Fallen

My reference: Galatians 5:4

This morning I sit sipping tea, with one child opposite me. I can't know what he's thinking - his thoughts are his own - but if his face is anything to go by, he wishes I wasn't here. My other child is on a bus, travelling away from me as fast as the bus can take him.

You could say these two boys are an authority on living with me. That places them in prime position for deciding, moment by moment whether I have fallen from grace or am worthy of respect. The irony of the parent-chid relationship is that the parent is compelled to love the child even when child-like world perspectives trigger and torment the parent's wounds and weaknesses. And, similarly, the child may well (often is) continue to be haunted, tormented, blessed and shadowed by the parent's behaviour, however brief their lives together.

What will my boys remember of me, hear when my spirit no longer shares a vocal box with a physical body? What will bless or haunt their days, as the ghost of me?

I haven't experienced the loss of a parent yet during this lifetime. I have lost beloved grandparents. I wouldn't say I'm haunted by them but ever since their souls left their bodies my heart has felt a great longing... sometimes clear as crystal, sometimes dull, dark and heavy, as if my hollow stomach is housing rocks.

The ice is melting. The child opposite me is asking me questions, sharing snippets of his homework tasks. The tea I'm drinking tastes too strong, even though I removed the tea leaves early. This son is not clinging tightly on to my dramatic fall from grace half an hour ago. His more relaxed posture and ability to speak easy allows me to step, if I can forgive myself, on to the first rung, to climb the ladder of respectability yet again.

The tiresome climb, over and over again each day. There are many moments when I don't think I can face that ladder one more time. Isn't it safer to stay low? Each position comes with its risks and consequences.

God, please, let me only fall once from grace today.

Darkness

There are no street lights on this island -
only the odd light or two on each of the five public wharves.
This means that on night walks my eyes are free and welcome,
to drink in the darkness,
guzzle it - as if it was being poured directly into them,
and invited to reach with all the might of the sense of sight,
drawn to every tiny star and distant glimmer.

Blessed by island darkness.

Let's get back on this horse

and liven this baby up...

with a little Violent Femmes

on a Wednesday night.

Musings from the kitchen sink have been full of energy around here lately.

a small parenting break-through

I recently blogged about the cloud-blanket that my number one sun carries with him. We were having a particularly bleak week. He was bleak, I was bleak. Each time I went to school, teachers were bleak, lining up to speak to me about the disruptive antics of said child.

His behaviour at school wasn't making any sense to any of us (his two parents and four teachers - at least I wasn't alone) which meant that we were pretty stumped as to how to handle it.

Fast forward 2 weeks... one evening I was telling the Zimbo about my stressful afternoon and was saying that I felt so stressed by the end of it that I didn't know whether to cry or vomit. Noah piped up (quite gleefully - from where he was warming his bum near the fireplace) that that is often how he feels before a particular lesson. In his words... " you know when your spit tastes like vomit and you think you might vomit?". The sick feeling comes when he has to do a certain task (writing in his 'feelings' journal). He said nothing makes sense to him. He doesn't understand the words in the story that has been read to the class (words like 'humility') and his body starts feeling angry.

I would go so far as to add that he feels angry with himself for not understanding the words, and also think that having to write "freely" is a problem for him. At home, if he is writing something down he checks in with me for the spelling of every word. If I'm not around (or am unwilling to help) he gets very agitated, says he is stupid and will stop trying to attempt it. It now makes perfect sense to me that he would damage his book (to destroy the evidence of his "inability") in anger with himself.

So I think we have two problems... 1) comprehension and 2) spelling ability (or confidence).

Yay! Surely that gives us something to work with! We are constantly telling him that we can all work together to learn how to do this so that writing does feel ok for him.

Parenting... man, it's exhausting.

For the love of illness

A vomit bug has just arrived in our home. I was in a work meeting for an hour or two this afternoon. When the meeting ended, four calls had been missed on my phone... 2 from school, 2 from the Zimbabwean. Oh. No.

Within an hour I was home with vomiting child, guzzling wormwood & clove tincture, taking probiotics, echinacea, vitamin C, anything I could find (!) in the hope of avoiding it myself. I cooked dinner while I helped one child with maths homework, while I helped the other child with vomiting. Later I attempted to listen to an online uni lecture that I'd missed today, again while tending to retching child at the same time.

Eventually it was all too much. All activity paused. I sat on the sofa to focus on heaving child.

Secretly I don't mind a vomit bug. Well, not the bug itself but the golden moments of expanding heart that it brings. The lights are dim, the sounds of pipes, guitar and waves lull my little one, while I rub his back, when he has nothing left to eject. His body surrenders to sleep - if only for an hour - and his soul's glow simmers down, but is still present, warming his usually strong physical being. And that there is the golden grateful vomit-bug moment.

Today is Thursday. On Sunday I was the one getting the rub down. My head pounded and threatened to split, while my two little boys tucked me into bed. One lay either side of me. One stroked my hair, the other rubbed my back, and that's how we all fell asleep. My sleep was fitful. I stirred and felt the splitting still going on. I was in pain but was so very happy... bathed in the love of my children, who had stopped fighting and jumping and tackling and pushing my buttons long enough to just give me all of their goodness.

The vomiting one is lucky to have his mama loving him.
I'm blessed to have them, to be the one to rub their backs while they - the very essence of them - bring love into and out of my heart.

I give thanks and praise for the vomit bug
for stopping me in my tracks
for reminding me what's what.

Blessed be,
Amen.

What's your deepest fear?

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Marianne Williamson

This is to mother you

"May my soul's love strive to you

May my love's meaning stream to you

May they bear you

May the hold you

In the heights of hope

In spheres of love".

Rudolf Steiner