Tucked Away

Away, tucked away in layers of cotton and breath.
I so hurriedly herded and encouraged and needed you there.
I held your half grown self firmly against me, absorbed your heat, your smell, your relentless adoration.

My heart pricked with the shame of my shortcomings.

Out from her mouth spilled the verbal commitment of her heart to me, her appreciation of her existence.  And I no longer wanted to give her to the night.
I needed her to know how sorry I am for showing up to this task with a nearly empty tank.
It's not ok.
I should be able to do it anyway.
I wanted to wail at her feet and beg for the day back- to not yell, to not speak harshly, to hold hands, to be still and listen, to be on the floor and catch all the moments that cannot be retrieved in these mourning hours of the night.

I wanted to promise that by tomorrow I will have it figured out.
I will be outfitted, somehow overnight, with the gear I need to be that mom. 
Maybe I just don't have the correct candle scent warming and filling my nostrils,
maybe the motivational quote on my computer screen isn't potent enough,
maybe the GMOs in my snacks are impacting my brain function.
Whatever it is, I wanted to promise her to have it solved and resolved by 8am tomorrow.

Of course I don't actually share any of this. 
Look at her.
She sees only perfection in me.
Why would I trouble her world when all of this only exists in mine.

She falls from my grip like a felled tree, vibrating the bed frame, sending the creatures surrounding her into the air, collapsing the pillow up around her face.

A Gift

I'm pretty aware of the effect my mind's wanderings has on my overall feeling of wellness.  Letting my mind settle into all the ways I am pissed at my circumstance results in mindless eating, grumpier responses to my children, blah-ness.  The opposite tends to be true as well: tending to the awesomeness begets more awesomeness in all the ways.

I received a gift today.  I am certain I receive them every day, and this one was obvious.  This is my journey to reprogram my mind to pay attention to the gifts and therefore create a shift in my life toward the possibilities.  For the purposes of this journey I am choosing to assert that the gifts are not happenstance.  It's more fun and meaningful that way.

Today my girls and I arrived at the river a full ten minutes early.  This is significant because by all calculations, based on commitments from earlier in the day plus the added time it takes to accomplish most anything when you add children to the mix, we should have been late.  I actually had a conversation with myself a few hours prior just to acknowledge that today we weren't going to be on time and that, this time, that could be ok.  

So there we were, before all of our friends arrived, chairs set up, kayak in the water, sunscreen applied, be-hatted: ready.  It was quiet.  The sand was hot from being undisturbed all morning, soaking up the heat.  The three of us had ventured into the first few inches of sublimely cool water, and I was taking it all in.  When I looked downstream I saw I hawk meandering through the sky toward us.  Not even really in the sky, I'd say, but following along the canyon and river 100 feet or so above the water.  I pointed the raptor out to the girls, and took an other moment to observe it myself.  It wasn't a turkey vulture for sure, definitely a prey bird.  But something wasn't familiar about it.  By the time it was nearly overhead I lost it, "OMIGOODESS!!! A BALD EAGLE!!! GIRLS!! GIRLS!! LOOK!!!"  A freaking bald eagle!!!  I knew they existed in the canyon but I'd never seen one, and this dude was right overhead.  It was surreal.  I implored my children: this was something that most people never get to see, like ever.  Rosanna replied, "And WE got to see it!"

Today I am thankful for that gift. For the moments aligning to put us where we were, with our eyes looking, our little family together and peaceful all of us ready to receive it.