Posted in Books 2 Read

the gift of an ordinary day

Author Katrina Kenison joins us in the reshaping of the nest in her new book “the gift of an ordinary day,” 2009 by Springboard Press.  Katrina is the previous author of the well known Mitten Strings for God~Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry.

I’ve made a fast read of this mother’s memoir and marked dozens of pages along the way.  The Gift of an Ordinary Day is as much a book about letting go as it is a book of finding oneself and understanding the beauty of each day.

Most poignantly, I resonated with this passage on our shifting roles,

The work my friends do now that their children are grown is so indisputably the work of mothers, of women whose passionate maternal energies, no longer required at home, are lovingly offered up to the world instead.

As Kenison prepares to send her first born off to college, she write these words which brought my own grief to the surface,

Releasing our children into their grown-up lives is piercing in a way I could never had imagined when my sons were small…Watching my older son embrace his future, I see not only the bittersweet end of one chapter, but also the first exciting glimpse of a whole new life–his.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day brings tears, gasps, laughter, knowing and most poignantly this realization of parenting our growing children,

Love, I’m beginning to understand, is the only thing I really need to hold on to after all.

Kelly Salasin, October 2009

Posted in Wisdom of Youth

Baby Blue

I’ll never find anything here,” I mumble to myself as I pull up to the curb across from the second-hand store.   I’ve ridiculously waited till a few hours before my blessingway (a spiritual kind of baby shower) to shop for that special something.

I knew what I wanted:  a dress, in the same shade of blue that kept shining in my mind’s eye this last trimester.

It was strange to be so infatuated with this particular color– given that I was having a girl.  Medically speaking, I didn’t know this for sure, but everyone thought so. Her name would be “Lila”, after my grandmother.

Don’t say that Mom! “ my four-year old chided from the back seat.  I had forgotten he was there.  “You’ll never “manifest” what you want like that!” he offers in rebuke of my pessimism about finding a dress.

I had been listening to the Wayne Dwyer’s “Manifest Your Destiny” in the car during the last weeks of my pregnancy, and my son (the original “Lila”)  had apparently taken it all in from the backseat.

You’re right, Lloyd,” I say, attempting to match his optimism as we cross the street and enter “Twice Blessed,” the used clothing store. I feel more bouyant as I began working my way through the racks.   After twenty minutes of searching, however, it’s pretty clear that I’ll be leaving empty handed.

Time to head home,” I call to Lloyd, who was doing his own searching on my behalf.

Wait Mom!  I found something,” he says, and I turn with the tiniest bit of hope in his direction, only to see him holding a bold, tie-dyed tank top.

I don’t think that’s my style honey,” I say, too discouraged to be more careful of his feelings.

Please Mom, try it on!” he presses.   Lloyd had recently grown obsessed with tie-dyed clothing so I force myself to indulge his enthusiasm.  “Now you can wear tie-dye like me,” he says.  “I’ll even buy it with my own money.”

I force a smile as we get in line at the register, while inwardly I scold myself for making this hasty attempt at finding an outfit for such an important occasion.  I don’t know what had gotten into me.   I just kept seeing myself wearing this pale blue color that had become an obsession.   It was the same blue of my grandmother’s ring that I had taken to wearing.

Voices interrupt my thoughts as Lloyd counts out two dollars and fifty cents from his purse.  “Can we see that?” ask two women in front of us, pointing to a collection of outfits on the wall above the check out counter.  I always forgot to look there.

My eyes follow the clerk as she lifts the pole to hook the item they had spotted:  a gorgeous pale blue dress.  My heart stops as “my” dress passes in front of me and into another’s arms.

That was the dress,” I gasp to Lloyd, as the women make their way toward the fitting rooms.   I feel sick to my stomach.  The dress that I had imagined actually existed, here, at the used clothing store, and I had missed it.

Sorry Mom,” Lloyd says, squeezing my hand, and feeling less excited himself as he hands me my new tie-dyed top.

I linger a moment longer near the counter, hoping the dress won’t fit either of these women, and then I drag my feet toward the door as they get in line to purchase it.

As I placed my hand on the door, their voices once again caught my attention.    “Look, there’s a stain on this,” one says to other.

I turn in slow motion, and watch in utter relief as they hand the dress back to the clerk and head out the door past me.

In one dramatic sweep, I return to the counter and within moments, this beautiful godsend in my hands.  I quickly examine it for its miraculous stain and find a relatively small one at the back of the dress, near the hemline.

I tremble as Lloyd and I move toward the fitting room.  Although this dress was everything I could want–blue billowy cotton; simple, yet elegant, with subtle beadwork on the bodice—what were the chances it would fit me?

At five foot two and shapely, I was a hard fit when I wasn’t nine months pregnant; and this wasn’t even a maternity dress.  What was I thinking!

I could hardly breath as I lifted the dress over my head.  Lloyd smiled at my flushed face as I stepped inside and then bent down so that he could zip me up.

It fits!” he said. And it did. Perfectly!  See Mom, I told you that you could manifest what you want!” said my four-year guru about the blessing of this dress.

Two weeks later I gave birth to a baby boy with eyes the same shade of blue.

Posted in Teens

Mandatory Yoga

Kelly Salasin

Each Wednesday I drag my 14 year old to a yoga class with me.  It’s a compromise that was foisted onto him– the details of which I’ll leave to your imagination.

Unfortunately, he’s inherited  astonishingly tight muscles from both his parents which makes the experience even more unpleasant for him.

Then there’s his sense of balance, which he can blame entirely on his father.  It takes all of my breath to remain centered  while he dramatically crashes into walls beside me.

It’s so great that you come together,” others say, ignoring his scowls.

Despite this great show of resistance, I find him settling into the practice–grabbing all his props, unfolding his mat, getting comfortable with a cushion.

Last week, he did an upside down tree– on his first try– and he was proud of it almost as much as he would be for  a play on second or a rebound and a basket.

The most telling moment of his growing relationship with yoga, however, is when he whispered to me that he was thirsty.

There’s  a pitcher of water at the front of the class,” I told him.  “Go get some.”

Not now,” he answered, “I don’t want to miss relaxation.”