Category Archives: Love & Motherhood

Slow Dance

IMG_2181

Below is a poem by child psychologist David L. Weatherford.

Have you ever watched the kids                                                                          

On a merry-go-round?

Or listened to the rain                                                                                  

Slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?    

Or gazed the sun into the fading night?

Time is short  

The music won’t last.

Do you run through each day

On the fly?

When you ask: How are you?                                                                                    

Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done,

do you lie in your bed?

With the next hundred chores

Running through your head? 

You’d better slow down.

Don’t dance so fast

Time is short.

The music won’t last

Ever told your child,

We’ll do it tomorrow?

And in your haste,

Not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,

Let a good friendship die

Cause you never had time

To call and say, “Hi”?

You’d better slow down.                                                                                         

Don’t dance so fast. 

Time is short.

The music won’t last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere

You miss half the fun of getting there

When you worry and hurry though your day

It is like an unopened gift thrown away. 

Life is not a race. 

Do take it slower. 

Hear the music

Before the song is over. 

Summer


98c60bc09fcdb5807d00550cab3457a7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every year I have a fairly predictable first day of summer vacation. It is, without fail, emotionally charged in a sweet and nostalgic way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eloise is always the first to instruct the taxi to make the left turn into the graveled driveway of Beachmound, my husbands family home, just as the the sun is setting over the Atlantic Ocean.

Our hungry and tired bodies are instantaneously reinvigorated by the site of our faded white clapboard cottage, formerly named the “dumplet” by my in laws. The neatly pruned hydrangeas stand alert on the front lawn.

By August, a riot of pink and purple blowzy blossoms will paint my lawn and will pack every leftover glass jar and vase in my house.

8277bc3ee94e770ab7083221cd6555d7
It was yesterday that my families’ aubergine station wagon was chugging down the South Carolina highway with three children,without car seats,  in the back seat .   ford-ltd-station-wagon_fc6f8 pawleys-island-real-estate-contact

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, I have taken over the wheel and I am trekking with my children across the country to their summer destination. While Newport, RI seeps into my skin a tad more every summer , my childhood summer memories will always be the freshest and the purest, just as I watch my own children’s unfold before my eyes.

Like clock work, the girls catch their second wind as they race through the creaking cottage doors  in a dash to find their faded favorite tutu or coveted swimming metal that was left in a specific spot the year before.

I peak into the closets to find hangers stiff with dresses the color of Easter eggs, questioning out loud if they shrunk over the winter months.

prints_15-1

We travel lightly as hand me downs are the clothes that are in season at the “dumplet”.

 

 

Cursing the windows year after year I finally release the storm glass, allowing for fresh air to replace the palpable smell of humidity and confinement. ( A rite of passage for the gift of this cottage year after year I tell myself..)

IMG_5136

 

William gedney. jpg

William Gedney

Secretly, I imagine my home awakening and thanking me for filling the void of nothingness that enveloped her for last nine long months.
Black and white and color photos cover the walls with children that are recognizably mine.  Yet, there is no casual whisper that my childrens bodies are elongating and the baby-ness of their faces is departing. I can feel the passage of time.

I am no longer the child in the back of a wagon asking ” Are we there yet?”  I am the mother gently explaining that it is bedtime even though the sun is still out. Patterns of clouds  forming into animals and worn white sheets  transport me as I say,  It’s bedtime!”5c494c8ff977c7d91a0b54a16699426e

There is no substitution for what summer can donate to a family.  My children will affectionately speak about the lengthy summer days and they will pine over them and embellish just as I do now. The details matter and I will take my position of Director of Fun seriously this summer.

The word stress will be void I will try to listen more to their stories and complaints, and play the same games over and over again and remember that there is no time limit on swimming pools, oceans and popsicles.

I can leave the work books and the ipads and the TV for the school year. This is the summer of fun.

Bailey and Posey making bubble dresses.. The TV broke this summer is what they think..

“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you”

Khalil Gibran

3942adfde7a23081f79e7d5540bc97be

Summer is for kisses and compliments. .   Bernadette Pascua. Her blog http://www.decadediary.com is amazing!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crabbing with Bailey. TIme flying by.

 

 

 

Audrey and My Phone

audrey_hepburn_by_kot1ka-d56eljf

Audrey Hepburn said, ” Pick the Day ! Enjoy it to the hilt.  The day as it comes. People as they come. Not to live for the day . That would be materialistic-but to treasure the day. ”

I desperately wanted to come up with something new and catchy to write about today. However, I need to check out of the computer and phone abyss that takes up so much of my  day. My phone is wrecking me. I am over it. Throw it in the ocean!  Why it is so popular ? Why do I check it every twenty minutes? Who is in there?  It is driving me crazy yet I yearn to find it, touch it and open up the contents of a world of Safari, email, Pinterest and news hour by hour.  What is in my little silver square treasure chest of a computer that is more important than playing in a real treasure chest with my children?  When I am eighty, and golly I hope I make it there, I will have never wished I spent more time on my computer. I will have known, sadly, that I looked at my phone too often.

where did all the fun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I will long for the days of the soft, buttery touch of my two years old hand. I know, with all certainty , that I will not remember the weight of my four-year old’s body when I pick her up and I will forget what my seven-year olds hair smells like ( unwashed, like mine, I know it well now!)

6e9c57bc33aead2113a14010247b985b

 

So today, I can not think about rooms, or things. I want to disconnect from my phone even though it is Tuesday. I will not read the news because lately what I read has scared me. I have had thoughts of fear that surround my children and the what if’s have become too vivid for me.

I need to reach in my toolbox and know that everything can wait, nothing is a rush and appreciate and find meaning in all the little things .

ea6140a2b0ce137ac3717aed918a407c

Last night my children wanted to watch a cartoon. I said ,Go Play!  They came up with the most amazing ” trap” by the front door of our home. Eloise filled a small box with shredded paper from my office, Bailey found two pieces of old ribbon and Posey just ran around following them like a baby duckling. When I peeked at what they were doing I saw my chintzy living room pillows,  hat boxes and several other misplaced items by the front door. A small box filled with shredded paper was set on the  tippy top ledge of the door in hopes of Luke walking through any minute. However, the plan failed and I was to be the new recipient. Eloise asked me to watch her do cartwheels in the front yard and I quipped that  I needed to finish an email. Finally I raced out ,with the email on my mind, and then darted back inside the front door. Only to be stopped by a rainfall of white confetti. The joke was on me.

Minutes before, while I was typing on my computer, my ego was reminding me of what a good choice I made.. “No TV girls, it is uncreative. There is no flow.. ( did I hear that on Oprah?) .. But , there I was, NOT in their flow. Go Play? Where was my play at 7 pm?

Today I choose to be as present as possible. I am trusting my gut this morning and chose to write about how I feel.  Who cares about lamp shades any way? Today June 10th 2014, will be about the smelling, the touching, the listening and maybe even some journaling .. On paper that is.. Have a wonderful day whatever you choose to do!

4290eab83e9d912a4cc13b72ac0e149d

This is heart designed by a farmer for his late wife. What a beautiful homage and also a reminder to what is the precious thing of all-Time.

 

The Man Child

Well, love comes and goes doesn’t it? This morning is one of those mornings. Of course I did everything right. Rise and shine at 6, Whole Foods with Bailey by 7, croissants and bagels at home for everyone by 8 am. Luke sleeps in, duh..

But somehow, I forgot to get the nanny for the time he has tennis and I have to get my gray hair dyed. We all know which is more vital , to me and our marriage.  We have the ground-hog day kind of fight. He can be mean. I am passive. No one is to blame. He always apologies and I hide until I realize I am behaving like a four-year old. But today he is angry. He slammed my wonderful blue faux leather door against the oven about five minutes ago. blue-door-faux-leather-ruthie sommers

And here is the thing. Luke is not a douche. But he is acting like one this morning. Most likely, he is not getting enough attention so this is my fault. For an hour I am going to let myself vent because two people who share children and cars and backyards and bank accounts and holidays can not always see eye to eye. The apology is more important than the argument.

But give me a minute to pretend I am single and these are the places I own. In Paris , left bank, bien sur! And my boobs are what they were before three children.

19031646f32477961cc26af7f7c48c5d 99625913a036e6f9e13b33b55f622422

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am now going wallow about my not so cool office and secretly dream I had these the tall ceilings and this blueberry delicious ottoman in the photo below. Throw in that totally useless ladder as well .I will flirt this idea all day.  Notice the delicate petite table on spaghetti legs in the back? Who can keep anything that neat? Today I pretend that is me.

170362798374887841_OyiEn20o_f

I would like to give credit to this designer if anyone knows who it is.

Now I am going to listen to this song by the XX, Heart Skipped a Beat, which reminds me of Luke . Music is powerful and it has found its way back into my life on a daily basis. Listen loudly in the car with your children, dogs or by yourself and magic happens. This song will conjure up why I fell in love in the first place. And, I am going to apologize first.

But before that I may hit a store or two to buy a new dress. I rarely shop for clothes in retail stores. Barneys is calling my name. It is singing” Sale items” And tonight, with my newly dyed hair, old boobs and possibly a new dress I will have forgotten about the silly fight . We will never ever have this day again . I am going to make the most of it. And this writing and this song pushed me along! Have a great one everyone.

xx