everyday writing

with an abundance of amazing moments to record,
i find myself writing nothing down.
because while enjoying life in seconds of precision,
i cannot step back and string accurate observations together.
by the time i sit to jot down or type out these elaborate poetic phrases,
the beauty of the words have become puzzle-pieced memories,
a hodgepodge of experience and observation --
that could never, now, be accurately conveyed.

i rationalize that i spend time to live
instead of hiding away to write proof of life.
but in reality, i know, that when my children are grown,
i will long to remember and review,
wanting to remind myself
of the simplicity and innocence of these days,

i will wish that i had taken the time to create
line after line after line
of eloquence and appreciation,
if only to pay homage to the beauty of this existence.

an existence covered in sticky kisses and occasionally held by small, gentle hands.
an existence that is drenched in times of perfection.

maybe too perfect to capture in words, after all.

Comments

The Most Beautiful Mama

My mama has always been beautiful. It is a beauty that is natural and effortless and is the type of beauty that filled my heart with longing when I was a child. I can recall staring at how flawless the even color of her skin was, how adorable the few freckles were on her cheeks, how symmetrical her nose was. I remember thinking how absolutely perfect she looked in a sari, her pleats folded so pristinely, and the tuck of material into her waist seamless and smooth. I would often feel the softness of my mother’s hands. Hands that had delicate fingers that moved with precision and purpose. Hands that kneaded chapati dough and even held tight to a lawn mower. No matter what she did, her hands were always soft, always welcoming, always beautiful. But she never liked to focus on her own physical beauty. My mother’s true beauty comes from within. I understood certain aspects of this inner beauty when I was a child. The beauty that comes from her servant’s heart and her work ethic -

Fighting Perfectionism

My children are my favorite humans. They are loving, kind, creative, and funny. They have great memory for the smallest details and appreciate the littlest gestures. They respect teaching and learning in a very sincere way. They fill my days with joy and meaningful reflection. They have so much to offer the world around them. ...And they strive for perfection. I see a battle of perfection ensuing in my house. It manifests itself in the way I correct my children over that smallest detail or make "suggestions" when they show me their creative works. I feel it in my bones when I fight the need to compare them to their relatives or even to myself at their age. This inner conflict makes itself known when they get an answer marked incorrect and they are embarrassed (though they performed well above what was expected). But mainly, I see it in the way they simply crumble when they have had an error in judgment. When they see they have disappointed us in any way or they repeate

a mother's love

baby linda kay i never truly understood it before, because i could not. a mother's love is one of the most special gifts in the world. to feel the love of a mother, and to feel love as a mother... i have experienced both and am so incredibly grateful for every memory and emotion that is brought on by these gifts. my mommy came to visit last weekend. she flew in for one full day, really... and it was a visit that i will always be grateful for. she came simply to spend some time with her baby and her baby's babies. she came simply to encourage me and hug me and hold my girls and buy us lots of things... pregnant - summer 2010 she somehow managed to cook me all my favorites before she got on the plane. in between taking care of little jonah and working at the hospital, she found the time to cook enough food to feed us for three days. she packed it all up and as i unloaded her suitcase it felt like christmas morning. of course i had ideas of cooking for

butterfly. babies. love.

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