the rain reminds me of blood (1/100)

the rain reminds me of the blood;

the blood leaking from my body falling into the pad an echo of the rain falling from the sky to the waiting ground below.

this spring rain brings life though, a nourishment to renew and create growth.

the blood is death.

nothingness.

an end.

a waste of a chance, the non fulfillment of a moment.

another future gone.

like the clouds my uterus grew. taking on more and more until it could not hold anymore.

with cramps that hit like lightening and spread like thunder, the first heavy drops fall.

at the first break it pours in a release, from the clouds in a roaring joy, from my body in a screaming pain.

then comes the steady shower, the true unburdening of the load.

the destruction of the moment has passed and a healing has begun.

the cloud knows that it must fully shed itself into the world to one day form again, my uterus knows that it must fully shed the wasted future to have a chance at another.

two dynamically different yet similar events, but as I stand in this rain, feel it trickle down my body, all I can think of is the blood trickling out of me, and marvel at how nature mirrors itself.

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don’t give up on the lavender

lavender sprouts

It was Valentine’s day and the first day off that my husband had gotten in about 2 months and our first time alone together in that time. He now worked nights, seven days a week. I won’t lie and say that I was adjusting well to his new job or that the changes were easy for our family. The children missed him at bedtime, they missed him tucking them in and giving them goodnight loves. Our second son was still distraught that his father had to give up being his den leader. Though I think the youngest two and I had the biggest adjusting to do, we had to change what we did in the mornings and afternoons and how we played in the house to accommodate this sleeping presence in our day.

And me, I felt alone.
I no longer had any time alone with my husband, when he was home and awake there was always at least one child awake with us as well. Quiet nights of sitting and watching tv, talking, being silly or romantic together – they were no more. I was left alone to deal with four children, a baby and a dog for all but two to three hours in the afternoon. I felt hollow, like a shell missing its soul.

But there we were, finally together, just the two of us having a date day thanks to my parents keeping all of our little ones. In the middle of that precious time together I started getting down again, realizing how happy I was getting to spend time with the man that I loved and how brief that time would be. We were at the bookstore, waiting in line to check out when it hit me. I was staring at the knick knacks and novelty items that keep you company and tempt you while you wait to pay when I saw it. There sitting on the counter was a shelf display of happy yellow boxes of tiny pots of seeds to plant. And there, right in front of me, was the last box of lavender.

I love lavender. I love the smell. I love the color. I love the look of the plant.
So, I grabbed one.

I didn’t immediately set the plant up. It found a home on top of the microwave, occasionally getting knocked to the floor or buried under bills. I wanted to plant it, but I knew, with that dark despair that always seemed to cloud me, that I would just kill the lavender. And I just couldn’t bear the thought of that. I couldn’t stand the idea that I wouldn’t be able to grow and keep alive that ridiculously over priced little flower kit.

Then my second son had a project for school – he had to grow a cabbage plant and see how big he could grow it by the end of the year. We are plant challenged at our house, with much love – too much – and overeagerness we always end up killing them. So, I did what any good parent would do, I googled tips to keep plants alive. The biggest tip that I found was to place the plant in a container that would allow water absorption and then to place that in a cup with water in it.

And it worked. We grew cabbage.
Then somehow we kept ending up with more plants, and we kept those alive too.

Our family started adjusting more to my husband’s new work schedule. We started to grow used to the weird hours and finding ways to spend quality and intimate time together during different times. We learned to cherish phone calls during breaks and the busy season has ended so now we even get some weekends together. We were learning to find happiness, joy and peace again.

In April I dug the poor lavender box out from where it was relegated to the back of the top of the microwave and I decided it was time. I was planting the lavender. I emptied the box and saw the tiniest most adorable planter. I read all of the directions, and I followed them, too. I wanted this lavender to grow. I felt so full of hope and delight that soon, I would have my own baby lavender.

Then nothing happened, and nothing kept happening.
Each morning when I checked the other plants in the kitchen window, I checked my little lavender planter, and each morning it was still bare. I didn’t give up though. I would refill the dish it was in when I noticed it was dry. I made sure that it got sunlight. Some days, I will admit, I did feel a little defeat, because maybe I just wasn’t meant to grow this lavender. It was stupid and pointless to keep this little pot of dirt sitting there. But I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it away or to stop watering it.

I haven’t really looked at the plant in days. I just stick my finger in the dish to check the water and go about my things that I am doing in the kitchen. Today, as I was looking out the window at my husband getting ready to mow the yard I noticed something. There, hiding under some little bits of brown clingy to their tops, were a few bright green little sprouts. After a month of babying them, a month of doubting them and myself, and several months of agonizing over them, NOW I finally had baby lavender sprouts.

enough

when I don’t get all of the clothes folded. when dishes pile up in the sink. when the bathroom mirror is spoltchy. when the bathtub is still stained pink.

I am enough.

when the floor has gone unswept. when the counters are sticky. when the hallway needs a good cleaning. when the table stays a yucky mess.

I am enough.

when my children beat each other up. when they scream “I HATE YOU, TOO!” when they fall on the ground in angry tears. when in a rage they break all of their toys.

I am enough.

when their reading grades are low. when they’ve lost their gym shorts… again. when they still don’t know their times tables. when they refuse to do their school work.

I am enough.

when my pre-baby clothes are still too small. when I haven’t showered in days. when my legs are more than just prickly. when I feel nowhere near ok

I am enough.

when my roll of fat hangs over my pants. when my hair is faded and in knots. when I get sad looking at my body. when acne covers my face in ugly spots.

I am enough.

 

when all that you feel is fat and ugly. when you feel like the world’s most useless wife. when you are sure that you are a failure as a mother. when you feel like you just suck at life.

You are enough.

More than enough.

ALWAYS ENOUGH.

this, my body

this, my body, is beautiful.
it holds the wonders of creation and the magical mysteries of life.
it has lived, breathed, nourished and held more than just myself.
it is the creator of worlds untold and dreams uncountable.
it has features unique to just me –
things only me, God and my love will ever know of.
it is the canvas of my soul; colorful, imperfect and ever changing.

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this, my body, is powerful.
it overcomes pain – joint pain and deep in the bone pain.
it is familiar with the pain of broken bones, split skin and stubbed toes.
it endured through the pain of childbirth and the fire that is thrush.
it welcomes the monthly battle that it goes through to destroy an organ.
it has known the endless pain of failing at it’s job of carrying a baby
– the pain of losing a baby and feeling it leak out of you.

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this, my body, is precious.
it is a one of a kind special edition, a collector’s item,
something never to be seen again whole.
it is half of the blueprint that makes up my children. this nose, these eyes.
to hate any part of it would be to look at my children and to say to them
that i hate these things on and in them as well.
it is the only body that i have been given – i must cherish it.

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this, my body, is mine.
i own it.
i claim it.
i hold it dear to me.
this, my body.

not a mistake

there were tears that she cried because she was sure that all of her dreams and plans were being taken from her. and everyone told her that they were disappointed in her mistake.

there was frustration she felt because all of the sudden nobody saw her as who she was. everyone just saw her as the maker of one giant mistake.

there were screams that she heard because she had let everyone down so they needed to now beat her down as well. they screamed how she was a failure and that her baby was a mistake.

there were looks of pity she was given because she used to be so smart and so good. but now she was just another slut who was being punished for making a mistake.

time went by.

in her arms she now held this beautiful, glorious, tiny baby.
not a mistake.

this love that she now felt was beyond anything that she could have ever imagined.
and it was for her baby, not a mistake.

true, this was not the path that she had planned to venture down, or the dreams that she had held dear. but now that she was through the dark of the trail, the nightmare of the start, a new world was before her.
not a mistake.

God, nature or fate – one of them planned this. something this awesome and complete could never have been a mistake. he had been lovingly made perfect inside of her – down to every lash and wrinkle in his lip.
no, he could never be a mistake.

she no longer looks at him and sees the things that she gave up or the woman she could have been. she looks at him, deep at him, and sees love and a future and brand new dreams. she looks at him and sees who she is now compared to who she was then. and it is then that she knows,
this, him, had always been the plan, and was never a mistake.

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dear lord (8/365)

dear lord.
i am tired and beat so very down.
i am done with everything, everyone,
but these problems just keep coming around.
the winds they keep on blowing
and i have bent and bent myself to their will.
i know you’re there and looking out for me,
but i’m sitting here feeling alone.
you told me there would be trials,
that i would just need to trust you to get through,
that you have great plans for me,
but today just none of that seems true.
i just want a break, lord,
from those trials and those winds,
from those things that keep on coming,
from those problems that never end.
i want a little sunshine, lord.
just a little. i’m begging you, please.
i’m ready for those great plans
that you have promised for me.
lord, i need you.
i am broken and i am down here on my knees.
i’ll just stay here waiting for you
i know you will not let me down.

today i feel so little (6/365)

today i feel so little, so small and insignificant.
like if i were to blow away no one would even care.

i feel like no one likes me, no one wants me about.
like if they tried hard enough they wouldn’t see me here.

i feel so tired – so very, very tired.
tired all the way down to my littlest toe’s littlest hair.

i feel alone and small and tired and invisible.
i feel like today is just too long.
i feel like all of me is done with the rest.
i feel like my heart is crying big sobbing tears.

i feel like today my emotions are a little overwhelming.
like they aren’t quite sure what they are about.

i feel like i’m not me, not a whole me.
like someone else is sitting in my skin in my chair.