Constantly bombarded
By outside sources
A cunning attempt
To create doubt
Are you happy with your appearance?
Wouldn’t you like to be thinner?
Don’t you want to look younger?
If those wrinkles
Around my eyes
And in the corners
Of my mouth
Are tracing the years
Of laughter and tears
Why would I erase them?
If my body is
Telling the story
Of birthing three children
Loving the same man
For more than thirty years
And knowing the grief of loss
Why would I not let it speak?
I am a journey
Of experiences
And emotions
Spilling out
Along the road
For others to see
No apologies
Only grace
Accepted
And shared
Tag: motherhood
Simply Sunday
Undeniable
Ask her if
She is strong
Her response
Will follow a
Quizzical look-No
But the truth
Speaks clearly
From the past
Into the present
Instances too many
To list on a page-
On this day
With the sun
Shining brightly
On flower petals
Still wet from
Last night’s rain
These stand out-
Her beautiful
Brave smile
While in recovery
Following
Breast cancer surgery-
Her gracious
Prayer of gratitude
Standing with me
And my brother
Next to Dad’s casket-
Ask me if
She is strong
My response
Will follow an
Undeniable smile-Yes!
She’s my mom!
Happy Mother’s Day! 💐
This is 80!
I first met the birthday girl a little over thirty years ago. She was kind and accepting even then. It is hard to believe she was my age when we met. Maybe a little younger. A mom and grandma, it seemed her life was already complete. At least, that was my perspective.
Here we are, thirty years later. It seems a lot more life has happened in that time. More grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and the death of a spouse after fifty-plus years of marriage.
So now, as we celebrate her, I try to imagine her perspective. Those thirty years, though eventful, only represent a portion of her life. She did a lot of living prior.
She speaks lovingly of her parents. Just yesterday, about how her dad played the piano. Talks regularly to her siblings who are still living. Keeps up with distant relatives and old friends.
Has a love of horses that began as a child. She recalls fondly walking with her girlfriend to the stables. Pretending to gallop as they walked, then riding horses before returning home. She even bought two horses in her lifetime!
Her second horse was sold before she moved from California to New York. A job as a flight attendant at American Airlines called. And that move, that job, lead to meeting her husband. The rest is history, as they say.
So, how would such a girl celebrate her 80th birthday? Surrounded by daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters, daughter-in-law, granddaughter-in-law…you get the picture. Eating, laughing, remembering, and enjoying time together. And, of course, attending a horse show.
This birthday girl wears her crown of white with pride. As well as her life experiences. Sharing what we are willing to hear. Continuing to move forward, making new memories.
I can only hope that 80 looks this good on me!
Happy birthday, June! ❤️
Hold Hands…Follow Me
Walking through an airport can be a tad overwhelming. Where is my next gate? The restroom? Starbucks? Ok, so maybe not Starbucks. But the level of activity and the sheer number of other people…can feel a bit frantic.
Today while walking through Chicago O’Hare airport, I heard the sweetest phrase.
Hold hands and follow me.
When I glanced across the walkway, I saw a mom standing with a baby on her hip and two other littles standing close by. The words I heard were her message to the kids. They listened, grabbed each other’s hands, and followed her.
What a precious picture. Yes, mom looked travel-worn. Her responsibilities were many. I don’t know where they were headed, but they were going together.
This scene caused me to question. Is that how God talks to me? Does he say, Look! Here are your family and friends. Just grab a hand and follow me.
Or perhaps, if unable to reach out, pick me up. Carries me like the baby on the mom’s hip. Leaving the hand-holding and following part to family and friends. Either way, I am never alone.
Side note: I really was traveling today. 😊 Spending a few days in beautiful Vermont. More to come…
Kids Grow Up
I wrote this poem several months ago after a conversation with my oldest. This seems like the perfect time for sharing.
Parenting is a lifelong adventure. And though responsibilities change as time passes, some things never change. Like that struggle between worry and release.
The temptation to hold on too tight is strong. And even after successfully letting go, certain events bring me right back into the battle.
Currently, it is a concern for their safety as public school teachers and a working college student during this pandemic. They are all adults. They know how to take care of themselves. But I will always be their mom. ❤
No Longer a Kid
How are you today?
A simple text
Sent to my child
Nothing urgent
Or momentous
Mom checking in
My eyes well up
With tears before
The swoosh sound
Of the sending text
Has even faded
What? Why now?
A flood of memories
Instantly fills my mind
A million questions
Where did the years go?
Did I do enough to
Prepare you for life?
The phone rings
Jolting me back
To the present
Tears turn to smiles
Questions fade away
The world is okay
Hey Mom, thought
I’d call and talk
Instead of just texting
And so it goes when
You are the parent
Of adult children
A simple thought
Becomes a rapid
Onslaught of emotions
A myriad of questions
And concerns
Instantly erased by
The sound of a voice-
My kid who is
No longer a kid
…always
The wind blows
A sturdy tree
Leaves dance
Branches wave
As if to say,
Come with me!
Like a mom
Calling to her child
Run to me!
I will catch you
The wind will
Carry us away
Where will it take us?
I do not know
But we will go together
Our very own adventure
How long will we be gone?
I do not know
Only time will tell
Minutes, hours, days
One thing is certain
Each journey will
Stay with us
For a lifetime
As the steadfast tree
Continues to call
Waving branches
And dancing leaves
Waiting to embrace
And carry me away
I also stand
With open arms
Ready to embrace you
To share another journey
Wherever the wind
Carries us…always
For Robert & Erin, Rachel, and Ryan~The reasons I love being a mom. ❤
Beautifully Imperfect
I have a favorite photo of me and the kids. I remember the day it was taken. It was quickly snapped by a friend, not the result of a professional photoshoot.
Everyone is looking in different directions. We are tired and messy. And yet, it remains my top pick.
The picture always surfaces this time of year. When I saw it this morning, I began to think about what it represents-an honest reflection of one day in the life of a young, stay-at-home mom.
That particular day was far from perfect. I remember having a migraine earlier that afternoon. The medicine I took made me sleepy. I also remember my husband, Gart, was not be able to attend the fall festival with us. He had a graduate school class that night. That meant I had three kids to get ready for the evening festivities by myself.
With the help of some friends, we made it to the party. Everyone had a costume. Robert was Superman, Rachel-Tigger, and Ryan-a baby bumblebee. The kids had fun playing games, spending time with friends, and collecting candy. If you look closely, you can see their candy buckets hanging on the handles of Ryan’s stroller.
My friend took the picture at the end of the evening. I remember collapsing onto the floor. The kids just naturally settling in my lap. Three tired kids and one tired mom. Yet in the picture, I am still smiling.
After considering the story surrounding my favorite photo, I am left with this truth: A perfect picture has more to do with the memories it evokes than with the image itself.
Our picture is beautifully imperfect. It reminds me of a busy and challenging time in my life. A time I would not trade for all the perfect pictures in the world.
Geneva’s Daughter
”You remember Kelley. She’s Geneva’s daughter.”
Gart and I drove to Little Rock this weekend to visit my family. My mom and her siblings had a cousin reunion on Saturday. My memories of my mom’s cousins are vague. But what fun to watch and listen as they reminisced.
Also, my Aunt Elizabeth made a mayonnaise cake. Yummy! But that is a story for another day.
Sitting outside on the deck, I listened, chatted with family, enjoyed the sunshine. In the middle of all that, overheard the following. ”You remember Kelley. She’s Geneva’s daughter.”
Geneva’s daughter. I love that description. But what does it mean?
First, I have to tell you about Geneva. She is the fourth of nine siblings. Growing up, she never liked her name. Diagnosed with rheumatic fever as a child, she remembers being sick. In high school, she excelled in her classes and was a basketball star.
As an adult, she took care of our household. Worked successfully as a secretary in a variety of fields-business, education, church. Suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. Has been married to my dad for over 50 years.
Geneva bravely faced breast cancer. She is now a five-year survivor.
Even at 73, she does her hair and make-up every day. If someone asks why, “Because it just makes you feel better,” she replies. Within her family, known for writing poetry.
But what about her role as my mom? She taught me to sing “Jesus Loves Me” and took me to church. Purchased every Dr. Seuss book there is and helped me learn to read at a young age. Ordered Highlight magazines for me and my brother.
My mom spent hours waiting in her car while I was taking piano lessons. Found a way to purchase a violin when I came home in 4th grade announcing, “I signed up for orchestra today!” Encouraged me to go to college and graduate school.
Mom never gave up on me during difficult times. Ones due to poor choices on my part. She demonstrated the importance of family in her roles as sister, daughter, wife. Prayed faithfully (and continues to pray) for me and my family.
Is she perfect? No. Neither am I. She often frets too much. She sometimes struggles with relinquishing control. She has trouble letting go. So do I.
She is my mom, Nana to my kids, my friend. Her life experiences affect mine, as mine affect my children’s. Not a picture of perfection, but a picture of love. A ”no matter what” kind of love.
I’m proud and grateful to be described as Geneva’s Daughter.
A Letter to Moms
Dear Mom Friends,
Oh, how we need each other! This motherhood business is tough. From the moment we first meet our little ones, everything changes! New responsibilities and emotions-not to mention hormones. There’s almost a crisis of identity as we discover our new “normal.” And just about the time we’ve figured out who we are again, those precious little ones are all grown up. Which brings us right back to that identity crisis problem-not to mention the return of the hormones.
The beautiful part is no matter which end of this spectrum we currently find ourselves, there is someone we can help. We moms with many years of experience are able to provide reassurance and encouragement to younger moms. And you young ones…we “older” moms need you equally as much! As you confide in us, we feel needed. You remind us that our experience holds value.
We are in this mom thing together-the beautiful, difficult, happy, sad, funny, frustrating, silly-and that only describes one day in any given week! Or possibly only one hour, depending on the day. So don’t be discouraged. You are beautiful and you’re doing a great job!
Now–go take a nap! Or go to bed! Whichever currently applies…
Sincerely,
Your Mom Friend Kelley
Piano Girl 