An I Want To Travel But I See What Matters Most Poem

1. con·trail

noun /ˈkänˌtrāl/  A trail of condensed water from an aircraft or rocket at high altitude, seen as a white streak against the sky* Today The stroller left Three tracks In the dry brown dirt, Slow contrails From a micro trip Through tall yellow grass, Cattails glittering with dew-glass, And sun-crowned Scottish thistles. The sounds of a diminutive metropolis Hum around us-- Crickets chirruping contentedly, Songbirds babbling, trill-flit, The steady chuck-chuck of a Pasture sprinkler, And a horse Chewing in time. You point a chubby finger, Pausing for the word Your mouth hasn't tasted yet. I love your round Cheeks, Orange tiger-striped Jammas, And your expression, Discovering the world. Content today To make slow contrails in the dirt And watch an airplane hurry on her way, Trailing a silver buttermilk cloud As she rises over A hazy mountain With a faint buzz And disappears. Some day I'll be tracing my finger Across the sky, Watching your contrails As you hurry off to conquer the world. The little pointing finger Will be gone, And I'll remember this bucolic morning, My little boy's Tubby figure clad in Tiger-striped jammas, Looking at me as if I were the whole world. When it's my turn to fly over that Mountain, High up on my way to Arrivederci, I'll crane my neck And strain my eyes, Not for India's Mahal, But for a little Dirt path In the leaning afternoon grass And a little boy Frozen in time.

Home

I have a hard time saying that word-- home.  Why?  Probably because in part my heart has a home in many places now, because it is connected by delicate fibers too fine to be seen, to others hearts across oceans and mountains and yellow-grass fields.  People who have inspired me or touched me or been my friend.  Somehow if I say the finality of that word, will it feel like I am severing those threads, threads that have woven into my heart and helped to make me who I am?  It is because of people I have left behind, people who secretly in my heart I want to just come on over for dinner or a walk to June's seat or blab an hour away at the park like we used to, that I have the very hardest time saying that word-- the "h" word-- because it means I'm somehow letting go of those times and recognizing they won't come again.

And another reason, as a child I often caught myself imagining climbing the mountains where I was born so I could see what was on the other side.  I think there will always be a part of me that wants to see what is on the other side.   An insatiable wanderlust that makes me want to see, experience, and sometimes, --live-- on nearly every inch of this sweet planet.

Home also means letting go of the grass-is-greener syndrome-- recognizing that happiness isn't found in a place, it's found in one's heart and way of life.  Nor is any dwelling perfect-- there will always be something left to be desired.  Moving doesn't solve problems, it just swaps them out for different ones.

And lastly, because home means commitment.  Commitment to something.  It means we are going to ride this thing out together no matter what happens, thick, thin, hot cold, happy or sad.  And that is a little bit frightening.  In some ways, it is staring down the barrel of death.  Of accepting what life will throw at me, and being okay with it.  Growing old, experiencing loss, watching loved ones grow and move on.  Will I ever be able to say that word without a little hidden tremor in my voice?  I don't know. 

But I do know one thing.  I do love where I live.  I love watching the seasons change on the mountains, then creep down the valleys, or the reverse.  I love places I can escape to just minutes away where I can think and see God face-to-face.  I love having so many thoughtful neighbors watching over me.  And knowing every last one.  I love one last thing.  That I brought a baby home here.  And others have come and gone and dropped their coats on the floor and we've said goodbye and hello as the seasons changed with the whoosh of cold or warm air from the back door.  We've buried pets and hidden teeth under pillows and decorated the Christmas tree and snuggled under warm blankets.  We've laughed, shouted, helped eachother, fought, and danced like weird people in the living room.  If there is anyone worth putting down roots for, it is these little ones that I want to give stability to and let them make friends without worrying about whether they'll have to say goodbye to those friends.  It is for memories and for family and for good enough.



Home

Sitting in the night study
Only the glow of the
Weekend's photos
Clicking across a
Computer screen,
Baby nursing into sleepy
Bliss.
Dino jammies,
Soft sweaty head.
Black cloud
Dances with streaks of
White,
Inching along the
Hills.
Little oohs and ahhs
Trickle down the stairs
From little out-of-bedders
Pressed against an
Upstairs window.
Then it comes,
A sheet of water
Orange from the glow of the
Streetlamp standing sentinel
Outside.
Now we're snuggled up in
The dark,
Watching
the Glow
Hero wall,
Partially finished pine shelves,
And a train of little
Feet down to watch
The show.
The tapping of rain on the roof,
Gorgeous glut of plenty
Outside and in,
Protected,
Safe,
Happy,
Rain,
Lamplight,
Little feet,
Wonder,
Heroes,
Projects,
Home.

Halloween Fun

Don't you just love this month?

I'm sorry.  I tend to blog more often at my other blog right now.  Even about day-to -day stuff, which I thought I'd reserve for this blog!  Oh well.

Here is some of our latest via Instagram.  You can read more about adventures in these pictures: www.5for50project.blogspot.com.  Happy Halloween everyone!

 

Harry Potter movie night.












Slimed!  With a green smoothie.  And so pleased.  Can you see his toenails?  I was painting Ava's, and he kept emitting a loud, high pitched squeak and sticking his foot in next to hers.  He was not content until each toenail was painted.  And he has been so proud of those toes. 



Ava wanted some "acorns" with her lunch.  I told her she had to wait.  But she still insisted on keeping the acorns close.  Very close.

Will Work for Food

A friend of mine asked me to take her family's pictures.  I was really flattered, and a little bit scared, because I am a major rookie at photography.  If I get a good shot, it is usually an accident.  :)  But, knowing that I would be doing her a service, that she wouldn't be out anything, made me feel better.  Oh yeah, and the fact that she fed my whole family and taught us an FHE lesson.  While I was taking the pictures, I thought, I think I'd trade photos for making dinner any day!  

 

I had a minor panic attack when the bench in the pictures looked tilted, really tilted, but Photoshop is magic!

 

What a darling family.  And I just loved watching the husband wife relationship in play here-- they are really cute with eachother.

 

 I had a less blurry one of these two but this was the momma's favorite.

 

Funny Little Boy

I don't mean to neglect my other kids here.  But babies change so fast.  I want to remember some of these things Emerson does before this stage evaporates before my eyes.

He has learned to stitch two words together.  It is so cute.

When his dad gets home from work each day, he toddle-runs ecstatically to the back door screaming "Da!" or "Dad!"  When Miguel says "hi Emerson,"  Emerson says "hi Dad."  They will repeat this four or five times, saying hello to eachother.  Its so cute.  Only today Emerson said "hello Emer" instead of "hello Dad."

He calls Isa "Kaedon."  So funny.  If you ask him where Isa is, he'll point right to her.  So he knows her name, he just calls her Kaedon (he also calls Kaedon, Kaedon).   The other day she was tickling him and he said, with breathless deliberation:  "that......funnnyy......Kaedon."

Still loves trucks and trains and tractors.  He has a fire truck shirt that I make an engine sound while I'm putting it on him and he loves it.  Then he'll point to the trucks and make the noise.   Today I put one of Kaedon's old shirts on him and he looked down, rubbed the buttons and said "pretty...shirt."

When Kaedon played Ring Around the Rosies with him, when K would say "ashes, ashes" Emer would say "tractor, tractor.....truck! (for all fall down)"

Kaedon tickled him today and he told him "no no .....Bubba."

So cute!

He is even adorable when he is crying.

Babies in Church Poem

So sorry to be so sentimental lately.  If you only knew...I'm sparing you a lot.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  (we put away the crib today!  I have to say I absented myself...I could not watch or take part)

I have had an idea in my head a while.  It has to do with babies and church and Walt Whitman.  And it is a subject that has been on my mind a lot, because Emerson will be going to nursery here in one more month.  (I need a little pep talk right now...not ready to let go!)

I have to admit, when Kaedon was little, I was thrown for a loop in church.  I have mostly always loved church (as an adult, mind you), and it was hard to take a baby out because I hated missing anything.  Church gives me a boost like nothing else can-- a little recharge and perspective changer for the week.  So it can be frustrating to take a baby out.  Sometimes I've even wondered why I was even there, I was missing so much.

Then, I turned around, and Kaedon was in nursery.

And I met a friend who helped me learn how to keep my babies from wanting to go out so much.  So with the rest of my kids, I tried to keep enough in my bag to keep them busy and take them out only as a last resort.  (They often forget its even an option when you rarely take them out)  And when I did take them out, I made sure it was worse for them out of a meeting than in, ie-- no running around, drinks, or play...just sitting in a chair in a boring room.  They quickly decide it's much more fun sitting on Mom's lap eating Cheerios and reading a book.

After changing my approach, my little ones were (mostly) so good, and I enjoyed the time just holding them, and realized they'd be in nursery before I knew it, that I learned not to wish away that time.  I really soaked it up and enjoyed my little buddies.  And I realized that even when I have to take them out, I'm learning how to be Christlike through actions and not just sermons.

I see so many frustrated first-time parents that I wish I had a way to explain this-- so they don't resent their child but see it as an opportunity.

Disclaimer:  I love church.  I love listening to people speak.  I love the "old men" in our church-- LOVE them (see here) (I LOVE conference...it's my favorite and it's coming up!).  They are so wise and I have learned so much from their wisdom and life experience. They are mostly not boring.  This poem I wrote to mimic one of my favorites by Whitman, When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer.  I tried my darnedest to keep to his original intent, meter, etc, and it was much harder than I thought.  Won't be doing it again any time soon.  Hopefully you will get the picture of what I'm trying to say?

When I Heard the Old Theologian

When I heard the old theologian,
When the nature of God was ranged in theory before me,
When I was shown the footnotes and references,
To highlight and cross-check them,
When I, sitting, heard the high councilman, where he
Lectured with much approbation in the chapel-hall,
How soon, unaccountable, my baby tired and sick;
Till rising and slipping out, held fast my child,

And under a pastel of Jesus touch'd with honey-sun,
I comforted and soothed 'til he fell asleep,
And, from time to time, look'd in wonder
At His face in my perfect
Sleeping babe.

One Truck Mind

I have a little boy who is suddenly interested in anything vehicle!  Kaedon used to love Bob the Builder at this age, and one day I was thinking wistfully that I just can't expect to relive Kaedon's childhood through Emerson, that I need to let him be himself, you know the drill.  Then, overnight, Emerson developed an interest in those things, and he has taken it to new extremes.  :)

First, he went through a phase where every vehicle was "a truck."  In New York, he loved to perch on my sister's couch and watch all the traffic, saying over and over and over "a truck. a truck. a truck. a truck."  I think it is so adorable.  He did this on the airplane, too, and I wondered if it bothered anyone to, you know, hear him say truck like 50 times in a minute.

Well, suddenly, he learned how to say the word "tractor."  Then suddenly, everything was "a tractor."  Pronounced a trA--ck--ter (emphasis high on the "A" with a little cute pause as if it takes a lot of effort to coordinate those sylables, which I'm sure it does!). 

Now he has turned his one truck mind into a well-trained one, if you know what I'm hinting at!  Now everything is "a train."  He calls corn "train."  He calls drinks "train."  Yesterday, he pointed at his drink and said "Trrr---ain." (same pause in the middle, trying to reach the second half of the word with care).  Then he paused.  And he said, concentrating, "trrrrrack."  Ha ha.  He called his drink a "train track."  Do you think he loves trains and trucks and tractors?  I think it is the cutest thing.

Enjoy these random pictures I took of him when in the mountains with family last week.