"If there was a world
where I wasn't allowed 
to love you
I still would"

I have to admit
I thieved these lines
Stole them
from a 7 year old

who doesn't understand
why she says it
and
at the same time
she does
deep in her bones

She sits 7 minutes from me
as she says these words
but
they drift across space and time
right into my lap
where she yearns to be

I can hold her
all of her

She knows I'm right beside her
loving her and her brother

My muses 
who
I choose not to pull
but 
to gently float alongside
while they meander to the shores
of
their
next 
great 
adventure

The adventures of 
the Nature 3.

Alba wrote me this poem last night and left it on my pillow. She has this habit of getting out of bed one hundred times to tell me her love tank is empty and she needs a mama hug to fill her up.

She’s got the biggest, most beautiful eyes, and has one wiggly tooth jutting out of her mouth, so it’s hard for me to say no when she does this.

However, if I don’t get a bit of alone time at night, I become cranky, so I told her she can’t get out of bed, but she can write to me.

I haven’t been writing much lately (at least not for public consumption), but I was honored to get a glimpse into how poetically she thinks about the world, and me. I think this may be what I needed to begin writing again.

Three seats on an airplane

three weeks from now

will be filled by three peas in a pod

who will travel faraway together

laugh together

eat, sleep, and explore together

get on each other’s nerves altogether

but it won’t last forever

because we’re birds of a feather

we always come back together

I’ve been thinking about the myriad ways we all show up every day at work or as a parent, for our community, as a caregiver or friend, and what the road looks like for us to simply arrive when we have committed to something or someone.

There are numerous obstacles to overcome and it can sometimes feel like an entire day has passed before we have even left the house.

I have been focused on and inspired by how we’re all pretty badass when we continue to show up. Today’s perspective is as a parent, on a Monday morning, and the three hours I am awake before anyone sees me. 

---

I’ve been through a marathon
Not that I’ve had time to fit in an actual run
But in my body, it feels like I did

My bedmate has a bug bite on her bum
She wakes me before 6 a.m. to tell me so
“It’s too itchy,” she says, “Can you please get the cream?”

I suddenly find myself trapped inside the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie book, where, now that I am “awake”, the requests flood in

She’d like cereal poured in a bowl, a show, water with two ice cubes, her blankie and three favorite penguin stuffies
Who can say no to eyes like that?

Luckily I’m back in bed just in time for her brother to wake up

He can’t find his shoes or water bottle
“Who could ever like a Monday?” he grumbles
I agree
His watch didn’t charge last night
He tells me how much he loves me before he slips out the door

The cat is begging for breakfast, the little one wants a packed home lunch instead of hot lunch because she doesn’t want to wait in the hot lunch line and also does not want to get dressed today. Sometime after brushing her hair through shrill screams and before we head to the bus stop, I remember to get dressed for work.

It’s 8 a.m. now. We’re outside and she wants to check on each plant in the yard before we head to the bus stop. She notices how tall each one grew and wonders if the squirrels ate the seeds from the planter barrel, or if her worms survived the night in the bug cage (they didn’t). We get to the bus stop just in time for her to hop on and wave to me from her seat.

My neighbor stops to chat while I calculate how long I can talk in order to make it to my office for 9 a.m. She tells me I look really pretty today as I speed walk to my car.

On my commute I try to land into Monday. The weekend of soccer games, volunteering, playdates, birthday parties and sleepovers is suddenly gone.

I’m now walking to my office. Did I brush my hair? What am I wearing? Is there still dirt under my nails?

It feels like I was sucked up into a tornado and then spit out at my desk.

And now the official, paid part begins. The part of me that needs focus so all the other parts don’t fall apart. I take a deep breath and begin to do my best.

---

When you show up this way, your imperfectly perfect little self, you win. You don’t let perfectionism get in the way. You are there and it is enough. You are enough. 

It’s a practice, like anything else, to show up imperfectly or tired or grumpy. I practice this as I write in this moment, knowing my words aren’t perfect, but they are still worth sharing with all of you.

I am from a big red house full of brothers and sisters
from Barbies and board games and trips to the chicken coop to gather eggs
I am from laundry dried in the sun and peanut butter toast
from “you are so polite”
I am from dessert after dinner and more orange juice
and from piles of wrapping paper on Christmas
from climbing trees in the woods and living room hockey with my brothers
I am from shy and kind
from my bedroom writing desk and hanging chair
and from 5ks and marathons
I am from Rafe and Alba and Mia
I am from making a difference in the world

Tell me…where are you from?