This makes me think of my daughter in daycare. She and one of the daycare personnel developed an art relationship. My daughter brought home pages with lines of color painted, parallel lines, color spectrums. I still have one on the wall at home.
Hooray for the eclipse, and everyone of all sizes and colors and genders who came together and enjoyed it!
I did NOT get a good picture. I was working. And ours was partial.
In the afternoon I got up and saw this mother, daughter pair resting in the back yard. I am on a busy street for our small town, but the fence along the street makes this a quiet place, unseen by cars and walkers and local dogs. I love that the younger one is mimicking mom’s position.
My mother called the Fourth of July “the glorious fourth”. I kept thinking of her yesterday. We hiked Mount Townsend yesterday and it was glorious. We drive up through clouds, a bit disappointed that there would not be views, but still determined. The hike starts at 3000 feet, so we drove out into the sun before that!
This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday #111.
Though it isn’t a mundane Monday, is it? I always miss my mother on Memorial Day because her birthday is May 31. The end of May makes me a little sad. She died of cancer in 2000. But…. my feet look like hers.
It’s a selfie with shells and a beach, near fish… A shellfishie….
I was already a mother when I became a mother. Long before I had my son. I just didn’t know it.
I became a mother at three. My mother had tuberculosis when I was born. Luckily she coughed blood a month before, otherwise I would not be here. I was born in a tuberculosis sanatorium, the first baby there in 25 years. My mother said that the staff was hugely excited about a baby. She was drugged to the gills while reading about the French Revolution and hallucinated Marie-Antonette’s head on a pole and the guillotine. She joked that she could never read about the French Revolution again. I was born, she kissed me, and I was swept away so that I would not get tuberculosis.
I was with my father and father’s family and then with my maternal grandparents. I came home to my parents at nine months. Adults kept handing me to other adults. I concluded that they were loving but stupid and couldn’t be trusted for a moment.
My sister was born five days before I turned three. My mother said that I met guests at the door and said, “Come see my baby.” Mine, because these adults don’t understand the needs of a baby, and I want her to feel loved and safe. No one will give my baby away!
Later my mother would tell a story about my sister worrying about Kindergarten. My mother could not reassure her. Neither could my father. I spoke up: “All you learn is colors, numbers and ABC and you already know those. I taught you.” My mother claimed that my sister was instantly reassured. I don’t remember: these are my mother’s stories and she is gone. But I have collected mother daughter pictures and small statues, just a few, all my life. And I wanted to have children. I liked surgery and obstetrics, but I chose family medicine, because I want to have children and to see them and be a mother too.
Health and joy and safety and comfort to all mothers and fathers and children everywhere.
This is not a perfect photograph…. and yet, at the same time, it is for me. My daughter was home last week for spring break. She had a haircut and sent her hair to Locks of Love. The background is cluttered with the cupboard open and counter, but her concentration and quiet is a contrast to that. And anyhow, I am biased, right? We love even terrible photos of those we love.
When Beth is dying in Little Women, she says that it is like the tide going out….. sometimes I miss my sister so much. I am trying to make sense of the third stage, the stage after mother. With my daughter in college, I am living alone for the first time in 28 years. And I don’t have my sister or my mother or my grandmother to accompany me.
I took the title from one of my sister’s essays: An early promotion to crone. Here: http://e2grundoon.blogspot.com/2007/08/early-promotion-to-crone.html
I want to discuss my sister’s essay with her …. I can’t, except in dreams.
mother, maiden and crone
small child in my heart
baby cuddled warm
safe and loved
small girl dancing
sing run shout
woman seen and heard
woman silenced dressed undressed
woman learning searching writing
woman held and loved
woman gravid bearing carrying
woman feeding raising nurturing
crone quiet watching
white haired dismissed old
unseen unknown ignored
laughing playing dancing
sing run shout