I am extremely grateful for that lady on the left.

My mom.

You can't put a price on how much she means to me.

We are two peas in a pod. Most of the time.

Every time we see each other,

we say the exact same word at the exact same time with the exact same emotion and meaning. 

We sigh and laugh and well up with tears in unison.

Twin-like.

My mom.

She's a passionate one.

She is zesty and doesn't care.

But she is kind.

And she so desperately wants justice.

And she wants people to do right.

And she is pure.

If I could describe my mom in one word, it would be that.

Pure.

 

 

 Purely authentic, honest, real, and outright.

She doesn't have a bad bone.

Sometimes she can come on strong,

the motive always right.

My mom is a mother.

She has always prided herself on that.

She is a very good mother.

She is a complete nurturer.

Today I needed her.

I've been going through some stuff.

I hadn't planned on discussing any of it, but she read my voice.

I was meaning to sound chipper, but she knew.

She has the best advice always.

Such wisdom that comes from love.

Only love.

Today she told me that my two main priorities are making sure Ivy is secure in me 

and that my marriage remains solid.

Simple.

Needed.

I wish I could be as carefree as my mom.

She drinks in moments.

I have never met anyone like that.

She could eat the seasons with a spoon.

She is gleeful about creativity.

She compliments with joy and sincerity.

She is nostalgic.

She indulges in feeling and makes your heart her own.

 

She doesn't rush.

She doesn't worry.

She isn't a perfectionist.

She just enjoys.

Thoroughly.

And she loves 

deeply.

 

 

I am grateful that she is my mom.

So grateful.

Twenty Five Days of Gratitude: Ivy

I am grateful for Ivy.

She turned two years old yesterday.

Hummingbirds carried this past year.

Zoom.

 And the year before seems like a sweet dream.

Ivy has shown me the deepest love. To expect and to give.

She has knocked me down a peg or two or three.

She has raised my expectations of myself.

She has been a mirror.

 She taught me the strength of my body.

She brought our family closer.

She caused me to examine who I need to be to her.

And to myself.

I have been more afraid numerous times because of her.

Sickness, teething, constipation, black eyes.

I have had more than sympathy pains.

I am learning to be stronger.

 Ivy is the unexpected personality.

My mom wonders where some of her zing came from.

A complete extrovert.

Very hilarious.

A walking eyeball.

Aware.

Sensitive.

Busy.

Loving.

She is my first babe.

The one I will make the most mistakes with

The one I will have that special first connection with.

The one who will offer more grace than I deserve.

I am grateful for hilarious Ivy.

A total life changer.

Happy Birthday, Ivy!

+

I realize I missed two days of gratefulness. 

How bout a make-up grateful.

   

I am grateful for this sisterly connection.

Gaibrien is a great sister!

They love each other much, much.

Twenty Five Days of Gratitude: America

 

I am grateful to live in a free country.

I am grateful for undeserved opportunities.

I am grateful for choice.

I am grateful for unity.

I am grateful to raise a woman in this country.

She's pretty great.

And I will support her voice.

And I will cherish her little voice forever.

Mitt Mommy. That's pretty cute. My mom told me that was a sign. I said, I'm not so sure.

lovemymom. votes still a secret.

Twenty Five Days of Gratitude: Gramp

Now, I may cry...

Grateful, grateful, grateful am I for my grandfather. The consistent solid man when I was wee.

He was solid to me. In my mind.

As a little girl, the world seemed uneven. I didn't have the easiest growing up years. Mistakes were my biggest fear from a very, very young age. 

But I never thought about mistakes when my gramps was near.

When I was in elementary school I would spend a lot of time at my grandparents. Those memories are held with mortar. Can't take them out of the fire safe. They are rich with goodness.

My grampy owned his own painting business. He would come home from work when the sun was in its perfect spot. He smelled like hard work. I remember him washing his hands with gojo. I  loved that orangy smell. He would then sweep me up in his arms, and strong arms they were. And bear hugs galore. His painty, natural smell felt safe.

And I like the smell of his cigarettes.

When I was so small, I watched scary movies. I loved them. Freddie Krueger was number one. I know, so strange. I remember cuddling up with my gramps in his big comfy chair to watch that bloody psycho murder people. 

And we ate pizza. And I think of this fondly.

Maybe it was the fact that my grandparents obliged my nutty horror movie cravings or the spirit of cozy next to my grandfather was much stronger than that fake spirit of fear.

Regardless, comforting memory.

My grampy was a great dancer. Serious. He was known to be from way past to present. I like to think that's where some of my rhythm comes from. He and I use to dance around the room. Johnny Cash tunes and smooth moves. Oh my, I loved this. 

Twirling and fast paced and slow. Laughter and dance face.

Last year we went to my cousins wedding and my gramps was one of the best dancers there.

 My Meadows family, a bunch of dancin fools, we are. 

Makes my heart soar.

My grampy always wore his clothes with dignity. He took pride in being clean. Crisp shirts, white socks. 

A pants man. 

He still does.

I love him so.

He is getting older and that's hard.

He has always, always shown me love. My whole life, I have always known. He kept his heart near me, and still does. 

He loves my girl, and Ari's girl. He brought this life together. He sees it. 

He eats it.

I love my grampy. He is one of the most stubborn men I know. He has sharp thoughts and a prideful way. But I know him.

And he is good, good, good.

He has shown me love, to which I will always be grateful. Forever. 

Without him, the confidence that I did experience as a girl might have been different.

I would be different.

I am grateful for my grampy.

John Meadows.

And I think I am developing parts of his nose, which I will gladly take. And my mom is like the female version of my gramps, it's not even funny.

Just Sick

 

Does this girl look sick to you?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

What a hard Saturday. Guys, she threw up three times during the twilight zone hours. A fever. A horrid cough. All glassy eyed. And she has had three different sick symptoms over the last four weeks. I'm about to fall over from sympathy pains + general mother love.

I feel sick. Sick in my heart, sick to my stomach, and sick of wearing pj's all day. Being a mom is hard, hard, hard. And I take it in deep. I take her warm-sick-breath and her cold to hot body temps and her cute little voice to heart, to anxiety, to please shoot me. I wish I could have a neutral button or logic button or just an it's-gonna-be-okay button to press. Even keel, granted. Got it, granted. Peace, there ya go.

You feel me, you mudders? the girl in Once called her mom that and I loved it

And I am sorry, but dad's, you are tooooo easy going about all of this. Am I right? Or, am I wrong?

istillloveyoue

I am dreaming of November, when my girl is healthy. Yes? And she turns two and the holidays bring about some comfort and joy. I am ready for Moonbugs to not be canceled. I am ready to color my hair, loose the drink chub, and pull on my boots to get up and go.

Until then, I will watch my girl drink broth from a coffee cup while smiling gleefully as her fever spikes.

Spirit Trickle

This girl and this girl. Cousins. Friends. Kindred. The spawn of two close cousins, friends, kindreds.

That would be my cousin Ari and me. But no, I am not finished. This connection goes even deeper. 

How about these grandmothers.

 

Both best friends and sister-in-laws and kindreds. How lucky that my sweet uncle married my mom's best friend. How great it was growing up with this example of connection and love between women. 

I have many memories of belly aching laughter with these family girls. Movie nights, overnights at my Aunt Lisa's. Clueless, Drop Dead Fred, The Exorcist and a whole lot of strange and creepy flicks. And let's discuss shopping. All four girls - my mom, Aunt Lisa, Ari, and I - we would stop at Friedrichs for a coffee then head to the mall. Weekend after weekend. And church and Borders Books. Going and going. But always talking about everything the entire time. Stupid things and important things.

 Real life things most of all.

I remember going to my Aunt Lisa's and Uncle Jeff's and feeling peaceful. I loved how their house smelled. Always a candle and coffee brewing. Some music playing and some kitchen gathering. Their yellow, cheery kitchen. I can see it clearly. Mail on the table, that candle lit, the white mirror on the wall. My aunt filing her nails and giving me that kind smile. And those eyes always pretty and inviting and mysterious. 

I cannot count the number of times I spent with my aunt or the number of times she made me feel special - quietly special. 

A soft and gentle spirit she had. She didn't need to say or do much to give me a sense of peace. I don't think she knew the power she had.

My sweet aunt passed away two July's ago. 

My cousin's one and only.

  My mom's very best friend. My beloved aunt. 

 Lily's grandmother.

This is hard to deal with. It is hard to have all of these beautiful memories and want more, more, more. Only this time with our girls Ivy and Lily. 

I imagine Lisa a lot. I imagine her pulling up in her jeep, my mom in the passenger seat, coming into my house, an iced latte in hand with a teensy bit of hazelnut, her fun little laugh and spotless clothes. I think about how she would interact with Ivy, her great niece. She would appreciate Ivy's toddlerness, the complete nuttyness. She would eat it up. And my mom would love that.

I imagine my aunt as a grandmother. She would be perfect. She would be hopelessly lost in Lily. I imagine her eyes fixated and her hands holding precious girl. She would laugh and laugh and so would Lily. 

And the moments would be so beautiful.

A hard place to visit. But sometimes an indulgent neeeeed.

And all this to say, I want to be the best aunt I can be to Lily. I want to smell good and be peaceful and have an inviting home. I want to bring some of her mom into her world, of course in aunt form. Ari has the most important part covered. She is fifty percent of what we miss. Its in her face and hands and expressions.

Just the other day my best cousin Ari came over and was playing with my girl Ivy. I could not believe the way Lisa came through. Facial expressions and sounds and laughter. All her. And she loved the way Ivy was saying fish. Kind of like fEsssh. Ari kept trying to get Ivy to say "fEssssshh". And Ari laughed and laughed. And that totally made me think of Lisa. I cried that night. But I was also very thankful. The awe of genetics and spirit handed down again and again. Thank God.

Kindred people and hearts and memories. I gladly take the pain of missing my aunt for those treasures.

Them Special People

I like to think about my family.  I like when we are all meshing, getting along, having conversations that don't fall into the shallow end.  I like when we get to laughing hard or when we share a vulnerable tear.  I even like the hard stuff.  The terrible turmoil that we all have to work through to come out on the other end.  I like watching favorite shows together ahem, breaking bad. what a family show!  I like eating staple meals and talking until 12am on a school night and laughing. Yea, laughing is important.

I get to share this family with Eric.  A thirteen year age difference makes no difference.  Connection right away.  A similar vibe.  But, I think that he is much more patient than I am, more forgiving, and a glass half full kinda guy.  I mean this when I say, I am not sure I have met anyone more glass half full than he.

He is a thrifty dude - he shuts the curtains when the sun shines in to save energy. He unplugs the toaster and will drink day old coffee from our chemex if it is still warm in the thermos.  He eats every speck of food off his plate and he won't waste dessert even if he is full.

When he commits to a plan, a routine, a belief he will follow through.  I admire this.  He isn't half way. 

He is a sensitive heart, something I love and appreciate.  He can talk about his feelings, be vulnerable, and be sorry.  He is stubborn, but he comes around. 

He is a music man, a rustic man, a hardworking man.  He has appreciated the words a friend of mine used to describe his look, "European with a twist."  Merci!  This also means that he is not up on the latest trends and really doesn't care to be.  He still wears a summer tank from his junior year in high school and enjoys the nostalgia of his grandpa's winter boots.  I really love that about him.

He is my sweet.  He smells good and he is strong.  I trust him and see a genuinely good man every single day.  I mean it! I am thankful.  I take him for granted too often. I might be making you sick right now, but it's the truth.

XO to that!

 

 

And that would be Gaibrien, my step-girl.  I have never been a fan of the word step followed by a parental term.   I know, I know.  I might be off, but for me it has always had a negative connotation.  I get that I am this pretty girl's step-ma when it comes to societal standards, but she has a mom and I am not her.

I would say that we have a unique relationship.  I am not her peer, not her parent, not her best friend.  I think that I am in some ways an ally, in some ways a friend, an alternative-parental view on life, a trusted and listening ear.  I hold myself to a standard of "role model," but alas this is another term I hate.  Sometimes words are hard to find.

Gaibrien is a hilarious lady.  She says the funniest things, and she is quick. She is pretty great at mimicking family, friends, and famous peeps. 

Gaibrien has strong opinions that cannot be thwarted or changed easily.  A stubborn nature like her pa, and I know she would tell you that.  We've discussed it.  This makes for some interesting conversations in our household.

Gaibrien is smart and retains what she learns.  She has an excellent memory and is sentimental, appreciating the past.  As a family, we seem to discuss childhood memories quite a bit.  Up til midnight, I tell you!

Gaibrien has a soft heart, and I would say more, but she might want me to stop there.  I will say that I love the times when all of us are mushy and feeling oriented and honest and lovey.  Gaibrien, Eric, and I.

She is a girl that has taught me about how I operate in my rawest state.  She has shown me, without realizing,  my biggest flaws.  She has broadened my patience and understanding for teenagers.  She has made me aware of new ways to handle differing opinions on major issues.  She has made me laugh, cry, get angry and confused.  She has caused me to think bigger and love deeper.  She has caused me to trust God in richer ways.

I am very thankful for her place in my life!  I am excited to watch her life unfold in beautiful ways.  To watch her through pain and heartbreak, happiness and even keel.

I am somewhat a sideline lady in her life, but always a there-for-her woman.

And then there is my sweet girl Ivy.  My baby love.  We have many names for her like smidge, doitch, boo-boo, smish, ivers, iven, ivel von doffenhopper, etc.  She is quite a character as I am sure all moms think their babies are.

Ivy is a year and a half.  She is smart and fun.  Saying all kinds of words.  A parrot.  She studies everything and everyone.  An aware girl.  She is also very determined.  I see that word stubborn coming up again and she is that.

She is a good girl.  She doesn't expect many stern words but when her ears catch them her lips and eyes turn down and the biggest tear drops fall.  A determined and sensitive girl I've got.  And I must say, I think that's some of me coming through.  I only pray she is a secure girl her entire life and uses that sensitive, stubborn strength to do well for herself and others.

Ivy has changed my ways.  I have learned to become even more patient, to let go of perfection a tiny bit more (but still working on it), and to take time to smell the coffee, the roses, to study the little hairs on her head.  To kiss her stinky toes.  To observe her face when she isn't looking.  To take time to read a book, sing a song, and have toddler conversation.  She has taught me to halt.  To loosen my jaw.  To embrace mess and dirt.

I hope my little girl will grow into a lovely woman.  One who cares about all the right things.  I will do my best to show her.  In doing so, she is already inspiring a much better woman in myself. My sweet Ives.

I am glad for this little group.  And I think the way a family works itself out works each family member into who they are and who they will be.  I can only hope that something good is always transpiring, seen or unseen, heard or unheard.  A spirit of good in the home to carry out into a chaotic world.  A spirit that makes sense.

Let the love flow.

We Be Daughters

I want my girl Ivy Roe to understand forgiveness. This is such a big deal.  Don't you think?  That also means recognizing when she is wrong.  Both key to living an actual, joyful, and rich life.

I hope Ivy has deep interests.  Things she takes time on.  Things she is proud of, and that are really her.  I hope she finds her passions easy and holds them always.

I want this strong-willed, stubborn lady to use these traits for good.

I hope that she is kind.  KIND.  And gentle, but strong.  And good.  A good person.

I also want her to love easily, without fear of heartbreak.  But to also expect that not all people are good, and that is okay.  That's where love and forgiveness and strength come in.

I want Ivy to know God.  I hope she does all on her own.  But I hope she appreciates my faith no matter her conclusion.

A peace-maker, a loyal friend.  A pure intentioned girl, a secure individual.  A woman empowered.

I don't care what her accomplishments in school are, what career she decides on, whether or not she is rich or poor.

I value her mind and her heart.  I value the kind of person she is.

You daughters, you women.  We begin in such a sweet state.  Why should we not remain that way?

Take care of yourself.  And blow kisses to the little girls growing up in this crazy world.  They need all the help they can get. 

Third Times A Charm

Three full nights in one tiny week.  What a big deal for this mommer.  I liked every minute of freedom.  Lots of husbandbrotherfrienddrinkyfamilymusic time.  Out and about til late.  Too late.  And humor and laughter and late night quesidillas.  Spending time with quirks and old time buds.  Lovely.

A countdown of evening events leaves the best last.

  

Night One

Eric and I enjoyed an evening of soulful, americana-esk, jazzy, outstanding music via Kelli Scarr.  I believe she was just as good as Catpower or Feist.  Her voice was perfectly textured.  Cute girl, pretty girl.  I could go on...smooth + gritty.  Deep and sultry. Perfect for dancin to, cryin to, or makin love to.

We also spent some time with my brother and his hilarious friends at The Lift.  A few drinks, more than I am use to these days, and some memorable conversations.  Followed by yummy cheese quesadillas made by my super nice guy.

Like, 1am cheese quesadillas.

Night Two how bout we call it July 4th. and bear with me, thee actual night part is comin up.

Every year on the fourth we go to a small town in Iowa called Milo. Eric's grandmother lives there and a hometown parade meanders past her house.  Firetrucks and ponies.  Boy scouts and girl scouts.  Service men and women.  Old cars and new cars.  Candy throwin kids and candy throwin adults.  A lot to see and hear.

Ivy was a bit of a spaz fourth of July morning.  But, she did love the horses and was able to pet a pony. She loved playing in great grandma's toy collection with her cousin Cameron.


                                                                         

                                                                            

Later that evening Eric, Ivy, and I went to my ma and pa's house for some grillin out.  My cousin Ari, her husband Andy, and their baby Lily also came to the celebratory shin dig.  We each brought a side and a beverage.

Andy and Ari brought a very special beverage called the Meisner Bombay Bucket.  Think a bucket full of orange juice, lemon concentrate, sugar, fresh mint, Bombay gin, ice, and 7up.  And I think in that order. We all sipped out of the same ol' bucket, a tradition Andy's family upholds at family gatherings.

 

Miesner Bombay Bucket

We had a lot of fun.  Men talks and lady talks while the babies slept.  Ivy isn't really a baby anymore, I know. But she is MY baby.

And the following photo was sent to me from my sweet momma.  Isn't she lovely?  But this pictures is teeeensy. Anyway, I wanted to share it because it so reminds me of when my Ari and I were little girls.  Facial, body, and our real imperfect yet perfectly authentic selves.  I love it.

                                                                            

Night Three

I was looking forward to spending an evening at the 80/35 Music Festival.  Mostly  because it was going to be a summer night out.  Easy, breezy.  People watching and a few beers.  But, and the but is BIG, it was way toooo hot for my liking.  So, we took a quick jaunt with Ivy through the masses of sweaty hipsters and trendy betties.  Within 10 minutes I looked like I had taken a shower.  Awful.

Upon getting the heck outta there, we decided to stop off at Ritual Cafe for a smoothie.  Refreshing and yum.  Air conditioned heaven!

After our sauna-like experience, we dropped Ivy off at my mom's for her second overnight in a week.  Record.  We decided pizza and porch sitting after sunset sounded nice.  Oh, and early to bed.  It was probably the most relaxing night of the week.  A quiet night in and quality time with that guy I love.

While I have a great time amongst people and things out of the ordinary, my favorite way to spend time is in simplicity and health.  I forget that, though.  I forget it too much.

I am not sure about you, but I get in the go-go mode too easily.  I always think the fun will fill me.  Oh, and it does, but never enough.  So, I was thankful for that heat that pushed me to stillness.  And creativity.  And peace.  I need to go there more often.