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By doriluthy, October 14, 2010 12:51 am

I’m heading off to Portland in the morning with the little boy. We’re taking the train south to see the family on this journey which I have taken OH so many times in the past 8 years, (here and here are just a couple). This journey south will be Finn’s 3rd since he was born. Doesn’t it just seem right? I mean, to bring him on this trip that really defines for me the journey ‘home’. To be honest, ‘home’ has always been a funny thing for me. Over my years I have lived in a few different countries, in multitudes of houses, and have purged and re-purged my belongings so many times along the way. And as an adult, (really?) of course I now have a home with Dustin, but the tree outside this home is quite short in the scheme of life and generations and traditions, etc. And with parents who travel for a living, and my insatiable desire for a sense of belonging somewhere, I realized about 10 years ago that I had to find for myself a place where the tree is long and tall with branches stretched out beyond my reach, and roots deep and old that extend far into the earth. A tree with more stories that can be told, with recipes and family bibles, and antique guns, and black and white photos of young people looking serious (but one can imagine how fun they were). And so in my searching I found the tree is growing on the side of a wind-blown hill, well tended by my dear Auntie B, and her long-reaching knowledge of ‘what is’. It’s roots also stretch up the river to Gram’s house which is filled with the relics of bygone generations that were all a part of making our family. It’s all just right.

Although these are not homes I grew up in, this is home for me. So I take the baby to breath these things in, knowing that all of this is much more important to me than it might ever be to him… but that’s just the point of being a parent, I suppose. Me: This is so important! Him: But I just want to play with this stick.

It’s a tiny bit overwhelming to travel with the baby. He has so many more pieces than I ever did when traveling this same route. It used to be an Ipod, snacks and some knitting was all I needed for an 8 hour train ride. Oh an maybe a little Jack Kerouac. But now? Books, toys, food, bottles, milk, diapers, more diapers, car seat, the sling, can I fit the pack n play?, Suitcases 1-3, and can I manage my camera case, too? Oh boy. Oh well. On the other end of the journey is the home of the tree, and it will greet us with branches swaying in the wild winds that blow up the gorge, and I will sit quietly (even just for a moment) and listen to a story or two as I revel in the fact that I am home.

See you soon, tree.

p.s. And I might bake a loaf or two while I’m home, cause that’s just what I do these days.

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By doriluthy, October 12, 2010 10:54 pm

This week’s bread is a Greek Wholewheat Loaf. I seriously wish I was the original Greek woman who dreamed this loaf into being (bread recipes come from dreams, right?). This loaf? A dark, giant mound, very moist, tight crumble, and a semi-thick soft crust. Last night we had thin slices, toasted and slathered in butter, to go with a 12 bean & bacon soup, to warm our slightly sick bodies… While slurping our dinner, we parents marveled to each other how our little baby will soon be shedding his infant cloak, and before our very eyes he is entering toddlerdom with great curiosity and enthusiasm. A pause in time to see this, I spent the past 24 hours feeling so wistful to see him grow out of his infancy. I just loved him so much as a wee one, precious darling baby to snuggle and lie in bed and nap and touch fingers and coo and dress in fun little clothes… Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as excited for all the upcoming stages. But this watching my child growing up- it feels like I can’t make my stitches fast enough, to gather together the pieces of this life that is flying by us. Wistful because I won’t be able to remember the details, memories fade, becoming blurrier and softer in the mind as time goes flying by- and I know that I will long to remember the feeling of his arms grabbing around my neck or the smell behind his ear, the sound of his soft sad cries that sometimes come in the middle of the night. Or the way he does his little naked dance by the bathtub at night, anxious to get into the water- his little chubby butt always makes me laugh.

The loaf came out of the oven on Monday evening, warm and round like a great pregnant belly. I cut a thick piece tonight (toasted with cream cheese, cinnamon, and honey- oh heaven) to eat in bed with my tea and writing. Inspired by my wistful state and the circumference of the bread, I’ve been straining my memories back to my pregnant belly- only a year ago, can I believe it? Sensations and recollection of a rolling kicking child inside are faint, but are there ‘just enough’ to bring a smile. What an old woman I feel like today, on the other side of the gate of birthing and knowing the person that was the mysterious rolling kicking child- and how young I seemed in those days leading up to his birth, anticipating the baby, and ignorant to the bliss and sorrow that would come wandering into the house on that glorious morning of his birth.

Today I am the old woman with a wet face, as today was a day of many tears that can age the soul by 175 years. Some of the tears are too big to talk about, just flowing with the realization that life has gone by and both good and bad has crossed my path, leaving me to reconcile the best I can. And some of the tears are too sad to talk about- I mean, words absolutely fail when hearing of an unexpected Death, and the shock can bring such physical sorrow, sweeping over the body in waves of anguish… Needing to cling to something full of life, I sat and held tight to Finn with tears rolling down my cheeks- he was curious and laughed as he patted my wet face. Oh man… And of course, some of today’s tears are too funny to talk about. Sometimes that’s the way life is, all in one day.

But now for a little sleep for this old woman. There is more bread to be had tomorrow.

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By doriluthy, October 2, 2010 10:11 pm

Was I smug? Did I somehow appear together and confident? Was I happily dissecting my vision of my life, in one of those grandiose la-la gestures that is only asking for a smack down?

Well I got it. In direct response to yesterday’s post, (which I shall call the “La-di-da I’m exhausted but want to appear like I’ve got my crap together” post) life offered a big old test today to see if my TRILOGY can withstand the extreme forces wrought by the  head cold/teething/expressive/hungry/tired/bloody exhausted pair of mama and child.  I’m not sure I’d call it a direct fail, but it sure was one of the most challenging days with child so far. Seriously. I mean, there were lulls in the storminess when he was asleep, or happily on my back in the carrier quietly watching the action (can he be on my back all day long? hmmmm…). And he’s a pretty cheerful guy most of the time. But today? I am bone dog tired, and there is something that happens to the brain in that state- it loses it’s clarity. It loses it’s patience, it loses it’s joyful zest.

No yelling, nothing scary or agressive, just very slow and very lost in the exhaustion of this single parenting going on right now… I’ll be so very happy to have my husband back again when this work thing is over.

In the mean time, mama’s taken the smack down, and is going to retire to bed to gather her strength. Oh, and search for a little of that grace, abundance and health.

A bit of rascal in that face, do you see it?

ciao.

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By doriluthy, October 2, 2010 12:13 am

For the past couple weeks I’ve been baking bread. Like, real bread. With yeast and kneading and waiting and rising and kneading and waiting and rising. Oh, and baking. It’s a slowly unfolding day-long task that results in the essence of earthly goodness (in my book!). It’s been such a joy, a simple activity that represents the kind of patience and process that is the perfect metaphor for life. Or at least the life I am striving to build for our family, from the inside out. Can you smell it?

Slather on the butter and honey, or raspberry jam, or great swaths of Nutella (an after hours special)…

Well Internet, I’m proud to announce that I’ve officially accepted my job post, the one I’ve been sitting as for months but haven’t fully acknowledged. Yes folks, as of this week, I am officially a Stay At Home Mom. (And I’ve got the bread to prove it.) The “officialness” happened in a conversation with Dustin in which we both embraced the idea of me focusing my talents and passions towards the family and home. Jeez, I feel so odd announcing this (what will my feminist sisters think??). Well the part that rocks my world is that this role and it’s implications on my life come from a place of choice. See me? I decided to do this. It’s odd, but I seem to be craving it. It feels like the arrival of a new stage in my life that Finn brought with him as he came out. It’s challenging, it’s busy, it’s stressful, it’s complicated, it’s extremely (!) rewarding, it’s long hours, it’s planning and coordination, it’s goodness and beauty.

FYI: I am maintaining my studio as much as possible- I’m proud to announce that I spent 3 hours there today, although with not much to show for it other than a happily entertained child (and neatly arranged paper waiting for some ink). And I’m arranging child care swapping with a fellow mum starting soon, for once a week, 3-4 hours of studio time. It may not be ceramics right away, but there will be something creative happening in the time I’m there! (sigh of joy) Cause alongside everything else in my life, there is the need to be creative, and have my own voice through my artwork.

But the gig with SAHM? I am really happy to have an official title. Domestician, Guardian of the Oven, Overseer of Precious Goods, and/or plain old Mom. It’s funny that accepting the title brought some sense of relief, as my heart has been in this child so deeply, the thought of giving up part of that to go back to work (work?!) was really not appealing at all. I am loving this job, and I want to keep it up for as long as our household can manage.

A side note about how I hope to build my home- a few years back I decided to identify 3 words that would express the beliefs and vision that I want to create my life around. 3 words that would encapsulate my efforts, dreams, sense of self, life, and choices. These words could be a guiding light as I journeyed in my life. I wrote down many many words that resonated with me, then worked at consolidating those lists into words that could summarize and capture bigger concepts. I did that honing process many times… until I came up with 3 words, MY 3 words. This is my Trilogy:

Grace. Abundance. Health.

These words are the filter to test and measure the things that come and go in my life… of course the real trick is to remember this tool when I am in the middle of a challenge- maybe I need to get it tattooed on my arm? HA! Oh wait, remind me to show you my new tattoo.

And isn’t there a baby in this story somewhere? Ah, silly…

Ciao.