dog days

and all of the sudden it's the end of july.

I can look back at pictures and try to piece together what we've done and how I feel about it, but mostly the days are a blur of playmobils and bathing suits that are never quite dry and cabbage. so. much. cabbage.



there are heads of garlic drying in rabbit's bedroom. there are onions (twenty pounds of them, to be exact) under the couch. there are jars and jars of sauerkraut, upstairs, downstairs, anywhere there is shelf space. the chickens ate four questionable watermelons in one day (there was lots of messy poop that day, to say the least). I think we are having a good year for berries, but none ever make it into the kitchen. we've had plums and squash and broccoli and carrots and potatoes and the lumpiest tomatoes you've ever seen. eric made pickles, the kombucha is happily fizzing away, the freezer is almost halfway full, and the drone of the dehydrator is the soundtrack to our summer. and my kitchen looks like this almost all the time:

there is a new baby in our world. our girl had her baby boy in the middle of july, just the same size as jamin when he was born. too many circles for my brain to travel, remembering a july six years ago when I was the one with the teeny tiny in nothing but a diaper, doing the "baby go to sleep" wiggle, wondering if my boobs would ever be the same. now I am watching her do the same dance, the same emotional shuffle, the same tininess and tiredness, the same elation and exhaustion. and here we are, doing it again half a generation later. and we get to be a part of it, that is the best part. here is where we are, so it must be just where we are supposed to be.







eric's mom found a long-lost box of old letters and memorabilia at eric's grandmother's house, things I had long given up as gone forever. I spent last night poring over old writing, notes from our early days of marriage, photos from camp, drawings from group home kids, pressed flowers that I can't recall being meaningful. funny to see how far we have come, and yet how much of how we struggle is the same: "are we doing work that matters? should we stay or go? is there something better just beyond our reach? how do we fight the good fight without wearing ourselves out so darn quickly? is the good fight really even worth fighting?" I think about those kids who drew those stick figures, married now with kids of their own, or the younguns eric and I were ten years ago, so sure of what we were doing and still wondering what we should do next. but what I love most about my life is the same: connecting in ways that matter, investing in people because it is worth it, opening my home, my heart, because it is all I know to do. even when it is hard. even when I know it is going to hurt. how could we do anything else?

dog days, indeed. I think the hottest of days have always suited me best. 

71 months ago

I wrote jamin a letter every month for the first year of his life. this is the first one I ever wrote. my boy will turn six this week. we've come a long way, baby.

jamin,

as of today, we've known you for one month. it is hard to realize that only a month ago we didn't even know if you were a boy or a girl, and we thought of you only as pari the parasite. now here you are, asleep on your dad's chest, living and breathing on your own. pretty crazy stuff. 

I wish I could tell you all the amazing things that happened this month, but to be honest I can remember very little of it. it has been a blur of feedings in between far-too-short naps. I hear your dad talk about labor, how proud he is of both of us, and it makes me thankful he was there since I couldn't tell you much beyond just wanting to be done so badly that I forgot to look to see if you were a boy or a girl when you finally made your appearance. you'll have to ask him all about it some time. but labor isn't the only thing that is leaking from my brain. already I am forgetting how hard breast feeding was at first, how painful engorgement really was, how scared I was that you wouldn't grow because I couldn't feed you because my nipples hurt so darn much. I'm already fuzzy on your first trip to the doctor that I couldn't go to because I wasn't supposed to go up and down the stairs of our apartment building for the first two weeks. and you've changed so much already! your nose is totally different and your mouth is a little wider and we marvel at your eye color anew every day. all of these images of you will melt away, too, in the haze of lack of sleep and the shortness that you are in this newborn stage. I guess that is how people do the birthin' thing more than once.


people ask me all the time if I am not just so in love with you. I have to admit, jamin, that I am not quite there yet. I feel like I am still getting to know you, and it is just too early to make declarations of being in love. sometimes I really like you, like when you are waking up and contorting your face into grimaces that are too cute to even try to describe. or when I am changing your diaper and you check yourself out in the mirror beside you and then glance up to stare at my reflection in the mirror, too. I love my mornings with you, waking up slowly and enjoying alert time, just me and you. the past couple of mornings we've spent some time rocking in the porch swing when we take rhodie out. it is moments like those that I just want to freeze in my brain in hopes that I will remember the peacefulness of it when you are two and having a tantrum in public or fifteen and yelling and slamming doors when we really do expect you to stick to a curfew. 

I love seeing you with your dad the very most. he sings to you all the time, mostly songs he makes up as he goes. he sings about your very cute baby thighs and how much he wants to chew on them; he raps about you mackin' baby honeys in your tie-dye onesies. he seems especially inspired during diaper changes when he sings about things too embarrassing to admit to publicly. he loves to wear you in the sling, to show you off to people, even complete strangers. lots of times we hold you while you are sleeping and look at pictures of you on the computer at the same time, just to remind ourselves what a cute kid we really have. 

and about pictures...you'll probably wonder why there are so many of you and your dad and hardly any of me. well, the obvious reason is just how cute the two of you are together, who could resist taking pictures of you all the time? the other reason is that it is too hot to bother with clothing, and while this is perfectly acceptable for you and your dad, it just doesn't fly for moms, at least not on camera. but I am here, I promise, just as much as dad. just a little more scandalous. 


but, I gotta tell you, there are a few things we still need to work on. lots of them have improved already. I feel a little better about your eye contact, which makes me feel like you might actually notice more of me than my boobs occasionally. but only occasionally. most of the time I feel like some mechanical mama and you are just my robot baby. all we have to do is perform the right program to get you quiet, and we have succeeded for the day. not so rewarding. I am eager for the smiles, the hugs, jeez, just some form of recognition that we are doing something right and you appreciate it. that's the part that makes me not so ready to claim to be head over heels for you quite yet. but we're getting there.

the other thing that has to go is the screaming in the carseat. the car is supposed to be soothing to babies; you are supposed to like the gentle motion of the highway. apparently you did not get the memo. instead, once we strap you in and hit the road, your face turns a frightening reddish purple, and the sound you emit is simply not human. so we stop, and I pick you up, and all is right in your world again. except we still haven't made it to wherever we're going. not cool. so, let's get over that rather quickly, shall we? there is a lot of world we want to show you and it will be much easier to get there is we can just do it with fewer rest stops.

there will be even more firsts for you this coming month, much bigger milestones than the first bath or the first trip to the lake to feed the ducks (which you slept through anyway, so we'll have to do it again). today we are back at the group home, your first day on the job. it was a little overwhelming with so many people here to fawn over you, but we've already decided that you are a great motivator for kids to earn their free time. everyone wants to be near you! this month will also be your first road trip, your first camping experience, and your first vaccinations (!). lots to accomplish for such a small guy, but you seem up to the challenge.

even though I'm tired beyond belief, a little sad at my lack of social opportunities, missing eric even though I am with him every day, unsure of whether I am even doing a good job being your mama, still not fitting into my favorite clothes, not showering with much regularity, wanting to scream back at you when you are still awake after two hours of bouncing, and sometimes wondering what I did to my life, I am so so so very glad to be getting to know you better every day. we do a little better every day, you and I. you get a little cuter every day, I think, too. and, jamin, don't you ever doubt for a second, just don't ever even think that you are not so very very loved by the one that borned you.

love,
mama

jump off rock

last week after I dropped stevie at the bus station in charlotte, I moseyed back up the mountain and had a little time to kill in hendersonville. I lived in hendersonville for awhile after college while I worked at the group home in brevard. back in those days I spent a lot of time by myself and one of my favorite places for personal reflection and sunset viewing was jump off rock in laurel park.

so with time to myself in my old stomping ground, I headed up past my old apartment building on up to jump off rock. it was just past sunset and super windy, just the way I remember so many other visits. as I watched the last of the color fade from the sky, it was easy to recall all the dreaming I had done in just this spot:

"I want to move to asheville. I want a house full of kids. I want to love someone who loves me back. I
want to live in another country, to be a foster parent, to make my parents proud of me. I want to go back to camp, find my tribe, have a job that means something. I want a dog and a garden and a porch to sit on. I want to travel and find a home and do things that matter."

I have done it all. every bit of that dreaming has come true, not always the way I thought it would, not always the way I thought it should work, but here I am with a completed checklist.

so it must be time for a brand new dream.