Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

I’m a great admirer of Andy Goldsworthy and Richard Schilling (escher) on Flickr. Here’s what I made the other day out of orange Chinese fringe flower leaves (which are usually purple) and photinea leaves, while my boys cavorted and bickered and we all waited for Daddy to come home. It’s derivative and monochromatic, but kinda neat nonetheless.

I’d been saving up this hammered botanicals project ever since I saw it on a blog I read, called Dim Sum, Bagels, and Crawfish, last March. (How could I not read it, with a marvelous name like that?) Oh, here it is! I was afraid I might not be able to find it. (The Internet is AWESOME!) Anyway, the Dim Sum author, Lucia, found it in a terrific book called Nature’s Art Box, which is on my wish list.

Anyway, I thought that these smashed flower prints would be a perfect project for my boisterous, bashing boys. I learned a lot during this project, not the lease of which was it’s best to follow directions. Alas, I’m the dive-in-and-figure-it-out sort of person.

We used:

• white cotton fabric
• scissors
• pinking shears
• hammer
• scotch tape
• flower cuttings from our garden
• phone book
• watercolor paper
• watercolor paints and paintbrush
• dollar store certificate frames, 8.5 x 11 size

Lucas enthusiastically helped with the hammering, but I couldn’t get Asher to join in. When dealing with a 3-year-old, timing is everything! And the time I had set aside to do this project was All Wrong. Asher wouldn’t even come outside to see what we were up to.

We found that the roses and pansies gave brilliant colors. The mallow flowers and Spanish lavender were subtler. Creating the watercolored mats fell to me. (Are they really mats if the fabric print goes on top of them?) I didn’t want to try to cut the mats precisely; laying the fabric on top of the watercolor paper seemed just fine.

Originally we made six of these. Then I read online that a mixture of alum and water would help keep the colors fresh. Fortunately, our friends had some alum that we could borrow. Unfortunately, three unexpected results happened when I lightly sprayed the fabric prints with the solution.

1. The color from the smashed roses bled like crazy, running down the hanging fabric (which you can see in the photo below in the center)
2. The color from the dark purple pansies bled outward (I learned not to spray as much solution, and still the capillary action of the water caused the dye to spread)
3. Unbeknownst to me, the fabric on two of the prints had actually taken up a tiny amount of newsprint from the phone book pages when we were hammering the cuttings. It was invisible before I sprayed the prints. Afterward, ack! Some of the newsprint words appeared in our lovely botanical prints. (You can see a big black W and other type on the right-hand print in the photo above)

None of those three surprises made me happy. And if I were to do this project again, I’m not sure if I’ll bother with spraying them with alum. Perhaps the colors from the flowers and stems will oxidize or fade over time. I don’t know. Also, I’ll make sure to put white paper between my fabric and anything with newsprint on it.

When all was said (cussed) and done, and after two pieces of glass from our frames were broken (more cussing after the children were asleep), we ended up with three pretty prints, ready to give out to grandmothers on Mother’s Day.

The grandmothers seemed pleased. 😉

I don’t wander very far from home, most days, and yet I always find something that inspires me and fills me with wonder. I’m grateful for all the beauty that I’ve soaked in this spring. I’m trying to use it to stoke my own internal creativity and patience.

Graceful catkins decorate this tree, which is the last one to leaf out in my backyard. I wish I knew what it is.

I forget whether this is a “Sterling Silver” or “Blue Girl” rose, but man, it smells sweet! It’s silly that I don’t remember, since I placed it there myself!

Wildflowers we found at Sacramento Waldorf School farm, when Ian, Asher, and I went looking for Lucas.

A rainbow of wheelbarrows at the SWS farm. They just looked so useful and beautiful at the same time.

Mint returning in my food garden plot, next to my parsley. I was told I’d regret planting mint directly in the ground instead of in a pot, but the truth is I am happy to see it coming up. Lucas frequently goes nibbling his way through the garden plot and enjoys making all sorts of mint soups and drinks.

I

It starts with a bed-a-bye snuggle, sometime before the morning music …

somehow, there we all are.

Four abed, snuggled under, breathing.

Daddy’s the bravest. He rises before the rest.

Then mama feels guilty, smells coffee brewing, and slowly emerges from the nest.

Big boy bounces up, right up!

Mama and big boy go to his room to pull out clothes for today’s many adventures.

“But I’m not ready!” he complains.

(Mama doesn’t blame him. She’s not ready either.)

So they sit together on the green carpet. Perhaps a cuddle?

Arms enfold ten wiggly elbows, ten knocking knees.

“Either this lap used to be bigger, or you used to be smaller.”

(Giggle)

And there she is, just an arm’s length away,

Emily Mouse, doing her “evening” chores, having a before-bed drink

of water from the upside-down blue bottle.

Gently, Mama says, “Maybe Emily misses you,” thinking, it has been a good long while

since you held your mousie friend.

OK. He reaches for her, cups her gently in two astonishingly large hands

lined and crackled with dirt,

graced with broken nails

and calluses—

curious hands

that move a bit too fast.

White mouse whiskers, sniffing, twitching.

“Wow,” mama says. “We have had Emily for a whole year.”

“Yep.” White mouse moves over dingy T-shirt,

is corralled back into workaday hands.

To herself, Gently now … careful …

“How long do mice live?” Mama wonders cautiously.

“Two years, or a little more.”

Hmmm …

Emily’s fur is stroked, ears scratched by one nubby index finger.

Even. More. Gently …

“What do you think that means?”

…

Blue eyes flash, then seek refuge in the green carpet.

She will die someday. Sometime.

“Maybe soon.”

“Let’s give her lots of love until then, OK?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“And lots of petting. And kitchen scraps!”

“Yeah! I wonder if we gave her a whole sweet pepper, would she eat a hole and crawl inside it?”

“I don’t know. Let’s give her one and see.”

Eggs are ready. “Time for breakfast,” says the Daddy.

Littlest boy sleeps on …

…

II

Lucas and Grandma leave.

Existential dilemma faced and dressing for a rainy school day accomplished!

Phew!

Mama sips coffee

until …

“MAMA!”

Sleepy one emerges into a quiet house.

“My jammies are wet. I want a kiwi.”

Never before. “A kiwi? Really?”

“Yes.”

Well, then. Diaper change and then Mama goes looking …

Hallelujah! A kiwi. One.

“I have to peel the fuzzy brown skin off.”

“And then I eat it up.”

It vanishes before Mama’s eyes. Three gulps tops.

Then the cold eggs follow.

Mama sits by his side.

“I’m ready for some holding now,” he says with certain faith, and climbs over.

A small egg fills her lap.

“I’m a baby bird in my egg.”

Ah. “And I’m the nest?”

“Yes. And the Mama Bird.”

Pecking. Peck. Peck.

“I’m pecking!

“I’m hatching! Hatch!”

“Hello, Baby Bird! Welcome.”

“You’re my Mama Bird?!”

“Mmmm-hmm …”

“I hatch again!”

(Repeat)

“Are you ready to fly, baby bird?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s put on your red rain feathers.”

“Hurry, Mama Bird! Let’s fly!”

All the way to preschool.

My Mother’s Day weekend was delightful! It was full of flowers, yummy food, a pedicure, and art. My family lavished attention on me and we were able to do things I really enjoy.

Like take a trip to Capital Nursery to buy roses for me and Mother’s Day presents for my mom and Ian’s mom.

Of course, I had to drool over the selection of clematis vines. Must have one soon, but how do I choose?

Here is one of the roses we came home with; it’s called “Daybreak.” I’ve really been wanting an apricot rose! I got three other new roses: a pink one called “Passionate Kisses,” a second “Hot Cocoa,” and a violet rose called “Wile Blue Yonder.”  We bought my mother a yellow rose called “Monkey Business” and bought Ian’s mom a lovely hanging fuschia with pink and red flowers for her shady patio. Fuschia flowers always make me think of little ballerinas.

Then my sweet hubby planted my roses for me, after I picked out where they should go. Poor Ian! He used to think he’d never have a yard so he’d never have to do yard work. Then he met me.

Asher practiced some new skills, like climbing up the slide. He mentioned something about one of the other boys at preschool doing it…. Lucas played with his new tennis racket and fetched mishit balls from the neighbor’s yard. We weeded and planted vinca and red and pink iceplant in the troublesome spot in our front yard flowerbed in the hopes that it will hug into the little hillside and make it prettier.

We also did a fun art project that I’ll write about later.

Raindrops fell just as we were finishing up the gardening so we all went for a dip in the hot tub in the rain. It might have been peaceful and romantic if not for all the water monkeys splashing around! Ian painted my toes for me while I read a magazine and drank a cocktail. Bliss! Then we went visiting, to deliver our Mother’s Day gifts to our moms.

So you see how well I am treated, how well I am mothered?

To all the people in my life who have mothered me, inspired me, challenged me, picked me up after I failed, taught me to take good care of myself and others, who modeled self-worth, strength, and courage, who are dedicated to their own ideals and pursuits of happiness, health, and making the world a better place, who have taken care of those I love—I honor you and THANK YOU. Mothering is a calling, a practice, a crucible, and a responsibility, and we all do it—female or male, with children of our bodies or without. It’s an expression of our humanity.

I hope your Mother’s Day was as lovely as mine!

Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Round the May Pole Now We Dance
Nancy Byrd Turner

Round the May Pole now we dance
(Over with blue, under with white),
Wind’s in the ribbons, oh see them lift!
Light’s on the ribbons, oh feel them shift!
While we braid overhead
Colors fair and bright!

Round the May Pole gay we move
(You with your ribbon, I with mine).
The colors cross and the pattern grows
(Over with red and under with rose)
On and on, till we’re done.
See the tall pole shine!

Who doesn’t love rainbow ribbons against a blue sky?

Lucas skipping with his classmates. The second graders blessed the circle with their May song and bouquets of flowers.

The girls gather their ribbons.

Eat your heart out, Degas!

Aren’t they lovely?

So precious, so rare. Every year, it is such a gathering of joy and celebration of spring, of life, of beauty, and of youthful promise. I’m grateful to be a part of this community, and the festival makes my heart sing.

Lucas and his friends celebrated his birthday at Sunrise Rollerland, a roller-skating rink that has been open since the 1970s. Ian and I both learned to skate there as children, and we spend many a hot, Sacramento summer day inside the roller rink letting the “wind” from skating keep us cool (of course, we didn’t know each other then). So it was kind of a surprise when Lucas said he wanted to have his party there. This was the first year that we didn’t host his birthday party in our home, and it was a little weird (for me) letting go of important things like the food and birthday cake. But the novelty and specialness of the party were just the ticket for my big boy. I think he really felt wonderful!

A bunch of Lucas’s school friends attended the party and they were all relatively new skaters. Yet they all had a great time and were very brave. My favorite moment was watching four 8-year-old boys all skating hand in hand together (and falling in succession).

Lucas is still pretty unsteady on his wheels, but my how brave he is! He fell over and over again and yet never quit. He kept getting back up and trying again. It was inspiring to see him tackle this with such determination. Thaemos came along and was a great help. I was pleased some of the parents stayed and skated, too!

It was really tough getting good shots, the light was so dim. Asher didn’t want to skate at all, and didn’t want me to skate either. But I did and he threw a tantrum. OMG! It was sooooooo fun to be on skates again! I missed the Air Supply, Journey, Boston, and Rush that used to blast out of the sound system. (Disney princess music really isn’t my favorite.) I tried to get the DJ to play the Star Wars theme music because I thought the boys would just burst if it came on, but she didn’t have it! Lucas’s buddies were more successful when they requested the theme from Indiana Jones.

By the end of the party, all the boys had new bruises and blisters on their feet, which I take to be evidence that a good time was had by all. Lucas sure did!

Later that day, we saw most of the same kids at the school’s 50th anniversary family picnic, and Lucas got an extended playtime with his friends.

(Letter was begun on April 30 and finished on May 3)

Dear Lucas,

It’s only a day until your 8th birthday. You are over the moon with excitement. I think perhaps no child has ever anticipated any birthday as much as you have this one. You cannot wait to be 8! As the youngest child in your class, you have watched all of your friends turn 8 already. A couple of them have already turned 9. I’m sorry, dear one, but it may always be this way for you. It might be hard to be the youngest child sometimes, and might sometimes feel not fair, but I don’t worry about you much. Your charisma and joyful attitude make you beloved by all. And you would not have wanted to wait to start school another year! Your mind is racing ahead of your age in almost every way, there was no way we could have held you back.

So many exciting things are happening in your life now. I can see you are so eager to find out what’s next, what new opportunity is coming your way. I can see that you’re maturing, becoming more comfortable in your body and in your roles as student, brother, and as helping, cooperative son.

Sometimes I look at you and my love for you just pours out of me, and washes over you, I hope, wherever you are. I wonder if you can tell when I’m feeling this way. Sometimes I catch your eye and rather than make a big scene, I just wink. In that tiny moment, when you smile and wink back, I see that you know you are loved. The moments when you happily hold my hand in public, when you approach me and throw your arms around my middle and bury your face in my chest, when you snuggle up to me and tell me how much you love me—these are miracles every time, in part because they are coming a little less often than before. And I gobble these moments up like chocolates, try to fill myself with them, as if for a coming famine.

We had to strike a deal recently. You were angry with me, complaining that I was treating you too much like a baby. “You never let me do ___,” you accused. We were butting heads: you wanting more independence, me seeing you taking risks and acting wild and wanting to corral you. A friend of mine suggested a solution and so far it has worked. One day a week now you are picked up from school extra late, like at 5 or 5:30 in the evening. You want this extra time to play with your friends who are in aftercare. You want more freedom. In exchange, you must be better about coming with me at pickup time, without argument or hassle. I’m grateful my friend suggested this deal, this privilege. I was caught up in old patterns of thinking—feeling guilty for all the time we don’t spend together, wanting to gather you up at the end of your day, as if to apologize for all the time I’m working. But you are ready for more, for new experiences and new challenges. Your dad and I respect that.

You are doing well in school. Your reading is coming along nicely and you’ve been really into the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, which I have mixed feelings about. On the plus side, you’re excited about them and practicing reading. Once in a while we wake up and find you reading on the couch with the light on, having risen before the rest of us. That is nothing short of a miracle, in more ways than one. On the downside, I think the content of these books is a little old for you. In math, you are learning to add multiple-digit numbers and the new task is to figure out the process of carrying the one to the next place when adding columns of numbers. One paper that came home recently clearly indicated that you don’t understand this yet. I found myself in the astonishing position of 1) having you sit with me in an open, receptive mood, while we worked through the confusing problems together, and 2) teaching you MATH! Not my best subject, but second-grade math is OK. Next year? Not so sure how much help I’ll be. Your confidence in math is a little low right now. At one point, you told me that a buddy of yours is “Way smarter than me.” Au contraire, my son. I hope I reassured you.

Let’s see… I think your favorite school subjects are gardening, movement, German, and language arts. Gardening at school has inspired you to have your own vegetable patch here at home. In fact, you sacrificed half of your precious digging hill to plant tomatoes, a cucumber, a watermelon, rainbow chard, corn and pumpkins. It’s a lot packed into a small area, but for now it looks modest. We left a little space just for digging. And you carefully made rows in the rest, amending the soil a bit before planting your plants and seeds. I fervently hope this garden grows well for you. We have plans to make a little fence around it.

Part of you is fascinated by the idea of homeschooling, but I know in real life you would miss your friends terribly if we took you out of school. Plus, homeschooling is not always about playing Legos all day. We are not considering this at all. But, in deference to your interests, we may try to do a bit of “homeschooling” this summer. Perhaps some science projects, some story writing, some math and other cool games. One big project may be to build a chicken coop with Dad!

Two weeks ago you started piano lessons for the first time. You like your teacher and are excited to be learning how to play. We’re not calling it “practice time,” according to your teacher. We are calling it “playing” so that piano stays fun for you. I hope this is something that you’ll fall in love with.

You have been doing a lot more cooking lately, usually with Dad and often to make scrambled eggs in the morning. You two get along so well—most of the time. I’m hoping you might get a kids’ cookbook for your birthday so we can all explore this together. You’ve already made mozzarella cheese, after all! We did this all together a couple of months ago and it was totally fun! Today you made spinach sandwiches for Asher and yourself, and used the stove to make celery soup. You’re considering creating your own recipe book, using only recipes you invent yourself.

Let’s talk about sticks for a moment. My word! Where do you find them all? It seems like I’m constantly wondering where they come from and how come I never noticed them before. They are the world’s most perfect toy, apparently for any age between 1 and … well, 8 at least. Trouble is, sticks are devious little things, for they tempt you (and Asher) into highly rambunctious sword fighting, and all other martial arts. Occasionally I get fed up with the wacking-with-sticks play and confiscate them, removing them to the green waste bin. And then, twenty minutes later, your hands are full of more sticks!

Asher is now a proper playmate for you much of the time. He mimics your every word and move. It’s quite adorable when you’re both behaving well. You play pretend “battles” with “powers,” which involves a lot of running, jumping, dramatic magical gesturing and many, many sound effects with spitting. It’s better than actual hitting most of the time. You both get carried away, though, and you both take great pleasure in winding each other up into states of ire and violence, especially if sticks are involved. “He hit me!” “Asher, NO!” The bickering is perfectly normal.

What I love, however, is when I find you and Asher sitting together on the couch, arms around each other, or cuddled up in bed together at night. Sometimes I catch you reading to Asher and my heart just melts. I see you guide him in parking lots, offering your hand as protection from passing cars. You greet him with a giant, feet-off-the-ground-swing-around hug at the end of the school day. You brag to your friends about how cool your little brother is. You tell Asher that he is your buddy, that he’s adorable, and that you’re best friends. These are moments we, as your parents, cherish.

***

And now, it’s two days after your birthday, May 3, 2010. You seem perfectly satisfied with the fuss we made over your turning 8, and frankly, so am I. What a wonderful weekend it was! We had a great time roller-skating at Sunrise Rollerland with your friends. You are a determined roller-skater, and although you fell down often, you kept getting up, your resolve never flagging. I admire your stubborn perseverance; I think it’s a quality that will serve you well in life. You seem delighted with all of your gifts: new craft projects, science kits, books, Legos, modeling clay, BIKE, game, model, and much more! I’m thrilled to see you riding your new bike—it is probably the coolest bike I’ve ever seen (complete with skull art) and it’s your favorite color (which is back to blue these days after having cycled through red and green).

You shared your birthday with two special events at school: the 50th anniversary of Sacramento Waldorf School and the May Day Festival, which was on the 2nd. This just carried you along on a wave of celebration and delight, allowing you tons of extra time to range and roam with your school buddies and to have lots of fun. I like how much you now seem to own the school campus. It’s your turf and you’re comfortable there. It was such a great weekend; I hope it was everything you wished for.

Lucas, we love you. We are so proud of you. Happy 8th birthday, my love!

Mama