10.

8.

My guy is 8 today. I love you Hayden. You are my breath of life.

7.

Sometimes, I get a sense-memory, an old one, the weight of you in my belly, and then in my arms, like a loaf of warm, heavy bread.

And then today, I look up and you are seven.

I am frightened of your growth. I am also smothering prideful smiles that sneak to my lips throughout the day. Never before has someone so much belonged to me.

Never before have I so much belonged to someone.

yesterday.

*please ignore the overflowing laundry*

*first tight-wearing day of the season*

*dance party!*

*what a stinker*

*oh, i've missed those fall sunsets*

growing boy, growing mother.

Hayden has started first grade. For the first time in six years there is this vast expanse of time in my days, a little over 6 hours stretched out before me, blank. I'd been looking forward to this all summer, in desperate need of space and quiet, but I now find that there is almost too much space, too much quiet.

What I just expressed is obviously ridiculous in some sense. There are busy mother's out there, far busier than I, who'd kill for just one day a week that's like mine. I am a young woman with no job or career strapping me down, freshly childless for almost half the day. I can fill these hours any way I please. And maybe therein lies the source of my discontent, not really knowing what to fill these hours with.

It's not as if I lack things to do--there is so much cleaning, and after the cleaning it's time to consider what we're having for dinner, and after that there is running or yoga, and the garden to tend because the tomato plants are falling over, and phone calls to return that I've ignored for days, mounds of laundry and letters to send out and errands to run. I have chores, to be sure. But I wonder if perhaps my days lack any real purpose.

I remember reading something somewhere, about the Buddhists and how they believe that if you are doing what you are doing with beauty and intention, with all of your heart, then are you are living with purpose, whether it's shelving library books or cashiering at the gas station or being President of the United States. Maybe that's true. I know I'd really like to think it is. Maybe scrubbing the goop off a plate is a sort of Zen exercise.

I've prayed about my place in life for a long time now. I haven't received any bits of great wisdom, at least, none that I'm aware of. Maybe God is helping me by not helping me. Maybe I am exactly where I belong, right now, today.

I guess you just do your best with what you have, where you are. Wash the pan. Study. Drink your coffee. Do the laundry. Run in the woods. Hold your son. Lather, rinse, repeat. And if an opportunity does present itself, waving its arms at me, trying to get me to notice it, I have to be aware, I can't forget that opportunity wears many, many costumes.

in recent days.

Hayden has been "helping" a lot around the house, most especially when copious amounts of dish soap bubbles are involved. He started his first day of first grade today, and came out the doors a mixture of proud and relieved.

There are tomatoes coming out of the garden every single day. Right now I'm a bit obsessed with toasted homemade bread, spread with butter and topped with ripe tomatoes, sea salt, and pepper.

I've been playing around with watercolors and acrylics again, but I can't seem to get into any project enough to finish it. The motivation is definitely lacking. Right now, my pace is more "let's embroider lazy daisies on our clothes while we watch Sideways for the 50,000 time".

Also in the news (and not photographed):

- I've been, with a great amount of caution, dancing again. Slowly, hesitantly, but I am trying. I can't seem to ever truly live without it. It is what makes up such a big part of me.

- There are at least a dozen mosquito bites on my legs. Those fuckers suck. *harharhar*

- I have been up to my elbows in housework lately, mostly by choice. I feel this urge to push all unnecessary things out the door. Possibly to make room for more found paper and fabric. Maybe.

- Dark chocolate with raspberries, people. Square after square. In my belly.

today we made cookies.

Because cookies are what you need when you want to, but can't, repeat your beach vacation.

Dear Hayden,

Thank you for changing my life forever.

Love,
Momma

big hoop, little hoop.

After making Anakin Skywalker die for the trillionth time, we embroidered together.

those backward P's.

Is there anything better than a small boy ever-so-carefully scribbling away at his father's birthday card?

No, I really don't think there is.

One of the things I so looked forward to with having a child was thinking ahead to a time where we would create birthday cards and stories and pictures together. A child's writing is pure magic, in my opinion. All the little squiggly letters, backwards and inside-out.

I mean, c'mon. Look at that. Adorable. Even if you don't have children, even if you never want them, a handwritten "happy birthday" from a child is, I think, on the life list of best things ever, along with dark chocolate, amazing coffee, and handmade art.

The birthday was a success by the way. Just a small dinner at my mother's house, finished off with homemade whoopie pies in lieu of cake. I had two. I really didn't need that last one. At all. They sort of...stick with you, if you catch my drift.

The boy's birthday is in about two and a half weeks. He would like a Star Wars themed festival, replete with a Darth Vader cake and "music with dancing". I am tempted to break out the hula-hoop's. I only want one thing, and that is to not pull my neck out again or break my foot or crash my car, so that I can actually plan a fun gathering. Everyone please pray to your respective deities that this will work out.

starry night.

mine

hayden's

hayden and the butterfly.

I love this. I love that when it's just my son and I spending time together, I get to see a beautifully sensitive side of him. No rough-housing, no screaming, no crazy, just him and his amazing curiosity for all things small.

He was very upset over the butterfly's injured wing. Poor guy.

first day.

Usually, my son suffers from a bit of separation anxiety, especially if Daddy is present. So we naturally expected the worst on his first day of school.

Just goes to show (once again) how kids continually surprise. This little guy was jazzed. He did little jigs while he ate his cereal. He got dressed willingly. He strapped that backpack on with pride.

We're on day 3 now and he loves it. Loves school. Loves his teacher. He has something new to excitedly show us everyday.

I am a tired and proud mommy.

today.

Today there will be coffee. A lot of coffee. We are gearing up for kindergarten on Wednesday. The new Star Wars backpack sits atop Hayden's dresser, waiting to be filled with endless paperwork. We will pick his outfit later, together.

It's been a strange summer, full of violent weather, but I'm still sad to see it go.

his last day.

The sprout finished preschool today. His classmated made him a card and a bunch of drawings which were stapled into a book. I cried.

He starts kindergarten in the fall. I'm not ready.

he's FIVE.

I'm afraid I'll be too busy to post on Hayden's actual birthday, so I'm writing this now.

Five.  I think I've asked before--how did this happen?

hayden; feb 2011

And yet, my son is awesome at five, if I do say so. He's energetic and excitable and intelligent and seriously quirky. He loves trains and mommy's dark chocolate stash and going to the Salvation Army. He calls the leaves from japanese maples "tree stars".

tuckered out

For a few years, I thought a little brother or sister would be joining Hayden in his daily adventures. I know now that that might not be possible for me. But if Hayden is it, if he is my first and only child--I'll take that. It's more than enough. I am blessed to be his mother.

I also wanted to show you what I made for Hayden this year. I usually try to do that--make a gift. I find it a lot more meaningful than another plastic doo-dad from Target or Wal-Mart.

before

So I found this stool at the Salvation Army for under five dollars. All the finish was nearly worn away, which is perfect, and its construction is amazingly strong (I jumped up and down on it and it didn't wobble a bit). I'd been thinking Hayden needed a new stool for the bathroom, for help with teeth-brushing and hand-washing. I knew this was just right.

I brainstormed and looked at different colors for a while. Then I finally came up with this:

after

I sanded it lightly, painted it, applied the train image (found it in an antique railroad book), and lacquered it. I think it turned out wonderfully, better than I expected. I hope he likes it, although I'm sure he will. Another thing I love about Hayden is that he's delighted even when the gift in question isn't a toy. That and he's used to mommy making him odd things.

Off to the store I go for cupcake ingredients. <3