Last week I took the only bus in Casper, (that looks like a resort shuttle,) to the dentist. It took an hour to get there, and an hour to get back. This means that with travel time, and dental work, I had about 3 1/2 hours all to my lonesome. I brought my favorite Ina May Gaskin books, but I couldn’t read because motion sickness got the best of me. So I sat, and I looked out the window, and I let my thoughts take over. Rarely do I get the opportunity to truly be alone, and revel in my thoughts. Sitting on a bus brought back sweet memories from some of the most formative years in my life. Taking public transit made me feel young, and alive, and ready to grab onto life again. Even in Casper, Wyoming, a silly little shuttle bus, with a bus driver who will stop in route, (at what appeared to be a random house,) for coffee creamer, has potential to flood my memory, and bring me back.
I remembered the time I was on a bus, in the middle of no man’s land, Croatia with Jasmine, while a chicken sat directly behind us. A chicken! I remembered many long days of dancing in NYC, followed by slightly, and sometimes not so slightly, boozy nights(usually margaritas), poetry, and real talk. I remembered convincing Jasmine and Adrienne to hold hands with me in the middle of union square, and scream at the top of our lungs, at the completion of our year-long professional program. I remembered my roommate and dear friend Jess, getting terribly annoyed at my constant theatrics, and inability to go to the bathroom with the door shut. Living life in a few hundred square feet with my complete opposite expanded my heart and mind to levels I never knew were possible. I remembered standing in gold sparkled Toms on the day I vowed forever. I remembered that just before Christopher got an unexpected job offer in Denver, I had started my own massage practice in NW Portland. I forgot that just a year before I met Christopher I was researching where I wanted to study chinese medicine, specifically acupuncture. I dreamed of China. I still do. I remembered standing on a mountain top in Italy, while I shaved my head, and cried tears of joy, because I had just faced one of the few things that scared me. I remembered improving to Ani Difranco’s “Joyful Girl,” on stage, and under the stars that night with my newly shaved head, exposed for all to see, and scared shitless about what I might just do next. I remembered taking a 34 hour train from Oslo to Budapest because I read in a European dance magazine about an audition that sounded like my dream opportunity. I arrived to find myself awkwardly placed between perfect hungarian ballerinas, the only one without ballet slippers, and a few extra traveling pounds. I was cut within minutes. I cried, I laughed, and I drank a lot of espresso. I missed Hannah so I flew to London. I missed Chandrae so I flew to Los Angeles. Then I ran out of money, so I flew home.
I remembered that living in the moment has always been my thing. Caution to the wind, was always my motto. So after all these flash backs I started to wonder where this woman went. I have a husband who fell fast, and hard for these qualities, and I have a daughter who shares a deep enthusiasm for life, and by her toddler nature, has no choice but to live in the moment. My closest companion, and dearest friends love me for exactly who I am, the spontaneity, the messiness, and all. So I’ve been asking myself, where did I go, and why?
I read this post, from a blogger I love, and admitted something about myself that I had not ever recognized, or perhaps have been too afraid to admit…
I love being a mama, but becoming one has not been natural for me. I didn’t always dream of having children. Not because I thought I didn’t want them, but I’ve always been so lost in the present that I hardly ever day dreamed about the future until a few seasons before my heart and mind were ready to embrace a big change. So while I adore this role more than any other role I’ve known, it has not been natural, and I have carried guilt for feeling this way. This guilt has quieted my intuition, and taken away my confidence. I have agreed with hundreds of other women who appear to have it together and seem to know more than me. I hear things like, children need rhythm, children need consistency, children need…fill in the blank. It’s all rather overwhelming, and so I’ve assumed that they were probably all right. Octave may or may not need consistency or these things people claim, that is not the point. The point is that I recently realized that I’ve projected my own needs on Octave. I am the one who has needed structure, and consistency, and this has been a fairly new need for me. When something doesn’t come natural, you have to work extra hard at it. With that hard work, and maybe out of survival, I’ve replaced spontaneity and freedom, two qualities I’ve known well, with structure and consistency, while all along telling myself this was good for Octave.
Octave is intuitive, and she is smart. I believe she has sensed this all along, and she buts heads with me most when I work against myself and my better judgement. It’s as if she is trying to remind me of who I really am, and is asking for the real me to be her mama. She needs me, my inconsistency, and all. She needs my mess, and vulnerability. She needs that Mama who will sing, dance, laugh and cry, whenever the moment arises. She needs to see me admitting that I have no idea what I am doing. She needs to knows that most of the time I feel too young and immature to be telling someone else what to do. I want to guide her, and teach her, but I just can’t get behind being a super strong authoritarian, it is just not me. When I explain myself and reason with her, which contrary to popular belief TOTALLY WORKS for me, she responds really well. That may not work for others, but this is my style, it’s who I am, and Octave knows that. When I explain the who, what, when, where, and why, even to my almost two-year old, I see major progress. When I parent with my heart and guts, she believes me, I believe me, and we are both much better off.
I’ve doubted myself because I have not ever seen my ideals played out, because I don’t have an example for the type of mother I want to be. That probably sounds like I have a stressed relationship with my own mother, but that is quite the opposite. I have an incredible mother, who I have always been very close with. She has always given me room to be exactly who I am, without judgement. My mom was my biggest supporter for moving to NY at 18 and or following my wanderlust, learning about different religions, or whatever else I was curious about, and questioning social norms. She’s always supported me, even when I came home with a shaved head! Nothing was ever too much for her, or at least she did a good job at biting her tongue. With that said, I have many examples of great women, and mothers in my life, but I have danced to a different drum most of my life, and I always thought I would parent the same way. I have bits and pieces I can adopt from my own mother, but ultimately, I am still very different from her, and will do things very differently. Not out of spite, but simply because I am not her. And while paving a new path alone has always given me a high, I will admit that with another little human, it is kind of scary.
Deep down, I just want to just be me, a messy, inconsistent, confused, spontaneous, present, laid back mother who loves her daughter fiercely. It’s taken almost two years to realize that this is what Octave needs and wants too. In the last few weeks we’ve turned over a new leaf. Last week we wore helmets, and danced on wet pavement outside of Target, simply because she asked me to dance with her. She always asks “mama dance,” at the least opportune time, but for a feeler ready to smash her face back into life again, her timing is impeccable. Later, we laid down together right in the middle of the snowy sidewalk because there were squirrels to watch, and were we really in a hurry to just get home and sit? These are little things, and yet they are everything. No agenda is more important that what life brings when out eyes are open and our hearts are ready. These past few weeks, I’ve been available for what each moment may bring, and this is me to the core. I am finding my very own rhythm, and I am trying not to be afraid of my inconsistencies. I am trying not to parent in fear. Sigh(deep.)
This little lady of mine…I have so much to learn from her.
Maple Sugar Cookies
Makes 2 dozen (depends on size)
2 1/3 cup spelt flour*+ more for rolling out
1/2 tsp. sea salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 egg, at room temperature
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
Favorite cookie cutters
Maple Cream Cheese Frosting
8 ounces full fat cream cheese, at room temperature
4 tbsp. maple syrup
1 tsp. vanilla extract
* All purpose works fine too. I prefer using spelt in place of white flour and prefer its taste and texture over whole wheat, which tends to be super heavy.
Directions: In a medium size bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. In a stand mixer or large bowl, if using a hand mixer, cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add maple syrup, egg, and vanilla. Beat until smooth. Slowly add dry ingredients, and mix until just combined. Divide dough in half and place in a large piece of plastic wrap. The dough will be slightly sticky still but it will work well once it is refrigerated. Wrap in plastic, making sure dough is completely covered, using your hands press down to create a small square. Let rest in fridge for 2 hours, but overnight is best.
Preheat oven to 350. On a floured surface, roll out dough to be 1/8 inch thick. Cut dough into desired shapes, and place on a baking sheet with parchment paper. Bake for 10-12 minutes. This will vary depending on the size of your cookie cutters, so watch carefully. Let cookies cool before frosting.
For the frosting, beat together cream cheese, maple syrup, and vanilla. Store in the fridge until ready to use. Garnish with your favorite sprinkles.