Tiny Luxuries; Medicine for What Ails
My morning mantra - “Good morning, beautiful, strong body!”
Said for my daughter’s ears. And her quick adaptation - “Good morning, beautiful, strong, loving body!”
Pausing for a few seconds to watch my son’s sweet delight as he lays on the changing table, bike helmet stubbornly in place, enjoying Bluey.
Bleary eyed, dazed after the news - engine cut, slouched and silent before starting the day.
My son declaring “My favorite thing is doing something with you!” My heart expanding to breaking point.
Breathing for 10 seconds, slowly, before bed.
Resting my gaze on the few non - chaotic corners of our home.
Stories of brutality, atrocity and heartbreak, streaming, ceaseless: the world afire.
Going to the library - alone - and perusing home decor and cookbooks.
Stacking them high, my eyes certainly bigger than my time.
Catching a friend to chat as I drive or walk or pause.
Finishing a craft project that has been dormant for 15 years.
Choosing a book - any book - over my phone.
Self-doubt in this mothering work, watching the moments tick as the tantrum goes on and
On
And I wonder- what must I being doing wrong?
Hand on my face, gaze in mirror, grounding into my body.
The sound of my son’s pounding footsteps as he careens to greet me after work, smile large, hug larger.
Whispering to my girl, “you’re my favorite girl in the whole world.” and her whispering our woven mantra back before drifting off.
Taking calming breaths after seeing a bill, anxiety spiked.
Hand on heart. I am safe, I am safe, I am safe.
Pausing to notice the shape of that snowflake, the intricacy astounding. It’s one of millions;
Temporary treasures.
Mug cupped gently in hands, smile soft.
Looking closely with my daughter at the feathery design frost has danced across the window.
Her delight, and mine.
Collapsing into chair, after high-pitched whines extend ad-naseum in reaction to the new breakfast attempt. Hollowed out, sunken, sagging.
Hidden, stolen moments to write. To remember.
To remember myself, to myself.
To remember -
There is, indeed, space for me here, too.
Magic moments with clients, co-creating a web that lingers in the ether: supporting, illuminating.
Beginners ballet, magic of following a heart-tug. A room full of other heart-tug-followers.
Feeling the heavy of the world. Leaden news, atrocities unending.
Dreams and pens on paper.
Teaching my daughter to sew.
A book of poetry.
Text from a friend.
Stars gazed.
These, my materials for this fierce web, this fabric that is ours to make.
Leaning into joy. Even as we teeter, as we toggle between all the truths of this world.
Weaving with materials stronger than power, money, hate, control.
Instead, joy. Light. Glimmers. Amazement. Attention. Presence.
Love.
To clothe myself.
To clothe my family.
Hoping to help clothe the world.
Toggling from delight to sorrow.
Despair to numbing.
Overstimulation to loneliness.
Joy to grief.
Grief to joy.