Marking the Passage of Time

At the park yesterday, Flannery found a stack of logs on top of which she declared herself to be the "Queen of All the Playground!"    The logs were newly cut and perfect for counting the rings that mark the tree's growth each year.  So, we counted, and the tree was over 40 years old.  Some of the years were obviously years of bounty and moisture, when the tree grew a good bit, and other years looked like they were perhaps drought years, because the rings were thinner.

It made me think about how our life is so much like that in retrospect.  Years of bounty, ease, health.  Seasons of illness, fear, grief.  Some years we grow so much.  And other years, we just hang on for dear life hoping to make it through intact.

I hope that one day, my daughter will look back on this childhood of hers as years of "thick ringed" growth.  As much as our life has been at times uncertain--with Robi job-hunting, and me being sick, and being stretched for money and time, and figuring out life in a new city--I really think that these years with Flannery home with us are "bounty years."  It's such a beautiful thing to get to watch her grow and learn, and to be able to be a part of her everyday.  I know it won't be like that forever, and she'll be off to college and making her own life in the blink of an eye.  As it should be.

But for now, I'm tracing my fingers on the rough rings of a tree trunk.  Listening to Flanna hum a Valentine song.  Watching the sunlight stream through her hair.   Marking the passage of time.

And trying to hold all these things in my heart.

Has the past year been a year of thin or thick ringed growth for you?   Does time seem to move quickly or slowly for you at this point in your life? 

Apparently I've Always Been Obsessed with Happiness

 

As I was sorting through the zillions of boxes of memorabilia I've lugged from state to state all these years, I found this neat little book I had made when I was 8 or 9, called "A Little Book of Happyness."  Inside were pictures I had drawn of my whole family, lists of my cousins and friends, and little stories or poems I had written.  

It was pretty much my current blog!  Cute little whimsies about happiness and my life.    

I couldn't believe it.  

Perhaps this interest I have in happiness is deep-rooted, just part of who I am.  Pretty neat, huh?

What parts of your personality have remained the same throughout your lifetime so far?

Be The Memory Keeper

My family probably gets tired of me taking pictures everywhere we go.  But sometimes, the light is so perfect, the moment is so sweet, the colors so vivid, that I just have to snap a photo.  These photos were taken with my iPhone, so they're not the most amazing quality, but still, I just love them.   We were having lunch after church with Flanna's cute friend Lucy.  It was just an ordinary day, but I think sometimes those are the best to document, the photos that will bring back the strongest memories just out of their everyday ordinary-ness.

I'm the memory keeper of the family.  I'm writing down the stories, noting the little quotes, snapping the photos of shared laughs, and hoping one day these little mementos will bring a smile to us, remind us of the lovely start of our little family, and will help Flannery see that she's been treasured at every step of the way.

Lucy and I are the squinty eyed girls here!

Flanna laughing with her Daddy-O

What photo of your childhood do you love best?

Be the Memory Keeper

One thing I've discovered during my happiness project this year, is that being the "memory keeper" for my family really makes me happy. I just love taking photos, writing down cute things that have happened, and retelling the stories to my daughter and niece. I really think that retelling stories and sharing memories help us shape our view of ourselves and our place in the world.

For instance, when someone asked Flannery the other day, "who are you?", she said, "I'm a cousin."

Seriously. This is how she defines herself. From the moment she was born, she was someone's cousin. A very special someone's, to be exact.

My niece will never want for adoration as long as Flanna is around!

And Flannery loves when I tell the story of how everyone came to the hospital when she was born, and how her "big cousin" held her when she was only one day old. That story sort of defines who loves her most and who is most important to her in the world.

Which, by the way, is not any of us adults. We're okay and all, but that cousin, she's the one.




What stories or memories from your life help you define who you are? I remember my dad telling the story of how I would never "bump" anyone when we'd play aggravation as a family, because I was just too "sweet." And I remember my mom telling the story of how my sister at just 3 years old would play with me, feed me, change my diaper, and just generally be a sweet second mama to me. She had my back from the get go, it seems. And that's a nice way to grow up.

The Saddest Girl in the World

Flannery got 3 booster shots on Tuesday. Her arms were so sore. Poor little thing. She was so brave at the doctor's office, and didn't cry until I told her it was okay to cry if it hurt. I had told her that my pediatrician when I was a kid used to give me those dum dum lollipops after I got shots. Unfortunately, her pediatrician just gives stickers, which is not much consolation to a kid with tons of stickers at home. We went straight from the doctor's office to Target, and I let her buy a bag of lollipops. That seemed to help a bit.



What made you feel better after a booster shot when you were a kid?

Take Notice

Today, I really tried to take notice of my daughter. How her hair curls up when she's sweaty. How her eyes really are yellow, not just hazel. They are so unique. How she describes conversations now, and talks about things that happened in the past with such clarity. How her body just will not stop moving sometimes. How creative her imagination is, and how gentle and sweet her spirit is. How she just can't keep herself from singing at all points in time. How she even chews her dinner to a little musical beat. How grown up and independent she is now.

We rode the Duke bus to Duke's West Campus today, and Flanna insisted that she didn't want me to hold her hand or put an arm around her on the bus. "It's okay, mom, I can do it," she reassured me. And through all the quick stops and fast turns and bumps in the road, on a big person bus with no seat belts, she really did make it just fine. Her tiny, skinny-winny body never once tumbled out of the seat, as I pictured it might every time we went around a sharp curve. (I had to catch myself about 7 times as my hands reached instinctively for her, to protect her from falling during a big curve or a quick stop! I was amazed to see she really didn't need that protecting!)

So, today, on that bus, I had to take notice of the fact that I can let go a little bit more now. Which makes my eyes tear up a bit as I write it. I just love these days of holding hands going up the stairs together, and it's sad to think about them being almost done. As Gretchen Rubin says, "The days are long, but the years are short."

We had a few other neat moments today, as well, where I was really able to be in the moment and make a connection with her, rather than thinking about the zillions of things I need to be doing for work, for our move, etc. At the park, we found some really cool pyramid shaped seed pods. We collected a few, and opened them up once we got home, sitting on our porch steps. They were like tiny amazing gifts, intricate and delicate, and resilient all at the same time. Flannery was quiet and careful and seemed a little in awe of the tiny seeds inside the pods. Then later, as we were playing blocks on the living room floor after dinner, I tried to just listen and follow her lead. Not to teach or coach or direct her in any way, just for a few minutes. And in that time, she sorted blocks by shape, color, and size. She made a really cool, almost symmetrical tower. And it occurred to me that she doesn't need my teaching all the time to learn. Sometimes, she just needs me to take notice of what she is already doing. To just appreciate the strong and sweet character and natural curiosity that she has.

Anyway.

My goal for next week is to get more sleep so that I don't have to try so hard to be in the moment! It's hard work sometimes!




What have you noticed from focusing on being in the moment in your life? Do you find yourself like me, getting so caught up in regrets of the past and hopes/plans for the future, that the present gets all jumbled and not as you'd like it to be? How do you help yourself carve out space and time to experience the present moments?


PS -- the first 2 pics here are from when Flannery was almost 2, and the last 2 are from 2 weeks ago. The change from baby to little girl is so striking!

This Magic Moment

Sometimes there are moments that seem to last forever. Not to be cliche, but, when time stands still.

My first kiss.

Finding out my grandmother died.

Getting proposed to.

Waiting for news during my mom's open heart surgery.

Finding out I was pregnant.

Hearing my daughter's first cry when she was born.

At all these times in my life, the world has slowed its spinning. The background has melted away. At least briefly, I have truly been "in the moment." Experienced nothing else besides what is actually happening right then.

And then today. It happened again.

Nothing remarkable, nothing groundbreaking. It was just a normal day. There was grocery shopping, planting tomato and pepper plants, laundry. And then there was the moment.

Outside on the back lawn, my daughter and I were making bird-feeders to hang in our tree. We hung two, and then stood back to admire them. At which point, my daughter says,

"Now let's lay in the grass!"

Which we do.

It's late afternoon, so the sun makes us squint. The grass is cold on my back and a little damp from a rain yesterday. The sky is gray blue, and the clouds move slowly, slowly past. One cloud looks like rain. The sun lights up the red and green leaves of the maple tree overhead like a stained glass window. Flannery moves to lean her head in the crook of my arm. This is when time slows. When I take in just the smell of her hair, and feel just the humid breeze on my face, and listen to the sound of birds chattering and a woodpecker tapping out a rhythm nearby. This moment lasts a hundred years. Or maybe just a second or two.

Either way, it's magic.


One day, this type of intimacy with my child will be awkward and rare. One day, she'll be too busy for spontaneous sky gazing, or too logical to let the impulse become a reality.

But this moment, it'll remain.

I won't forget.





What moments in your life have made time stand still? Good or bad, there's a gravity to these moments, a "this is really my life" quality to them. I'd love to hear about yours.

Reflect on the Mystery of Time

Today I mentioned to a dad at the park that my little girl is going to turn 4 next November. And I had this strange dizzy feeling as I said it, that the world was spinning very fast, and time was passing way too fast, and this life that I love and try to make happy is flying by at breakneck speed.

It almost made me cry.

Now, I know I'm a sentimental softie, and I'm also exhausted and a little sick with allergy stuff right now. But the moment in the park today, combined with the fact that one of my best friends just celebrated her 40th birthday (as she waits to be chosen as an adoptive mama), really got to me.

Time. It is mysterious.

Me. I'm not so mysterious. But I was just 8 years old, like, yesterday. Sitting in a tree writing poems in the woods. Making up sad songs and dreaming about my future husband and future children and future job. (By the way, that's me with the red hair in the picture.)

And now, this is my life. The life I dreamed about in the tree. It's real, fleeting, hard, tough, and pretty amazing most days. I've really got to take it all in. Open my eyes and watch. And listen.

I'm working on it.

---

Oh, by the way, I just found out that I love the Finches. This song of theirs, called "The House Under the Hill" really seemed to fit the whole "life flying by" theme of my day, so here are the lyrics if you're interested. Better yet, listen to it for the full effect.


The House Under The Hill :

Well, I'm the same kid I was
Out in the schoolyard
Hallowed my pockets with sticks
From the parking lot
Alone

Though I walked alone
I was sure there was somebody
There on my shoulder, quietly guiding me
Home

I counted to 1000, 2000, and even
Math game and nicknames for friends
That I rarely meet
But years roll along, along so graciously
And so gracefully we age into infinity
Oh

There is a house under a hill
With no windows, with no doors
And everything I've ever lost is there
Between the boards and beams
Oh, old friendships
Old virginity
A younger little ghost of me
Together, they are celebrating
All the time they've gained:
"Tonight, again, we celebrate
another tiny gain!"

Alone, I am nameless
And fearless and faceless
I see just my knees
And two hands held in front of me
Mine for this lifetime
So kindly I'll treat them
My blood pumps
My lungs bellow
So I will let them be.

---

Does time feel fast or slow to you at this stage of your life?