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Tuesday, February 28, 2017

this girl, thoughts on turning eight years old

You are eight.


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...

Saturday, February 4, 2017

forever young

My baby is going to be one in about a month.

The last baby.

The last new baby year.


And I have been feeling my years lately. Sore backs. Tired by 9pm. And I think. Wait a minute. I am going to have a ten year old. When I am Fifty. FIFTY. (I am seriously going to start working out with the image of backpacking camping trips with baby when he is 12 and we are 52 as my motivation. FIFTY TWO.)

That is in ten years. FIFTY. Staring at me IN THE FACE. You haven't done your dreams yet Sara. No book published. No successful non-profit. No coffee goat cocoa farm on the hillside of Hawaii. With yurts. Of course (Hawaii chocolate farming is the new farming endeavor. I AM IN, BUT COFFEE TOO. BUT ALSO CHOCOLATE.)

Yes so all that?

None of it.

What is wrong with you? And you are SO OLD. Commercials about planning for your retirement send me in a panic. College savings too. WHAT ARE WE DOING MESSING AROUND IN HAWAII???

And then.

And then.

I remember ten years ago. Baby boy on my knee. One day dada will be a lawyer. Mama will start a nonprofit. We will travel the world. What a day that will be.

And we are here. Trying. Doing.

The Try and The Do.

So overwhelming. So much trying and doing and trying and doing.

So today, I pulled out the huge box of Legos, kids all plugged in to their devices, and I started building a Lego treehouse. Just you know, free form. Master Builder that I am (winky face sarcasm there).

And the kids eventually join in. And we build. And we put on some Bob Dylan. And we dance, in that shuffling sort of Bob Dylan dancing that you do, hippie style. Baby is a natural at it. Just two days ago he started that head bobbing swaying baby dance thing. SWOON.

And the breeze blows in the windows. And this song comes on. And I think of my college friend who recently lost her brave battle against colon cancer. She was a mama to a wee girl. Never got to saw her learn to read a book, ride a bike, lose a tooth. And I wish this for her girl. And I think of my friend, how intentionally she lived her last year. Now free of pain. Forever young.

Gosh. How did Bob Dylan know this internal cry for our kids? This prayer for their lives? But it makes me think too. What am I doing, to stay young in my heart, hopeful, strong, singing my song, busy and swift and true and righteous? Am I keeping my heart, forever young?

May God bless and keep you always. May your wishes all come true.

May you always do for others and let others do for you.

May you grow up to be righteous. May you grow up to be true.

May you always BE COURAGEOUS. Stand upright and BE STRONG.

May your hands be busy, your feet be swift, your foundation strong when the winds shift.

May your heart ALWAYS be joyful. May your SONG ALWAYS BE SUNG.

May you be - in your life, in your tackling of the hard things, in the joyless seasons, in the joyful seasons, in the rough tough lovely brutal life ahead of you, day ahead of you, moment ahead of you  - may you be, forever young.

Forever Young
Bob Dylan
May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay
Forever young
Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young
May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
And may you stay
Forever young
Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
And may you stay
Forever young
Forever young
Forever young
May you stay
Forever young

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