Being Home…

What is the anchor that is always consistent in recollection? Spending more time in St. Louis, sleepy memories of childhood begin to awaken. I watch my kiddos grow in the reflection of the values and understanding that I was raised with, but infused with my own nuances and life experiences.  “You lived there?” I hear them say from the back seat. I look at the house where I grew up having spent 15 of my formative years within its walls. I look at the house and it appears hollow almost deserted. This can’t be the home that my parents tended with such care, the street that saw more games of kick the can and green ghost than it saw vehicles, the place where no matter what happened in my world, there was a sense of safety and acceptance.  I look upon the old house and realize the life that was so present within its walls was the abundant love and care my parents created and sustained. Ayla’s voice rings in my ears. “Mom, I love our house. I always want to live here.” I am reminded of the same love I carried for the house on Laurel Crest. As a child, I knew I too would raise my children there. But with growth comes change and I now realize my home is where my relationships live. It followed my mom until she passed, it still rests in St. Louis with my dad, it mingles with friends after a weekend away and it is being built daily in the life that unfolds with my kids. Being home is being where love resides.

Hidden Safety…

Where did the kids go, I asked? A chuckle drawing my attention to the massive old Cedar Tree at Crestwood Park. I forgot about the safety in its branches. So often as a child I played hidden by its long, tangled, low hanging limbs pretending it was my house, my barn, a palace, some magical place. I remember my mom saying the same thing as I disappeared beneath its cover. The kids were laughing and giggling and having so much fun climbing. They met some friends, kids they had never seen before, and together they all played. They played as I had as a child; the stories flowing from the center of tree. I love the flow and freedom as they write and re-write the events of the day. Unchartered they unfold organically with no sense of reality or logic. How do I relate this experience to my days of prescribed movements and daily plans. To allow imagination to reign in the forefront of my consciousness and let it guide my life as I move forward.  I think that sounds like a good goal. Let’s go play!

Precious Moments…

What do you love about you? I asked this of both of my kiddos this week. I reflect on my childhood and remember my feelings of self-worth so often coming from external praise.  As a parent I have spent much time trying to figure out how to help my children see their own worth. And so I asked… What do you love about you? As Ayla and I lay swinging in the hammock, she smiled so big and said HORSES! Somehow I knew that might be her answer, so I rephrased. What do you love about Ayla?  She sat contemplative for a moment, staring at the sky. The clouds were animated and she and I had just finished finding pictures in them as they danced across the twilight blue. “My kind heart” she finally said and then paused as if another idea were on the horizon, “and my good thoughts” as she finished her contemplation.  Her mouth smiled wide and you could feel the warmth emanating from her in this realization. She sat with it for a moment and then off she ran in search of a bull frog to catch.

About an hour later, sitting at the dinner table, I decided to ask Dutch the same question. What do you love about you? He looked at me with his shiny eyes, reached out both hands towards me and said “YOU MOM”.  With my heart aglow in happiness, I rephrased the question again. What do you love about Dutch? Within moments, as though he had just taken a magic potion, his face awakened and a giggle burst from his lips. “I’m SILLY” he said with laughter flowing from his center and spilling all over the entire family. His giggle is like therapy spreading joy to all that hear it and in that moment he spoke his truth. The laughter continued for all of us until he began to choke from laughing so hard.  And in that moment I remembered those same feelings in the body of my youth and the authenticity of those feelings.

My dad has cancer and is peaceful in his thoughts around death. I drove home the other night, witness to a beautiful sunset. I thought about death, my mind and heart unsettled at the thought of the loss of that relationship in my life. He has always been a light in my life, that positive force propelling me forward through witnessing his example.  And then as the sun sank low in the sky, bright and orange, a glow radiated upwards and I realized his peace comes from a life lived true to himself. He has done the things that brought him great joy. He filled his days with meaning and love. He is full.  The roots of my inquiry with my kids is held in the lesson he teaches me still.

In the beginning...

I ask what it is that moves you. I think. So many balloons of thought burst in my mind. The touch of my child as they gently stroke my face, the burst of the first poppy in late spring, the sound of music filling every cell in my body, the sight and smell of a scrumptious meal, the full moon illuminating the night sky, kind words from a lover…the list goes on.

I think back to my youth, dancing in the sunshine, singing with abandon and receiving life as it soared to me on the wings of openness. I lived in a wealth of time, uncommitted and open to possibilities. And life was good, in fact it was great. Un-prescribed days to fill with my hearts delights; music, travel, connection and a spirit of exploration. The curves of my mouth turn up just thinking about it. It is in that reflection that I set a course for a new journey. I desire to open my children to that same sense of adventure and investment in happiness. After all this is our one life to live and I want them to live it to their fullest. And maybe I, in their reflection can find my way back to less constrained days and that light of happiness that used to guide my days.