Gifting Presence.

T’was the week before Christmas and all through the house
Every creature was stirring since the early AM, (probably) even a mouse

On Sunday, I made gingerbread houses with my two toddlers. 
Yes, I made them because what 3 year old and 18 month old have the fine motor skills to hot glue some graham crackers together? 

​More from our founder and CEO, Kara, on staying present in this season.

Gifting Presence.

T’was the week before Christmas and all through the house
Every creature was stirring since the early AM, (probably) even a mouse

On Sunday, I made gingerbread houses with my two toddlers. 
Yes, I made them because what 3 year old and 18 month old have the fine motor skills to hot glue some graham crackers together? 

(sigh. probably mine.)
I planned this activity as a way for me to be present with my children in this season. 

The children were nestled all snug (yet) out of their beds
While visions of sugar plums danced in my head.

Calling it ‘planned’, is a stretch.
An entire side of my mom brain was blinded to the preparation needed for this toddler event:

• Build the actual houses. 
• Mix the frosting. 
• Wrap the cardboard squares with paper. 

In the midst of this journey, our friend Stephanie stopped by to drop off cookies and breezily adds, Why not try a hot glue gun? It’s the only way I can get them to stick. 

Ah yes, Stephanie. Our own Mary Poppins, extraordinaire. 
I’m reminded again of the reason she raises my children during the workweek. 
She knows all the tricks and tips. 
She takes delight in the mess of sensory play.
She delights in the discoveries the child makes in the process. 
She’s quick with her comments to redirect the energy. 
Mine included.

I ran to get my glue gun, knowing exactly where it was in my house. 
That's a first: looking for something I need and knowing where it is at. 

I ran back up the stairs.
My self confidence in overdrive with my quick accomplishment.

And she whistled and she shouted and she called them by name:
"On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the stairs, to the top of the kitchen table!

53 minutes after I said we were going to build gingerbread houses, I was ready. 
I called out. 

And then in a twinkling, I heard from the stairs,
The prancing, the pawing of each little hoof
As I drew in my head and turned aroundm
Around the kitchen, came Audrey and Georgie and Piper
Kiwi came with a bound.

Audrey in her pajamas and signature unbrushed hair. 
George in a stocking hat, jingle bell necklace, and no pants.

Their eyes, how they twinkled, their dimples, how merry.

I took in this perfect moment of my children.
The innocent eagerness of their faces. 
The hallmark dimples. 
The smiles that light up a room. 
The big blue eyes glaring into my soul, telling me they see me. 

The way George calls them shinshabread houses, as if he has a French accent. 
The way Audrey screams to pick something up, then says fank you. 
This. This is my vision of sugar plums dancing in my head.

A wink of the eye and a twist of the head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread
I spoke not a word but went straight to work

Piles of frosting. 
Sticky fingers. 
Slimy decorations that had been taste tested.

A stellar toddler performance from Audrey as she wanted to “do it myself”. 
The inner maternal shiver as I watched helplessly in slow motion. 

The entire jar of sprinkles, pinged on the floor in front of me, 
One thousand, nine hundred, and twenty eight of them.

I said, yep, All gone! 
And then she signed, All gone! 

Piper went to work knowing her place on this journey was clean up duty.

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard myself exclaim as they flew out of sight:
Does anyone want to play with the things that are out in daylight?

This short-lived activity had been enveloped in chaos.
As if the universe had fine tuned this kind of thing to present itself to me.
To be present in that space with my children. 

To strengthen that motherhood wound, which still feels so raw.
A space that is unfamiliar to me; one that does not come easy.

Chaos is my universal present, humming with potential to create fear and dissonance.
It regifts itself over and over again, until I respond consciously with unconditional love. 

Knowing presence still feels unsafe, even when I want it to feel good. 
The two feelings can (and will) mutually exist in the same space as I continue to heal.

Motherhood was never a calling. 
It was a test on this journey to dig deep into my soul.
I am a witness as to how (my) own actions have the ability to change the world.

The making of shinshabread houses may appear so seemingly small.
Yet the making of chaos heals my motherhood wound.

Merry Christmas to all and to all..goodnight
Goodnight.





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