Five Minute Friday: Distance

Mike is in Portland this morning. Yesterday, he was in Salt Lake City. Monday it was Houston. Distance. For the last 23 years of married life, there has been distance. Come to think of it, our engagement involved distance, too. We know distance. We know how to time phone calls for 8:00 my time/5:00 his time when he's working on the west coast. At home, we know how to shift the rhythms and expectations of a Sunday morning because someone has just arrived on the red-eye. We know exactly how long it takes to get to the airport.

We know homecomings. And we like them.

It won't be long now, just a few short weeks, and this life of frequent flier miles will come to a close. New job. Not nearly so much distance. Am I thrilled to pieces? Well, sure. I am. Truth be told, I'm a little nervous, too. Will he like being around all the time? Will we adjust to being in each other's spaces on the weekends. Actually, he will be in my space, won't he, because up until now, his weekend space was a production truck? I want him, look forward to him being there, but worry just a little that this space, this place called "home," might have looked better to him from a distance.

I'm re-thinking the weekend style, re-tooling around the house, almost as if I'm expecting an important guest. But he's not a guest. He's the person and the personality that has always felt "missing"--very much there in spirit as we go about our weekend busyness, but still off in the distance of the regular routine. Big gaping, 6'4" Daddy-sized hole that is filled with aching loneliness.

I wonder how many times I've driven to the airport since we moved to this neighborhood. I wonder how many times I've watched him zip that old green suitcase closed and swallowed hard so that I could say goodbye and he wouldn't hear the lump in my throat. I wonder how many weddings, funerals, and social gatherings of families I have attended without him, feeling awkward and out of place in the company of couples. I wonder how many times I've told a child," Daddy's working. He took an airplane to XXX." How many times I've rocked and distracted and tried to tell myself that he or she would be just fine, when really we were just limping along. I wonder how wonderful it is to live together all the time without distance.

I think I'm going to like discovering the answer.

Got five minutes? Tell us about Distance. No editing, no fussing, just five minutes of writing. And then link up over at Gypsy Mama's place.

This is Priceless

Truly, truly priceless: read it.

{photo credit: Ann Voskamp}

Teach someone you love to knit this weekend (or learn together).

You will both be glad you did.

Bluebells in the Rain

I couldn't wait any longer. We headed out to Bull Run today to see the bluebells. And--surprise, surprise--we had the whole place to ourselves. It was a rainy, muddy mess.

There were just a few moments when it wasn't even drizzling.

I tried to fit some knitting into those. Didn't go so well. Too cold.

The creeks are wider and deeper and moving faster than I've ever seen them. This picture doesn't do it justice.

We discovered a skeleton. We're researching now. Would you like to help us identify this creature? Leave a comment. We're glad to have someone with whom to play "Bones."

So much for the fairytale bluebell pictures, huh?

More tomorrow when the sun shines.

Yarn Along: How Many Sweaters before Easter?

This week, I finished Chloe sweater #3, a striped shrug for Karoline. I knit it with Spud and Chloe sweater weight yarn, which is the yarn for which the pattern was written. The yarn is really wonderful. The stitches are so pretty and the colors are amazing. Mike is bemused as I sit here at night, alternating between knitting and researching yarn. He wishes he could be as excited about yarn as I am. I just about have him convinced to go to this fiber fair (okay, so I think the name of it caught his interest). We have to see about working it in around soccer. He reminds me that years ago he tried to convince me to move to New Zealand and I told him there were too many sheep there. I'd be wheezing all the time. So, maybe a fiber fair isn't a great idea. Sounds fun, though (except for the breathing part).

Back to the sweater:  I thought the yarn was causing me major allergy issues long about Thursday. But as the rest of my family has fallen victim to the same ailments, I am re-thinking my allergy diagnosis. We'll see. I have more S & C stashed away and I may bring myself to give it one more try before deciding the wool content was making me feel sick. In the meantime, I've ordered some Bue Sky Alpacas 100% cotton for the next Chloe (#6), to see how it compares. The only cotton I've ever knit is dishcloth cotton; hopefully, this is not that.

My mom bought these Hanna dresses for the girls last month. I love the way the Spud & Chloe stripes look with Hanna's colors. And Karoline was pleased.

I have cast on two more of the same shrug (#4 and #5) this week. (Obsession anyone?) One, I only did through the set up and puffed sleeve rows. It's winging it's way to Canada where a mama will make a sweater for her own curly girl with eyes of blue. That little girl's sweater will match Karoline's blue cashmere shrug which is on its way here from Elizabeth's. My girls are really loving this game of spinning and knitting and sharing (and shrugging). The other is a wee baby one in pink. More on that next week. Still no buttons on any of my sweaters. I'm waiting to see how Elizabeth did it and then I promise to summon up the courage to do mine. Karoline's really needs buttons.

For the most part, the reading is the same. I did do a little tiny hop off the Lenten  reading path to take a look at my friend Suzie Andres' new book, A Little Way of Homeschooling. On Sunday, I treated myself to just the chapters written by Suzie. Suzie is a personal friend who is as warm and genuine and real as people get. I was eager to "hear" her voice as she reflects on two topics which have long been her passions: The Little Way of St. Therese and unschooling. Suzie's gentleness resonates throughout her chapters and inspires some beautiful things in my mama heart. (Sorry, no book picture as I have already handed it off.)

I expect that both blogging and knitting will be light the next few days: it's bluebell time. Be sure to stop by and visit Ginny and see what other folks are knitting and reading. It's a enough to make a girl twirl with joy.

 {Comments are open: it's fun to talk knitting:-)}

Small Steps Together: Mother Courage

I think back to those times: a little girl undergoing one surgery after another to construct an ear that was never there; a young mother facing chemotherapy and uncertainty; a mother of many warned by doctors that she could die delivering the baby she carried. In each instance, people commended my courage. But those weren't instances of courage to me. They were just doing what had to be done.

Courage was what I'd beg of God when I just couldn't keep breathing on my own, when my breath caught and I needed God just to exhale. Courage was my prayer when I let my teenagers go out into that great big world. What I wanted was to keep them home, hold them close, protect them forever. As my big boys began to march forth into life, they walked around with pieces of my heart inside of them. Suddenly, I was vulnerable. I saw that they were going to be hurt and I was going to watch them suffer. There was no way around it. They would make mistakes and get hurt. They would learn about what's out there in a fallen world, and get hurt. They would meet many, many people and some of them would hurt them. Nothing was ever so simple as it was when they were babies in my arms. Then, I could gather them up and soothe their hurts, chase away their fears, make every little thing “all better” just by my presence.  But as they grew, I found myself praying for courage. I began to understand that, for mothers, the heroic effort is in letting them go.

It's not so much that I wanted them to be little again. To want that would have been to wish away the beautiful people they had grown to be, to wish away years of loving and living together. No, instead, I wanted to be the mother I was when they were babies. I wanted the power to gather them on my lap and soothe them as I rocked. I wanted to shelter and protect and to be their whole world. I wanted to be able to ensure that their days were happy and healthy and holy. I wanted to cradle them in the protection of my arms. I wanted to love them with all my heart. And I wanted that to be enough. Instead, I must remember that for all their lives, my calling is to have the courage to love them, knowing that they will leave, and trusting that God will care for them more tenderly than I ever could.

Mothering older children takes courage, because just as sure as the sun will rise, so will there be trouble in the lives of our children. I am left to storm heaven on their behalf and to thank the Lord for the gift they are.I shore myself up for the years of mothering that lie ahead by reminding myself of the words of Blessed Mary MacKillop: Whatever troubles may be before you, accept them bravely, remembering Whom you are trying to follow. Do not be afraid. Love one another, bear with one another, and let charity guide you all your life. God will reward you as only He can. 

~republished from Small Steps Companion Journal

Small Steps focuses on courage this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.