Lala with Mama, Fall 2008
I feel a bit like I did when I was 20, an arm and leg in each of the Four Corner states. One limb planted in Utah, another in Arizona. This arm in Colorado, that in New Mexico.
I stand with a part of me in this quadrant of life, another in that.
I feel two feet planted in the world of growing-bigger girls, another arm holding tight to my baby. And there’s that other hand reaching for the rest of life, and it’s so big, and I find myself growing overwhelmed with gratitude and awakening and fear.
The metaphor isn’t perfect, of course, because perhaps for you too, every thing is related to every other thing. So that act across the world or the nation or the city pulls at my insides and all it means in this place — with these people and their big eyes and sponge hearts soaking up.
I read this week that the voice of mother becomes the inner voice, and I believed it and felt stricken in a way that instantly peeled another layer. I think of this holy responsibility and that I am not doing this alone — glory be — and I remember the words of a friend who told me that God chose us to mother our children as much for our weaknesses as for our strengths.
So when I lose my temper and yell proclamations about how I will not clean this mess by myself again, I know imperfect is part of the package, but still I worry: what voice will they remember? For I am part patience and part mess, part faithful giver and part taker, and I affect each one of my girl treasures differently, as we dance together in ways known only to us in our cheek-to-cheek.
Every Wednesday morning, Michael leaves home early to meet with several dear friends. Most weekdays he’s the one to awaken the girls while I finish writing and savoring last minutes of quiet. But on Wednesdays, I wake them, turn the light on dim at first, kiss them on cheeks and say, “Good morning, girls. I love you…Time to get up.”
I return to each a few times, repeating some variation of the same words, as I sneak a whiff of their morning necks.
Yesterday, I laid piled clothes for the day across their bodies and added, “Girly pies, time to get dressed.”
When I returned to the room after a quick shower, Sici’s eyes laser focused on mine. “You didn’t wake us up.”
“Yes I did,” I said, repeating my words.
“You made me feel more cozy,” she said, more like an accusation.
I say the same words as their papa, even make the same steps across the carpet (though it might be the shocking pull back of warm covers from their bodies that I’m missing). But still, my voice melds with the voice of their dreams and their own insides, and in some real way, it is the sound and feel of peace.
Yesterday I joked with Lala that I’d forgotten how to hold her. “Show me,” I said.
She threw her arms around my neck, laughing.
“Now what do I do with my arms?” I asked.
“Like this?” I motioned, putting my hands around her ankles.
“Oh, that’s right, like this,” I said, holding onto her ears like the sides of a jug.
She and I giggled, and I tucked my arms around her little bottom and scooped her up. We walked the stairs to her room, and I thought about how these days are numbered. These last months of just us and the mid-day quiet times before she joins her sisters in school, and my heart felt wrung and filled up right here in front of her big sister’s bed.
“I’ll never forget how to hold you,” I said, Lala’s baby skin cheek pressed against mine.
“I’ve always held you,” I said. “First on the inside, when you grew inside Mama, and then as a baby, and now.”
“Even when you’re a grown up and I can’t hold you, you can always sit on my lap, and I’ll squeeze you tight.”
Lala turned her face to look at my mouth forming the words. “Because no matter how old you are, you’re always Mama’s girl,” I said.
Mama’s girls.
Always, parts of my very insides walking around outside my body. Three strong, tender beautiful beings moving through the world while my heart arms forever fall open to hold them.
___________
Linking today with the glorious Emily Wierenga at Imperfect Prose, prompted by the word “mother.”
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
My own mama heart, cracking, bursting, spilling its teary, laughing memoried contents all over these mama words of yours. Crushingly poignant and ever so beautiful! Thank heavens for the words you write that are like a forever-held memory of what it has been (and will be) to mother your beautiful girls!
Thank you, Mama. That is one great blessing among many in this writing journey — knowing my girls will have these words of their Mama’s heart. I love you so, Ma.
I so agree and I am flooded with exactly the same! Awww….thank you Ashley for making words for all of us once again :D
“I read this week that the voice of mother becomes the inner voice, and I believed it and felt stricken in a way that instantly peeled another layer.”
Pondering and processing this in all its complexity.
“and I remember the words of a friend who told me that God chose us to mother our children as much for our weaknesses as for our strengths.”
This resonates and makes me breathe a little better.
For me, too, Kim — that mama’s voice as inner voice on one hand and the fact that God chose us for our very kids, intimately knowing our weaknesses, mingle together. They don’t quite sit right next to each other. And yet the same truth seems to be present in both. We are given daily this mighty important work that we can only do through him and what we do matters, and when we fail, hallelujah for grace.
Dearest Ashley
Your post gives me a lump in the throat today. Yes, she will soon be joining her sisters at school, dear friend, but a new era of motherhood comes part and pardcel with this new step. I am also entering a new era of motherhood as my youngest is starting university this year and my heart is roaming all around this earth wherever they are. I have found that each new stage of motherhood has its own joys and sorrows!! Today’s word at Emily was a difficult one for me for although my mom loves me as much as she can, we were never close.
Much love to you, dear friend
Mia
Oh, Mia. I am sorry for all the pain associated with this word for you. You are so right when you talk about eras of motherhood, each stage having its own joys and sorrows. I am praying for you that as you enter into this new stage you would know how deeply you are loved, even as you love, your heart roaming the earth wherever your babies are.
Wow, what a gorgeous post! This is just beautiful. I could quote so many passages!!!! Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
Luanne
Thank you so much, Luanne. I truly appreciate your presence here.
So so lovely. My eyes are full of tears and my heart is full of love. This was just perfect.
Thank you so much, Brenna. Bless you in your eyes and heart, both full.
I especially loved this post because I am the mama to three girls too, now all grown up. Now it’s my grandbabies that are growing up way too fast, right before my eyes.
Thank you, Elizabeth. I expect that will be me someday — it’s hard to believe. My mama, too, with her two daughters, now with six grandkids of her own. Much to look forward to, much to live.
You’re a beautiful writer. And mama.
Thank you so much, Brandee. Love backatcha.
Hey sweet one, how beautifully you write and tell and draw these marvelous word pictures of mothering daughters. And you weave a story in a way that picks up the thread of me and pulls me into your tapestry, your very life. There is such wonderful discovery in every phase of mothering. Thank you for sharing rich rich details of your very story with us….I am savoring and holding on to the breaths of your pen.
I love how you say that about picking up the thread of you and pulling it into my life tapestry. That is one amazing thing about this journey of us women. We are living these different lives, yet are all connected. And as I read your words and those of others on the journey, I am continually reminded of the discoveries to come. I love how you’ve put that (“discovery”) because that indeed sounds like a good gift and not something to fear.
Right after I had my first baby girl, I remember saying the words, “It’s like my heart is now on the outside of my body.” Being a mom is just like that.
Your words, your thoughts, your deep, beautiful heart…how it speaks to me & comforts me, Ashley–how deeply I feel you in me.
Through tears and overflowing gratitude, I thank you so much for sharing. You are simply precious.
Sweet Julia, thank you for sharing these beautiful thoughts. “It’s like my heart is now on the outside of the body” — yes, friend, it is just like that. How I remember that awareness settling into my being, too. I am always so grateful for your presence here and in my life, precious friend.
Oh woman have some mercy! I’m all weepy and going to have to carry my 4.5 down the stairs now on the way to bed. This was glorious and achy in all the right places.
“Oh woman have some mercy!” You are so darling, Melissa. I laughed over that line several times when I first read your comment. So you have a 4 1/2 year old, too — one of those beautiful-baby-meets-little-people. There is something about this very stage that is so glorious and achy at once. Thank you for getting me.
Ash: I may have shared with you that I told my Mom once that I never remembered her raising her voice at us when we were children – and she laughed and laughed and told me that I had a wonderful selective memory. I’m counting on that same selective memory with my own kiddos on days when I am not my very best… LOVE your writing! Thank you.
Barb, that is such a fantastic story! It makes me smile big, relieved and grateful. Thank you for your words and encouragement, friend.
Friend, what you write about being a mama, it’s a mystery to me as I read, because I really can’t relate. I just savor it in wonder and deep thought, for it’s like a tale or a poem from another country, another language, that I may visit one day, but for now, I live vicariously through your vivid images. I know I’ve said this before, but you – in this imperfect package – are one exceedingly beautiful mama.
Oh, Amber. Thank you, friend. Your words mean so much here. What a lovely way to express to me how you respond to these mothering words. And I have a hunch that in the very way you move through this world that you yourself mother in powerful ways. You are such a gift.
Ugh. That voice, and how often I pray my children remember the soft one, not the harsh and exasperated one. This is beauty, Ashley, and I love the way you tell it.
Me too, Tresta. And if they remember both, may they remember first the love. Thank you, dear mama.