Hiding

This morning, Ely woke without my help. I think she is finally getting used to the summer light and her sleep schedule. When I went in to help her get dressed, I said, "Morning, beautiful!" the way I usually do. She was tucked under her blankets.

She said, "I'm hiding!"

I asked her, "You're hiding? Where are you?" She just giggled, so I told her I was hiding, too. I took her other blanket and put it over my head. She was laughing that bright, happy laugh that touches the core of my heart.

She said, "I hide, too!" and cuddled under my blanket with me.

I told her, "We're hiding together."

She said, "Yep!" and laughed and laughed. It was a very good morning. There is something so sweetly innocent in the way she plays with me. I wish I could form each of these memories into pearls and string them together, to take out and remember when she is older. I did not know it was possible to love so much.

"I Want Ariel!"

I'm not a fan of television. Movies are marginally better, but the sound of the TV still grates on my nerves. Unfortunately, my life has lent itself to rather more television/movie watching lately than I prefer. We have only a bare handful of animated, 2-year-old-friendly movies, among which are the Care Bears.

Ely is a Care-Bear-aholic. She absolutely adores watching the cute little bears bring love and caring into the world. This is wonderful, because of all the cartoons out there today, I'd much prefer she watch something with morals and meaning and storyline, like Care Bears. The problem with this is that we only have two, 30-minute tapes.

I am utterly sick of Care Bears.

So, imagine the depths of my joy when Ely declared "I want Ariel!" The best part about The Little Mermaid, as produced by Disney, is that there are parts of the movie which are hilarious to a two-year-old. I'm not talking about little-girl snickers funny, but deep, belly laugh funny. Few things gladden my heart as much as watching Ely laugh so hard her little body shakes when Scuttle uses the dinglehopper to fluff his hair, or when Max licks Ariel's face over the side of the ship.

This utter joy in the simple beauty of life is echoed when she observes the real world, too. This morning, as we stepped out of the house, she gazed up at the sky and said, light voice filled with wonder, "Stars, Mommy! Stars!"

I glanced around, and said back to her, "Yes, you're right! There are stars. Aren't they pretty?" all the while thinking how sad it was that only a dozen or so stars were visible in the city light.

It was then that I learned a very humbling lesson as she said, "Yes! Pretty! I like stars. Do you like stars, mommy?" I realized that she did not see what wasn't in the sky, she only saw the stars which were there, and she rejoiced in them.

Too often lately, I've been focusing on the empty spaces where stars should be, neglecting to notice the beauty that is there. I've been letting resentment and fear blind my eyes and keep me from trusting God.

I can't yet take her to the country at night, to show her how many more stars can be seen when observed from the right place. Yet, I ought to be able to remember that they are there, whether I can see them or not, whether I can share them with her yet or not.

And meanwhile, I can belly laugh at the simple silliness of life, and rejoice in the stars that can be seen from where I am now.

After a Years-long Hiatus: Poetry

I feel so alone,
Trembling and tiny
In a dark wasteland

I want to be held
As a baby is held,
As I hold my baby
And drink in the scent
Of her hair.

I want the comfort
Of a mother’s arms,
Of one who knows me.

I want to be told
That I will be okay,
That I did what I could,
That all will be well,
And believe.

I want to go home,
To feel I belong
Somewhere safe and warm.

I want to believe
I can somehow learn
To utterly cherish,
And to be cherished
In return.

I want sacrifice
Recognized as love
Without price or fear.

I want there to be
Hope in my broken heart
That my Savior can come,
Break away my pride
And teach joy.

But I feel alone,
Trembling and tiny
In my own wasteland.

Doctor Ely

Last night, I went to the nurse midwife for the first time for the new baby. Ely came with me, charming everyone with her usual vivacious self (which was good, since I felt anything but charming or vivacious.)

When we entered the examination room, she immediately alighted upon the toy chest in the corner, proceeding to remove every toy. Her favorites were by far a four string, wooden guitar made in her size, a stethoscope and a reflex hammer. After showing her the guitar, she checked my ears with the hammer and immediately began to listen to my arm with the stethoscope.

After the nurse found the baby's heartbeat, she emulated her, listening intently with her stethoscope, standing on a little stool by the bed. As soon as it was clear the nurse was done, she hopped onto the bed. "My turn!"

I dutifully listened to her stomach and heart with the stethoscope, and checked her ears with the hammer. Only then would she go.

What a bright and brilliant star she is!

The littlest one will be feisty. It took several minutes to find the heartbeat, during which you could hear the little leg kicks and arm swipes as the baby tried to fight off the stethoscope.

Am I in for trouble?

Innate Compassion

Yesterday, I was feeling down. Being sick all the time is increasingly draining on my physical stamina and my emotional outlook. By the time I retrieved my daughter from her daycare, I was really unhappy. My daughter asked me if I was alright. Wanting to teach her that sometimes it is okay to be sad, I said, "Mommy is just a little sad right now, sweetie. But I'll be okay."

She replied, "Mommy not sad. Mommy cute!"

And, in an instant, my bad mood vanished.

A Small Kindness Which Means the World

I spent my first day of silence in Church with barely repressed feelings of frustration. I found it difficult to hold back the tears. But, as I left early so as to avoid potential sympathetic conversation and further embarrassment, one of the Brothers followed me out. He asked if I was okay. He said I looked stressed. He seemed uncomfortable, but he was asking me anyways.

It seems like such a little thing, but it was beautiful beyond measure.

The Lord is good and glorious, and people aren't so bad, either. Every such kindness helps me worship Him a little more.

Beauty in Transience

One of the messages in the Last Unicorn is that although there is beauty in immortality, there is a far more poignant beauty found in things that fade and die.

Yesterday, my daughter spouted the line "leave me alone!" It affected me more deeply than I would have thought. I always knew she would someday leave me behind, but this simple statement of toddler independence nearly crushed me. It is the beginning of the end. It means that I will savor the scent of her hair when she cuddles me more deeply than I even did before. I will treasure every soft touch, and every sweetly concerned "don't cry, mommy."

It pains me to know that I am not capturing every second of being with her, holding it like a fluttering butterfly. I get too caught up in cleaning, cooking, unwinding from my day. How I try to freeze every feeling into a secret place in my heart, where the finger-tip memory of the feel of my dog's wiry fur is still tucked away, to bring out only when I need it most.

With a startling prescience, I see myself holding a pillow to my chest, alone in my room, closing my eyes and breathing in the remembered tickle of her soft hair. I can't imagine anything more precious. Even my whimsical mind cannot conceive of anything more beautiful than these moments, now, spent with her. Eternity cannot possibly be beautiful in the way that this is beautiful, because eternity does not die.