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INTIMACIES
This page will eventually have excerpts from my journal. The content will be primarily stories of raising children and the circus of motherhood. But for now, until I can type out the old handwritten journal pages, I include a few of my favorite poems. I think they say a lot about who I am. Enjoy!
A MOTHER IS SOMEONE WHO......
....looks forward to getting a root canal because it means she can sit quietly in one place.
....burps her husband after he's had his milk.
....buys a raffle ticket from any kid who comes to the door.
....thinks an ideal vacation would be five minutes alone in the bathroom.
....finds discussions on diaper brands mildly stimulatating.
....can run a one minute mile when her kid cries.
....no longer thinks moms are a boring subspecies of humanity.
....believes people who say her kid should be on TV.
....eats faster than her dog.
....thinks a meaningful conversation with her husband is an uninterrupted sentence.
....no longer vows to not be like the mom who watches indifferently as her kid throws a tantrum in the supermarket.
....has the same bedtime as her kids.
....wonders how her mother put up with her all those years.
....can name all of the care bears.
.....thinks the collapsible stroller is the most important technological advance since the automobile.
....can talk excitedly about loose poops, breast infections, and toilet training with total strangers.
....worries her kid won't have a prom date even though he is still in day-care.
....enjoys watching commercials that feature kids.
....would kill rather than share her babysitter.
....would have kids all over again despite what she knows.
---beth mende conny�
The Invitation - by Oriah Mountain Dreamer (a Native American Elder)
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's
longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a
fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from
fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving
to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can
dance with wildness and let the ectasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without
cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It
doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint
another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your
own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if
you can source your life from God's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
'Yes'!
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to
know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, how you
came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not
shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to
know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be
alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
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