Just minutes ago, the air was perfectly still-- hot and heavy with the layered scent of summer. When the house grew sudden shadows, I glanced out the window to be caught in the face with a crack and a boom. The air is gray and silver-dark as heavy rains fall behind rain behind rain. I've unplugged the computer and type this sitting on the couch between two little girls who jump like twins at the sounds that shake our bones and split the steadiness of falling water.
Like many do, I love storms. They fill dark empty wells inside that need flash and rain, rumble and noise, things large and wild.
The world is so much bigger than this house.
Millie just spoke, "It's hard to believe lightning can hurt us because it is so beautiful...Isn't it, Mom." I nod a silent assent.
Before the storm swept in, I thought I'd write about the garden, which shoots up green tendrils and the hope of fresh food and enough weeds to disarm the patience of a Buddhist monk. I thought I'd write about the moments that are scattered through the trying times with just enough regularity to make me thankful for the whole.
I thought I'd write about the goodness of life as a family of six here, of the sweetness the girls show Piper when they don't know I'm watching, of the Pipsqueak herself, growing so impressively that she might overtake her next door cousin, who's a month and a half older, in weight before the summer's out. About that same babe who now fits into newborn outfits and whose cries in the dark rouse me with bleary eyes. I thought I'd write about the birds I hear in the earliest hours of morning before even the sun rolls out of bed, about the peace of those mornings as the birds sing the darkness away and Piper molds herself close, and I fall asleep with the flutter of her heart near the solid beat of mine.
I thought to write about my other Heart, who turned 29 last week, whose company has become so much a part of me that it's hard to imagine that we haven't known each other since we were 2 years old. So much to write, but nothing, really, about the last four weeks and the life that moves us through the past and carries us further along.
The storm ends, the sun shines, and I'll write more than a jumble another day. It's good to see you.
you have a real talent for leaving blog comments. All your comments on my blog are so thoughtful and quaint. that being said, I just read all your updates and they stir a great deal of excitement and wonder in my heart; from, "ooh, I want to steal that embellished onsie idea" to Piper has that perfect divit up above her lip just like Annika and Gussie" to "pacifiers are absolutely amazing (especially in subsequent children's mouths)."
ReplyDeleteSo I think of all these things to say. That I would say if we were in a conversation but then I go to leave a blog comment and all that comes out is:
"neato"
"oooh"
"aaaww"
and I just want to smack my own dorky self and then I just erase my comment and leave nothing. Except this time.
that being said; thanks for the sweet Owen update; it will have to do until we can all do it in person. until that joyous occasion, you're in my thoughts and prayers, little Mama.
A real talent for leaving blog comments, hmm? That sounds suspiciously like a backhanded compliment, i.e. "You have a real talent for neglecting the dishes and leaving a million blog comments at one time." (But I'll take what I can get.)
ReplyDelete1. Please steal the idea. Yours would be crazy cool, and Mom's machine makes it easy. (p.s. Any ideas/requests for what Simeon would prefer on a onesie? I really want to please him.)
2. I think she looks a lot like Gussie in this picture.
3. Pacifiers are a slippery slope, and there's no telling what we'll sink to next. In tired weakness, I just tried to give her the pacifier last night, and she spit it out! She wants to save me from pacifier purgatory.
Most importantly,
4. I love your comments, in part because they're rare, but mostly because I like you AND your comments AND your best-momblog-in-the-universe.
We miss you guys, and I figure a blog comment is about as appropriate a place to say it as a phone or letter...this is long enough to count as a letter, anyway.
And my comments are quaint? Nice.
with love from
Pollyanna