On Swaying

Early in my life as a parent, I noticed the way I held my babies, the way I would rock back and forth and whispered to them. This isn't something I learned from my own mother, at least not that I remember. I also noticed Luisa doing it and my friends and even strangers in check-out lines in grocery stores. There is a common rhythm to this swaying that we do when soothing someone we love. I reflected on this and what swaying has come to mean in our house and am thrilled that the post is featured on Mamalode today.

Here is an excerpt:

I saw Luisa standing in the pantry staring out the window that was perfectly framing a full moon. She held our daughter against her chest and swayed back and forth and stared out the window, whispering words of comfort like a secret.

These are constants–the moon, the movement of the tides, the instinct to comfort.

You can read the rest here.

PHOTO CREDIT: VIKKI REICH

Maybe Someday

Last week is a blur, the weekend too. So much needed to get done last week that didn't get done and, though I have recovered physically, my mind still seems a bit behind the times. Perhaps, it's that I haven't recovered temporally. There are deadlines and responsibilities and missed details and I keep thinking, "After this, I'll be on top of things." But then I stop and realize that I always think that.

I want the world to slow down a bit for me. Who do I talk to about that?

Tonight, I got into bed and was trying to sleep when I remembered that I hadn't yet blogged today. The goal to blog every day was simply a challenge I gave myself.

I could stop. I could miss one day.

But if I miss one, I know I'll miss others.

So, I got out of bed.

Maybe someday, I'll be on top of things but right now I am not. Right now, I am sitting in my bathroom blogging on my phone while everyone in the house is asleep.

Returning Home

We drove back from the cabin yesterday, leaving just as the sun was setting. We drove through rural Wisconsin as the sky turned orange and pink and seemed to set the tops of the bare trees on fire. The kids were quiet in the back seat, tired from days spent with friends and time in the snow and on the ice. Luisa and I stared straight ahead, thankful for clear roads and captivated by the crescent moon that seemed to be staring down at Venus.

I love the cabin. It's the only place where winter feels right. The cold air doesn't bother me and the snow doesn't feel daunting. But it always feels good to return home.

Last night, as the city came into view, I felt that same warmth I always do when I see the skyline. No matter how much I complain and how conflicted I feel, I belong here in a way I've never belonged anywhere else.

This is home.

PHOTO CREDIT: VIKKI REICH