I've been collecting some pics to share with you all. (Now that you've introduced yourself and stepped into this space even more, I feel less like I'm sending some ridiculous heart-oozing missile into outer space and more like you have arrived here. We are sitting around on the living room carpet, sipping tea after the kids are in bed, snuggled in jammies, eager for this juicy sleepover, whispering about our dreams and loves and giggling about this wild, best ride ever. Thank you for sharing yourself here.)
Sunday morning gluten-free huckleberry pancakes. Oh my...so worth freezing that gallon of Montana's pride and joy last fall to lighten up our taste buds and souls with purple sunshine. If you like gluten-free, then I want you to know that every single recipe that I've tried from this book has been eye-rolling good.
Our first visit to the theatre in, oh, could it be five years, for the Big Sky Film Festival. We came as a family to see Nenette. Pretty fun eating popcorn at 10 in the morning. I spent all but the opening credits with this girl, checking out the bathroom. It is a pretty cool bathroom. Pretty cool girl, too.
We rarely visit our backyard in the winter. Don't know why. It's kind of strange, as though the whole space which we revel in six months of the year turns invisible with the first snowfall. This was the first time out there in months, and I ended up in the junk pile dragging out every piece of summer-time play equipment (including the pool), for a short-lived baseball throwing, pool-stomping, chef adorning adventure.
With the last of our holiday gift money, we replenished our paint supplies. Now, almost daily trips to the colorful array in large bottles is happening. Often without artist aprons. O dear...creativity is more important than mess, creativity is more important than mess, creativity is more important than mess, so I tell myself.
Making dog treats for our dear Isis. Saschy likes them too (gulp). Since she is a girl that I really cannot ever tell straight up what to do, (spirited, is it called?) I've decided that the homemade variety is much easier for mama to stomach, as she gnaws away on them reassuring me, it's dood mama, i wike it and it's helfee for me too.
Heading out the door for one of our colder runs. I'm learning to soften towards myself and accept that I really do want(need?) to move my body often. Somewhere along the way, in my quest to become spiritual/awakened/enlightened, I made up that it requires me to forsake my actual interests in favor of peace-om-bliss-no-matter-what. I've held it over myself like an eternal final exam: ooh? not feeling happy with the mess? the chaos? the lack of exercise? lack of sleep? days without girlfriends? FAIL. When I let myself heave all that bullshit and press my nose up against what my actual feelings are, I see things differently. When I run, I feel better. Huh. The earth didn't open up and swallow me whole for my sin. Fancy that.
Better photos of the cinnamon bun process. By the way, if you actually ever call them "krissy buns" to my face, I will turn as red as the first strawberries of summer and giggle foolishly. That term embarrasses me because as it reminds me of Chrissy from Three's Company (ditzy one-in character only) and then, to add the term "buns" to it sends me back to the time (my whole life pre-children) when I was teased about the roundness of my booty.And to think what I'd now do to have that booty back. Ah.
Our twilight flatland sledding adventure which included spotting a raccoon and the making of angels. When I look at these photos, I'm so glad that I overcame my reluctance in that moment when they suggested it because of the hassle of getting us all bundled in a million layers. As soon as I stepped into that sparkling night air with these two loves, my smile (and a gratitude that melts all resentments) found me.
O Great Creator of All Magic everywhere, please please PLEASE help me to listen to the whisper of joy, to open myself to Life as it is unfolding preciously right before me, and to be tender and loving with myself, these small glorious humans gifted to me, and every other sacred creature. Amen.
PS. On the nursing front, we are much better. Belladonna, if you can believe it, as prescribe by our homeopath. All it's done is take the edge of her lunatic rage (that was the imbalance) and that has made quite a difference. She is still sad at least once a night and a couple of times a day and she is letting me talk to her, hold her, light a candle, offer food, whatever. She's letting me help her and that is helping. Her will is powerful and she makes her interests known. No remedy will change that (nor would I want it to) because that is who she is. Also, she truly loves nursing and I'm letting that be. Frankly, I'm relieved that she didn't quit cold turkey. Those moments of quiet stillness, with her looking at me with beluga whale eyes and stroking my chest with the back of her chubby fist, they are golden. All your suggestions have been appreciated and have soothed me. I'm leaning on them as needed, gladly.
Darn, Anne. I hope that belladonna works for you with the nursing struggles. We used a potency of 50m which Im not sure you can get at the store. You can order it from 1800-arnica3, though. They are so friendly there. I do hope I get to see more of your life if you start blogging again. It is incredibly satisfying to remember and reflect. xxoo I think Ive found the pattern to use with the yard you sent! Just gotta get the needles I need :) She is excited.
Posted by: kris laroche | February 25, 2011 at 06:30 AM
kris,you are such a great writer...I loved this post. You're inspiring me to get back to blogging, to capture and share these same kind of moments and thoughts. Also, I'll be running to the store to get belladonna tomorrow. Our nursing tantrums are worse than ever here.
Posted by: anne | February 24, 2011 at 09:00 PM
Hi Mom...I often think of you when I send out posts like this, with pics of your grandchildren living large. Love you.
Posted by: kris laroche | February 24, 2011 at 07:59 PM
Love you bergs.
Posted by: kris laroche | February 24, 2011 at 07:59 PM
Martha: restored by an afternoon ski alone. Yes, I can imagine this to be so for you, that you are fulfilled and nurtured by solitude and nature and movement. I wish I could hear the poetry tumbling around in your mind after a day like that. Blessings
Posted by: kris laroche | February 24, 2011 at 07:58 PM
wow. such a bounty of words and images. you are feeling better, i think i can tell. the freedom, the plenty, the goofy, the sharing such diverseness. love the pics especially those dusk ones, the blurry enormous snowball. my son calls them "pwesents."i'm with you on the needing/wanting to move my body need/want. i share the same conundrum. the other day skied alone all afternoon in sun and felt restored as i hadn't in a few years. ahhh. danke, kris.
Posted by: Martha | February 24, 2011 at 12:42 PM
i am so deeply touched by your courage to be truly yourself and to share that beauty with us here......THANK YOU!!! it fills me up to look upon your photos and read what's in your heart.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo little sister
Posted by: heidi buecking | February 24, 2011 at 09:58 AM
Thanks for the lovely visit with you and the grandchildren in Missoula.......
Love Grandma Linda
Posted by: Grandma Linda | February 24, 2011 at 09:57 AM
Mary...Its so hard to remember and feels so satisfying when we do, doesnt it?
Posted by: kris laroche | February 24, 2011 at 06:59 AM
Thank you, Kris, You have such a wonderful way of writing and sharing your thoughts. So many similar thoughts that I have had or are having about mothering.
I love the prayer to the Creator of All Magic that asks to be "tender and loving t yourself and to listen to the whisper of joy". I've got to remem ber that in our bustle tomorrow. Thanks, mary
Posted by: mary leveque | February 23, 2011 at 09:47 PM