The Expense of Postpartum Joy

One of the traits I inherited from my Grandpa Davie is a zest for life, followed immediately by a sentimentality so strong that it can stop me in my tracks, weeping with homesickness, weeping with joy at having seen a beautiful thing, weeping just to weep.

Sunday was Mother's Day, and when asked what I wanted to do, sentimentality and joie de vivre took over. I wanted to watch sunlight braid itself into the golden curls on Briar's head, I wanted to watch Avery gallop, hips swiveling with each magnificent stride, I wanted to feel Fin on my chest, the gentle rumble of snoring and the kisses of newborn fingertips on my bare skin. I wanted to stand proudly with Sean watching our brood. And so I did. For six glorious hours we played at the park, picnicked beneath evergreens and then scaled the mossy trails of Buck Mountain.

It was just the kind of day a person could weep for having tasted.

Today I weep with fever and aches, my body upset with my heart for trodding so heavily toward joy that it trumped reason.

Off to a hot bath, but oh the sweet memories of the day. Maybe Grandpa was watching, weeping and sighing at the beauty of it all. I hope so.

Not so little things

For granola bars and hand written notes,
For compost piles and faerie blankets,

For riding the bus and my aunt went to Europe,
For pretty little blue bird and ting-a-ling-a-ling,

For Anne Murray in the living room late,
For number one with the bullet,

For painted nurseries and bran bullets,
For back splashes and enchanted granddaughters,

Happy Mother's Day.

How much would she fetch on Ebay?

Or maybe even Etsy, since technically I made her...

My kid turns crackers into liquid gold...





And here she is after eating the golden cracker...