Today marks the halfway point of my year of writing this blog. I am halfway there. From the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English, being halfway there means “to have done something that will allow you to achieve something else.”
Halfway there is a good feeling.
When you’re halfway to your weight loss goal, you’ve really accomplished something. It helps create momentum to carry you to completion. Continue reading
We visited our old stomping grounds this week. It was good to be back among friends of times past. So good to be reminded that those friendships transcend distance and time and circumstances. I feel empowered by their care and kindness.
It’s always a surreal feeling to be back in geographical surroundings from our children’s elementary school days: entering a building downtown where our twins’ orchestra did their Christmas concerts; spending time in the homes of friends whose children played with ours; walking by the local amusement park where we celebrated the twins’ birthday one year.
So many fond memories.
I cried at the ball fields at the park. I cried over the loss of my girls. They were so precious playing off behind the row of parent’s chairs at every one of their big brother’s Little League games. I see them in my mind’s eye, sweet and innocent, always having each other as companion and friend. I miss those girls, the little ones they used to be, and the ones I imagined they’d become.
The tears lasted for a few minutes accompanied by words of explanation to those I was with. There’s an ongoing conflict in my heart. The loss I feel is real and can’t be pushed away and neglected. Alongside it is knowledge that no one can ever go back, and there is something important and new around the corner. Instead of just trying to be okay, I’m trying to allow myself to experience all my feelings fully. My heart contains this incongruity, feeling the pain simultaneously with hope and promise.
As early as the 1500s, there was a tradition of using the day of a child’s birth to foretell their character. “Monday’s Child” is a well-known nursery rhyme from around 1838 that served that purpose and also helped young children remember the days of the week. Continue reading
I have a small porcelain dish that used to belong to my maternal grandmother. 
It is pearlescent white with three dusty pink roses and pale green leaves on the front. It has a scalloped top edge and a short pedestal base. On the underside is a stamp of the word Germany with a golden crown above it, a G to its left, and an H to its right. Greiner & Herda, a porcelain decoration studio in Oberkotzau, Germany opened in 1886. This stamp is one of their earliest markings.
When the kids were little, I told them I wouldn’t play What If. I refused to participate when they didn’t want me to leave at bedtime and they would say, “Mom, what if I’m bleeding?” or, “Mom, what if I throw up?” I told them that if any of those things happened, we would deal with them at that time.
In this strange process of watching my children grow and change, I wish for resilience.
To be resilient – able to withstand or recover quickly from difficult conditions – or – able to spring back into shape after bending, stretching, or being compressed.
It doesn’t come naturally, especially in the moment of change.
I picture a tree growing by the water, bent and bowed and quirky-looking, but still growing and thriving, still providing comfort and shade to those in need.
That’s what I wish I were like. Continue reading
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