…breathe…

ImageOne of the things they will put on my gravestone (if I believed in them), would be “take a breath”.  No matter how urgent the situation, no matter how upset you are, you have a moment to pause and take a breath- and while you are at it, make it a good breath, from your belly, close your eyes, and pause for a moment…stretching out the word BREEEEEEEATHE in your mind, as breathe in, and breathe out. Be present – not in the situation, not in your emotion, but present in your body and breathe. 

Raising three girls, I handed these words out like chewing gum, as they were sorting amongst the debris of a challenging situation or a bad day…”take a breath…”.  They were good words and did seem to make them slow down a moment.  Being a counselor, and being one who taught others to problem solve, to understand their own behavior, to pause and to weigh the consequences of their anger, meant that I taught my own daughters this as well, from birth.  In the midst of their crisis, I was often reminded to ‘stop doing the counselor-thing’…but i did notice that they kept breathing, even if they said they weren’t listening.

This past year, I did a particularly difficult presentation for a harsh audience. I knew it was going to be hard, and in preparation- to remind myself not to talk too fast, to be mindful- I artfully wrote the word “breathe” on my wrist. I quite liked it…and it did the trick. The presentation was still labored, but I made my way through and felt accomplished at the conclusion.

There was something about having that reminder there, on my wrist…a few days later, I wrote it there again.  After the third time I wrote ‘breathe’ on my wrist, I made the surprising decision that I wanted it tattooed there…in Jane Austen handwriting font- because Jane Austen is my mother’s favorite author.

I am not really a “tattoo person”.  All my daughters have tattoos, Tasha has Beatles’ lyrics, Michaela has Journi’s footprint with “love you to the moon and back” and also a quote from a piece I wrote, Justina has too many to name, ladybugs, and dragonflies among them.  When I hesitantly told them that I was planning to do “breathe” on my wrist, they quickly adopted the idea of doing the same.

And so it is, all of us have the word “breathe” on our wrists…all in our own style, as it should be…because, as I have noticed…they are all still breathing, even if they said they weren’t listening.

do you believe in wings?

Today Dean and Journi were in the store room, looking at the new kittens we have.  I could hear them in there, visiting about the kitties and how big they were getting.  Made me smile.  And as Journi came bouncing back into the living room, she was carrying a pair of wings.  Nymph wings from a Halloween years ago, wire framed with green panty hose material stretched over them, glittery and wispy.  Obviously she had found them in the storeroom closet.  Journi was quite excited about them- shouting “Weeengs, weeengs!”  When she brought them to me, I helped her put them on, stretching the elastic over her shoulders so the wings flopped on her back.

And then she grabbed my heart… “fly?”

She asked it with such belief and earnestness…it killed me to try to explain that these wings are just for pretty, not for real flying.

That’s the difference between children and adults, you know.

If I found a pair of wings, i would assume they were non functional until proven otherwise.  Yet a child assumes they are fully able to carry them to wherever they want to go.

makes me wonder what sorts of gifts i have, that I have set aside- assuming that they wouldn’t fly…

what about you?

 

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