Keeping up the tradition
For a colleague.
I see you
You have steeled yourself
And the light bounces off of you
Almost as sharply as you must bounce back.
The men in your office
Get to be molten,
Wild fire magma mass-
ively naive.
Unaware what it takes to be you
In their world.
Is it still their world
After all these years?
It certainly is here.
The land of the free,
the brave
And the zero paid parental leave.
Is it still a place where men forget
they get
the benefit of the clout?
Still a world where you don't know
Who gets paid what
And are left guessing how much
You leave on the table
Just to save a seat at it.
Where are you going?
Of a man who has spent years on a ship blown about in circles,
you do not say he has had a long voyage,
only that he has been tossed about
for a very long time.
- Seneca
Where are you going?
Everyone is going somewhere.
What goes up must come down,
what is born must arrive
somewhere
at some point.
And you must reach it before death.
But it must all be
within a day's journey -
even a moment's.
Longer, and it is essentially impossible
for some people
for those who die tonight.
Your goal in life must be one you can achieve
even if you die tonight.
Yet it must be worth spending every day pursuing.
First Dip in Lake WA, Hello Ducks
Wally and Wes
Wesley’s Birthday sleepover!
Miracle (Year 1)
I love you, Wesley.
It isn't how much you smile, though that is wonderful. It isn't how much you learn, how long you can focus on a single problem, how you beg for books to be read to you all the time, how you always want to join me in my cooking, and say "hot!" It isn't all the little things, or even what they add up to. It is more basic, more binary than that.
It is that you are ours.
It is that you are.
That is the miracle.
I have asked for many more years with you, as any parent does. But there is no peak knowledge, no peak capacity to a human. You are fully you, as fully as I am me. The potential you have is only icing on a fully baked cake. Any thought less is sacrilege: you are no less than me, you are as much as me - if anything, you are more (unsullied by disenchantment, by insecurity, by selfishness, so quick to love and believe and trust, as if that was what the world was for).
//
There is one particular thing I want you to learn: scale. So much knowledge can be summed up in comparisons of scale. One of your favorites books right now poses two questions: “What is smaller than a flea?” and “What is bigger than the sky?” The answer to the first, according to this book for kids, is “A world of things too small to see.” To the second: “The never ever ending sky.” I hope you understand how trite both of those are. There are real answers. In fact, there is one answer to both questions. An overarching, and an underpinning. A first, and a last. A beginning, and an end.
//
You began one year ago. Now we get to count: 1. If you live average, you’ll have 70-ish more of these. There are a thousand decisions that increase or decrease that number. My great-grandmother lived to be 101. She jogged each day until she was 97. My mother attributes my great-grandmother’s health to her positive attitude. As miraculous as this longevity is, the goal of life is not more days or more years. It is good days. You have already had so many good days.
//
You broke your mother, you know. In more ways than one. But the pain let you graft into her in a way too precious for me to covet. Even if I must admire the bond you share with her at a distance, it is worth it. This year has been the story of you, beginning, but it has also been the story of her, changing chapters. I would pick no better son to hurt her than you, and no more constant warmth, no more ambitious mind to challenge her and nestle into her than you.
You are the miracle.
//
Miracle:
A tired word for tired people.
Code for uncanny/incredible/can't.
A name for an event I must admit
makes me believe the supernatural exists.
You were born 1 year and 34 minutes ago.
I caught you.
You were a tired word born to tired people.
You stood for the incredible.
You were an event I must admit
made me believe the supernatural exists.
You traipse through the days,
hunkered into my elbow crook.
You while toward time I do not have
and you find it for me.
You careen frequently,
veer on and off my path
at the most inconvenient intervals.
You furl up to say goodnight once a day
like clockwork conjured
from some preimagined rhythm.
You tinge everything with smile,
mull the click of buckles,
find the kilter in the sleep cycle,
and hoodwink me with wink-attempts
and chuckles.
You are a fresh take on stale speech.
You stand for the simple.
You are an event I still admit
makes me believe God exists.
- Evan
For Wesley, Some Observations from your mom on 6/6/19
Upcoming July 26 Show in Seattle
Katie Costello of Pretty Broken Things
“All this time
that came before you
I have adored you,
I didn’t know ’til now.
Like a ripple in the sky
like a quiet tear in time
I see it all in my mind
I see it all now
and I can see your face
somewhere in the place
between born and born again and born again and born again
and I can hear your laughter after
after I go
every time I go, it calls me home
you call me home.“ - Costello
//
It’s easy to feel like everything has changed, and to focus on how different my life is, how different I am. But a lot about me is the same.
I still spend a good deal of my time analyzing the best way to spend my time. I still have a hard time getting up earlier than 7AM. (Okay, 9AM.) I still find myself thinking critically in the best and worst sense, nearly tirelessly. I still get lost in the facts of a fight, unaware that most of them don’t matter for healing or reconciliation… unaware that healing and reconciliation are the only things that matter. I still hate answering my phone. I still believe in God, and don’t believe in God almost every day. I still worry what will happen if I don’t get a “career” out of life, and I still tend to focus all my very limited energy on my relationships regardless. And I’m still plagued with thoughts that it’s never enough. And I still wish I read more.
In some ways, it’s a relief just to see nearly a paragraph of simple things that haven’t changed. I’m not proud of all of them by any means, but it seems easier most of the time to focus on everything that’s different. So it’s nice to remind myself, not everything.
//
This whole experience of change has had me thinking about my own mom quite a bit. Mainly, I really love her. I feel as if no matter what she does between now and death, there’s nothing that could change that. But still, I feel almost guilty knowing for the first time that I can’t actually love her like she loves me. I never knew how impossible that was. I always thought we had a mutual bond, and I guess, an equal one. Honestly I don’t know if that thought is interesting or mundane, because part of me can’t believe I ever thought I loved her as much as she loves me, and part of me still wants to argue for the briefest moment that I DO love her as much as she loves me, and then the next moment I know it’s not true.
I had no idea how one-sided the relationship was, and would be, always. And now I do. It’s not that I love my mom less than I love you, Wesley, but rather that it’s impossible for me to love anyone in the way that I love you. Even you couldn’t do it. Am I being cheesy? (Maybe that’s inevitable but we can add that to my earlier list: I still hate being cheesy.)
So I’ve been learning about one-sided relationships and why they are the hardest and most interesting in so many ways.
//
I’ve always loved to make people laugh but never as much as this. Finding new and creative ways to produce that sound literally fuels some of my days. My brother commented that when you really get in a fit of giggles you sound like a squeak box. It sounds like it’d be annoying but it’s pure magic.
//
If I had to list the 5 hardest things in the last year from least to greatest for you (because you asked, obviously) it would be:
waiting for breastfeeding to get better “with time” and not being able to just make it better by reading a book about it
not being able to give my mind fully to any one thing besides you, for a long stretch of time, because even when I was away from you, there was always something I had to do for you
managing my expectations for other people in my life
recovering from the 3rd degree tear
being and living far away from people that I want you to know and love
//
Since I had read a lot and spent a lot of time with kids, there’s a lot of things about taking care of one that didn’t shock me. Not in a cocky way, just honestly I’m an over-preparer, and this is how I made money on the side for a good deal of my life.
So, easily one of the most shocking things about raising you this year, Wesley, has been how happy you are. This has shown itself in perfectly developmentally-appropriate ways throughout the year. You were an “early” smiler, and an early giggler, and you did both of those things abundantly, generously, and without much bias for who the recipient was. A few months after crawling, you would wander around the house playing with your toys and then come find me or Evan and place your hands on us, and say in the most cheery tone, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyy”.
Later, when you started to pick up a few words you became obsessed with a little book that states 7 different emotions (each with a picture depicting that emotion through the life of a particular duck and goose). You almost immediately learned the word “happy” from that book. You re-named the book “happy” (to ask us to read it) and would say it before we would turn to that particular page (since it comes towards the end of the book). Sometimes we let you look at it in your crib before bed and you just turn the pages til you come to that spot and say “Happy!” over and over til you slump over in exhaustion.
I was not prepared for you.
//
I’ve been surprised at how alone I can feel in parenting. I don’t usually feel like I need people to agree with my life choices to feel good about them. And still, people making different choices than me doesn’t make me want to do anything differently than I’ve set out to do it. But I do feel lonely in that sometimes. Occasionally, I just wish I knew other people who were doing it the same way too in whatever particular thing is on my mind that day. I think parenthood is such a community journey, something you get started on and can’t help but look around constantly for someone who is experiencing the same thing right then. (This explains the billions of mom-boards on the internet.) So maybe that’s all I’m lonely for sometimes, more people who are experiencing it the same way I am.
//
Here are some highlights in no particular order:
When you were about 8 months old, I was holding you and got to watch you very slowly form the word “Maaaa-mmmmaa”. I learned in a short amount of time that this was actually your word for food, but that never diminished the impact of that moment for me because I wouldn’t have cared if you’d said “dirt” honestly, the fulfilled dream was getting to be there the moment you first used a word to communicate something.
The time last summer when you started smiling at Evan and me, and we knew it was for real because you kept on doing it for several minutes. (It felt so silly but I had this strange sense of, “oh look, he likes us!”)
When I heard the song on this post at a Valentines day concert and felt immediately that it captured my experience of you so well.
The first time we went to breakfast together. Per usual, you made friends with everyone there. You also discovered the joy of pancakes. You’re welcome.
The times we came home from vacation, and you leapt out of my arms out of excitement when we walked in the door towards everything familiar to you.
//
Most days I don’t wonder if I’m a good mom or not. But I do question whether I’m giving you the right amount of attention. Somehow you give me the perfect amount most of the time. You are inquisitive and adventurous, perusing new things on your own. You often come back to check in with me though, to say hi, to request a book, or more recently, to give a snuggle. I hope we are able to keep that balance forever. I’ll try to keep following your lead.
//
Some days I struggle to be home with you. I worry that it’s not enough for me. I get frustrated when you have bad days and I can’t figure out why and then I start to overthink whether I can do this or not.
//
I love it every time I hear you say “Daddy.” Your adoration of each other makes me so happy, I often just sit and think about it. It’s better than I imagined it would be.
//
I don’t think about your labor much, because it was hard and it’s painful even to remember parts of it. I didn’t feel like I knew you the second I met you or had some crazy connection. I’m grateful for every second I’ve had with you, but I don’t really miss that time of our lives. It was necessary, and it had its sweet moments, but I’m glad you’re one, Wesley. Every new morning I’ve woken up to you has honestly been better than the one before. We’re just starting to get to know each other and I find that so exciting.
//
“I will dig deep
even while you sleep
until I break through
because I love you.
I’ve always loved you.
I will always love you.
And that’s how I break through
that’s how I break through.” - Costello
Love, Mom
Final Countdown
Happy Mother's Day, Shannon
A tree does not know where its seed will take root.
A flower does not decide which bee will bear its fruit.
A mother cannot bring about a vision for her child,
no matter how she bends the truth.
A bird does not trust its sons forever to the nest.
A fox has not the weave with which to keep her daughter dressed.
A mother cannot promise funds or firmness of the future,
but these are not the sources of her rest.
A star will die in chaos without all sense of direction.
A night gives birth to morning but makes no vain prediction.
A mother knows not what tomorrow is,
but still she keeps conviction.
She believes beyond all vacuums,
because of patterns, hopes and hints
that there exists a stronger love
than she could provenance.
What Begins in Ceremony
There is no history
between us
my experience of you is one continuous loop.
There never was before you
There will be nothing after.
Thus the Apostle's Mystery:
It may be too much to ascribe
to another person,
too divine to live firsthand.
But God the man makes a bride of mankind:
who am I to belittle what he planned?
I am now always wed to you.
I am always of a bed with you.
I am tomorrow always head to you.
Exclusivity
is an eternal setting
in the story of the heart.
This is what the children of all the divorced know:
Why can it not be with whom you said it would be?
May our children never know it.
What begins in ceremony never dies.
It only gets belied.
What grows in covenant never decays.
It only gets betrayed.
There are promises and mistakes,
Oaths and their oathbreaks.
May he bind the cords again tonight
In a moment unfit to share with anyone else.
May he write the words again tonight
In a poem meant only for us
So we know a little better
What it is to be chosen
And never lied to or betrayed -
A selection once done, ever frozen
In time.
What awe it is to be loved -
A beginning with no end.
Endless beginnings as far as the eye can see.
All beginning,
No end.
"Behold, I am making all things new."
Once more: I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Unlanguaged
As yet
you see my love
as an unlanguaged blur.
You find its lines
only in the shape of my face,
its warmth in my palms.
Some day I will try to tell you
how big it was,
the holding in the night,
the patient waiting
for the cries to subside.
My parents did the same.
It is impossible
to fully comprehend
the scale of love
before we know we are
loved
at all.
For me,
I deceive myself
into the idea that I know enough
to manage my own humanness.
Really, even the smallest corners
of what I cannot see
dwarf the crannies of my mind.
In the niche nooks of knowledge,
some days I can begin
to see myself in my son:
the fury over things
that do not last,
the joy over things
that are insignificant
but are made magnificent
by that same joy.
And on those days
I sense the presence,
vague,
unworded -
but constant,
known -
wishing me into growth,
loving me in
to life.
I love you, Wesley.
Happy Birthday, Shannon
Got gifted a big date where the dessert was smokey and looked like dirt but tasted like chocolate.
The Second Time Around
You gave it your best
shot across the bow.
But you are caught between then
and tomorrow and now.
You swam among sharks
circling you in water and in dreams.
But you are spinning in an arc
so fast you're splitting at the seams.
Before you come undone, out of touch
or before you touch the ground:
Remember this is a new decade of your life.
"You always build it better
the second time around."
Welcome to the big 3-0.
Valentine's Date
You turned and said
How will we hear this music
after we leave?
The next artist
talked about the state of the world today
Now
How bad.
The magic of a moment
or its misery -
Neither remain.
After the earth
After the earth
has shed its skin,
I will roam its raw rebirth.
Step over steppe,
touch over tundra,
trace channels,
walk along waters.
I will find no death,
no war,
no silent killers of souls -
the secrets
every culture, every country holds.
On a business trip
When her fire is burnt out
and in this cold taxi
and with this cold distance
I have no heat left to give her,
be Warmth
please.
In need of art
Your heart is weighing on my heart.
Lighter than I would've thought,
but no less in need of art.
For my nephew, Hudson
Some stories
have dying
in them.
Not all stories.
Today's story did.
Some stories
you will make,
some stories
will be made for you.
All stories
will shape you.
Some stories
have dying
in them.
All stories
have living
in them.
Most stories
have living
and then dying.
One story
has dying
and then living.
Keep looking
for the story
that has dying
and then living
and living
and living.
The trip home from Spokane
You haven't lived
until you've driven
ill-advised through
dusk-prepared Cascades
just after the first snowfall.
Therefore, we paused
even as we moved at speeds
only common to mankind
for the last half century.
Restart the track. Raise volume.
Restart contemplations. Raise eyes.
The winter-dusted hills here are haunted
with hints of threat.
These bastions,
these behemoth boneyards
of some corrupted past:
they taunt the very thought
that we could ever last
beyond today.
The next turn brings new vistas,
or ice patches, or pain.
It takes no great metaphor to gain
knowledge of our frailty;
only great attention
to ensure that it remain.
As songs - written and recorded by someone else -
the stereos now recite
attempt to tune their tones to this time-torn terrain,
the razor-peaks pierce our souls with mixed scents
of our imperfections
and their pine.
I must ask again:
Between the crest-settled stars
and the divine,
can you identify the line?
The mountains demand their poetry of us;
the rocks make men cry out on their behalf:
"Enter!
Here is no boundary
no border
no barrier to heaven
lest you misperceive it.
Here is summary of bounty,
but you disbelieve it.
There is no distraction, no matter how insipid,
you cannot be redeemed from.
Hell hath no fury
you cannot overcome."
Toys vs. Tools
You sit in front of your toybasket.
I plop in front of my toolbox.
The two are not so different.
Toys are tools by which we enjoy
the world;
tools are toys which we employ
to build the world.
Both should be satisfying.
But when you get older
you will find few people feel this way.
Toys are freedom
they say,
and tools are chains.
Toys are happy
they say
and tools are sad.
Find the similarity in them:
tools can be happy,
toys can be sad.
Consider your tools toys,
and your toys tools.
Show all the world its secret joys,
and call out its hidden fools.
You remind me
After exhaustion, your smile is sleep.
After turmoil, peace.
Your range of feeling is as varied as mine,
as reckless,
even as deep.
But there's a levity in your face that I have lost,
a lightweight love I long for.
On your own, you cannot walk, not even crawl,
on your own you are limited to floor.
I wonder how much there is unattainable to me
but my age deceives me into beliefs
of power, of capability.
You remind me, small movements and bones,
of my own
fragility.
