::home::

So many giggles on the drive home as we sang with Johnny Cash and talked about what might come next.

Tomorrow, she heads back to "middle earth" and the true re-entry begins.

Self-care prescription for the week: Rest, nourishing food, walks along Puget Sound with my family, and remembering to connect with my kindreds when I feel lonely or a bit lost.

And what about you? How are you practicing self-care this week?

this week

this week has been full of birthdays (ellie's and mine; jon's was last week) and a visit from my mom and more organizing (to continue to create a house that looks like i feel on the inside) and planning (in august the garage is becoming my studio!) and a few adventures and a first trip to the dentist and a few other things.

i am working on the first post for the Inner Excavate-along that starts Monday (i hope you will join us!) and i might have spent part of this evening decorating my journal cover with a lot of gorgeous washi tape (because...well...why not?). and now, i'm finally editing some of the photos taken this week.

i took a lot of photos during ellie's birthday last sunday. we spread out opening presents throughout the day (and a few spread out throughout the week) to avoid too much overwhelm. it was a good plan for her. right before we had cake, she opened her tea set.

on a whim, i decided to get this one that i had been eyeing for a long time. and she loves it and has played with it everyday since. it has also helped her to sit at the table more, which is awesome for all of us (especially since the table is actually staying "cleanish" right now so meals are being eaten by all of us there).

this photo of her getting ready to reach for the sugar bowl as she's just realized it has a lid simply delights me.

you might also notice that she really loves bows. and she wants to wear a lot of them at once. when she gets up in the morning, the first thing she usually wants is her sparkle shoes followed by her bow(s). though now she is loving to switch between the sparkles and her new lizard converse, which look especially fantastic with her party dress, which must go on her body right away whenever she spots it even if that means over pajamas. 

gosh i adore this kid and the way she moves through and sees the world.

and i guess i just feel really moved to say this in case these are words you need to hear today (i needed to remind myself of them a few minutes ago): it's okay to ask for what you need this weekend. maybe you need to sleep in. or rest. or have a long talk with a friend. or eat a cupcake. or get your hair cut. or take a photo walk. you can even ask you to give you what you need.

blessings and light,

liz

the view from here

writing notes to myself filled with the words i most need to here and hiding them in my journal so i will find them again just when i need them.

working hard on several project launches and giving myself permission to just experience it all as it unfolds.

celebrating the joy that is true collaboration.

dancing with ellie to donna summer on repeat.

sitting on the backporch and watching the rain rain rain come down down down.

anticipating next month's your story retreat and the goodness that awaits.

cleaning up after millie and ellie. a lot.

catching up on the last few weeks of project life (and still loving it).

delighting in the "helping" ellie has been doing lately as she takes one piece of laundry at a time from the laundry room to our bed or her chair in her bedroom.

feeling deep gratitude for our kind babysitter.

noticing the little ways jon is helping in the evenings.

trusting a little more with each breath.

for three minutes

For three minutes today, I stood at the kitchen table wearing my favorite apron, drinking a fizzy cherry coke, and gathering supplies for a new project that I can't wait to begin.

For three minutes, the windows were open and the sun was coming through them and ideas were buzzing about.

For three minutes, I was touching at the edge of getting into a flow while she napped.

Then, suddenly it became clear that she hadn't really fallen asleep and had no plans to.

So everything shifted.

Outside we went for sunshine and ball bouncing and snacking and that fizzy coke spilling all over my favorite apron and a quick change and more snacks and lots of seeing how fast she could run into one of mama's big hugs on repeat.

And really it was all just as it was supposed to be.

An invitation: Give yourself the gift of letting it be just as it's supposed to be today.

here

here: a father and daughter giggle and chatter and dance to music he grew up on while i gather up the pieces of all that will be and choose to trust what i know.

yesterday: waiting between gates 12 and 14, she dances and giggles and bops her head while i sing more than 30 rounds of "old mcdonald" and think about how three generations really can travel across the country together very well as long as there is plenty of apple juice and singing.

the day before: alone in my eagle's nest home away from home, adele sings while i move across the floor with my arms raised and my voice loud and my feet turning in circles until the music until the movement until i rewrite the story i have been playing for much too long and find myself regrounded and renewed.

::this is me::

here (photo inspired by this week's now you workshops prompt)

This is me. Me weaving words and chocolate mint ice cream and striped socks and long oh-my-god-i-am-finally-alone showers into a life. This is me. Me gathering plastic zoo animals and fruit loops and suddenly the gentlest words I could ever hope to hear and tucking them into the pockets hidden under my skin. This is me. Me pushing myself to sift through what was and hold what might be in softly cupped hands. This is me. Me choosing trust in this second and the next and the one after that. This is me. Me hearing their laughter and looking down to find another stitch sewn into my heart. This is me. Me finding my way to rest and relearning and listening.

This is me choosing to open myself to all of it again and again.

*****

Sometimes sitting in the quiet and giving myself the space to just let the words tumble out of me reminds me that I am not alone. If you are looking to create space to pause and listen to the words you most need to hear (to listen to your own words), consider coming along for the next session of Create Space that begins May 6. In this class, we explore creating sacred space in our homes, in our days, and within us using the tools of writing and poetry, photography, and be present practices that invite you to be right here in this moment to notice what you need. Learn more and register here. 

here

glimpses of a toddler dinner

Last night, I dreamed an owl stood guard atop the wardrobe in the room I am sleeping in in this house across the country from my home. I keep thinking about her standing there (surrounded by a few small hopping swallows that had snuck in with her), and I see her orange beak and regal, certain presence.

Tonight, as I sit with these new rhythms and textures that surround me, I will close my eyes and ask her to come again in the hopes that she will guide me as I find my way.

(Ellie and I are tucked inside my mom's gorgeous new home that she and her partner Steve built in Northern Wisconsin. We are staying for a bit so Ellie can sink into some good time with her grandparents and I can work and maybe even rest. Looking forward to sharing more from here.)

here

now: neighborhood children giggle and yell and run under the peeking through grey sunshine as i sit cross-legged in the middle of my bed wrapping wire around beads and stringing them together to soon be sent across the sea to become a talisman of words another wants to hold close to her heart.

yesterday: a cafe full of chattering, eating, meeting people, i weave between the tables trying to find a place to call my own where i can sip this mug of chai and write and remind myself that i do know what step to take next even though the uncertainty sometimes slips around me like a cloak i don't remember buying in a dusty flea market another lifetime ago.

the day before: when she refuses to get in the car, we walk along the sidewalk passing storefronts and cars with "you have to hold my hand" said aloud on repeat, and then we turn and do it again because she has no need to understand the stacked up inside my head to do list that includes "picking up the taxes" on the line right after the doctor's appointment we just completed.