Part way there Briar whispered: “Oh, I don’t want this to ever end.”

My soul is beaming.

A harried just-before-closing trip to the pediatrician revealed that it was just a cold. I’ll be honest, there is no “just a cold” with your last baby, even though she isn’t really a baby anymore. There is no “just a cold” when the margins are so whisper thing at home and work. There is no “just a cold” when the coughing in the night brings gagging, weeping and more durations of sleep measured in minutes rather than hours.

I left feeling sheepish, angry and filled with a relief that made tears threaten. 48 hours later we bundled up for a play date with friends unafraid of “just a cold,” later the same day the grandparents arrived; both events had us all falling over ourselves to occupy the space inside of the delight. We shucked our worry and our whining, and peeled everything back but the gratitude to be with people who enjoy us and  love us.

Sitting here today thinking that time with friends and family is just right.

Love is working at seeing eye to eye.

Love is taking the time to surprise.

Love is getting tangled up in each other.

Love is remembering to touch.

Love is knowing and adoring every part of a person.

Love is weathering what may come.

Love is sharing.

Love is fostering hope.

Love is telling the truth.

Love is confidence.

Love is diving in.

Love is working hard at a kiss.

Types of kisses with Finley(video)

Love is…

Am I being kind?

Am I being honest?

Is the direction I am steering correct?

Are things that shouldn’t matter distracting me?

On a lark I looked back a year, a year to the date to be exact. The lesson I was learning then is a priceless one for me to re-embrace and share now, as I know so many other people who are struggling. Let’s try and be tender ourselves so that we might be better equipped to do the same for others.

365 days ago.

Have a hand in it. Whatever your *it* is, see it through. Don’t leave it up to other people.

As I watch my girls, not yet bound by the manacles of “I-have-to-do-it-the-way-other-kids-are-doing-it,” I see what it is to keep hold of the reins of what is dear to you. They never approach a situation and look for something to be done for them (ok, maybe snacks and cleaning up). They believe they can do things, they doggedly pursue the ends that they seek. They embellish doll houses to make castles, they mix foods and drinks to create colors and tastes. They turn out lights to not kill the earth. They write letters to Peter Pan~

They believe, both in themselves and what they think is right. They don’t expect things to get done the way they want them by other people. They would never put all their hope in the basket of another person if it meant something to them.

If you want to support a cause, support a cause.*

Do it deliberately.

Do it directly.

If you want to help low income women, go to the most local source of help for them.

If you want to join a cause, do it at their door not as an add on at the check out.

If you want accountability, start with yourself.

I’m not saying that donation cans and branded, cause-related products are a waste. I am saying that if it means that much to you, then you damn well better take the steps to make sure that your effort, be it money, word of mouth or hope, go to where you want them to go.

Own the ends you seek.

*Susan died today. I will never stop carrying her message.

I was wrong.

As is almost always the case when I leap to conclusions about how something in parenting is going to be, Finley proved me completely wrong. Since the first time she donned pjs instead of a nightgown she has insisted on buttoning the shirt herself. These little girl pajamas do not come with buttons made for little fingers. Tiny, fragile and often to too small to stay fastened within the button holes, the buttons wiggle out from between her pink little digits. So often I’ve waited, expecting frustration and defeat.

Instead she pops her little face up, the sheen of bath time still present, and she says, “I can do it.” Her tone is calming, reassuring and matter-of-fact. I sit back and watch, beyond impressed that she has chosen this thing to do herself and grateful that I haven’t steamrolled past her willingness to keep going and just done it myself. The buttons don’t all come easy, sometimes she realizes that she has gotten off course and that the top is gaping, other times she decides she’d like to start at the top and not the bottom. Her ability to reset and begin anew with undiluted focus and optimism can make my cheeks burn.

How many times a day do I puff up my cheeks and expel a massive whoosh of disappointed, annoyed breath? How often do I let the naysaying in my own mind prevent me from conquering that which only seems impossible? Lately I’ve taken to using this buttoning time to reflect on how much I can do if I just harness a little bit of Fin’s attitude of “I can’t not do this.” I think that as I store memories of her like this, I’d like to try and offer her a few of her own where she sees me smiling and working through until I get it right.

I like it, always have. Every once in a while I see people complaining that they don’t get it. There is a lot to get confused by online, but Pinterest shouldn’t be one of them. You just get an account (if you need an invite let me know). You’ll set up “Boards”:

Install and drag the Pin It” button to your bookmark bar:

And then when you are on a site; anything from a blog to a store to a business, click Pin It. This will bring up all the pinnable images from that page. Some sites don’t work, but many do:

After you select your image, you assign it to a board:

And write a caption:

I adore it, not for anything related to what I do at work, but for the quick, easy chance it offers to curate things. Some people use it to dog ear the corners of virtual shopping pages:

Some people use it to catalog crafts/DIY projects they might tackle one day:

You can find inspiration:

Stuff for hair:

And for skin:

Art:

Love:

There is no right or wrong way to do it. I curate thoughts, making each pin an aspiration, a reminder or a dare. It pleases me in a way that saying the right thing at the right moment, overcoming obstacles or rising above something does.

For whatever reason, when I started I opted not to use punctuation, and so it is that my pins look like thoughts I dashed off, or at least that’s how I think of them. At the end of the day, Pinterest is for you, not for business, not for popularity not for anything other than a place to stow things that make you smile.

Isn’t that refreshing?

Happy pinning!

]]> http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/pining-to-pin/feed/ 9 http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/pining-to-pin/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/amandamagee/kAPL/~3/vl7tMknonUw/ http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/shot-of-light/#comments Fri, 20 Jan 2012 17:31:02 +0000 amandamagee http://amandamagee.com/?p=3090 I’ve always loved light.

It’s kept me company in the hours when sleep hides.

It’s hidden so that I can listen in the dark.

It’s blinded me with beauty on the lake.

It’s shone down on us as we’ve colored together.

It’s danced outside my window and made me smile.

Light

It’s the feeling in my heart when I let my joy cast stronger shadows than my sorrow.

This morning I dropped Finley off at the door. Her bag was packed to stay for lunch and her hair was pulled back to her exacting specifications.

“First the pink one mom, and then goes the green, the purple, the ‘nother green one and then an orange, not pink, orange.”

I moved my fingers gingerly through her hair, careful not to snag any hairs along her neck and draw tears. The elastic bands were looped around her fingers, little lassoes of expectation. As I gathered the sections of hair she sighed contentedly and craned to see her reflection. Tiny pricks of tears threatened at the corners of my eyes as she beamed and nodded in satisfaction.

“Don’t forget these,” she said proffering three garish, fuzzy bands with cascading strands of diamond shape beads.

“Ok,” I said, “which one?” She looked at me with comedic dismissiveness, “All of them of course,” she said swinging her pony tails behind her. I added them all and she declared herself ready to go.

I lifted her out of the jeep and one of the teachers came over from the door. “Hello Finley!” She chirped. Fin preened and whispered a shy, but extremely pleased, “Hi.” I asked if it would be ok for her to stay for the after-session. “Of course,” the teacher said. Finley looked up at her as she held out a hand. The look on her little face was so wide open and trusting it caught me by surprise. It’s not a look she directs at me. A part of me needed to pierce the moment, reinsert myself in what matter.  I mentioned her hair and that she had dreamt up the style herself. “So pretty,” the teacher said. Finley’s smile stretched from ear to ear and her eyes opened even wider. She was joy personified and it cut right through me.

My emotions roiled—so much hope in that one little face. I wanted to put my hand on the woman’s shoulder, to implore her not to let us down.

Acknowledge how significant this is, deserve her trust, respond to her delight. Be the person she thinks you are, if just for these few hours.

I kept my hands to myself and knelt down to kiss Finley. “Have fun, honey.” I drew the words out as if to accompany her to the door. She softly called out, “I will mama.” And then they were gone.

Climbing into my car I willed myself not to cry. Did I really need the extra two hours to work? Should I scratch it and pick her up at the regular time? As I approached the exit to the parking lot I realized how selfish I was being. The look on her face was not fear, it was pure anticipation. There was no thinking that I was failing as a mom or choosing work over parenting. She’d been skipping through the house all morning singing about getting to go to lunch bunch and asking if we’d seen the lunch she was taking. This was not failure on my part, it was achievement on hers.

The leap of faith in dropping her off was equal parts trusting it would be as exciting as she’d hoped and crossing my fingers that in coming home to me there might be some chance of her looking up at me with that same wide open, brimming-with-joy face.

Here we were a year ago –>  January, 17th, 2011.

The questions are going to get tougher and the stakes are going to get higher as we confront race, politics, sexual orientation, mean girls and shady boys. I think we can all do our part and honor people like Martin Luther King Jr and so many others who fought for equality.

Let’s.