Didn’t think much about it. I seldom do. Heard it was difficult. It is. She’s going off to become whatever it is she wants to become. She will be a student of sustainable agriculture. I ventured into Mad Men territory while in school. We are different that way. The best way possible. She will try to effect agricultural change. Make an earthly impact. Walking our Dachshund this morning (still miss my Shepherd) gazing down at the road thinking back to those days–trying to remember lessons for her. The rocks and tar rolled out then rumbled flat. There are cracks and joint fixes. Sparkles of glass and dull-faced stones. Her life will be like this road. Combinations of things adhered together, splitting sometimes, getting fixed or not, hot in the heat, icy in the cold–dangerous at times. Her feet will walk as she destines they should–barefoot or booted. She will be smart and she will not be smart. Go off to study abroad. Maybe fall in love or at least what she thinks is. I pray she will be happy. I know to ask for ‘always’ is unrealistic. She is so much more confident than I was at that age. I’m hoping enough to keep her out of situations. When one doesn’t like who they see each morning in the glass, trouble follows. I didn’t think she would be teary-eyed. She is. But she is also excited. Imagine, it’s all shiny right now…may it glisten for a long while. This place is more raw than ever. And they all know it. Let them enjoy the sparkle in a bubble while they can pretend.
photo detail-Caroline, age 18
above, painting detail, from a larger portrait-Caroline is 8
Tell me how
you make it look so easy
They follow you like puppy dogs
that, I cannot do
I’m the one in the corner
watching all the tails wag
If we were in Rome
they’d be your dancing harem
I’d be off in the market
or washing sand from between my ink-covered toes
drawn today while subbing
in the land of little
a big girl smiled
she worked small movements
she moved in tight steps
to be small
in the land of little
in the land of little
trotted a pony
the big girl smiled
life was pretty ponies
and giant dreams
she was asked
to step down
for the little pony
to hide the tears
Shetland Pony painted when I was little 🙂
The big son decided this year he’d like to give football a try. He’s a gentle soul by nature – a pacifist at heart – but, he’s discovered a love for mannish sports. I look at him, smiling with his gigantic football gear on and pray it keeps him safe from injury. Though, I know it’s impossible to ask for such a divine favor – so I’ll just ask that he has fun and that he’ll only require a bandaid from time to time.
We can’t protect our children anymore than we can make ourselves less vulnerable to life. What we can do is arm them with self-confidence. So when their young minds are conflicted or they find themselves in a precarious situation, they can remember the mantra, “I’m better than this…”
After I took this silly-faced picture of the big son, he said, “I’ll feel bad if I hurt anyone, mom.”
I responded quite motherly, “Then tackle them with love, my son.” Then I glanced up at the sky and thought, I hope you’re tackled with love too.
On the way to the big son’s 5 and 1/2 hour practice today, we saw the sun’s rays peeking through. We both took this as a good sign…
Big Son with Goofy Face photo taken August 14, 2014
Blue Footballer drawn August 18, 2014 with Prism and fingers crossed (right hand only, needed left to draw)
Sun rays taken this AM, August 19, 2014
Life is like gooey jello: add hot and cold water to something sweet then hope it solidifies into a fun shape. We view our lives in terms of taking shape. We view our bodies as changing shape (some more shapely than others). The glorious upside of aging (besides getting all jiggly), is the ability to look back with humor. Peering into our chilled jello bowls, we have the luxury of laughter as we recall our youthful lime-green messes.
Perhaps that is why at 50 years of age, I can now giggle at pirates with eyepatches. I too wore an eyepatch. I was in fourth grade – my patch was pink (a bad tomboy color). My eyepatch had an elsatic band much like a costume eyepatch. The eyepatch covered my right eye ‘casue the left had astigmatism.
My adult jello bowl also allows me to chuckle at food handlers’ plastic gloves. I too wore plastic gloves. In fourth grade a weird skin rash decided to take up residence between my fingers. First thing every morning, my red-itchy hands were slathered with cream then stuffed into plastic gloves as to not smear my school mates.
Today, I can gaze deep into my jello bowl and say with confidence it’s okay to be jiggly. I can affectionately recall the lime-green messes. I remember the little chubby girl with the pink eye patch and plastic gloves and can honestly say – 4th grade really sucked.