It felt a little disingenuous, writing yesterday about such a happy thing. Our love story. The quilt which is supposed to remind me, every time I run upstairs to shove a stinky diaper in the bin. Every time I run downstairs to get ice from the freezer to soothe a boo-boo. Every six a.m. wake up call after getting grunted at by my ‘tween on my way for the coffee. It should remind me of all the love and the circumstances that brought us here. Truth is though, that it doesn’t always — remind me. I am able (much to my own disappointment) to walk past it a hundred times a day and not be moved. Someone carved squares from work-shirts and muslin and collected scraps from church-dresses and quilting bees to create an artful expression and warm their family. Decades later it has made it’s way into my life for a reason, and I forget. And even as I write this I understand that I wish for it’s symbol to bring light to my day and still it feels dark sometimes.
Last week was tough. Maybe it’s just January. I’ve been here before. We’re all cooped up. My body isn’t soaking up enough sunshine. I have a cold. The easy baby I nursed for the last two years now has his own opinion about everything and guess what? It’s the extreme polar opposite of mine. My eleven year old is fully steeped in middle school drama and moody behavior and guess what? He’s taking it out on me. My husband was AWOL at work. I found myself snapping.
And I walked by that quilt, seven hundred times, and I still felt dark.
But this place. This place causes me to take a closer look, to put things in perspective and for that, I’m grateful.
His passion and talent.
Giving something back.
A few warmer moments.
Company in my sick bed.
An entire day in NYC.
Wrapped in something I made for him.
(Photo and baby toes credit: Stephanie Hatzenbuehler)
A successful project.
Family tradition.
This week I will try harder. I will focus on the positive. I will live up to the story of that quilt.
Cooking, sewing, writing, tickling, typing, building, coloring, playing, kneading, comforting, making, tying, knitting, working.
The hands in our house are always busy.
A few of the things keeping my hands busy this week:
the Craft Hope for Haiti Etsy Shop
the Metro New York City Area Modern Quilter’s Guild
a new and improved Roundabout Quilt Pattern (this time I’m including seam allowances)
three new and really exciting website projects
and all the usual nose (and tushie) wiping, (neurotic) hand-washing, homework helping, hair brushing, puzzle piecing, Lego building, shuttle driving, meal making, laundry doing and the like.
Just how I like it.
Last night before going to sleep I crept into Quinn’s room and watched him sleep. It’s among the greatest joys of being a mother—watching one’s child sleep. But last night I needed to touch him.
I took him from his crib (against every rule of motherhood) and carried him to our bed where we lay tangled for a peaceful while.
This week mothers the world over are holding our babies a little bit closer.
I wonder. Why does it take a catastrophe to help realign my perspective?
I mentally recommit to help those less fortunate every day. I quietly promise to not get caught up in the minutia that so often consumes me. I vow to remember my blessings tomorrow and next month and during every inevitable frustrating moment to come.
I’ve been here before. In this moment. And I’ve forgotten. Homework struggles and dirty socks on the floor and temper tantrums in the supermarket have clouded my mind. But this time I promise myself to remember. I have everything.
If you feel inclined to donate to the efforts in Haiti here’s one suggestion of how you might do it:
I don’t have much to say today.
Yesterday my family got news of a possible health scare with my father.
The end of the story is that he’s fine but before the day was over my emotions had turned me into a marshmallow.
Today was quieter.
Our lovely babysitter came to watch Quinn and instead of working I went for a walk.
By myself.
And stopped in to a bakery for a Shabbat Challah.
I stayed there long enough to drink coffee out of a mug and do one crossword puzzle on my iPhone.
Back to reality now.
When all he wanted to do was play with me.
(Did you ever notice how much more they need your attention when you have other things to do?)
I wanted to write and sew and wrap gifts and clean and bake and he wanted to play fire-fighter-Legos with me.
Something had to give.
Most days are a sweet mix of our playing together and our playing separately but lately (and I believe it’s in direct correlation to the frenzy of holiday preparations in our lives) he has needed me near him and fully engaged for hours on end.
My ‘dining’ table littered with half-completed projects and blog-posts cuing up in my mind I abandoned everything in favor of the squeaky wheel.
The funny thing was: one of the projects I wanted to work on was a present for him. It got me to thinking about which he would rather have—a present I made, neatly wrapped and presented at candle lighting time, or Mama on the floor wearing a fire hat.
The answer was obvious.
His passion and talent.
Giving something back.
A few warmer moments.
