to my sweet boy on his third birthday

"Love that boy,
like a rabbit loves to run
I said I love that boy
like a rabbit loves to run
Love to call him in the morning
love to call him
"Hey there, son!"

from the poem, Love That Boy by Walter Dean Myers. I love this poem. To love a boy, is not hard. Not hard at all. 

A good friend and her new baby came to visit. Afterward, she reflected that Woody gave her son something to aspire to; to play with trains and jump off things. His two favorite things. Also fishing from the couch.

Woody's speech delights me. Sparse, but technical. Sometimes, mostly while riding in the car, he will ramble about what the cars are doing and what parts they have, ending with a Larry The Cable Guy-sounding, "See......I told 'ja."

He loves to listen to stories. He will listen to as many as I will read. We read The Little Engine That Could. "I BINK I can, I BINK I can."

Elwood, I love you just as you are. And I'm willing to see where this life is going to take us. Happy third birthday, Baby. 

Love,

Mom

now she is six

Our neighbor recently gave Ramona some seashells, leftover from a renovation project. An abundance of shells. Ramona really wanted to take a shell to school to give to a friend, but her teacher said she had to bring a shell for everyone. Which was better yet, in Ramona's mind. So, Ramona told me about this golden opportunity, and I was really put off. I thought it would be annoying to the teacher, and it wasn't like we got them on vacation or anything. They were just glued to some baseboards in our neighbor's house. So I distracted her from the idea. I will talk to your teacher, I tell her. I will ask her about the shells. Except, Ramona insists, it's totally fine with the teacher. This goes on.

Until one evening, Ramona pulls an empty baggie from her backpack, and tells me she took shells to her class today, and it was fine with her teacher, but I just wouldn't listen to her so she just did it.

***

Today is Ramona's birthday, she is 6 years old. For her birthday she wanted Care Bears. Big and small, soft stuffed colorful bears. She wants "the whole collection." On the way home from her birthday evening at the park, she tells Brian and me that a girl at school said Care Bears were for babies. And Ramona tells her,

"That is an opinion."

***

Happy Birthday, Ramona. This is the life we are spending together. I love it.

Love,
Mom

The First Two Years: Happy Birthday, Elwood

Unsure of how I wanted to say Happy Birthday to Elwood, I found myself searching around my unpublished posts and found this, written when Elwood was a tiny baby:

Elwood,you are just a few weeks old. Such a short time to know you. We haven't scratched the surface on you. You are hardly a thing. Your demands are small, Sweet Elwood. Giving birth to you was easy. Loving you is easy.

I prepared for you differently than your sister. I was depressed and anxious after she was born. I was in a lot of secret pain. While waiting for you, Elwood, I was afraid. Scared to feel the same way, afraid to feel worse.
But when you were born all I was left with was you. 

With your sweet, fuzzy head. Your squeaky cry. Your peaceful face. And this new beginning for our family. Holding you near my heart, you are a balm. In the wake of you, I don't worry about money or how much tv your sister is watching. I don't worry about SIDS. I don't worry.

At dawn you cry. I gather you from the bassinet by the bed and hold you in my arms. Our faces close, we sleep.

Our picture was taken. And I see my tiredness, my slight sadness sitting lightly on top of everything. I see me not trying to hide anything. I see me loving you. I see me holding you, holding what I have. 


Dear sweet Elwood Woody Ellie WooWoo, you sweet boy who passes out kisses and hugs, Happy Birthday. What on earth did we do to deserve each other?

To Ramona on her 5th Birthday

Happy Birthday, Beautiful. Love, Mom

“Nothing

would be
easier without
you,
because you
are 
everything,
all of it-
sprinkles, quarks, giant
donuts, eggs sunny-side up-
you
are the ever-expanding
universe
to me.” 
― Kate DiCamillo, Flora and Ulysses: The Illuminated Adventures

What to do when

It's really hard to make stuff happen sometimes. I'm not the only person who's ever been there, but it's just the worst anyway. 

you know what they say...a day without book shelving is a day without reading. 

John the Rabbit

Watching rabbits hopping around my garden this morning. It's a love/hate kind of thing I've got going with them. 

"And if I live

to see next fall

I won't plant a garden at all"

- traditional African American folk song

close to two

My sweetheart Elwood (who sometimes goes by Woody, but really likes being called Ellie) is getting so close to being two years old. 

hoarding in miniature

It's really obvious to me where suffering comes from. It comes from living in a state where half the time I think I'm just too precious and simply wonderful, and the other half I'm belittling myself and soaked in doubt. I notice that I live this way. 

So, I have a new blog

The content is book stuff, library stuff, personal reading and what I'm reading with kids (my own kids and school kids). I feel great about the project, with a new focus on why I got into the business of reading in the first place.

ready to say goodbye, 2013

Death came in waves. Small, but relentless.

My grandpa died, in a few months it will be a year. He was so old, I was unsure what kind of hole might be left by his absence. There is a helpless space before we eat dinner. The time when we prayed. It was his time, and now we just stand there, choked. My aunt steps in at Thanksgiving, she says his blessing. And I get a huge lump in my throat. I hold Elwood close and breathe into the side of his sweet baby head. I take comfort, thinking how pleased my grandpa would have been with what a Fine Boy Elwood is. "Such a Fine Boy." He would have said that.

A little girl from my street died this year. And it's not my story to tell, but I stare at the house of her mom and dad every day and I'm afraid of how sad and scared I am. I don't know how to go on with So Much Sadness and Change All Around me.

Our dog died a few weeks ago. I could write a whole book about what happened in my heart that week when we let go of her.

Death is a thing that has been swirling around me. Not taking out any of my key players, but touching in a medium sized circle around me.

This year, I read furiously. I read the new testament, native american history, syliva plath, the battle of gettysburg, and on and on and on. And had Big Thoughts. And things just got Bigger and Bigger for me, until CRASH.

I had my first Zen interview this year. My question was essentially, how can I go on knowing there is an end? I think the answer might have something to do with a little pebble rolling between two hands. My teacher would think that was nuts, probably. But I don't remember her answer, I remember what she did with her hands when answering. And that became the answer for me. I love her face and her loud laugh. Like a bell that shakes you.

Today is January 6th and I'm just now starting to ease my fingers away from 2013. I have nothing to arm me in the next year. No new practice, no special word, no resolution. Just a sore heart and my breath. Again and again.

the three people you meet in heaven

life plan

mini-rose august 2013

having the realization
that you can quit
being a scared twelve year old any time now.

this happens the day you turn thirty
and you remember this for ten years,
you talk about it a lot.

and then when you are forty
you
wake
up.

one year of loving Elwood

I've always had trouble writing about him, since the very beginning. With Ramona my love creates words, it creates stories. With Elwood my love creates silence. I think maybe it's because of my weak skills as a descriptive writer. When I think of him I think of the way things feel. Soft skin, the way it felt to kiss his nose above his binky, petting a closed eye with my thumb. With him there was no story, just me quietly feeling the way I feel. Just enjoying him. 

I always try to explain to people how he is a wonder of nature to me. Like a little fluff from a dandelion. This never makes sense, exactly.

But there are stories I can tell.

I didn’t get to hold him at first, the night he was born. The night he was born I had to wait. There was something they had to take care of, they would have to whisk him away for a second before I could hold him they warned me. I had to wait, and I held my breath and I tried to fill myself with patience. To be a good patient for Elwood on the night when he was born.

The night he was born I kept our news to myself. Waiting for day to announce the arrival of our sweet boy. I sent a picture to my waiting family. The hour still so small that it was hard to see him in his little bed. Something about this picture is magic to me. 

first picture

I didn’t let go of him the whole day. Our room was full of sunshine and I held him and loved him. He was the perfect baby. 

We named him Elwood Emory. A poet’s name. It is the most beautiful name I can think of for a boy.

I doubt I ever put him down. I nursed him and kissed him. I think it was my happiest day. 

When I think of Elwood as a very small baby, I think of his eyes closed tight. I think of my fingers running over his little face. I think of how he seemed to be so aware of me.

He slept against me in bed for the first few months, and I should be sad maybe, because I know I will never be as happy as I was in those very restful nights. I mothered him like a person who has never worried about anything in her life. I mothered him like the person I never knew I could be. Somehow this is still true. It is hard to feel anything but pleasure when I look at him still.

Elwood has been a salve on my heart. It is not necessary to wring the joy out of every moment. It is not necessary to be happy all the time. It is not necessary to feel any certain way about anything. It is not necessary to enjoy any moment more than the other. Once he was born I fell silent. I am not sure why. 

Is this sweet boy the fast track to enlightenment? Maybe. Maybe loving anyone is the fast track to enlightenment. 

I was made to wait the morning he was born. I was made to sit quiet, be patient, stay out of the way. 

I am still doing this.

Happy Birthday, sweet Elwood. You blond headed, sweet hearted, blue eyed boy. You are the peace of my heart. 

Elwood Emory Bradfield

To Ramona, on her fourth birthday

Dear Ramona,

Today is your fourth birthday. This morning you stood on a chair and shouted, "I am four! I'm not nearly four, I'm not three. I'm four!"

ramona with wings

I feel like we met you in the last year. You are as wildly different from me as possible. You are so friendly and warm. You thrive on meeting new people. You jump into new situations with no hesitation  You are fearless and uncomplicated, and I'm like the best friend that quietly hangs in your shadow. I am not like you, but I like you.

This year was hard. You got a baby brother and you grew out of your baby-self. This was hard for you. And it was hard for me, and it was hard for daddy. I have been reading you since the moment you were born. I've been watching you, listening to you, learning you like someone would learn a new language or a holy book. I know that you are mostly reasonable and always loyal. You are wild and you are brave. You are not one to worry over stuff and you take things as the are.

I worry about how trusting you are, I am a person who worries. "Ramona, we never get in cars with strangers, right?" And you say to me, "Mom, nobody is going to steal anybody." And you know, you are probably right.

You are precious to me. Your life is a miracle to your family. It is my hope that four will bring you the joy you are expecting. Happy Birthday, Beautiful.

Love,
Mom                                                  

moving on

The day Elwood was born, everything changed. 

I think I knew having Ramona would change me. I wasn't surprised when I became a different person. But I am very surprised the birth of my second child could bring such a change. I guess I thought he would just be an addition. 

This is not what he has been. I have a new family. And I am a different person.

I am also surprised to discover that this project is over. Ramona and her Mother as a blog that grows each day is over. This space is named after me and I will continue to use it somehow, but Ramona and her Mother is over. I'm now working to bring together the work I've done into a sort of final product that I will share when it's ready. 

I don't know what is next. I recently wrote an e-mail to Dan Magers, whom I consider my writing mentor. I said, "I think I've let go of the idea of being an author and having an audience. I feel like now I am free to embrace the idea of writing for pleasure. I feel free to spend a lot of time on things that won't matter to anyone else, but will bring me a lot of happiness."

His response to me was, "Lately I've been thinking more about writing as a practice, something that one does as an aspect of their life that is integrated among all the other things in life. There are times in which one writes less, times one writes more. Times where some people see your work, and times where you are writing for yourself."

I wonder sometimes at how dull I am. For me, it takes the birth of a new child to realize everything is different. If I were a bit more careful, I could have already seen that everything is always changing and my heart accepts these changes without fail.

for rebekkah and all who pray for her today

Dear Friend, in honor of you I didn't grumble this morning when I had to get out of bed. Every time I fed my new baby last night, I thought of you. I thought of the night feedings you yourself had done several years before. I thought of your son. I thought of all the babies you had wanted.
I poured my coffee. I thought of the coffee your mother might be drinking. Most of all, I think of your mother. How she saw you through the end of your life. How relived she might be to know you are free from pain. I think of my own daughter. And then shut down. Because my heart can not take it.
Today I teach with you in my heart. Every small face I will take a moment to look at, really look. I feel thankful to be waiting for quiet, to be turning a page, to hold a grimy hand. You were so kind to your students. I will try to be kind to mine.
Today every face I see is a face in prayer. We are all walking the steps of our lives with a special attention. Because we are all thinking of you. Every face I see is one in prayer.

- for Rebekkah, may you rest in peace.

- for everyone else, may you find comfort today in love. May you find comfort in the peace that is always there waiting for us.

each new baby

My new baby sleeps with me off and on during the night. It's not like a lifestyle or a philosophy or anything. He just sleeps with me sometimes. He lays his head against my breast after he is done nursing. Sometimes I put him back in his own bed. And sometimes I keep him right by my heart.

I understand why people have lots of babies. I feel like maybe a heart is an onion. Each new child pulls another layer away. And you could keep pulling layer after layer. Just to see what is underneath. Just to see more of what is inside.

5 years, a day at a time

In honor of my 32nd birthday I began writing in a five year journal. My grandma gave me one of these when I turned 18 and I kept it off and on. The space to write was so small, so it was a place I recorded the simple acts of the day.  A movie with my boyfriend. A fight with my mom. Homework. Just the facts mostly, with a touch of perspective. After I had kept this practice for a few years I could see all my August 26ths all lined up. I could see how they were different, and the same. How the simple act of living my ordinary life became so wonderful to read over time. After I grew up a bit I threw out much of my writing. I threw it out in embarrassment. But not the five year journal, kept off and on from 18 to 22. It was the most honest of all the writing I had done.

I began this blog when my daughter was just born. I had these big feelings, I had a story I felt I knew how to tell. My daughter got a loud public display. My son gets a small book. A quiet daily story of loads of laundry, the day his smile grew wide, a small note to remind me of how on August 27th 2012 I  thought of him all day.

the anniversary of a day I did right

The traditional gift of the sixth anniversary of my marriage is acceptance. It is a squint across this hard life to see the peace that is always there. It is the blurring of the edges between you and me.

It's accepting this promise wasn't a minor detail. It is a powerful, terrible, magical promise to walk with you to the end. 

Brian, the day I fell in with you was a day I did right. 

nothing to do but enjoy

This could become a place where I turn in baby pictures and thoughtful quotes from Ramona. If it did, I wouldn't blame me. Two kids is probably hard. I'm not sure though, because I thought things were hard before. And now I see they were so easy. So it makes me think this is probably easy too, only I don't realize it yet. So, I'm not taking things too seriously anymore. Because obviously I know nothing. 

Ramona does, though. 

"Mama, don't take Baby Elwood away. I'm enjoying him."