My wish would be to protect your kind hearts forever.
So you could forever feel this free.
To be able to offer you a visual of a trapped moment in time that would prove your self-worth would be my gift and my honour. So you’d know what you’ve done for me, and how special you really are.
I’d choose moments like from just today when, while I made my morning coffee, the wee one spontaneously patted my back while telling me she loved me, unprompted, head nuzzled into my shoulder, at only two years old.
The playback would be my pay back for how beautiful you show me this motherhood gig is.
We would watch these moments on a continuous loop through the teenaged and adulthood years, and both of your belly giggles would pursue- the laugh where each of you doubles over, spit dribbling on your knees.
I would play it on a loop to get us through the hard parts, and to further highlight the good, if only I had physical proof. But instead, I’ll just have to tell each of you the stories.
Because these authentic moments- the true beauty of moments of bliss- is that they tend to happen when cameras aren’t around. True bliss isn’t boastful, and won’t happen under the guise of Facebook or Instagram’s presence. These moments are locked in a memory alone.
And each of my girls contribute equally to this cherished place.
Only three nights ago when I went to bed on my birthday, the wild one had formed a necklace into the shape of a heart and placed a cherished shell in the centre upon my pillow where I lay.
It was so simple, and yet complex for her being only 5 years old. Knowing, at the moment I saw it, there would be no instant gratification or praise for her and her thoughtful gesture, as she lay next to it, fast asleep.
It’s in times like these, the “lub you’s” and the fine art instalments, that I can remember and rejoice in the fact they are still unaffected by the weight of this world. I can remember in these moments I have the strength to raise strong daughters despite and in spite of all of it.
They remind me to dance when my body wants to but my head says no. They ask me to sing, still, even though I insist I don’t know the words.
Now I remember to touch the horses, rather than only remarking in how beautiful they look. Now I know to sit my rear in the swing, rather than only talking about how fun it used to be.
We collect shells and rocks because I am told they are special. And it is true, they really are, upon examination of the shop set up to “sell” them for free to passers by.
We stop along the highway to pick lupins at 7:10am because they too are beautiful, car drivers staring at us kneeling in the ditches wearing last night’s pyjamas. And when we pick flowers at the roadside like these, it’s not the tall luscious ones the girls will choose, but rather those whose petals have begun to decay and wilt, or the small ones I hadn’t even noticed. They each choose the ones I didn’t see, and then exclaim they are just for me.
I am learning my lessons.
So yes, girls, wear your plastic high heels in the chicken coop, with your matching magic wands and bangles. Wear them with your juicy bare butts exposed, exclaiming with pride that you caught the hen again. Indeed, you did, my baby girls, and you didn’t need the wand to make that moment magical.
And yes, for school, I did commend you for wearing not the one, but three skirts at once for this random Tuesday morning, your smile lighting up your entire face at my approval.
Remember there is no day too rainy for a run in the sprinkler.
You are original, and that is a gift.
Correct me and others for ever doubting your creativity. Demand you are never deprived of your moments for bliss.
Remind me I deserve them too, but be patient with me and others if we sometimes forget bliss cannot be scheduled.
Prompt me about running in the tall grass. It reminds me beauty can be so simple if only we let go. Forget lupins, even, because it’s true that every weed is worthy of a vase. Every rock, every shell, too, is surely a piece of art.
Your perspective is your magic.
Do not be unravelled. Do not apologize for being unfiltered.
Embrace yourselves and embrace each other for all that you are. Share all of your big feelings, however imperfect others say they may be. Live your imperfect, authentic selves.
I don’t know at what age I began my journey with self-doubt, but it’s a bridge I will surely cross with each of you. Together, we can navigate the way off that shaky crossing the best way I know how, with each of you supplying the lesson plans for me today.
I have my doubts, stumbling through this childrearing gig, that is for sure. But know I don’t take your reminders for bliss for granted- those are the moments I live for.
Your bliss is my blessing, in all its courageous, messy glory. I will never forget.