Cocoa-induced warmth

Steam whistles from the kettle.  Picking it up, I pour a slender stream of water over the cocoa granules nestled within waiting mugs.  Silken milk cools the drink enough for a toddler's tongue.  After stirring the hot chocolate, I settle the cups in front of my sons.

"Oh!  It's a good day to drink cocoa!  I'm going to drink my cocoa in front of the fire," Joey says with eyes filled as much as his face with smiling.

So, two little boys warm their toes by the kitchen's black-belly stove and sip warm chocolate until their day defrosts.  The gray clouds continue to drizzle, here, while reminding us that winter's chill is just beginning.  The tug-of-war between two seasons brings us an almost disorganized mingling; and yet, we somehow sort out the day.

Friend, do you feel disorganized like the weather?  Perhaps, a warm cup of cocoa by a radiant warmth will help your day feel more relaxed and set your perspective in a better state to do what you need to do.

Car wash

Splash - plink. 

"Ha! Car wash!"

Looking up from reading the morning paper, I notice that Ezra smiles widely in his joy.  His fingers, which recently were running a frost-blue car over the table, now flail open as if trying to use The Force in order to direct an object back to him.  That object is his car, now front fender down in his water glass, which of course is full of water.

Ezra wears his newspaper hat, painted blue.

My two-year-old son is full of funny puns these days.  He'll laugh, saying "I tooted."  Or, chuckle when he sees Daddy make a fish face with his pursed lips puckering hollows into his cheeks. Or, pull out laughing peals more quickly than painted strokes on canvas. And the result is as Van Gogh's sunflowers, whose vibrant yellows contrast upon themselves a sense of happiness, even if the world dances to darker notes.

Friend, do you feel the wash of laughter lighten your soul each day?  Let it ring out today and, for even just a moment, lift off the burdens that weigh upon your heart.  If you need inspiration, just think of Ezra's car wash and picture his smiling face.

Spiraling possibility

Acorns Joey gathered on a recent nature walk.

The smooth, brown sheen of acorns glistens underfoot as much as those nuts crunch with each step. My four-year-old delights in gathering acorns in their great variety: some as colossal as a baby's tender foot, some dappled more yellow than Autumn's hue, some capped for an outing; others sleekly shaven, others blacker than India ink, others as petite as a newborn's smallest nail.  Joey bags them for further study at home, Ezra decapitates the ones still headed, Daddy minds them not until he steps on one, but Mommy rubs a thumb across the silken skin and admires the beauty that spirals from possibility.

Friend, we all feel the singularity that life brings to each one of us.  On a crowded subway car, bumping close to other travelers, we are as alone as the monk nestled in a crag on Meteora's lofty stones.  It is easy to feel isolated, uncared for, forgotten.  As time whirls by, we're left so caught up in our own place that we often forget that the faces we see have names, stories, worth.

A single, meadow-rooted tree, captured as the car quickens by, holds beauty.

Perhaps today, friend, you will take the time to really look at those around you - look for a name, a story, someone's worth you did not see before.  Maybe there's a long-ago friend that needs reminding that you care.  Maybe someone you see everyday needs the tender touch you've forgotten to give.  Maybe, friend, you can admire the beauty that spirals from possibility.

Singin' in the Sunshine

Ezra portrays his rendition of Gene Kelly's famous Singin' in the Rain dance scene admirably.  But, instead of raindrops pouring down, sunshine drips and pools.  My little toddler tips and taps and sings, "La, la, la..." with great heart.  All the while, a smile spreads like the spinning of an umbrella's arc when Gene has it in hand.

Just last night, a long-felt fever still radiated from Ezra's skin.  He was lounging around on his favorite, comfort pillows in a pose that oozed "I'm not feeling well." But, today, he is spry, even if a rough bark betrays his verge near croup.  And, how like Gene when he originally danced through the deluge!

Friend, do you wish for such gusto amid the torrents of life?  Even when we're ill or lonely, crestfallen or overwhelmed, friend, we can still start the slow steps of a happy dance.  We can still attempt to share joy with someone else.

A more positive demeanor does wonders for the world at large, too.  Just think of Ezra merrily prancing among halos of sunlight and let the smile seep through your burdens, today.

Flipping pages

Flipping pages, both boys intently stare at or randomly jabber about the pages in two different books.  Ezra's bare toes pop out from under the book's open yawn and barely peek over the couch's cushion; blue slippers encase Joey's feet and hang on for dear life as he taps the bookcase and jiggles in tune to his spirit's whirlwind beat.

Ezra changes from a book about a bear hunt to a slender dinosaur reference.

"Ezra, I will read it to you," Joey says as he puts down his hardback, which guides the reader through Roman numerals utilizing painted pigs - as many as duo milia (MM).  Just picking out words, such as color, Ezra, mommy, and paint, Joey would have a hard time telling Ezra much more than the letters on the page, but his desire is admirable.

Running about the room, Ezra ends the chase by throwing the book behind the couch.  Joey's prompt smack of Ezra's noggin sends him to his room, crying and screaming.

Life is filled with such adorable moments - ones you want to press into a book and savor on a rainy day; with such beauty and kindness.  But, as quickly as one flips a page, the moment clouds into such chaos and woe.  Only, then, to return to sweet smiles, remorseful kisses, and eager enjoyment of the day's delights.

Friend, is your day like this?  Sometimes, you feel no matter which way you turn the pages of a book, you cannot make sense of what you see there.  Other times, reading is smooth and delightful - you are eager to get to the next page.

Today, I'm hoping more for the latter for Joey & Ezra, for me, and especially for you.

Palsy-walsy Spirits

"No, no, no, fly!" Ezra says while dramatically waving his chubby little hand in the air.

A fruit fly or two circle his head while eager to dive into his snack.  Whether Ezra eats french vanilla yogurt with homemade granola or chocolate ABC cookies or sweet grapes, it matters not to the pomace fly.  He is content to sip the flavorful waft above the food as much as dining on the flesh itself.

As a result, we wave our hands or swatters exuberantly.  We pour little viles full of vinegar and ensnare the opening with perforated plastic wrap ready to trap the poor small flies.  Even bagging fresh fruit, slipping ripened tomatoes into the refrigerator, or covering the compost container seem to be futile efforts.

This time of year often brings visitors from the family Drosophilidae.  They are thick as dew upon over-ripe tomatoes, dangling on the garden vines near the house.  And despite the friendliness suggested in their family, it is not so.  For, they are more nuisances than loving guests.

So, too, the ghosts bundled away in baggage we lug with us year after year.  So, too, one unkind or insincere comment out of a million salutations.  So, too, pains long ago felt, but fresh as new wounds.  So, too...

Could you add to this list of nuisances that plague your current experiences, friend?  Do you, too, brandish a hand flagrantly?  Are false friends hovering in the background, waiting to prey upon your faults or mistakes?

Fear not and let your smoldering cease to consume yourself.  Let the smoke die down for you, surround yourself with more favorable advocates, and enjoy the fruits of life before they fade away.

Miscarriage

The emotional and physical pains of a miscarriage are breathtaking.  I'm not talking about breathtaking beauty, although there is that, too.  Mostly, the experience is breathtaking in that it literally steals your breath away and leaves you grasping at ways to work through the pain.

The bleeding started on a Monday.  It seemed like the usual show one expects after intimacy, but soon turned into something scary: bright bleeding to cover a pad by Wednesday.  The amount of blood heightened until Saturday's first non-periodesque pains mounted to jolting stabs.  Unlike normal, natural birth pangs, these stabs were constant and worsened until they reached a crescendo right when the sac, fetus, and placenta slipped through the cervix opening.

It lasted four and a half hours.  I paced, practiced Lamaze breathing techniques and focal pointing; my husband read fairy tales aloud; Enya's soothing Memory of Trees softened the atmosphere along with a vanilla-scented candle and low lighting; I danced, I rolled into a ball on the bed.  Unlike previous birthing experiences during which the birthing ball provided immense relief, I squealed in pain when I tried sitting on the ball.

The silvery sheen that slowly emerged looked like a teardrop.  It was entirely intact: sac with amniotic fluid, soft pink placenta, and chain-like cord.  In some ways it was beautiful and resilient.  It was a world that could provide every possible need for a baby-not-yet-born.  But, there was no baby.  Curiosity prevailed and carefully cutting open the sac, a barely developed ovum no longer grew within.  Like a minuscule peach pit unsheathed from the flesh, the hope of a child was lost with this painful unveiling.

The pain stopped immediately; at least, until a week later.  Small clots reminded me that not only had I experienced an actual birth, but needed to experience proper recovery time, as well.  With two little guys to care for, it is - admittedly - difficult to find rest amidst the turmoil of the day.  But, friend, if you have experienced or know someone who has experienced a miscarriage, that strong woman needs rest and she needs to know you care - about her, her family, and about the loss of life, of a dream, of the hope that she recently cradled in her womb.

What can we do, friend, to help others that need us?  Make a meal that can be made immediately or frozen.  Many friends were kind enough to perform this simple act that shows concern for daily needs.  If the family has other children, offer to take them outside to play while mommy can have a little nap or just put her feet up.  This shows recognition that full-time motherhood is a consequential and exhausting non-paid profession.  If they do not have children, offer to help with house cleaning or grocery shopping.  A third way you can help, friend, is through the compassion of care: pray, call or e-mail every day or every other day to check on the mother that recently lost a child.  This shows you truly care and do not want your friend to suffer alone.  Another way to mourn and celebrate the hope this life had brought is to take a living plant to the family.  This gives a tangible remembrance of the hope the couple had and encourages them to see the bittersweet beauty of the experience: that their strength, love, and compassion for others in painful situations is heightened because of the happenstance.  Friend, if you've experienced a miscarriage, what has been a comfort to you?

There are so many ways in which to help someone experiencing a miscarriage.  My earnest desire is that you, friend, understand the true pain of such a situation, even if you have never experienced it personally, and that it encourages you to reach out in ways you may not have before.

In our household, a weeping redbud grows above the remains of our little one.  It provides comfort and hope to our family.  We'll mourn the loss of a hope, but still dream.