My Place

I have long been searching for a place to fit. My niche as it were. Like the cozy, comfortable way my son fits in the crook of my arm during a 3 AM feeding, like the way my favorite jeans, faded and torn feel as I slide into them on yet another Saturday morning.

Sometimes I feel akin to a will o the wisp, blown off center without warning or inclination, without its own choosing. I have blown this way and that into rough and calm winds, into torrents of rain, into warm, gentle breezes. I have lain stranded, water borne through places not of my own choosing.

Born into a world rife with religion, a dash of sincerity here, a sprinkle of wit, a little touch of mimicry-I was built on the factory lines of faith. And yet here I sit with 30 knocking at my back door and at times I find it hard to find my rhythm. Holding court for approval has been my game-a master at interpreting a look, a sigh, a gesture and meeting the need unasked. Can I help you? has been the response of my life.

And after years of filling in the empty spaces of others I find myself too big to fit there anymore. Like Cain in the Bible, cursed to wander without a homeland,a place to lay his head I find the yawning urge within me to put down roots, to stay, to be.

My life thus far has been a series of cutoffs, ending one relationship, beginning another, ending that relationship, on to the next one. After years of it and now looking down the barrel of my own disconnectedness I'm quite positive its part of my DNA.

Marrying young, so in love and full of hope, yet with the big uncomfortable question mark inside me. Where do I belong? And now with our days full of boisterous tiny folk and the busyness of family life I find the ache of belonging to is stilled. But yet there is more to be..

I need to wipe my feet on a dusty doormat, pull up a rocker on a front porch of welcome and be home. Not a home I borrow from those who offer me shelter, not a place I snatch at gratefully, having no other option, not a place to get by at, pass time there, while away the marching hours.

A home with bricks so familiar I can trace each and every line, a staircase that leads me much deeper than just the heart of the home, a kitchen shining with the promise of good days to come, a backyard garden brimming with possibilities, and a roof that shelters because I chose it just for me. My place. Mine. Just for me. A place I can call my own. Something tells me it's not that far away. Just around the next bend perhaps.

Rain Rain

It is cold and wet today, it has been for the better part of this past week. Mud and puddles and the like. Soaking wet hair and drippy boots and smiles from ear to ear in our corner of the world. Even though the grayness hangs about my shoulders and the sky holds the same pallor, in my heart there is music.

I snapshot the wide grin on my husband's stubbly face and watch my long legged wide eyed little people twirl and spin in the wet grass and pour buckets and buckets of water on an already wet porch. Running eagerly to clutch small umbrellas in even smaller hands and skip and sing in unison.

Chubby legs stuffed into squat little boots stumble and slide, trudging through the soaking square of lawn, following the rest. "Da, da da.", he cries, reaching to encircle one of Tim's large fingers in his small fist.

A day many could argue is a throwaway, what with the chill and puddles and ever emptying clouds. Not my three. This day is one for the books. They savor every last drop. And so do I, watching them through the porch window, standing beside them as we plot the space for our soon coming garden, staring up at the rain pouring down on us all.

The Sting of Defeat

In reflecting on Duke's loss to Arizona last night the old Billy Joel song, "Only the Good Die Young" plays over and over in my head. The lyrics don't really apply to basketball, or even in life if we're honest with ourselves. Sometimes the good teams take a knee early but often they ride a wave all the way into shore, shore being the March Madness Championship.

But Kyrie Irving and Singler and the rest gave it a shot, it just wasn't their night. Arizona played a near perfect second half. It's debatable what happened with Nolan Smith. A hollow performance. "I don't know what to do with my hands", may be a good explanation as the guys on Sports Center aptly interpreted it.

When you're so accustomed to palming that rough, leathery ball, feeling its weight and form, searching and grabbing and shooting and sinking, over and over, the rhythm, the routine becomes intoxicating and yet so normal that you are lost when your hands are empty...

But regardless, to the Jimmers and the Nolan Smiths and the Coach K's and the rest who had so much riding on these games, who gave their heart and soul in each play-we appreciate the effort. Good game. Thanks for playing your game- these games of your life in front of us.

Maybe..

As our littlest guy, Will approaches 18 months I find myself savoring each and every little tidbit of babyhood. The surreptitious grins and games of hide and seek with his mirror reflection, the glee as he enjoys the soft sand on vacation, sliding into it with nary a care. Laying his head on my shoulder as we sit in the shade, humming the Thomas the Tank engine theme over and over again.

His cheerful chirping voice in the morning, round roly poly body marching purposefully, clutching a marker he foraged carefully for, intent on hiding out in a back room doing a little scribbling and some snacking on its colored tip. The powdery soft smell of a clean diaper, curly ringlets framing his face, enjoying his morning eggs with a hearty, emphatic "Mmm!".

The quick staccato "Done! Done!" with bobbing head to be let out of his highchair or help clambering out of his bath.

Done? I'm not sure I'm done yet. Not ready to close that nursery door and pack away the tiny blue rainboots and highchair. As hectic and loud and mind boggling parenting and all that comes with it can be it is beautiful all the same. A beautiful mess. Sometimes it all gets so crazy and absolutely overwhelming that I have no other choice but to sit in the middle of tumbledown couch cushions and broken apart train tracks and graham cracker crumbs and smile.

And something tells me I haven't seen the last of firsts. That hallowed, hushed first moment after birth, the heaving and pushing and struggling and exertion ended...Stillness, calm, and a slick, wet, slippery little body with puckered lips and bleary eyes is laid on your chest. The tiny newcomer's soft eyes lock with your own and at that moment beyond any other you believe; somehow fairy land and fate and the possibility of a Heavenly Force seem tangible, possible, close.

Moments like that are irreplaceable, unexplainable. And the possibility, the chance to have that and all that follows just one more time makes me rethink packing away the onesies.

Maybe just one more...

Shocking

Okay so for a while I have been valiantly trying to weave healthy choices into our daily diet. But honestly I am shocked to read of the pesticides that are on our fruits and vegetables, the Dirty Dozen as they are called represent most of our exposure to pesticides in a given day.

In fact if we choose to buy these 12 organically or eliminate them and find other alternatives we will cut out over 90% of our pesticide exposure.

1. Apples

2. Bell Peppers

3. Celery

4. Grapes (Imported)

5. Potatoes

6. Red Raspberries

7. Spinach

8. Strawberries

9. Corn

10. Nectarines

11. Pears

12. Blueberries (these alone have been treated with 52 kinds of pesticides)

As disconcerting as these facts are we can't shut our eyes to them. What kinds of things are we unknowingly putting into our bodies and worse our little people? What will the effects be in years to come?

Tiny Dancer

Here's to our gorgeous little Natalie who is showing herself to be quite the ballet dancer!

My Condolences

Better late than never. Let me offer a smile of condolence to the Tarheels who were royally flogged on Sunday afternoon. RIP

Blue Streak

What can I say about last nights Duke/UNC game? Somehow the pretty powder blue uniforms with argyle accents found a foothold and won the game. Somehow the legendary 3 pointers missed their mark and Coach K's time tested strategies failed.

A fluke really. Working out some kinks before the big games,the real games. So I'll give you this one Tarheels, you seemed in fine form last night. And no one can deny your impressive rise to strength during this season. Roy Williams deserves a handshake and a good natured slap on the back. But none of this points to a championship win.

"Look, when we get on the bus our record is 0-0, Kryzyzewski said about the ACC tournament. We have to prepare for the next part of our season. This was a big game but the upcoming games are the biggest games. The games we will play in the next few weeks are the biggest and most important games."

So all you Duke naysayers be warned. We have only just begun..