Meditation Practice

I'd be a terrible person without it.  Twenty minutes
every day and practicing mindfulness during
as much of my waking life as possible helps me
like nothing else ever has.  I have more patience,
more ease.  I'm better able to respond
instead of just reacting.  The  more I meditate
and practice mindfulness the more I love my life. 
So why don't I always do it?  What  thwarts me? 
It's hard to say to my family, "yes,  I know you're hungry,
but I need twenty minutes just to sit here."   
Clearly I need to practice.  Breathing in, breathing out...

Seder

My favorite holiday filled with happy memories:  running around
the country club dressed up with my cousins, high on Shirley Temples,
maraschino cherries, Manischevitz, matzah, gefilte fish dyed purple
with horseradish. We searched curtains, tables, chairs for the affikomen,
celebrated freedom from slavery in Egypt, and wondered if Elijah
really took that sip of wine, singing Deyenu!  We still do it this way,
all my cousins and all our children, only we wait until Saturday night.

Last night, we dined on shrimp cocktails at The Harvard Club
with my in-laws.  A different tradition.  The Red Sea is now Crimson.

All of Me

As a homeschooling mom, it is rare for me to be alone. 
Almost every waking moment, I live in the company
of my son.  When I do get the chance to be alone,
it is as if I spread out.  I exhale.  I relax. 
I am no longer only the mom.  I am who I used to be
and maybe who I might become.  I feel greater, enlarged. 
I am not saying I don't want to be with my son; 
I only want, when I am being the mom, to be able to be all of me.

Waiting

Anticipation makes waiting difficult.
Thinking it will end.  To wait another year,
I could put it on hold, ease up on the tension
like letting a fish run on a slack line.  Three months
would be easier than this just-around-the-corner not
knowing.  Don't make any plans.  Don't travel. 
Every day since mid-December is week thirty-eight
of my metaphorical pregnancy.  A yellow fireman's raincoat
instead of a red ski jacket.  Sand toys replacing the sled. 
Done with size threes, he's moving into the fours -- growing up
without me.  I miss him without knowing who he was
and is, and is... 

Sweet Dreams

Snoring on the sofa, my dog sleeps the peaceful sleep of a twelve year old dog;
a dog who has been around the block a time or two; a dog
who has lived through the advent of her brother, a human,
taking her place as "Most Important Creature in the Pack".
She has lived to tell the tale. Mostly she is wise and forgiving.
She tries to focus on the good parts like pieces of sausages
he has dropped to the floor, and the sweet stickiness she has licked
from his face. She dreams he stays young forever.