Beautiful Mama

My mother was a woman of wonder to me.  I remember watching her as a child. I would watch her cutting carrots or reading a book, and wonder what she was thinking. I would wonder if I would be like her someday, cutting carrots and reading books. She was quiet and methodical doing these tasks. Sometimes, she looked sad. I wondered what I could do to make her feel better, my wonder woman.

She could press the black and white keys of the piano and transport the room to the time of Beethoven or Chopin.

Source

I remember her head full of giant, round curlers that made her look like a warrior princess. It was a grand ceremony watching her remove them one by one and slowly reveal a head transformed.

She created miracles with pianos, with curlers and carrots. In her hands, the most mundane of endeavors were elevated to meditative mysteries to me.

I don't remember watching anyone else this way. She was a singular presence in my eyes. I wonder if Claire sees me like I saw my mother. I bet she does. It's a gift and a responsibility to have someone behold you with such reverence and expectation.

The gaze of child makes a mama beautiful. In fact, when a child says "mama", I think "beautiful" is implied in it.

A child creates a beautiful mama. When others see you as such, it's simply acknowledging the world of a child.

Thank you Sarah, Sadder but Wiser and Layana, Raising Reagan for calling me beautiful mama.

These women are beautiful mamas to me,

Deb, Urban Moo Cow

Jennifer, Breaking the Parenting Mold

Kristi, Finding Ninee

Kerri, Undiagnosed but Okay

Jennifer, The Jenny Evolution

Marcia, Menopausal Mother

Jen, Life on the Sonny Side

Meredith, The Mom of the Year

There are too many more mamas to mention. If you want to participate, find the rules here (I didn't follow them).

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This Time is Ours

I am composed of decades of history. Claire's history starts with me. 

I possess many identities. "Mama" is the only one Claire knows.

I struggle to remember being so young. Claire lives fully in the present without reflection.

I'm in awe of these distinctions. We see one another across a divide of time and experience.

Yet, we share an intimacy begun in the womb. Singularly, I am her mother. She is my child. I am humbled by such grace. I am overwhelmed by the weight of its responsibility also.

Parts of me have become neglected, the ones other than "mama", the ones from before her. I feel them flicker inside, exhorting me not to forget them.

But Claire began inside me too. She grows, still, in my gaze. It reflects back to her who she is and who she will become.

This kind of love only a mother knows, only she can give. It means that pieces of me lay fallow, for awhile. Claire won't be little for long. A day will come soon when I'm not the center of her world. 

Then, Claire will have her own mix of identities. They will have grown out of the relationship we are building now. 

This time is ours. I wish to savor it greedily.


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Sweet

I'm loathe to add my thoughts on Valentine's Day to the world according to bloggy moms, because a) there's no lack for posts on the subject and b) I really don't have much nice to say about the holiday.

But I promise to make my complaints short, as well as to deliver a happy ending. Indeed, I even give you permission to skip right to the end, if you want (as if you needed my permission anyway)…

George and I are 0 for 4 for gifts in recent history. Our anniversary, his birthday, Christmas and my birthday all came and went without a gift. While this state of affairs certainly isn't reflective of how much we love each other, the "too busy" excuse is getting rather old. But, alas, I doubt February 14th will prove any different. 

It isn't George's fault. I don't like Valentine's Day. The holiday makes me passive aggressive. Anytime someone gives me a command to be nice to another person, I want to do the exact opposite. And since George and I aren't into S&M, there's really no way for me to act out this impulse in a clean kind of way. 

Plus, there were the many years that I boycotted the holiday due to, well, due to being perpetually single and not having a choice in the matter. During these times, my in-a-perfectly-perfect marriage mother would send flowers to me. While nice, the subtext of this gesture was extreme pity for my situation. Each fragrant bloom seemed to scream out to me, "Oh, poor, lonely, pathetic you! Someday, you'll find a man!" I don't like a holiday that discriminates against people on such an arbitrary thing as relationship status.

But my aversion to the holiday doesn't mean I don't believe in the power of love and the beauty of relationships. So, without further ado…here's the happy ending (Wait, you didn't really skip to the end, did you? Go back! Read about ME, dammit!…oh, sorry…) 

My bloggy mom friend Kristi from Finding Ninee shared a Valentine's Day project that I think is awesome.

Cool drawing by Kristi Campbell

You can send a Valentine's Day card via snail mail or the internet to a couple with special needs, who is celebrating their four-month wedding anniversary! (collective "awww", everyone!) As a former special educator, I love hearing stories that break through stereotypes about people with disabilities.  Go to her blog, Finding Ninee, to find out more about the project. 

It's sweet. Kristi's sweet. Valentine's Day's sweet, right? So this ends my sweet addition to Valentine's Day. 

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day to my one and only, dear and lovely husband, George!


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The Story of Us

"Well, I'm not sure if I can even have kids at this point, since I'm in my forties," I said.

The thought bubble over my head was saying, "Why on earth are you telling this man these things on your first date?! Not exactly fun and flirty dinner conversation!"

Another part of my brain was saying, "Oh well, if you're gonna scare him away, make it sooner rather than later, for everyone's sake."

My future husband replied, "I want children, but I'd rather end up with the right woman than worry about what our life should look like. I'd be happy adopting."

I tried to do my best first-date-nonchalant-nod, while inside my heart did a flip of wonder at the man sitting across from me. I don't know how we brought the conversation around to more pedestrian things after talking children and finding 'the one' in the first twenty minutes of our first date, but we did. We also ended up drinking too much wine and lingering at our dinner table longer than the waiter probably preferred. 

Claire was born two and a half years later.

I could take this post in a few directions. I could talk about the struggle to date in your 40's, when a large chunk of the male population has written you off as ready for pasture. I could share the story of how hard and easy it was for us to have Claire. I could detail the advantages and disadvantages of being older parents. 

But it's the fourth anniversary of that first date, so I want to tell my husband a few things. 

George, my first impression of you was that you put relationships above goals. Knowing you as I do now, I've learned that there is no other way for you to be. You have shown me how easy it is to embrace the unknown, when you are loved. You have taught me that hope isn't getting what you think you want, but being open to what you receive. 

I may have carried Claire for nine months. But she was born out of this beautiful spirit, which came solely from you.

Orbit

  

I creep into the room to check on Claire.

The door squeaks.

Through the dim light, I see her eyes open. She looks at me without lifting her head.

“Mama," she says and smiles. Her eyes close again.

I feel fixed to my spot by the weight of my full heart.
 

A love this abiding. The sun around which a planet spins.  For each of us.

For Claire and me.