The garden feels about to burst. And as I hold my 1-year-old daughter and walk on the raised stones to our home sweet home I hope I always remember the sweet feeling of—
Ben coming home, the days getting longer, surprise coffee waiting in the fridge, floral postage stamps, and all of us in the garden taking our time. Before we parade inside, our little girl admires the rose bushes. I love how she just stares at them with wonder. Just wait till they bloom, Heidi, wait till they bloom! Shasta follows his dad around like a shadow as they pick a few weeds. It’s 45 minutes past our regular dinnertime and who cares. (I mean I do care a little. Moms have to. . .but just a a little bit).
My days—like many of ours—are filled with the boring things which consequently end up being the most wonderful. Not that sweeping the floor (and practically getting nowhere🤭) or doing the dishes over and over again feels wonderful, but all of these are attached to a wonderful season. The season where the days are slow and fast, the kids are growing in the most fun way and Ben and I in the best. The mornings are far too early but accompanied by the sweetest voice asking questions and thrilled “the sun came out.” The pinnacle of a great day is noodles for dinner and a bath afterwards. Well, I can get behind that.(👏😅)
When the kids get older (and I do too), there will be other things to love, other things in the season I can’t help but soak in…
But for now, it’s a frenzy of garden, pancake pie, early mornings, lullabies, snack strategies, and cleaning the kitchen floor. Motherhood feels like an exhausting, but long and happy superlative.
It’ a state of everything always.
It’s a state of joy.
And so we carry, carry on—diaper bags and all.
Cut me open and you’ll find—
dinner plans, grocery lists, nap routines, lullabies, and dishes in the sink,
diaper changes, laundry loads, dishes put away,a kitchen floor that needs a broom, dishes in the sink again,
a broken record saying “breathe!” and endless, endless everything.But if you could just leave me be! I’m not a haggard woman in need of sympathy, and I decline the invite to the worldwide pity partying.
Cut me open, but at your risk. You’ll find my life and a happy woman! If you’re offended I can’t help it. Herein my joy, my job, lifeblood.
I am their mother.
Glad to the marrow!
-S.V.F. (Lifeblood)
Sierra V. Fedorko 