Thank goodness today has been Sunday. We’re tired from staying up too late last night. We’re feeling a bit drained from all the … well, small challenges that we’re presently facing: expensive car repairs, viruses, rush projects. Even Ian is working this weekend, which isn’t something he has to do too often.

It’s fine. Everything will be all right.

Housework. Sick boys. Freelance work. These are the things that have occupied our time this weekend instead of what we had planned: our annual trip to Mimi’s cabin in Strawberry in the Tahoe forest, to visit her and grandpa. Feverish children changed our plans.

We’re in a bit of a slump, you might say.

However, there were several sweet highlights. Like unexpected visits from friends, who fill up my heart with love and see deep inside me.

Low-key, take-it-easy play and movies to ease the disappointment, sickness, and crabbies. I think Lucas is well enough to return to school tomorrow, which is great because he’s feeling pretty blue and misses his friends.

The delicious mushroom, spinach, onion omelette Ian made me for breakfast.

A few feverish smiles and the wonderful opportunity to climb on Dad.

Some sewing for mama. I got to complete a small knot doll I started a month or more ago. She’s for Asher and I sewed all her clothing, hat, and hair today, using just leftover bits and bobs.

Ian said she looks a bit like a preschool teacher, and Asher immediately named her after his own teacher. So sweet.

I’m trying my hand at a new bread-making method. We’ll see how that turns out…. I also managed to finish a work project today, so that feels good, too.

And as for the rest of today, I’m thinking of snuggles and food and an early bedtime for all.

I’m so busy with work I almost didn’t notice, but sometime this week (August 22nd? 23rd?) marks the seventh anniversary (7th!) of my self-employment.

In August 2003, I left the best job I’ve ever had to stay home with my 1-year-old son, Lucas, because frankly I couldn’t hack leaving him with a nanny every day.

I think I made it all the way to the end of that generous, third “reintegration” month, working three days a week at the office and two days at home. That’s when I realized it’s not normal to cry every day you go to work. (During my morning commute, at my desk, in the bathroom, at lunch, on the way home.) Maybe a little at first—but after three months, it was starting to look less like a “difficult transition” and more like depression.

After a lot of soul searching and a hasty look at my bank account, I threw caution to the wind and quit that great job. It was the right decision for me and my son. It was the right decision for my mental health.

I left to go freelance with no freelance experience. No savings. No contacts. No babysitting. Not one tiny clue how to run a business. And it was seven years ago! Did I mention that part already?

I’ve had some really hard years. I’ve had a few spectacular years. I’ve had many, many late nights working and I’ve lost many weekends to my projects. I’ve had seasonal work with ultra-busy months and dreadfully slow months. I’ve had hundreds of days with my kids that I would not otherwise have had. I say yes to stinky projects sometimes. I am occasionally so busy I have to say no to gems.

I’m the boss. My own boss.

And while I may have a tendency to be nostalgic about those old office days, with old office friends and everything else that went with office life, I’m not sorry.

Because, when you factor in all the various pros and cons, tally all the tick marks, and weight it all up, I now have the best job I’ve ever had.

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.

Mom gave me some old calico scraps from her fabric stash a while back. They are so old-fashioned she didn’t want them anymore. They moved into my house and sat on my desk for weeks. I thought I’d make some new cloth napkins for our mealtimes, as our old ones are getting kind of ratty from everyday use.

Eventually, Mom asked me what I was going to do with these calicoes and I told her. “Oh, give it all back to me. I’ll make them for you. I have the time and you don’t.”

And so she did it in a jiffy with her super-fancy serger that she won’t even let me touch. See how she still takes care of me? They’re pretty, aren’t they? This is about the only place for flowers in my all-boy household.

Some blessings for counting:

1. Organic strawberries with lunch
2. Air conditioning
3. Hobbies and art to enliven and enrich life
4. Potty-training successes—finally!
5. Blueberry flavored iced-tea
6. Automatic chicken watering devices (like a drinking fountain for chickens)
7. A bumper crop of giant green tomatoes
8. Doors that begin opening as soon as others start closing
9. My brilliant, loving husband
10. Spiders sitting smack in the middle of their webs

Some random thoughts …

Is it wrong to have a “pet” black widow spider? I have one in my backyard and I’ve not told the children about it, nor do I want it killed. It has a secret lair, which seems to me to be kind of miraculous and good, since it’s outside the normal traffic patterns of our lives. What I really want is a macro picture of its pretty red hourglass. And a long black dress with the same design to match.

My Asher has caught a cold and is staying home today, not so much because he is slowed by it, but because he is most likely contagious right now—I mean, insofar as I can guess such a thing. I’m wondering what to do about swim this afternoon. He is stubborn and demanding.

I’m trying to figure out a new project I have to do by September. It’s the reorganization and recreation of some curriculum for the instructors’ resources that go with a textbook. Puzzling … puzzling …

Last night my father in law and Mimi came over for dinner to celebrate two overdue birthdays and an overdue Father’s Day. Ian grilled the best chicken breasts I’ve ever had—moist, perfectly cooked, and flavorful—and Mimi brought a gorgeous carrot cake, in which the special ingredient was crushed pineapple. Divine.

I’m sending all my love to two friends today. They need it.

I think perhaps we’re still tired from the late night on the 4th, or at least, that may be Lucas’s case. He’s dragging. We’re all feeling a trifle crabby, even though everything is perfectly … normal. There is an uncomfortable degree of bickering between my children. Summer days are full and hot and long. My brain is split in two thanks to my two jobs; and I’m feeling like I’m not doing very well at either of them.

Our morning walks to preschool have become really special to me. Asher and I only have to walk five blocks, but blocks around here in our country-like suburban neighborhood (without sidewalks!) are variable in length. We get to talk about all sorts of important things, like where the water goes when it drains into the grate and the different birds that we hear, including chickens, woodpeckers, and songbirds. There’s plenty of chatter from him, too. He tells me what colors the pine cones in Dreamland are and how he is a brave knight who has a sword and a bow with which to fight the bad guys. We watch the frisky squirrels chase each other, pick up sticks and unwanted dandelions, and feel the bumpy plants (sedum murale?) growing in a rock wall.

The only kind of bad thing about our morning walk is that we have to be careful of the traffic from parents dropping their children off at our local public school, which is just a couple of doors down from our home. Our neighborhood is normally very quiet, but the daily getting-to-school time is busier. Still, it’s good practice for Asher. He’s learning how to stay on the very edge of the road or walk along the verge. And more often than not, I see smiles on the faces of the drivers that pass us with wider than necessary berths. I have to admit, Asher’s pretty damned cute as he marches merrily along, blond hair bouncing, or balances atop a curb or wall with arms outstretched.

Today it was something new.

“I gonna run! I gonna get my exercise.”

< Mama evaluates the traffic situation >

“OK.”

“You run too, Mama! You could run fast like me.”

< running >

“I faster than you!”

“You are very fast. You’re a good runner.”

< Mama jogs >

“Faster, Mama. Run faster! You run faster like me.”

< Asher pauses >

“I really exercised!”

“Yes, you did.”

“I gonna rest a minute.”

“OK. You catch your breath.”

I can’t really get in shape by walking five blocks and back twice a day, but I sure can enjoy the trip.

Today is my birthday. I’m 38 today, although last year my husband advertised my birthday as my 25th, so maybe this is my 26th? I can live with either, really.

During my 26th year, I was married to the man of my dreams, building life-long friendships, living a mostly carefree, earnest life, and working hard to make it in the world. It was a good year full of good times and good goals. We were building careers. We were saving all the money we could to buy a home together. We were talking about having children.

Yesterday as I was walking home after having dropped Asher off at his preschool, I had a few minutes to reflect on my life. It’s easier to think about such things when the ambient sounds are birdsong instead of little-boy laser-battle sound effects.

Wow. I am really fortunate and REALLY happy!

I don’t always feel happy. Small and big things get me down. I worry. I have anxiety and frustrations and limits that I strain against very often. Sometimes this coat of motherhood that I put on eight years ago feels itchy and too tight in places. Sometimes I get hot under the collar. These feelings I experience are all true, valid, and real.

But what a life we have made for ourselves! For instance, I have time to walk my 3-year-old to school in the morning. I can pick my 8-year-old up from school in the afternoon. I have the freedom to accept the work I want, and most of the time I can turn down the work I don’t want. I haven’t sat in a cubicle for six years. When my young son isn’t with me, he is with his father, a grandmother, or our dear friends of twenty years. Lucas goes to an amazing school, where he is learning every day. I have hobbies now that I never dreamed I’d have, and a garden full of green, growing friends. I’m learning to make things with my hands. I’m developing new interests and skills all the time. Our children are healthy, smart, and vital. We enjoy our family time together. I have talented, loving, patient friends. I’m profoundly in love with my husband and he with me.

It’s a rich and vibrant life and I’m so grateful. I think 38 is just fine.

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!