The Dreamcatcher

This morning, while Tristan and I were tending to the patch of dirt near the stone wall that we have designated for fairies and creepy crawly things, I found a long, viney, nearly dead, root.  We were tilling what would eventually be a very important patch of magical plants, and it was my job to remove all intruding vegetation; including long, viney roots. At first, both Tristan and I were enthralled by the ease with which it ripped through the earth, spilling soil like a miniature volcano; but by the time I had pulled all six feet of it out of the ground, Tristan had moved on to more exciting play.  My eyes, however, were still shining. You see, I am a veteran of many an outdoor craft in that backyard, and I know that a vine of that length, toughness, and pliability, is a rare find. I quickly bound it into a circle, intending to make it into a crown for Tristan, so that he might assume his rightful position as ruler of the backyard.  As it turns out, the time for crowns is not yet upon us; the viney circle dropped right to his shoulders, making it more of a collar, which neither of us liked very much.  With a sigh, I removed the collar, and Tristan and I went inside for a snack and a nap.

                         

While Tristan snoozed, I nursed the littlest men in our house, and imagined what I could do with my find. By the time the twins were ready to join their big brother in the nursery, I had figured it out. 

So here I sit, while the boys sleep, amidst piles of laundry and toys that are begging to be put away. I ignore them all, in favor of wrapping rawhide laces around my viney circle.  I'm making a dreamcatcher, such as I remember making long ago, at summer camp. I'm not going to hang it near their beds, however.  I'm not really worried about the dreams that come while my children sleep.  No matter what gruesome and unpleasant sights visit them while they sleep, warm, reassuring cuddles will always be ready to soothe them when they wake. 

Far more fearsome are the dreams that are dreamt while waking.  How will my children imagine themselves, or the world in which they live? What if they dream of power instead of kindness; distraction instead of truth; or worse, what if they never learn to dream at all, and are content to let others do it for them? What if I can't really tell the difference between good and bad dreams, and I pass this on to them? These are frightening thoughts!  Thank goodness we found that root, this morning, and that I was able to turn it into a dreamcatcher.  I will hang it where they play, and worry no more. 

 What relief! Instead, I will gurgle and coo at the babies, and maybe get to that laundry. 

                               

Walking with Friends to a Pebbly Beach.

Their mothers plead, "stay close!"

"We can't," they smile back. "Adventure calls!"

Remembering their own long ago adventures, the mothers hold their breath and say a prayer as they watch those who are most precious to them splash about in ankle deep water; now knee deep...Oops, too far! A kicking and thrashing child is whisked to safety, and given an apple to pacify him in his despair.

But it only lasts a moment. The boy grabs the apple from his mother, who is now distracted by the baby at her breast.  He runs down the beach, over glittering sea shells, and beneath an ever-changing, emotion filled sky. He scrambles up rocks, and stumbles down the other side. He discovers a sea shell with legs, who scurries over the beach, and tickles his hand so that, for a moment, he jumps back in fear.  Regaining his courage, he takes a closer look. His vocabulary is still limited, so instead of thinking, he feels the thought: this world is wondrous!

His mother, still grouped with the other mothers, watches her boy transform into something wild; ornamented in scratches, and sand, and bits of apple and seaweed. Her heart fills with his delight and her own apprehension that one wrong step might result in tears, a trip to the Emergency Room, or worse. She smiles as he runs toward her with open arms, and her mind turns to the moment, later that evening, when she will dump her precious wild thing into the bath, and scrub away the layers of dirt and sand, until her sweet baby boy is again visible; pink and peaceful, sleeping in her arms.  And even though she can lay claim to hundreds of useful words, she too, feels, rather than thinks the thought: this world is wondrous!

Hello!

This will be a typical mommy-blog (I think), full of typical mommy-blog things.  I don't think I'll be very philosophical about motherhood; rather, I intend to write brief posts about the day to day activities of me and my three sons. Although, who really knows where the wind will take me.

Why, and for whom am I writing?

1. Friends and family who, for some reason or another, don't see my sons very often.

2. For other parents who might find our antics useful or relatable, and who might offer a comment or two that could help us along our way.

3. Myself. I'm here. I do stuff. You can't see me, because with three small children, I don't get out much.  You probably imagine all sorts of things about my life. Please, allow me to help you see what is real. 

I don't intend to be very organized with this, or else I would surely give up very early on. I'm trying it out, and we will see where it goes! 

So, welcome, and I hope you enjoy this window into raising three little men.