Copyright © June Cleaver in yoga pants
Design by Dzignine
Monday, March 20, 2017

crafting momento bracelets out of baby necklaces

For approximately 22 minutes, whilst baby napped today, I reclaimed my crafty Sara/June side and made bracelets for myself.

For myself.

Do you hear me??

For. My. Self.

And I'm so so happy at how they turned out.

Like, why didn't I do this ages ago? Like, maybe I should open an ETSY SHOP! AND I WILL MAKE BRACELETS ALL DAY AND SIP TEA ON THE LANAI OF OUR COFFEE FARM WEARING A SILK KIMONO OVER MY YOGA PANTS AND TANK TOP!

This is it folks. I have found my calling.

No, but seriously. Look at these.



Oh my gosh. I took beads from the kids old amber teething necklaces and strung them with wooden beads from a broken bracelet. AMAZING RIGHT?? One bead for each one of my babies, plus one bead from dadas necklace (yes, he had one too) that broke years ago.

I'm seriously in love.

I also restrung a jade bead bracelet that I bought when I was 14 and visiting a friend in San Francisco. And then another one that was a souvenir from a family vacation in Monterey Bay when I was 16. I keep things. HA.

SERIOUSLY. These bracelets make me so happy. Why didn't I do this years ago??

I've got a few more to do too. Beads from when I lived in Brazil (hand carved out of coconut) and wooden beads from Malaysia.

Okay. So thats my crafty idea for the year. HAHA. Stay tuned for my next crafty session in Spring 2018. HA







Sunday, March 19, 2017

one year

This baby.

A week ago.

One year old.

I just. I just can't even.

He is gorgeous. So tiring. Funny. Sweet. Tenacious (where oh where does he get that from?) He is non stop joy. Also non stop action.

And here he is. One year old. In all his blue-eyed glory.

What a busy year it has been. Meetings and traveling. Three different living situations. More meetings. Nursing in the ergo, WHILE in meetings, and while teaching for that matter.

I woke up, the night before he turned one, rolled over and saw him asleep next to me and, kid you not, starting sobbing. The year. That precious first year. Is over. And I, I was in so many meetings, and was so stressed out, and it was so hard moving here, and maybe I missed it, maybe I didnt drink in enough of his baby sighs, his coos, his gurgles. And I wanted to give him the perfect year, and I want him to have the perfect house to live in and a settled happy farm life childhood and what if I screw it up? What if we can't give him all that? And now he is so big, and (I sobbed this at husband through tears - of course I woke him up to sob) and soon he will be five years old and arguing with me about having candy before dinner and I just can't even.

And I have no answer. No wise words. Except that I love him, so dearly, but I know, from the third baby experience, that drinking in baby's coos and gurgles to an extreme - feeling that was ALL I was supposed to do, ALL I was supposed to be - pushed me into a dark place, a place that I dont want to go again, a place that does NOT help me be the best mother I can be.

So. This time around it has been different. And the guilt is still there, the questions. Am I enough, doing enough, loving enough, noticing enough. And then there are three more little bodies to care for, listen to, talk with, and it is so so different. And I am older, more knowing of how quickly it goes by, how precious the days are.

So yes.

I drink in the moments. I push the frontiers out, of what my mothering experience is, how I do it, as it were. And I look at him, at his ten year old big brother sitting next to me, and I think. Probably, most likely, from all evidence thus far, I actually am doing okay-ish at this gig - this world of motherhood.

Probably. All evidence points to "okayish!"

And ten year old creates play lists on Spotify, picking "jams" I do in fact heartily agree with in terms of musical jam quality, and I think. Yes, then. Okayish.

And I am good with that.


opening birthday presents. no matter. mom has that camera thing. I LOVE THAT THING

mom i want that thing

i am super cuuuuuuute. GIVE IT TO ME.

i am coming. TO GET IT.

birthday smiles. SAY CHEESE LITTLE BROTHER



i just. cant. even. the cuteness. i die.



DAD IS GONNA LET MET EAT CAKE!



Tuesday, February 28, 2017

this girl, thoughts on turning eight years old

You are eight.

Today.

I can't believe, truly, the speed these years are going by. I know I am preoccupied by your crawling getting into everything little brother but I remember that day, like it was just a moment ago, holding you for the first time, eyes squinting open, carefully taking in the world around you. Your first coos, your giggles, your screeching noises.

How are you eight years old already?

And yet, I see you, getting so tall, tossing your hair, wearing your little skater jacket and hat. So confident in yourself, and yet so unsure (me too, kiddo, me too.) You have joy, outrage, and incredible empathy tumbling out of you at any moment. You see things now, understanding more and more of the world around you. Taking in the hurt and injustice, in such volume that it hurts you in return, You want to reach out, to everyone around you and take away the sadness. And I want to keep you from seeing it. Oh, 8! This age of grappling and reckoning, then retreating back into the escape of imagination and play. But I see you, peeking out, the woman you will be, the friend. And I am excited to know you then.

But for now. Slow down, 8. Climb trees with your friends, who happen to be boys, and don't mind who teases you. Wear skater hats, toss your hair. Have opinions. Maybe shriek them a little less though, k? Cry. Tears are good, they bring out the hurt and wash away the depth of feeling you carry in your slim little frame. Look at the world with fresh hopeful eyes. Knowing its all possible for you. No road yet blocked off. Anything, truly. Dream. Dream big. Believe in yourself. Even when you are wrong or make a mistake. Admit your mistake. Believe you can do better. Then go do it.

And I will be here.

Slip your hand in mine when you want to walk together. Pull me into a hug when you need it. I won't let go till you do, it's my promise to you. Tell your stories, your heartaches. I am listening, truly.

Just slow down. A little bit. Let the magic of childhood seep into your bones for a few more years yet. The rest will wait. For now, stay my girl a bit longer. Mama loves you.
























Saturday, February 25, 2017

iPhone poetry from Hawaii

Hazy thick air heavy and expectant
Soft strum on the ukulele
Humming lilts under the
full throttle of children at play
Filtering under and through the
chirrup of sparrows
The full dull echo of the food trucks generators
hawking bean burritos and fish tacos
The clouds pouring down the mountainside
commingling with the vog,
melting into the distance
over the aqua blue waves of the sea
The mother and the birds and the
sea salt drenched air and the baby at my feet
kissing rocks and grass and
all is alive for him and me
And the pines bristling the skyline where the ocean fades away
somewhere far away from me

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

day by day

Work. Try. Do.

Some days we need to turn off. Pack up some juice boxes, granola bars, sweatshirts (in case we head mauka=mountain in Hawaiian) and swimsuits (in case we head makai=ocean) and hit the road.

Sunday, we did. Skipped church. Turned on Tom and Jerry in the car DVD player (YAY). Baby obliged and fell asleep for a nap (a rare experience).

And we drove. And mama and dada talked. And figured things out. The week, the schedule, the goals and dreams, windows down, wind blowing, sunlight so so so bright.

We found a rodeo. We found a hike in the burning hot lava rock (not actual streaming lava. Hot from the sun!) We found teeny tiny orange and pink flowers. We found smiles.

And we found each other.

























and this is the sunset we came home too...


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...