a gentle spirit.

old people can never hear me. that whole 'soft voice' no-matter-how-loud-i-talk-all-i-get-is-'what??' thing. and with every piece of machinery at starbucks either toasting or blending or pulling shots, this can be disastrous for customers over 50.

like yesterday.

anything else for you?
what??
can we get anything else for you??
WHAT???
blenders cease.
i'm sorry, i have a soft voice.

and then, when i grimace for the annoyed this-is-the-third-time-i've-repeated-this tone, i instead am greeted with,

well, that's good. it means you have a gentle spirit.


and inside i am like, little does she know...


but in stewing over this for the past 12+ hours, maybe she's right. at first, i thought i was just gentle with zebediah. with his innocent life and fragile heart. he is deserving of gentleness, and so i find it easy.

then there's everyone else. those of us who have become jaded and now give no cause for gentleness. people who sing to us in the headsets and cuss at us if we have to cut them off to wait on someone in cafe. people who just don't get it. don't respect, don't empathize, don't for a second put themselves in anyone else's shoes.

but i've tried on theirs. and i guess what i've learned is that everyone's got some innocent, soft part of themselves that needs a gentle spirit around it. they might be bitter, jaded, rude, obnoxious, manipulative, judgemental, irresponsible, unforgiving, ignorant, or otherwise flawed.

still, i'm determined to see them as broken. as human and hurting and needing some healing. to see them as the same as me. because we are all, really. the same.

thank you, deaf old lady.
you have changed my life.

[indexed] whatever you think.

character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition aspired, and success achieved. -helen keller

you can dust it off and try again.

this morning while using the restroom upstairs, i heard zebediah, in all his underestimated-ly capable glory, move the barriers to the stairs and begin to climb. i have never peed and washed my hands so quickly. but it's never really quickly enough, is it?

of course, the minute i came out of the bathroom to hop behind him and make sure he didn't fall, he fell. it happened like in the movies, me yelling, 'noo!' and running full sprint down the stairs to catch him.

but he'd already caught himself. he rolled down one little step and caught himself. this didn't stop the heartbreaking baby cries as i lifted him into my arms before i had time to blink.


and what did i find him doing again not ten minutes later as i was attempting to get things done for work?

climbing the stairs. naturally.


and suddenly, i was struck. awefreakingstruck.

because no matter how casually i tried to walk out of the bathroom to join him on the stairs, that kid could could probably read my fear like large newspaper print. and that distraction cost him his balance.

but even as i type this blog, i have watched him attempt to climb shorter obstacles and fall twice more.

and seriously, as soon as i typed that, he made it three.


still, he's fine. he doesn't feel like a failure. he doesn't give up because he sucks at sitting up or climbing or balancing one foot on the scanner and one on a pizza hut box. he continues in his endeavours, unscathed and virtually unaffected.

kids are resilient. and not just in that the fall doesn't break their bones like it does us 'old' people. but their spirits. those are never broken.

maybe aaliyah said it best when she sang, if at first you don't succeed, you can dust it off and try again.


as grown-ups, we are broken in so many places. we have bad knees and broken hearts and we are burned. the more i observe zebediah, the more i understand why people want to be as children again. to believe like them, love like them, live like them.

because what is failure but giving up? my pastor missy, in her blog called the failure myth, says it is one step amidst a larger process of discovery. it is a natural and necessary part of life, not an identity.

so my heart is reset. to such discovery. to resilience and love and persistence, no matter the cost. because if we naturally digress, i want that degression to travel much farther back than my bad habits and into my innocence.

i am taking up dusting.

the declension of love.

he, who begins by loving christianity, better than truth, will proceed by loving his own sect or church better than christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.
-samuel taylor coleridge

--
when residing in the bible belt, one constantly wonders why in the world some people call themselves 'christians.' what is this really about? about 'doing the right thing?' about appeasing the parents or spouse or friends or the little pang of a conscience in your stomach by sacrificing your sunday sleep-in? or is it really about him? really.

i am constantly reminding myself that it is not about what a heavenly diety can do for my son, or me. it starts with god. about the beauty and love that he simply is. that's what captured me in the first place. everything else somehow comes together with love at the head.

i feel. like. death.

i wish i could give the entire world a giant hug right now.
do you think it would help?

birds, bees & the non-existence of storks.

after eleven months of single motherhood, a paternity test is in order. got notice today of our appointment wednesday, which he made. to my surprise.

the first time i read it, i was shocked.
the second time i read it, i was convinced it was real.
every time since, i just can't wrap my mind around it.

sometime in the past almost-year, i've started to feel like i'm zebediah's only parent.

i buy and make his food and choose his diapers and i pick his cute outfits (when he wears clothes...) and i bathe him and sing to him and introduce him in little ways each day to the world around him.

the idea that someone else could be involved in raising him, in loving and growing and supporting him... it's hard to wrap my mind around.


it is both beautiful in the hope of someone else falling in love with him, and dreadful in the fear of them thinking i'm doing a terrible job.

sweet. jesus.
i thought this day would never come.


and now i guess i'll sit back and watch life work itself out in it's ever-perfect and funny little ways.

if i smoked pot, i'd officially be a hippie.

my 50 new lovelies are one week old. they have endured their first wash. they are still rather fuzzy and generally un-dread like, but i love them.

i want my baby to grow up.

when i woke up this morning, zebediah was heavier. he's growing up.

there is a small phrase, a phantom of a verb that gets the obligatory throw around in every day conversation with other generics like, 'hello' and 'how are you,' causes much turmoil in the hearts of mothers:

'i don't want my baby to grow up.'

but why? why don't we? do we dread the day they will hate us for naming them what we did? hate us for giving them a curfew and grounding them and embarassing them. hate us for failing them. hate us, hate us, hate us. and then leave us.

those fears are buried somewhere in the back of my subconscious, believe me. but if i stop to think about what i am saying before i say it, i don't want to say that at all.

i find myself wanting my baby to grow up.

see, i don't want to live in a past where my baby never smiled or laughed or said i love you. i want to hear those three little words. i want to hear giggles. and most significantly, i want to see with each new day just how much you can possibly love one person. because that love, as big as it gets, teaches me to love everyone else on this planet much more gracefully. it teaches me to love myself. and it grows me up.

maybe that's what i'm afraid of. growing up. becoming a 'responsible adult.' getting boring. losing my zeal. becoming drab and uncreative. but he's teaching me. his innocence and energy have inspired me to make art. to write. to create.



and one day, when he storms out of whatever room we are conversing in saying, 'i hate you, mom!', or says nothing, or exhibits any of the other much feared disappointment in my failure, i hope to remember these thoughts. and to know that being loved back is more than worth it. worth it all.

[indexed] Sit still and stop exhibiting flashes of genius, kid.

--
depressingly accurate.

living beyond fear.

the baby and i spent last week in new orleans. it was refreshing. it was freeing. it was my first vacation in two years. and i was almost stupid enough not to go.

see, two weeks ago, zebediah landed himself in a hospital room for four days. we got out two days before go time. he had the chicken pox, i'd been sleeping in a crib, he was generally unhappy, still sick, had undergone a blood transfusion, and i was, simply put, just not in 'the mood' for a road trip. i barely had the energy left to keep zebediah healthy and healing, much less to drive across the country with a sicky strapped into a seat where he would surely scream the entire half-day drive.

surely.

then my friend brent said to me, 'maybe G-d's trying to teach you about faith?'

maybe.

so we woke up a few hours after that, threw our favorite outfits from the laundry basket to the suitcase, googled directions, and drove. it was the most unplanned trip of my life, and one of the best. the drive was beautiful. the people were even more beautiful. and the experience was transforming. once i was on the road, and zebediah was fine, i wondered what i had been so worried about in the first place.

so i spent those four days with some of the most loving people i have ever known. instead of at home, worrying over my child.

it kills me to think that i never got maternity portraits because i was too scared to travel after getting out of the hospital w/zebediah's heart block freshly diagnosed. too scared to make memories of the most beautiful time of my life. but he was fine.

i guess if we can stop and think two days or weeks or months past our present circumstances, our fear suddenly seems frail and hope grows stronger. and when we do, we're all the better for it... because we have lived.

xerox.

the world is a big mess of color and
delicate arrangments of visual melody
and my small part is like a
black and white sketch in a gallery of
mixed media

if i am black and white, then you
are color

you are beautiful and vibrant and i am
simply shades of gray
i am nothing more than a xerox copy of
a classic monet or rembrant

not worthy to hang in the same hall, still...
i do

all the glory may be diminished in the
black ink's attempt to imitate the beauty and
depth of color

still you find joy in this, in my
frail attempts at purity, my selfish
attempts at goodness, and my
feeble attempts at making my life a self-portrait of
everything you embody

not only because the simple lines i draw only
accentuate your intensity, but because you honestly and
deeply appreciate my
simplicity

what is heart block?

when people find out my son has been hospitalized three times in the first year of his life, or even once, questions start popping up. namely, 'what is heart block?'

what is heart block?

one might say it is an electrical problem in the heart that can cause irregular heart rates, in three colorful varieties: first degree, second degree, and third degree. like burns, third is the worst. zebediah was diagnosed with third degree, also called complete, heart block at six months old. [in utero.]

that's the short version, anyway.

really, it is a part time job because i am too afraid to leave him, even that often. but we must have a way to buy food.

it is never trusting babysitters.

it is losing sleep for days at a time &/or 48 hours straight because his heart rate is in the 40's, and i think he's okay, but he might not be, but he might be, and we don't have insurance so i don't want to take him in if i don't have to but where is the line between being overly cautious and being an idiot? /rhetorical

it is a high-strung, often stressed out, grouchy, defensive, snappy, over-protective jerk of a mom.

it is the chicken pox turned infection in the eye = a blood transfusion because his poor tiny body is not as strong when fighting these kinds of big monsters.

it is a stethoscope's permanent presence in the diaper bag.

it is a lot of tears. a lot of growing and a lot of finding strength in god.

it is an ever-present chance of going into heart failure.

it is never taking things for granted, at least not quite as carelessly as i used to.

it is believing for and witnessing miracles. knowing that life is sacred and beautiful. knowing that every day matters. and continually finding ways to savor each moment, taking full advantage of the beauty in every. single. one.

it is me growing up.

and it is perhaps the reason that i have an even deeper and more awe-inspiring love for my son than i could ever have otherwise had.

i am lowercase.

my heart breaks to the rhythm of
soft and tired cries, of
miniature frowns and
baby falling down

i am but a small instrument in this
song of joy, of tragedy and
triumph and
of life

what once grew inside of me is
so much bigger than myself, so
infinitely beautiful, and was always so
gloriously unfathomable

i'm giddy like a 12yo aoler
typing in aLtErNaTinG CaPs, but i
am lowercase

i am simply details
the diaper changing,
food making, milk producing, laundry doing
details

you are innocence, the
essence of purity, you are
growing into something awe-inspiring, and you brought out
all that is beautiful in me