Marget Sanger the founder of Planned Parenthood once said “As often as I have witnessed the miracle, held the perfect creature with its tiny hands and feet, each time I have felt as though I were entering a cathedral with prayer in my heart.”

It was during early morning nursings, when she was very little, I would find my self in a holy place. My little apt would be come a cathedral, it would be so quiet, sometimes, I could hear trains in the very distance, the moon would be our only light, beaming though the window. We were “alone”, but there was something else, someone else in that room with us. Sometimes I would imagine it was my father, whom The Buddha asked “to watch over us” not long before he died. Maybe it was my grandmother or great grandmother or even great great grandmother. But more often I would feel what, I could describe only as the Divine Feminine, The Goddess. The Mother. Some call her Mary or the Blessed One.

In our home we call her “The Lady”.

The Lady would sit next to me, reminding me that this terrible, excruciating, exhaustion would soon be gone. That I would feel better soon. That I was doing, G*s work. She would Comfort me, Telling me that no, S would not just arbitrary die, that the boys would be ok. Now I think she would remind me that the chances of my children being kidnapped from just outside their classrooms is almost nil, that The Head and I have broken the chain of alcoholism and addiction. If I contenue to work a strong program of recovery is a huge step towards sobriety for our children and their children.

Unitarian Oliver Wendell Holmes once said “The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men – from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.”

I am practicing my religion when I am changing diapers and or breastfeeding or holding a hurt child whose sibling had used hands instead of words. Or checking again while they are sleeping to see if they are still breathing listening to the same joke for the elvendly billionth time and still laughing or Cleaning up 3 am barfs ( why is it ALWAYS at 3 am?) wiping noses and tushes; whether I am climbing Mount Washmore. Or just letting them go ahead and color the walls what the hell right? The wall is just another medium! We like the arts in Waldorf schools!

I am worshiping when I do not yell when I want to. I am in worship when I do the dishes or cook dinner. Though I must admit that I hold true the wisdom of Phyllis Diller who said “Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.”

It was during that early time in Princess Nekkey’s life, that I started to collect Mary statues, I like the Madonna and child ones, I have some of mother’s breastfeeding, and a few of pregnant woman. I now have several alters in my home that I have made dedicated to mothering and motherhood. They remind me of my 2 am visits with The Lady.

This is my life, my home is my sanctuary, my act of mothering is worship, and prayer and offering and yes there is sacrifice of time and personal space. But the truth is and I believe every mother would agree. This is a short, very short time in my life was just a season. And as seasons do it will pass, more would come and my children would grow and learn and hurt and heal.

I believe my life as a mother is a divine calling that my work as a mother and wife was an offering to my children, to G*d and the world…that this works, dare I say “woman’s work” would matter for generations… I am honored to be a wife and mother. But I must say…I must admit look forward to the day when I can pee in peace, eat a meal in a restaurant with out chancing a toddler around or even maybe. Sleep a whole night. Oh yeah….it is very hard to write anything with a 3 year old. Ask me how I know.

Blue Berry is a wife, a mother, a sister, a woman of liberal religious faith, a Waldorf mom who lets her kids watch TV, eat fast food and when she has time, a blogger, even though she can not spell. She want to be a Minister when she grows up. In her free time she……has no free time.

The characters in her life are as follows.
The Head-Her husband
The Neck-Her Self
The Buddha – Man Cub #1
The Rock Star- Man Cub #2
Princess Nekkey- Girl Cub.

A very wise woman once said: Let me tell you something, The man is the head, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.

Read Erika’s blog:
http://blueberrypancakesfordinner.wordpress.com/

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It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream,
For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life’s betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
Mine or your own,
Without moving
To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone,
And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
In the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
From the inside
When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
With yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep
In the empty moments.

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In motherhood there is no such thing as a simple decision. Every purchase has the potential to attach you to a movement, a decision can result in a  stamped membership card or a fast rejection letter.

I embraced the lines in the sand that were drawn in the name of activism, even played amongst them, but recently…it’s become tiresome.

Men don’t busy themselves with the child rearing practice of their friends. They don’t assume that their best bro forever is making a decision out of ignorance- “If only he had more information…or a brochure…”. Why do we try to mother each other?

There isn’t a mother who ventures outdoors with her child who hasn’t been burned by the spicy words and singeing glances of another breeder who would rather she didn’t parent “like that’. She has statistics, books, experience- good reason to know that what you’re doing is wrong wrong wrong. I know because I’ve done it.

Sat at the park in the late afternoon with all of the other parents doing the bedtime countdown, using the swings and slides to tap the last drops of energy from our baby’s bodies. I’ve watched you. Diagnosed you, really. And your future psychopath. Where are his shoes? Put a coat on her.

Why do I care what your child is doing? Out of love? Surely not. I’m not even sure I like mini-you. Then it must be out of fear. Fear that I’m not doing it right and that my best intentions will land me in a reality show intervention where my two teenage, pregnant, crack head daughters with tracks up their arms where stickers used to be, will scratch their dirty hair and empty heads while the television host signals to the producer to cut to a commercial because I’m about to faint.

Lions and tigers and bears.

Hmm no. My girls are manifestations of the Divine who will grow up to be world-changers and I know it. So what’s the problem?

May our uteri never stopped expanding even after we gave birth and the urge to s/mother everything within reach became overwhelming. Unlike our actual children who are our responsibility, the choices of our friends are theirs to make.

Can a LaLeche-er stand next to a bottle-feeder who has no interest in nursing her newborn without cringing and asking her if she needs help?

Can we trust that if a woman wants advice, she’ll use her lips, tongue and voice to ask for it?

“But what about the BABY! Baby needs…baby wants…baby deserves…”- from a purely biological standpoint all of the excuses to impose talking points or judgment may seem valid until we consider that what makes or breaks a mother at the end of the day is whether or not she feels supported. We’re not just chemicals and blood. Our souls drink connection and spirits crave to intertwine.

What will save the world? Will it be information or intimacy? Both. It is time to lead by example rather than fearful speeches and communicate without an agenda. It’s the difference between Mahatma’s “being the change” and hammering it in forcefully.

We can evolve as a sex. We can dissolve tension, melt haughtiness and form the refined shimmery matter that remains into a sisterhood. It can be done and it starts with me.

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And then I heard my littlest one….awaking next to me.  He cooed, he stretched, and he opened his eyes with a smile.  Pure joy radiated from his sweet little face.

Suddenly it all became clear.  “It’s a NEW DAY”, my spirit said to me.  “Just receive this day as the new beginning that it is.  Do not think of what’s to come, or what was yesterday….just open your heart and mind to NOW.”

We’ve all heard of “All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten”….Well, all I need to know, I’m  learning from my sweet baby boy.  This is what he teaches me:

When you open your eyes in the morning,

Watch the sunlight patterns dancing on the ceiling.

When you’re hungry, stop at nothing and

Eat until you are satisfied and full.

When your heart is grieving,

Cry it all out and hold nothing back.

When you want something,

Reach with all your might…and if it is not in your grasp,

Find something else that intrigues you.

Laugh – just because it’s a fun thing to do!

Look at friends, neighbors, and strangers with an open spirit –

As if you’re seeing each person for the first time.

Laugh, laugh, and laugh again.

Then curl up into the arms of mother earth/god/the universe,

And rest ~ knowing that your needs are met.

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Although I can recall a number of times I’ve cried in front of my sewing machine alone in the wee hours of the night – usually due to both machine and user tension issues. But all in all I’m a pretty tough lady. And why would I ever have the need to cry? I’ve got my act together and life has always been exactly the way I planned it.

And then one Tuesday Fall evening it happened for the first time in almost eleven years. My husband saw me cry. I cried. I cried with every ounce of my being. I cried a never-ending stream of tears. I cried to the point of hyperventilation. I cried to the point where no words could be spoken. So what could bring this emotionally hard-as-nails woman to her knees in an instant? With a toddler at my waist, a one year old on my left hip and a positive pregnancy test in my right hand there was nothing I could do but cry. Since I wasn’t capable of speaking I handed the test packet to my husband. He pulled out the “Do Not Eat” preservative sachet in the packet with the test stick and with all seriousness he said he wasn’t sure how to read this but he assumed the test was positive. My husband’s reaction was quite different than mine. He was over the moon with excitement about having another baby 19 months after my one-year-old daughter was born who is only 21 months younger than my son.

I cried that evening and I cried the next several days. But eventually I stopped crying and did something I had never done before. I relinquished myself to the fact that there is a higher force out there far beyond my understanding and definitely far beyond my control that has a plan for me and has a plan for this child. Needless to say this pregnancy was not expected or planned for. To the contrary it was planned against. Now I’m not an expert, but isn’t birth control supposed to control birth?

I’m a control person, yes I admit it. I like to control everything and I meticulous plan for every detail in my life. Before retiring into motherhood I worked as an IT software analyst where there were problems but every problem had a solution and I satisfyingly found them. There is an order to software systems and I loved it. Even my children were meticulously planned. I got pregnant exactly when I planned to with both of my beautiful children. I even planned to have a son and then a daughter. Not sure exactly how I controlled for that, but I did. So how dare mother nature and this force beyond my control make plans for me without my consent?! Oh but she/he/it did.

Since the day I stopped crying I decided to let a little bit of my control go and put it into the good hands of this universe and to my surprise an incredible weight was lifted from me. Not literal weight of course because mother nature is packing that one me now, but rather the weight I was taking on by filling every second of my being with thoughts like: how will I fit three car-seats in my beloved HHR, will I be able to handle the inevitable chaos that must come with having 3 babies, can we ever travel again, how will we afford this, will I ever get back into my career, what are people going to think of me, my god what will the neighbors say. Unlike my last career as a software analyst I have no answers. And for the first time in my life I’m ok with that. I somehow silenced myself of all those anxieties that erupted from a lack of pre-planning. And silence never felt so comfortable. For the first time let go and let be. And right there was a gift of hopefully many to come from this baby number three. I’m calling this gift humility. And anyone who knows me knows that humility was a much-needed gift. So maybe this gift is just part of the great plan this universe has for this child.

When I told a friend I was pregnant again she said God must have big plans for this baby to beat the odds coming into this world. Maybe he or she will find a cure for cancer or create a non-fat chocolate that tastes good. And with that I agreed whole-heartedly, questioned nothing, relinquished myself, silenced myself, and opened me and baby number three to this mighty, powerful, great and all-controlling universe. I have a feeling I’ll be doing much of that five months from now. And I’m ready for it! Thank you baby number three for your unexpected yet precious gift.

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He changed me. Not for the better or the worse. He changed me in every imaginable way possible so that I am no longer a woman unto myself but a mother unto the world.

His vision, his soul, his wondering eyes and forgiving heart tell me each and every moment that he is my guide and I am forever lost in his vision. Not lost in shadow but simply no longer a shadow of my former self.

I am his mother. The mother he chose, the mother I promised I would become. I am her now. Standing strong, embracing all that is wrapped in the womb of motherhood. The brilliant sights, sounds, visions, and apothecary of love… in every moment of every day I celebrate the woman he discovered when he was born. The woman that emerged just as he did.

I love her as she is the perfect vision in his eyes and now in her own. I take this not for granted but for my heart to expand and multiply.

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It’s like rock climbing for me (at least).  The climb up seems impossible, all of a sudden there’s anxiety and a new fear of heights. Then when I get to the top, it’s just perfection . . . All is as it should be.  Each climb seems like the first, a completely new challenge . . . we forget about all those other climbs and how wonderful they proved to be.
Then I turned around again and my baby is looking more and more like a little lady!  When did she get so sassy and the “Why?” question appeared out of nowhere and won’t stop. 

There are days when my creative energy is so focused on answering that crazy “why” question that I feel to tired to think about other anything when my mama quiet time comes late at night.

These growth spurts and molars are slowly killing me . . . Or saving me.  Sometimes I can’t tell the difference, maybe it’s the lack of sleep or forgetting to eat because my child was extra needy today.  All in all, everyday is a good day. 

These little things that can frustrate me are really quite amazing. She’s wanting to walk around in her own world and explore, she has definite ideas and NO ONE, no adults or other children will ever change her mind and I love that about her.

I just need to BREATHE . . . And laugh and think about all the wonderful things happening in that learning mind.  Then the creativity won’t stop, because a child is so full of hope and possibility and it just rubs off on me. Being able to watch them grow is a miracle to say the least.

Raising a child is just as much about raising and healing yourself.  It’s the best job in the world and far too under rated.

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We talk about the boy
we talk about the men
borrow the lipstick
sharpen the eyebrow pen
make it right
fix the hair
laugh & giggle
intensely stare
into the mirror hoping it’s just the lighting that’s funny
or thinking “Damn I look good- this corset was worth the money.”

The tease stands next to the virgin stands next to the lover stands next to the whore
A United Nations of girlfriends
someone’s laughing
that one’s bored

She has too much shadow
she’s a cloud of perfume
she’s way too dressed down
move your elbow
I need room

There’s at least one bachelorette party getting wild, loud & free
To predict the marriage’s fate
just spot the bride-to-be
if she’s wasted, looking poisoned
reaching for that last hurrah
like her wedding is a death of sorts
rigor mortis in a lacy white bra

“She’s in trouble,” I purse my lips, hoping everything goes good
but judge her as she leaves the room without washing as she should

We linger extra long
make the boys think that we’ve bounced
or wonder what we’re talking about
probably things they can’t pronounce

or maybe they can say it, but they’ll never understand
our estrogen fueled convos
“I’ll have another cosmo-
I’m not going to his condo”

“Shoot, I forgot a tampon,” echos from within a stall.
And an army of pink soldiers rush forth to meet the call

Light or super?
Floral or free?
I only have one
Well I’ve got three
Do you like stripes or prefer argyle?
It’s like a supermarket aisle
The sisterhood makes me smile
Did you see my nail file?
It was just here, somebody cinched it
Ooooh these dirty bitches.

Now things are so different

I don’t go potty with my ladies
Just a couple crazy babies

Hoping for just one solo pee
Not a possibility
But who needs the privacy?

With one at my leg
and the other on my hip
I primp, shower, dry off, and sit.
I bring the books, the distractions, and toys
Nobody’s worried about parties or boys

One laughs, one cries
I hurry, hurry up
“What’d you drop in the toilet? Your toothbrush? A cup?
Don’t worry, I won’t shout. Wait for daddy to get it out.”

Somebody retiled my bathroom world
but I’m not complaining
I like these homegirls.

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Some days it all falls into place
the rhythm, the magick of chores
I am the mama I want to be

Through it all I see those deep brown eyes
seeing me with a wisdom I have long forgotten
With a newness & hope I sometimes forget

Your soul reminds me what I must do
slow down . . .  enjoy the moment
be it perfect or heinous . . .
all is as it should be

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For many, these moments are difficult because as human beings, our tendency is towards sameness. The new, uncharted, often windy path seems so dangerous and risky compared with the lukewarm, hotdog water of the present moment no matter how stagnant it is.

The quandary is made especially difficult if what you’re currently preoccupying yourself with either 1) entertains you or 2) pays you lots of money.

I think of my infant daughter. Even when she wakes up at 4 AM, hungry and ready to eat, her desire for breastmilk is thwarted by her desire to stare at the decorative brightly colored fall leaves adorning my bedroom wall. The way my breast is positioned isn’t conducive to the simultaneous wall-watching that she’d like to take part in during the wee hours. So she struggles, her mouth faces the nipple hungrily while her eyes pull her away from her meal toward what is captivating her. The divided focus almost always results in a high pitched shout of frustration as she realizes that her pangs of hunger aren’t being met. It’s then that I, the hand of God in her life, direct her head firmly but gently so that she can nurse.

The wall can wait. It’s time to eat.

How many of us full grown adults find ourselves in the same position?

We’re built with layers of deep hunger in our souls. Has your preference changed? Ignoring the pangs by going full speed ahead is a short term solution to an eternal question.

Inspiration and revolution are two sisters always looking for spirits who are willing to create with them. This requires focus and courage;  a willingness to face the boobie and be fed in spite of many other wonderful things to look at and busy our hands with.

Ask yourself: What am I hungry for? What great purpose is calling to me from across the deepest waters?

Listen.

And eat.

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