a cute picture of Silas eating a pumpkin. Enjoy!</i><br />
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We got the most wonderful gift here in Central Texas this past weekend: a cold front.<br />
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Summers here are so terribly, terribly hot, and drought conditions have prevailed over the last several years. After months of temperatures in the high 90s and low 100s, and hardly a drop of rain, by late August it starts to feel like cool, crisp days will never return. Then, all of a sudden, a day like last Friday comes. It pours hard and steady over an entire day, and instead of the usual post-rain humidity,<br />
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So this weekend found us doing things we hadn't, couldn't have done in a long, long while: sitting outside, mowing the lawn, jumping in puddles. Opening doors and windows and shutting off the AC. It's suddenly, eerily quiet in our home, but it also feels larger, more open. Nearly every Central Texan in my Facebook feed glories in the freshness of these days. On Sunday morning, I even pulled on some socks. SOCKS! I hadn't worn socks in probably six months.<br />
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All of a sudden, possibilities open up: we could go for walks. We can play outside. We can enjoy a dinner out under the trees with the kids and be perfectly comfortable and happy. Today I had lunch outside, sitting on the shaded grass in a park. You get this feeling that life from here on out will be different and--dare we hope?--<i>better.</i><br />
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It all makes me think that parenting, like weather, cycles through its seasons. When our babies are small or when our toddlers are learning about boundaries by testing them, it may feel as hot and oppressive as July in Texas--and as endless. The hope of September and October and pumpkin spice lattes feels so distant as to be impossible. It's hard to remember that things can, in fact, change overnight. Parenting our first child, we are slow to learn this. But that is one of the great gifts of a second baby: this time, we know how quickly things can change. Our little one's tooth pierces through the painful gum, or that elusive roll-over maneuver is finally achieved, and suddenly he sleeps through the night. (For a while, anyway.) There comes the day when you discover you no longer need the Ergo infant insert and suddenly wearing baby feels a whole lot lighter and easier. You notice the 3-month clothes hardly fit anymore and realize you're well on your way to your baby's first half-birthday.<br />
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In these extreme seasons, in weather as in parenting, it may feel as though the changes are very slow in coming. But when they <i>do</i> come--because they do, always and inexorably, come--it's so surprising and refreshing to find ourselves on the other side of what feels like it happened overnight.<br />
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Just a reminder--for me, for you--that whatever season you might be finding yourself in, you can trust that changes will come, that nothing is static, that relief is on its way just as sure as the next cool blowing breeze.fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-87968823948296263262013-11-04T21:49:00.001-06:002013-11-04T21:49:26.549-06:00happiness is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Inspired by <a href="http://www.thehabitofbeing.com/journal/?p=8026">Amanda</a>, on a soft morning after a hard night, when my parents took the boys to daycare and I got to stay home in PJs.</i><br />
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:: the perfect balance of bitter and sweet, hot & foamy, of my morning cup of coffee ::<br />
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:: a quiet house on a gray morning ::<br />
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:: the freedom and utter luxury of crawling back into bed ::<br />
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:: finding my perfect breakfast: fluffy eggs with butter and a splash of cream, spinach, avo, spicy chimichurri sauce, with grapefruit juice ::<br />
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:: more coffee, and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Swan-Poems-Prose-Mary-Oliver/dp/0807069140">poetry</a> ::<br />
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:: a well-stocked and tidy fridge, clean kitchen counter & sink ::<br />
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:: reading a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Engagements-ebook/dp/B00ALBR2LS/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=">book</a> I really like, with <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Signature-All-Things-Novel-ebook/dp/B00BPDR3F6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1383585409&sr=1-1&keywords=the+signature+of+all+things">another one</a> waiting in the wings ::<br />
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:: knitting again ::<br />
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:: soup & stew season ::<br />
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:: sitting for <a href="http://susanpiver.com/open-heart-project/">meditation</a> in the morning ::fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-9636799214266188732013-11-04T11:09:00.000-06:002013-11-04T11:09:34.016-06:00first thing I see<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The end of the day comes, once again pinned under a nursing baby and I think, <i>I have to blog</i>, then I think, <i>I don't think I took a single picture today</i>. So often the days whizz by, not without beauty or joy, but their sheer force and speed carries me along without pause, and the small moments go not necessarily unobserved but often unrecorded. There she was though, in my camera roll, little Scout and her morning pause, looking out. A shot taken, likely, when I was also pinned under a nursing baby. And soon it was too late, I was too tired, posting didn't happen. Such is the nature of things these days.<br />
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Playing along with <a href="http://writealm.com/november-prompt-a-day/">Amanda</a> and <a href="http://www.chookooloonks.com/blog/naphopomo-national-photo-posting-month-day-1">Karen</a>.fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-79115643326112168182013-11-02T20:53:00.000-05:002013-11-02T20:53:00.737-05:00be present<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I collect them like stones, like pretty shells carried back from the beach. They are mantras, manifestos, codes of honor, words to live by.<br />
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<i>To pay attention: that is our endless and proper work. -Mary Oliver</i><br />
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<i>These are our few live seasons. Let us live them, as we can, in the present. -Annie Dillard</i><br />
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<i>You can only love the life you wake up to. -Karen Maezen Miller</i><br />
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These are my darlings, my dearest. The stones I've worried smooth from fingering, hand in pocket, again and again. I gather comfort from their meaning. They all whisper the same thing.<br />
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<i>Wake up. Be here. Be now. Be present.</i><br />
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It's so simple. Where else would I be? It's the hardest thing. I'm hard-wired to run away, my thoughts like wild horses carrying me far and fast. I reject, push away, dig in my heels, protest.<br />
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Anything but here, now. This chaos. This energy I haven't chosen. This uncomfortable feeling. This exhaustion. This fear that I am not, will never be enough. These boys growing up too fast and not nearly fast enough. This boredom.<br />
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But, also, <i>precisely</i>: this. This moment. This feeling. This breath. This body. This embrace. This mess.<br />
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If I learn to chose it, truly and fully, I gain everything.<br />
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And so I practice, like a little girl with her scales, saying <i>yes</i>. Small <i>yeses</i> that will grow into big <i>yeses</i>. Embracing the moment, just as it is. Accepting myself, just as I am.<br />
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Learning. To be present. For my life.<br />
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Learning to choose my life. Over and over again. Every day.<br />
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<i>My endless, proper work.</i><br />
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Playing along with <a href="http://writealm.com/november-prompt-a-day/">Amanda's November Prompt-A-Day</a>.<br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-63483701811105856842013-11-01T20:51:00.000-05:002013-11-01T20:51:02.388-05:00and so, to begin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Months sneak up on me. We were 10 days into October before I realized I hadn't turned the page on my <a href="http://www.buyolympia.com/q/Item=nikki13">Nikki McClure calendar</a>. My baby boy is almost six months. Time escapes my fingers like so much sand, even as each minute of each day slithers slow as molasses. And here we are. November.<br />
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I hadn't considered jumping on board with <a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-topics/blogging-social-media/nablopomo">NaBloPoMo</a> until about an hour ago. But <a href="http://www.chookooloonks.com/blog/naphopomo-national-photo-posting-month-day-1">Karen</a> wrote about it. <a href="http://hulaseventy.blogspot.com/2013/11/nablopomo-yo.html">Andrea</a> wrote about it. My dearest <a href="http://www.thehabitofbeing.com/journal/?p=8006">Amanda</a> has drawn up<a href="http://writealm.com/november-prompt-a-day/"> a lovely list of prompts for each day</a>. And I had <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2013/08/paragraphs-in-30-days.html">such an amazing experience</a> playing along with <a href="http://www.christinarosalie.com/">Christina</a> this summer, showing up to write a paragraph each day. So, why the hell not. November--here we go. Once a day.<br />
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The truth is I can use something like this right about now. A little bit of structure. A little bit of motivation. Something entirely mine, and at the same time something that is bigger than me. The truth is there isn't a single piece of my life that doesn't feel like a total mess right now, and I don't know which end to first pick out of the tangle and begin to unravel. This is a good a place as any to start.<br />
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To show up. Daily. Fully. To tell the truth. More than likely with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/artist/lorde">Lorde</a> loud in my headphones, ignoring the chaos all around. Making space for the order of letter, black on white, lined up, making words, making sentences. Making sense out of these days. This life of mine. Making it mine.fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-89559659616786904732013-10-07T11:23:00.000-05:002013-10-07T11:23:40.415-05:00In which the worst doesn't happen, and what that might mean<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week, my husband went out of town for a work conference, and I was left to solo-parent both boys for three days. Yeah. I'l give you a moment to let that sink in... Three days, two boys, one mama. That ain't good math. To make matters worse, our daycare was closed on Wednesday, one of the two regular weekdays my kids attend, which would make for a challenging week even if my husband were home.<br />
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For weeks leading up to this I was in a constant mild state of freak out. I was so worried about how hard it would be, and what if the baby didn't sleep? (He didn't.) What if one of the kids got sick? (They didn't.) As the actual days neared I cranked up the self-care to fill the well, called the babysitter to come help out for a few hours around dinner and bedtime, lined up some playdates, and crossed my fingers. As the day of my husband's departure neared I was somehow strengthened to discover I would have new episodes of <a href="http://www.tlc.com/tv-shows/sister-wives">Sister Wives</a> and <a href="http://www.fxnetworks.com/louie/">Louie</a> to watch on Netflix. (It's the small things. Also: don't judge. I like to mix it up.)<br />
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And then he left. And nothing terrible happened. Sure I was tired. Yes it was hard. But it was so much <i>less hard</i> than I had anticipated or feared. Really, it was just fine. We went out and hung out with friends. The baby napped sometimes, sometimes he didn't. I drank my coffee and wrote my morning pages and even folded and <i>put away</i> some laundry. More than once did I feel like Super Woman. It only got unbearable in the last hour--the longest hour--before my husband came home, delayed by traffic.<br />
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Have you ever had the experience of bracing to push open a door you expect will be heavy or stuck, only to find it yielding easily, and stumbling on the other side from lack of effort? That's a little how those three days felt. I had a similar feeling this summer when <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2013/07/tomorrow-is-day.html">I flew to Montreal by myself with both boys</a>. I spent weeks of intense anxiety and planning leading up to the trip, and it went just fine.<br />
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My inner frantic planner would very much like to believe that the amount of fretting I do prior to such an event is directly proportional to the ease with which the event flows. And to some degree it might be true that by expecting the worst, I set myself up to be pleasantly surprised when the worst doesn't occur.<br />
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But, this time, I am left with bigger questions. It occurs to me that, more than likely, it was always gonna be fine. Why? Because I have the resources needed to handle whatever situation presents itself. I am beginning to suspect that all the planning and list-making and late-night worst-case scenario rehearsing stems from the fact that I doubt my own powers--my strength, wisdom, resiliency, equanimity. I am starting to clue in to how much I live in a place of <i>can't</i>: can't handle this, can't do that. And that this doubt is <i>not</i> simply a healthy recognition of my own shortcomings, but a way to hide from all the strength and goodness that lies within.<br />
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And so, I wonder--what would happen if I lived in a place of <i>owning my own strength, resiliency, power?</i> What would change in my day-to-day life if I operated from a deep trust in my inner resources? What would I take on if I wasn't afraid I don't have what it takes? <i>How am I holding myself back as I believe in this story of who I am? </i>What other story is waiting in the wings?<br />
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I don't know--yet. I hope this is the beginning of finding out.fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-52214858293963841422013-09-30T20:24:00.001-05:002013-09-30T20:24:43.250-05:00pancakes on Sunday (with a recipe)I cherish our weekends as a family. Not just because, by Friday, I am wore right out. I see our weekends as an ideal time to create a family culture: to develop routines, rituals. To cultivate a rhythm of "things we do" that we can all rely on, look forward to, create memories through. So far, what we've come up with: Saturday morning tacos, and Sunday morning pancakes.<br />
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On Saturday morning we headed out to our favorite little taqueria. Silas pestered the waitress as soon as we walked in: "Tacos! Tacos!" He proceeded to eat his egg taco like a little piggy, face-first. Then my husband took the kiddos to the playground while I went grocery shopping. Perfect Saturday morning outing.<br />
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Sunday dawned dark and stormy. I declared it a two-coffee-pot morning. I escaped to the bedroom for a little bit of writing. I like to gather myself to the page early in the day, weave together thoughts and feelings and intentions into something usable, into something that can shape my day. It's the place where I start--figuratively and literally. My days flow so much more smoothly when I've taken the time to consider how I want to feel, what I want to so, what's truly important to me. Our weekends are so much more rewarding when my husband and I take the time to talk through our wants and needs. On Sunday morning, that's easy. Our wants and needs merge into one demand: pancakes.<br />
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I've been at it for several weeks, birthing this Sunday morning pancake tradition. The very first week, taking pity on a battered and blackened banana, I scrolled through Pinterest in search of a recipe for banana pancakes. They were beautiful and yummy. Silas helped me make "poo-cakes" by standing on the kitchen stool next to me, and scooping and dumping flour in and out of two little bowls. This, I said, is how we'll do Sunday mornings.<br />
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The next week, I doubled the recipe, to disappointing results. I'd had too much coffee, not enough protein, and the pancakes remained stubbornly undercooked in the center. Too much banana, I guessed. The next week, same thing. This time I cursed the recipe and vowed not to use it again. My husband said he didn't care for the banana anyway, and reminded me of a great cornmeal pancake recipe from<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rebar-Modern-Cookbook-Audrey-Alsterburg/dp/0968862306/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380554598&sr=8-1&keywords=rebar+cookbook"> our favorite cookbook</a>, one we used to make back in the day but hadn't had in ages.<br />
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This week, we were going to get it right. I was determined to make pancake-making easy like Sunday morning. I took my cues from earlier weeks: I ate something prior to pancake making (an over-caffeinated, hangry cook doesn't make for fun flipping at the stove), I used a trusted and true recipe. I had already done my scribbling and wool-gathering earlier because I knew that after breakfast, the energy of the day would have shifted and the window for desk-time would have closed. I was rested and ready. I mixed the ingredients, stirred the batter, let it sit. I put on a Ray Lamontagne/Josh Ritter station on Pandora. This would be our week.<br />
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It was. The pancakes were delicious: corny in the best way, a fantastic vehicle for butter and maple syrup. The flipping was swear-free. We eased from table into the day pleasantly full: of pancake, of each other's company, of the loveliness and grounding of making traditions together, of hand crafting what it means to be a family, <i>our</i> family.<br />
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I love the weekends. I already cannot wait for the next.<br />
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<i><u>Cornmeal pancakes</u> (adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rebar-Modern-Cookbook-Audrey-Alsterburg/dp/0968862306/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380554598&sr=8-1&keywords=rebar+cookbook">ReBar Cookbook</a>)</i><br />
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2/3 cup + 2 tbsp fine cornmeal<br />
1/2 cup white whole wheat flour<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1 tbsp brown sugar<br />
2 tsp baking powder<br />
1/4 tsp baking soda<br />
1 egg, room temperature<br />
1/4 cup plain yogurt<br />
1 1/2 cups buttermilk<br />
1 tbsp melted butter or oil<br />
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extra butter or oil, for cooking<br />
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Stir together the dry ingredients in one bowl. In a separate bowl, lightly beat the egg, then add the rest of the ingredients. Combine the wet and dry ingredients, gently stir together, and let sit for 5 minutes.<br />
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Heat a pan or griddle to medium-high heat. Add just enough butter or oil to cover the surface. Drop the batter 1/3 cup at a time on the hot surface, flipping once bubbles appear on the surface and the edges start to dry. Continue to cook for a few minutes on the other side. Serve immediately.<br />
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<i>Serves two adults and a toddler.</i><br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-51033146624121826782013-09-16T13:55:00.000-05:002013-09-16T13:55:08.500-05:00better than sleep: morning pagesIf you've ever had a newborn, you know that phases don't last. There is no sense in trying to get used to anything, good or bad, because these little beings are set on a light-speed course of evolution, and what feels like the norm today will be ancient history in a day or two. So I feel sheepish even writing about this, but...<br />
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Over the last few days, baby Cash's slept on in bed after I get up long enough for me to have my coffee and write <a href="http://juliacameronlive.com/basic-tools/morning-pages/">my morning pages</a>. It's been bliss.<br />
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Around 6am or so, he becomes restless with me around. He's at the breast like I would be with an open bag of chips: I don't want any more but I just can't stop myself. I could roll away from him and sleep on my husband's side of the bed, who's up by now, but by some miraculous force of will I roll myself out of the warm bed where I've had too little sleep, stumble in the dim bedroom towards the kitchen for coffee. Then, coffee in hand, I curl up on the couch. And I write.<br />
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Like I say, it's been bliss.<br />
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All I ever want in life is a cup of coffee and time to write in my journal. If you follow my <a href="http://instagram.com/mamaherenow">Instagram feed</a>, you'd know this already, as I seem to have only two subjects: my two boys, and my coffee and journal. I've been an avid journaller for close to twenty years now, and a coffee fanatic ever since I gave birth to my first baby. I've gone in and out of writing <a href="http://paperartstudio.tripod.com/artistsway/id3.html">morning pages</a> over the years, but it's a practice I return to over and over because it's so potent and, well, <i>pleasant.</i><br />
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On the few days when my baby boy has given me this incredible gift of time, I've been happier, more relaxed, more focused, and I attribute this largely to being able to write in the morning. Even when I didn't write out specific intentions or plans for the day, I feel clearer, my decisions are more in line with my heart, and I move through my days with more purpose. I think it has to do with just having the time to do what I most like and want to do first thing: to paraphrase <a href="http://karenmaezenmiller.com/">Karen Maezen Miller</a>, it's a little bit of attention given to myself to I can give the rest of my attention away. And the familiar act of putting pen to paper and moving my hand across the page puts me in touch with who I am at the very center of my being, with who I was even before I was a wife, a mother, a teacher. <i>When I remember who I am, I know what to do.</i><br />
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So, whenever he gives me the opportunity, I will roll away from my son in the earliest morning. I will forgo whatever extra sleep I could scrounge because, when it comes to allowing me to have days that flow sweetly and with ease, writing my morning pages is better than sleep.<br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-17142977581947996002013-09-09T11:12:00.002-05:002013-09-09T11:12:42.606-05:00the practice of being mamaI've <a href="http://www.thehabitofbeing.com/journal/?p=4018">written before</a> about the reasons why I think it is so important for mamas to meditate. Since I am currently <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/2013/08/small-gestures.html">working on recommitting to the practice</a>, I though I would revisit the subject.<br />
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<b><i>The practice of doing nothing</i></b><br />
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As a mama of two littles and main nest-fluffer of the household, there is something I need to do nearly every moment of every day. Even my own self-care can sometimes feel like a "to-do." Meditation, even if just for five minutes, can be extremely beneficial and refreshing since it is the practice of doing nothing. For whatever amount of time passes between one bell and another on my <a href="https://insighttimer.com/">timer app</a>, there is nothing I need to be doing but just sit there, breathe, and know that I am breathing. I don't need anything; nothing or no one needs me. There is space to just be, a precious and rare commodity.<br />
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<i><b>The practice of placing attention</b></i><br />
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I love this quote, attributed to Mark Twain: "I've had a lot of trouble in my life, and most of it never happened." He is pointing to one of the deepest truths of Buddhism, which is that most of our suffering is due to unskillful thought patterns. I see this clearly in my life as a mama. Most of the difficulty lies not in having a baby who won't nap, or a toddler who wakes up said baby after he <i>finally</i> falls asleep, but in the thoughts that inevitably arise as a result: <i>I can't believe this happened again. Will this baby never sleep? Will I ever get anything done? When will my life get back to some semblance of normal? I should've never had a baby!</i> Mostly our unskillful thoughts have to do with the past or the future, are riddled with doubt or fear. Very seldom are we preoccupied with what is actually going on <i>in that very moment</i>. If we were, we would see that we have all the resources we need to handle whatever situation is presented to us. The practice of meditation, which asks us to place our attention on the breath, over and over again, trains us to place our attention on what is useful, on what is skillful: our breath, this very moment.<br />
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<b><i>The practice of starting over</i></b><br />
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We've all blown it, to varying minor or spectacular degrees, and have felt like giving up. <i>I've screwed up, and there's no making it right again.</i> In meditation, it is <i>expected</i> that we will veer of course, that the mind will stray from the breath and follow some random train of thought down the rabbit hole. The success of our practice, if there is such a thing, is measured not by whether or not our mind strays, but by the gentleness with which we bring it back on the right path. It matters absolutely not whether we do this once or a dozen or a hundred times over the course of one sitting period. What matters is the gentleness with which we invite ourselves to start over again. What if that was how we measured our days, too? By the gentleness with which we talk to ourselves? By how we grant ourselves the grace to start over?<br />
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Curious about starting your own mediation practice, or returning to the cushion? The <a href="http://susanpiver.com/open-heart-project/#">Open Heart Project</a> is one of the best resources out there to assist you in your practice. I hope you'll give it a go--if you do, let me know how it goes!fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-75037104720292575682013-08-30T21:23:00.000-05:002013-08-30T21:24:25.058-05:00your efforts matter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am writing this for you today, in case you need to hear it. I know I do.<br />
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<i>Your efforts matter.</i><br />
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They have not gone unnoticed.<br />
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All the small gestures, they add up. All the little things done with big love. You may not always think that they do. It may not <i>feel</i> like they do.<br />
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But oh, they do. I promise you.<br />
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Please allow others to reflect the goodness that is your own true self back to you. Believe in the good that they speak of you.<br />
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Allow the love in their eyes, the smile that lights up their face when they see you, to hold deep meaning. To touch that soft, bruised place in your heart.<br />
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Maybe they are able to see the truth of who you are better than you can right now.<br />
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Do not sink into that place of sadness. Do not doubt your own worth. Believe you are enough. If you believe, it begins to be true. Just like that.<br />
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<i>Your efforts matter.</i> They have not gone unnoticed. Trust this.<br />
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<br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-90229799681448144882013-08-28T14:19:00.000-05:002013-08-28T14:19:15.738-05:00small gestures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I recently <a href="http://www.mamaherenow.com/search/label/30%2F30">finished a personal challenge </a>to show up on the blog to write<a href="http://www.christinarosalie.com/just-one-paragraph/"> a paragraph each day for 30 days</a>. Those particular 30 days corresponded with traveling to Montreal alone with my two young boys, where we would hang out at my parents' house and escape the brutal Texas summer for a few weeks. This kind of disruption of routine is one I generally struggle with. I like the predictable rituals of my days at home, and cling to such rituals even more so now, in the difficult first few months with a new baby. I knew it would be a challenge to show up daily to write, but I did manage to do so everyday, and that is something that I am enormously proud of. Aside from the fact that the exercise yielded some writing which I am very happy with (which it did), the sheer fact that I showed up and honored that commitment to myself, every day of those 30 days, no matter what, means a hell of a lot to me.<br />
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The challenge wrapped up just in time, too, because upon returning home I got waylaid by mastitis AND a respiratory infection. I was so, so sick--dizzy spells, high fever, chills, sweats, the works--for a solid week. Antibiotics eventually had to be brought in. I felt so bad that the illness sucked the will to self-care right out of me. I didn't even want to do any of the things I usually do for myself: write in my journal, enjoy a hot shower, practice yoga, sit for meditation. I didn't even have the energy to want out of my misery. I<i> barely drank any coffee</i>. Those ten days or so have been some of the darkest of my whole parenting career. I'm barely just starting to get back to myself.<br />
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I'm starting small. Re-establishing my evening routine--shower, yoga, sit, and a nightly gratitude practice--is my first line of defense. Then, slowly rebuilding in other ways, too. Checking in with myself for a daily intention in the morning, doing some mindful movement as the sun begins to shine. Two solid bookends to my days.<br />
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And I am continuing with my commitment to writing. What made it easier to show up each day of the 30-day challenge was that I didn't have to wonder <i>whether or not</i> I would write. I'd already decided I would, and that fact pushed me through resistance every single day. And I realized that, no matter how tired or cranky or blah I felt, if I made myself show up, something beautiful would rise up to meet me. It was surprising and illuminating each and every time. Why not continue? So I am committing to write for 10 minutes each day. 10 minutes. That's it. Let's see how this goes.<br />
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The truth of it is that these small gestures are all that is available to me, here in the weeds up to my eyeballs with learning what it means to be a family of four. It is so easy to lose myself in the daily spin and grind. But, more so than ever, it is important that I do what I can to hold on to those things that support me in <i>who I am at the core</i>, even before I am a wife, mama, homemaker. It is vital that I keep investing in myself so that I can be invested in my sons and my husband. It is necessary that I be at home within myself so that I can make a home for all of us. When I have the least amount of time for them, and when I have the best reasons to give them up, are the precise moments when it is most important to honor these small commitments to myself.<br />
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Here's to starting over. Please tell me, I'd love to know: how are you recommitting to self-care these days? What small gestures are you making towards living your best life?fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-29480533627858859352013-08-17T22:38:00.001-05:002013-08-28T14:15:27.432-05:00"30 paragraphs in 30 days"<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/08/17/2305.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/08/17/s_2305.jpg' border='0' width='640' height='640' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I can't quite believe I'm here, on day 30 with a 30th paragraph. It's amazing to me that I've managed to show up, everyday, despite travel and disruption of my littles' routine. Despite fever. There were so many good reasons NOT to write but I did anyway, and this fact means so so very much to me. I feel so much power in having accomplished this, having honored this commitment to myself. I'm thinking a lot these days about what it means to be <i>me</i> and <i>also</i> be a mom. How to write, exercise, practice self-care in the midst of my days filled with the care of two small boys, a home, a marriage. What is possible? What is desirable? I still don't know the answers to these questions. But over thirty days of simply <i>showing up</i> I have taught myself that what is possible might be bigger than I thought. <br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-73464800845573848662013-08-16T20:32:00.001-05:002013-08-28T14:15:27.467-05:00"fever"<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/08/16/2322.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/08/16/s_2322.jpg' border='0' width='640' height='640' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Fever. Giving myself a pass tonight. Though I have so much to say. Now for some ice cream and tea. <br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206415309518198493.post-61598332238763915422013-08-15T22:27:00.001-05:002013-08-28T14:15:27.446-05:00"creating space "<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/08/15/2042.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/08/15/s_2042.jpg' border='0' width='640' height='640' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />It's hard to believe that today was only one day--it felt more like two or three. Slow to get going in the morning, testing the waters of being a solo mama of two again, after two weeks of vacation. Epic toddler nosebleed onto both of our new white shirts. Reuniting with our friends again. Vacuuming as quick as I could the bloated black dust bunnies in every corner. Quiet at naptime, making my lunch, cramming so much into that first hour. Making a black bean, mango, avo salad while Silas was in deepest toddler happiness, watching Magic Schoolbus and eating "crunchies". Arranging a new vignette atop the mantelpiece. Late trip to Target for dog food and new underwear. Coming home just as the husband was unloading the new-to-us couch from the truck. Bringing said couch into the house, creating new visions for our living space. Such an epic day of homing, of creating space for the days and months ahead. Carving hope. <br />fannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07235391824002566102noreply@blogger.com2