Thanksgiving

Thank you, Lord, for

The gift of yourself, in full,
The measure pressed down and running over
Grace upon grace

Unseen, unfelt, so seemingly distant and aloof sometimes
Surely my own projection of my own sense of abandonment and betrayal
Surely you know abandonment and betrayal better than I do
And suffered it for my sake

In your great mercy you wrestle with me
As you did with Jacob
In all my anger and contentious strife
You grapple with me and bear me up
And bless me with limping

And how you have also blessed me
With peaches and pecans and chocolate chips
And blueberries and pumpkin
In pancakes and pie
A turkey to roast
Sweet potatoes and more

With husband and child
Parents and in-laws
Cousins and uncles and aunts
And nieces and nephew

With friends far and near
Close and arms-length
On and off
Here and there
Reconciled or never estranged

With those who love me
Despite all they know of me
Who forgive and welcome me
Nearly as you do

With the sounds and movements
And efforts of music
In instruments and voices
In dance and in still art
In books and even tv

With the clouds soaring on high
In their infinite chaotic order
And the following moon
And the trees stretching forth

How you have blessed me
Lord, my God,
My heart bows by grace
Before you.

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Pumpkinina

Not bad for only a steak knife!

Random five good things

1. So many food things — like the little pastry treats from piecrust trimmings, pumpkin pie on my March birthday, or spaghetti sauce canned for college.

2. Help and sympathy, like on the occasion of two breakups in high school or heading out in the wee hours the night we brought Amy home.

3. Passing on domestic arts like dusting, knitting, sewing, and how to properly make a bed.

4. All the chauffeuring of the pre-license years: friends’ houses, activities like soccer and softball, and so on.

5. Giving a wide range of choice for college — and all the back and forth, packing, unpacking, plus visits and care packages.

Remember

That not all mothers fit the Hallmark ideal.

Some mothers have, for years upon years, abused their children in horrific ways. Some have neglected them. Some have chosen to maintain their relationship (and standard of living) with a husband who molests their children, even after walking in on an episode. Some refuse to believe when their grown child tells them about the molestation years later. (I know someone in all but one of these categories.)

Some of them hate being mothers — they do their best by their kids, and yet it doesn’t change. They feel lost and floundering, and abandoned by the culture that holds motherhood in such falsely high esteem that only those who look pristine are allowed. (This one is inspired by a post a friend wrote that is still receiving comments what, two or three years later?)

Some mothers are merely human, not divine. They get tired and grumpy. They don’t adore every little thing their child does at all times. They lose patience.

Some of them love their children without carrying “motherhood is my only dream” banners. They have their own friends, their own interests, their own careers, their own relationships, in addition to their relationship with their child(ren).

Not everyone who wants to be a mother can be. Some are infertile, some are constrained by other circumstances.

Some mothers have lost children.

Some have had to give them up.

Some children have lost mothers.

Every mother sometimes needs to say “I forgive you,” and “I’m sorry.”

So does every child.

If your mother has ever done anything good, appreciate that one thing, or those many things, whatever the proportion, today. If you are a mother and have ever done anything good, take some courage in that one thing, or those many things, whatever the proportion, today.

And in the midst of your gratitude, and your expressed appreciation, remember that other mothers and other children may have different experiences than yours, and this may not be the happiest day for them. It’s also okay to remember that your own mother, or you yourself as a mother, have at times also done what is not good, and at times failed to do something good.

Acknowledging the bad does not negate your gratitude and appreciation for the good.

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New Year

I don’t really like to make resolutions — but I could note some things I want and / or need to do now that it’s not 2008 anymore.

1. Review my business stuff. I need to count my inventory and make sure it matches my records — since I haven’t been working much, I’ve been forgetful about recording when I sell a CD or something, especially mail-orders. And I don’t remember when I last counted how many CDs I have left. I’ll need to sum up last year’s spreadsheets and prepare them for taxes, and set up new spreadsheets for this year. I hate this part of running a business.

2. Finish the sweater. The one I started before I knew I was pregnant with Amy. I’m almost there — almost done increasing the sleeves. Oh, but then I need to choose and do a pretty crochet edging of some kind for the neck, hem, and sleeves.

3. I have a few sewing projects lined up — three I mentioned in the previous post, plus some others, like making Amy a dress out of the leftover material from my brown princess seamed dress, and another out of my old black floral one.

4. I’m thinking maybe it would be good to commit to doing the T-tapp workout with Beth once a week, and take Amy to the pool once a week, and the big playgroup once a week, and arrange one smaller playdate (one or two other moms and their kids) once a week.

5. Maybe start or join a knitting group. I hear there’s one at the Culver library, but it’s daytime, which would mean taking Amy with me, which I’m not sure I want to do.

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6. Make something with the sourdough starter once a week.

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7. Engage with reality more than with images — i.e. with Amy herself and not just with my sentimentality or Parental Thinking.

That’s all that’s on my mind at the moment. I may well come back and add to it, or even remove something.