Taking Hold

Over the course of the last few weeks, my fingers have been doing more digging than typing. With a year-round tropical growing season, it’s never a bad time to put plants in the ground. And after six months of settling into our new abode, we finally felt ready for the garden.

With a multitude of projects on the Bohemian’s mind (banana patch, pineapple patch, water catchment, a worm farm, etc.), he’s turned the garden over to me. He’s always been the one in the family with the green thumb, so the endeavor has been a little daunting.

The only way that got me through the process of digging the beds was to chant a mantra to myself: “This is an imperfect garden. It will be full of mistakes.”

Thus far, however, the garden’s been holding at that rather ‘perfect’ stage. The phase when all of the plants are new and fresh, full of potential, and requiring only a daily watering. Their fluffy beds are still free from weeds, and the local pests have yet to discover the greenery.

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Every day I’ve been watching the progress of the plants, and was thrilled to discover the first cucumber tendril taking hold of the fence. I felt like the mother of a toddler taking its first step. The evolutionary milestone being so fundamentally basic, yet seeming like magic.

Ha ha! Wow! It works! Just like that…

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So far, so good. The little imperfect garden is growing along just perfectly.

Back from the Living

For the Archives is not dead. I’ve just been living.

For those following the postings here (though many may have moved along to blogs that have actually provided fresh content in the last month), the Archives has been my place to chronicle life’s everyday moments. But recently, due to a variety of circumstances, I found myself living more than chronicling. Experiencing, not recording.

And this summer was full of Life. The Bohemian, Jeb, and I, explored new terrain with a family adventure that took us on planes, trains, automobiles, ferries, buses, metros, and a vintage VW van. We tested the Bohemian’s US permanent residency card at the Canadian border (it worked, round trip!).

The day before our travels, my laptop’s hard drive crashed, leaving me with virtually no link to the internet. I took it as a sign, left the computer at the shop, and departed with a camera, composition book and a pen. For the next 19 days, I did not miss cyberspace.

Instead, I slowed down to an island-time pace even more quiet than the one in which I usually dwell. It was ten days on a Canadian gulf island, 1200 inhabitants, two small village markets, plenty of forest, no bank.

Upon returning, we learned that two hurricanes were heading toward our own island chain. Suddenly, I was thrust into disaster preparation mode, shopping at a big box store with a multitude of nervous patrons vying for 20 pound bags of rice. Ready for anything, with boards on our windows, we were grateful when the first hurricane only brought our island some wind and rain. Even more relieved, when the second hurricane decided to turn north and avoid us altogether.

With the threat of weather behind us, it was on to our family’s first foray into AYSO soccer. Somewhere between Jeb’s practice, cleat shopping and shin guards, his school supply list, and starting fifth grade, I’d retrieved my repaired computer and managed a successful transfer of data to my new hard drive. It was downright disturbing to realize how much of my world depended on that little black, back-up box.

And maybe that’s why I enjoyed being away from the digital realm for a while. Why I’ve been a bit reluctant to return. For that time away, I held a different currency. Virtually nothing was virtual. Nearly everything was tangible.

The only mailboxes I saw were metal and aging. The only maps I used were the ones I could unfold in my hands. The communications I had were face-to-face, infused with sound waves and intonations.

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And there was freedom, too, as I floated in vacation-land, where nothing was expected of me and everything was new. I free-fell into that untethered place so deeply, I even forgot the user password for this blog. Locked out, I was released.

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But I’m back. Attempting to strike the balance of living and Archiving. Seeking solace in the moments and inspiration in the sharing. Still following the Thread. Tracing new routes on the map.

The Training Wheels Are Off

He’s pulling loose baby teeth out of his head with his own hands. The tooth fairy seems a mere afterthought, though the potential cash is still appealing. He points to his pillow, looks me directly in the eye, smiles and says, “I’m going to put my tooth right here, Mom.”

It’s June and Jeb’s wrapped up fourth grade. Summer’s on. I’d say he’s changed, but that would imply something that is static and complete. No, this here thing we’re doing has just begun, I suspect, and it’s all forward motion. Jeb is changing.

He and a friend fish down at the pond on their own. They ride bikes to the general store, no adult. Jeb’s doing back flips into the swimming pool, “Hey, Mom, watch this!” And I’ll nod approval (inwardly cringing) trying to sound nonchalant as I offer the reminder to push “waaay off” from the edge (already done without my prompting, but hey, I’m a Mom, this is what I do). Or is it?

Jeb’s had a decade of life lessons and my doting eyes. Seems he’s getting the hang of this Planet Earth deal. The foundation has been laid. The basics set in place. My Momness needs to take new form.

As his sphere broadens, I’m being asked to hang back (just a little). He’s learning from the world now, finding his place within it. Exploring beyond the bounds of the familiar lap of the Mother. This is a good thing. This has been the point of these last ten years of training.

Anything can happen. A Mother’s mind knows all this. So it’s a delicate balance. I’m being asked to grow up, too.

Let go, but still watch. Step to the side, but stay just close enough. Know when it’s okay to let him crash and burn (just not too hard).

I realize that this is the first time at this for both of us. It’s all one big experiment, as we navigate through this mother-child process. Ten years ago, we were one body, birthed to two. Over the years, we have been slowly, morphing, growing and stretching into our own individual spaces. One day, we will have separated to the point of no longer even sleeping in the same house.

We’ve got some time for that one, yet. For now, I’m still digesting the fact that Jeb’s feet are bigger than mine. Savoring that he still wants to hug and kiss me. Though yesterday I noticed when he sidled up beside me, we were nearly face to face. His kiss to my cheek, no tip-toes necessary. His voice so matter-of-fact. Mature.

“I love you, Mom.”

photo courtesy of Kimberley McCready
photo courtesy of Kimberley McCready