on barking cries and the breathing room

Two bites of dinner and a bath without playing, just soaking long enough to wash away one day of sickness.  And then two drowsy, barking seal babies are tucked into bed, as the sun descends.  Minutes later in the bathroom, the steam rises, I hold him close, breath by breath, we wait. Back to bed.  It’s quiet for now.

Relief or its presence is near.  This year has been a whirlwind of change and challenges.  In some ways, I expected the move to be this launch into “arriving,” whatever the hell arriving even means. Instead, we jumped and landed immediately into what felt like a dark forest. We bear scratches from bending branches and the haunting echoes make us tremble.  Did we make the wrong choice? Will we make it out alive? I feel lost and in a daze as so much of the familiar in myself is plucked away and tossed in the flames. The identities and definitions ablaze and I’m a shell of who I thought I was becoming. That which I gathered and stored away, shrivels in the embers.  Survival mode is dramatic, like when he wakes up in tears, gasping for breath.  Again? We’re tired, so very tired.

And yet.

In the bathroom, the reflection from the night light slices the darkness and the steam fills the room. Breathing slows, steady now, hush, we’ll be alright. Barking cries turn to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale; he melts into my arms.

It’s the night before, same story, and I don’t fall asleep in between the cries.  But in the darkness, the lull of the fan, I feel these words in my soul. That voice.  Still, resounding, certain, and unmistakable.  Yes, this is hard and you feel broken, shaken, and weary, but if you just hold on a little longer, if you don’t let go, and if you’re not afraid to lose some things along the way, you’ll see and you’ll understand. 

The reflection from the night light slices the darkness and the steam fills the room. Breathing slows, steady now, hush, we’ll be alright.  Barking cries turn to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

Also, the sun rises and the sun sets;

And hastening to its place it rises there again.

Blowing toward the south,

Then turning toward the north,

The wind continues swirling along;

and on its circular courses the wind returns.

All the rivers flow into the sea,

but the sea is not full.

Ecclesiastes 1:5-7

 

on the shoulder raised, elbow arched, off-beat hop of delight.

Dinner is in the oven and every window is open, welcoming fall to stay for as long as it will.   Dead center in the space where the kitchen meets the hall, she begins to build a tower with her stacking blocks.

“Are you watching me?” she asks, as if my answer will determine everything.  So clearly, I’m watching and at the top she places a picture and her toothbrush, essentials for towers, I’m sure.  Next is her signature off-beat hop, wearing one shoe, shoulders raised, elbows arched, eyes twice their lovely size.  She applauds herself and shouts,  “Yes, Hooray!”  She’s part modern day Shirley Temple and part Pippi Longstocking, with all the charm of Shirley and all the stubborn quirky fire of Pippi.

“Will you put your hands like this and clap?” she says next, never ceasing to catch me off-guard.

I am informed that this is not a tower, but a “puurade”, or as you may know it, a parade.  And that brings me to think of all things they say which I will never correct, instead hoping to collect these little bits in an indestructible time capsule for always.  You know the ones, you can add yours too, if you like.  Like, how I need to hold you is really will you hold me?  And the way her brother first said, W, that made it last for approximately 18 syllables. It’s since become regular old W, three years later, but it was marvelous while it lasted.

Sometimes, I feel like I have nothing to write, because today I drank coffee, made breakfast, washed clothes, and had a picnic in the grass, which was short lived because the bugs were extra hoppy and hungry.  We collected flowers and autumn leaves and I held these not so small creatures as we read stories about nut-brown hares, Elmo, and Jesus. We did a reading lesson and probably, I watched Friday Night Lights while my boy played a game on my phone, during naptime.  Nothing major, but everything.  I should never believe that I have nothing to write, but sometimes, I do.  For when I begin a string of words, life unravels on the page, rich with the sweet nothings of noticing and remembering. 

And now they’re dancing to that damn reindeer dog with batteries that refuse to surrender.  In the glorious September sun that casts long lines across the floor, they all sing jingle bell rock.  I think I detect a bit of quivering in the sound recording, but it’s probably wishful thinking.

 

| Linking up with Heather and all those who Just Write.|

September 19, 2013: a note

We bob along, carried by the current, ideas and dreams in tow. 

Wondering if we’ve already passed this place and how many times. 

Questioning.

Uncertain, yet, certain.

Weary, but willing to be transformed. 

Weary, but willing to discover the path that we have been invited to travel.

Bobbing along, puzzled at the rate of this journey,

Fueled only by the gentle wind that whispers hope in the rustling leaves and the rippling waters.