I don't know where the summer went. Wait, scratch that--I know exactly where it went. It went to North Dakota, then South Dakota, then South Dakota again, then Montana... with about a million hours spent on Wyoming highways. And to Home Depot a couple dozen times so we could paint most of the main floor of our house.
Regardless, it went too fast. And as I sit here wondering who put me in charge of the education of these four little goofballs and if it's May yet, I find myself praying for flexibility. No, not the do-the-splits kind--although I guess that would be pretty neat too--the resilience kind.
The allium kind.
We bought our house four years ago last month. When we moved in, the grass was alive and the trees were flourishing--and that was about it. We had no idea what the spring would bring in the yard and front flower/weed bed. That first spring in our house was a glorious surprise. The front bed exploded with flowers that looked exactly like big purple fireworks on a long, straight stem. Google informed me that they were alliums, and I loved them.
Last fall we had to dig up the whole front bed to replace the (non)retaining wall. I salvaged as many of the allium bulbs as I could, with every intention of replanting them. (Maybe I'll finally get around to it this fall... as of right now they're still sitting in a pot in the garage.)
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| I didn't take a picture of this year's May snow, but I took a picture of Colette all bundled up to play in it. She was not a fan. |
But lo and behold! This spring up popped at least a dozen alliums. Despite the total upheaval of the retaining wall project, many of the bulbs survived and bloomed right on schedule. Which means, of course, right in time for our annual May blizzard.
That has been the story every spring. The alliums shoot up and blossom, and then we get a heavy spring snow.
But you know what? They don't care.
They bend and bow under the weight of the snow. All seems lost and frozen and destroyed. But then the snow melts, and they go on blooming. Sure, some of them are no longer exactly vertical, but they shrug off the snow and go on being glorious and lovely and springy.
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| one of my darling allium AFTER the snow melted |
On the other side of the flexibility spectrum is Colette. For the last six or so months she has been quite... particular... at bedtime. Some nights more so, some nights less, but in general things have to be exactly right for her to settle down and go to sleep. And of course, the crucial details change from night to night--and sometimes in the middle of the bedtime routine.
Her water bottle must be placed just so.She must have this blanket and not that one.
She wants a particular book, but she wants to turn the pages randomly back and forth.
The blanket must be covering her feet but not pulled tight around her.
She needs her doll. Her doll must fold her hands while we say prayers. I must acknowledge that her doll is praying with us.
She doesn't want me to pray.
She wants me to say prayers again.
She needs another drink of water.
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| mornings are rough when you fight bedtime (it was milk, promise) |
She wants me to sing songs. I start with whatever was her favorite last night, but no--she wants row row. So I start singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." She changes her mind and wants uppabove. But halfway through "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" she asks for moon.
You get the picture. I can't even learn and anticipate her demands because they're different every night. This has been going on in roughly the same form for almost a quarter of her life. It has made for many long, frustrating bedtimes. Of course I acquiesce to the little sleep-tyrant, because my mothering motto is "whatever it takes." And that is especially true when it comes to sleep!
After a month or so of the ridiculousness we did start pushing back, and she has gotten much better. She is slowly learning to adapt to conditions that are not exactly to her liking, my sweet, strong-willed little girl.
Colette's bedtime antics forced me to realize something: I am not an allium. I am very particular, strong-willed, totally arbitrary toddler who wants things HER WAY OR ELSE.
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| this is a perfect summary of her personality: my fierce, sweet little warrior-princess |
I am so far from weathering the storms of my life with consistent trust and patience. But this has been my prayer through the summer and especially now as we begin working our way through the school year. The first weeks have been crazy. Good, but so hard. And I'm already so tired. I feel like the smallest thing is enough to totally derail me--mentally and emotionally. But I know I just need to let go. Adapt. Adjust. Stop wishing it could be some other way right this moment. Be present.
So. Here's to trust, not tantrums--child-like, not childish. Lord, not my will, but yours.
