She threw up before she could even try the squash soup she asked for. The powerlessness and humility of being on knees, a fistful of her hair in my hand while she leans on the toilet, her body rejecting the little bit she ate that day.
She sleeps pretty well but I don’t. I’ve been wide awake for several hours every night this week. Tonight’s cyclical thought: did I close the chicken run all the way? Could a raccoon slip in there? At 1am, I reluctantly get up. I slide my feet into my red rubber clogs and trod to the coop under the huge, bright moon. It seems the moon has been full for days. It wasn’t all the way closed. I climbed into bed with her and she’s breathing fast. She’s hot. I refill the essential oil diffuser, move her body onto cool sheets, kiss her freckled eyelid.
google search: average breaths per minute 8 year old
I can count on one hand the number of days she’s missed something because of illness. It just doesn’t happen often. Tuesday feels like a good day to miss school. Both of her knees are hidden under bandages from the Big Playground Fall the day before and being eight just takes a lot of energy. She needs rest. It’s gray and windy. A good day to watch the leaves change from green to orange to red. She’s looks so little and weak. A good day to be quiet and slow. A good day to count magpies, watch Wild Kratts and make sauerkraut.
google search: is it ok if cabbage floats on top of brine when making sauerkraut?
google search: New Jersey bombings
First I have work to do. She watches a show on the computer and I slip into my studio where Amanda is already sewing. I feel grateful for my work at home, that I can do this and I also feel that pull – like I need to hurry to get back upstairs to her. So we can be in the same room. I email customers, pack and ship the stack of orders I wish I’d mailed yesterday. Research new ladies hoodie suppliers as my favorite no longer makes our most popular size. Send invoices, schedule things, make lists, call insurance for the third time about that bill, get better about stopping thinking about that mean instagram comment. “I’m over you.”
google search: organic womens hoodie zip
google search: best multiplication apps 3rd grade
Mama, it feels like the weekend except Ruby isn’t here. I miss her.
It’s 11 and Margot has humor and is hungry and I’ve been waiting for this. I make her an egg and heat up soup. She reads a bit. We practice multiplication. I cast my mama magic with Thieves on her feet, RC on her chest, Purification in the diffuser. She feels better and I marvel at the healing power of plants: the soup of acorn squash, tomato, shallot, coconut milk and the oils of lemongrass, rosemary, tea tree, clove, lemon, cinnamon, eucalyptus, spruce.
google search: how to quickly thaw a whole turkey
I missed my morning weight lifting class and settle into kitchen aerobics instead. Margot sits sweetly at the counter while I chop tomatillos and shuck corn and prep potatoes for roasting. We listen to First Aid Kit and talk about Halloween, gymnastics, Glee, shoes and favorite blankets.
When Ruby gets home from school she enters the still house like lightening. Wild blond pigtails, neon orange shirt, mouth full of half-in teeth opening and closing with the day’s tales. She’s eager to see Margot and to tell her how she sat with Keira on the bus, the very first time riding without her big sister at the hip. We make salsa.
google search: how to ripen green peaches
google search: kid cancer chemo port shirt specs
We leave the house for the first time that day to drop Ruby at soccer practice. As I walk away holding Margot’s hand, I see Ruby bouncing with her teammates in the green grass. Wholesomeness and safety and joy.
google search: fundraiser for Moms Demand Action
google search: gluten free pizza crust recipe
Andy is home from work when we get back and we gratefully move through the motions of our evening routine: dinner together (trying to get Ruby to sit for more than 3 minutes, encouraging Margot to wait until after dinner to perform her jump rope routine), picking out clothes for tomorrow (hoping to avoid the morning sock crisis), book (show tonight instead).
I settle into bed sure I’ll sleep better than last night. No puking, chickens locked up, tired bones, more life tomorrow.
24 Comments
I loved coming home from my substitute teaching job and see your post. I feel like I’m there reading what’s going on in your home! Surreal ….. . I hope Margot feels better. The pics are precious . Is this your view? Breathtaking . Wishing you a beautiful fall!๐
Patti Joyce Trombly
You’re my favorite. I love how you describe the details of your day. I am always inspired to be more present and appreciate the daily rhythm, which you do so well.
I can’t believe somebody would give you a mean comment. Not that I doubt you… but, I’m not over you. Not after all the years of Ruby’s life that I’ve been reading your good words, listening to your voice and love come through the computer screen. Stay strong!
It’s infrequent but it happens. Part of the gig. Can’t say it doesn’t sting but mostly I’m always baffled that a person would spit at another person — not because something is harmful or destructive (it was in response to a photo of my garden) — but only in the spirit of being mean. That’s what bums me out the most. I am also aware that I can be a part of 1 million kind interactions and 1 unkind interaction and focus way too much of my energy on the 1…and I practice not doing that. Hmm. I am getting better and shaking that shit off! And, no worries, I’m strong. ๐ I only mentioned it because it was my truth at the moment.
Sick kids are the worst part of being a parent. I always think it isn’t fair when they get sick even if it is infrequently. Another beautiful post. I love how you noted your Google searches. That’s how we all live now and I think it is wonderful to have the information at our fingertips.
Yeah it’s the pits but also? I kind of love the necessary slowing and snuggling too.
“favorite blankets”…this put a huge smile on my face remembering you and your “blankie”! I used to have to pry it out of your hands while you were sleeping to get washed, dried and bake in your arms before you woke…you loved that little scrap of a blanket!
What would we do without Google?
Glad Margot is feeling is back in the pink!
xoxo, Mom
ps…I’ll NEVER be over you!
Why would anyone be over you? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!!
I want to print this out and put it on my wall. Every word & imageโbeautiful & searing.
Not over you here in Boulder, not even close. Keep shining your beautiful light!
Not anywhere near over you, Nici. I want to be you when I grow up! ๐
Not over you either! Clearly whom ever said that has poor taste in who they follow on instagram.you are a one inspiring women.ur words and pictures encourage me to be a better mother and more importantly a better person.ur like a little positive reminder exactly when we need it.๐
I’m so sorry about the mean comment. It’s good to see the cocksucker again!
I love love love how many people noticed the cocksucker in a recent ig post! Ha. That was a long time ago and I adore knowing that some folks out there have been in this space with me for that long. ๐
Life-filled, rich, tasty, warm. Not even close to over you.
What a wonderful account of your day. Not over you AT ALL. Please keep posting. Your posts are like gusts of fresh, invigorating air from an open window.
This post is a big exhale. Thank you for writing, I will never get over you!
hoping by now Margot I all better. The picture of the red leaf tree just took my breath away. I am sorry someone thinks they can put something ugly on your blog or instagram but we can’t control other people. I for one love your blog and have for years – keep on !
I love your writing. You find beauty in even the ‘trying’ times. Your writing doesn’t exhaust me, it strengthens me, and makes me ready and willing to face more life. Thank you for sharing. Hope your daughter is feeling better.
I appreciate your sentence about strengthening over exhausting…I want to keep that in mind, both with what I share and with what I consume. Honesty and expression of feeling needn’t be a rant. I mean, it certainly needs to be sometimes but most of the time that approach isn’t productive or satisfying.
Motherhood is such a pull, in a hundred different directions. I marvel at how we all do it though. Somehow we keep pushing forward – through all the pulling sideways.
You’re a great mama, an inspiring writer and a beautiful person. As Kathleen Kelly would say, we don’t really know each other, but “I pretend we are the oldest and dearest of friends.”
I am most definitely not over you either, as so many kind folks have reiterated above.
Keep on keeping! You’re a joy to know. ๐
Who could ever be over you!? When were they under you? Please tell me you get the Friends reference??
Still loving your posts and pics and everything DIG. Someone told me they were going to Missoula and I went a bit nuts telling them about your blog.
–Signed,
Definitely not over you in LA, CA, the opposite of Missoula
It’s funny how my first reaction to someone being mean to you over Intsta was a fierceness to want to defend and protect you and your social space. (And if I’m being honest, maybe be snarky back to that person.) I am very, very protective over my tribe. And then it dawned on me that – we have never met IRL. But I’ve followed you and your writing for years and we are Insta Friends and we love our Montana and one day we will meet face to face! But really, what a wonder this Social Space is, yeah?! I like it, and I like you. Totally worth it. It’s totally worth it all!!! xoxo
I get it! Friends are friends. Thanks for having my back. I have yours too! xo