shelter island.

the single beach day of a summer, building castles in the sand, sweater weather, plucking tomatoes from the vine at sun's rise and son's rise, sunflower fields, farmers markets, paperbacks by the pool, delicious naps, the cafe in town for crumb cake and milky coffees, hide-and-seek, pickles-on-sticks, ice cream cones, sandwiches wrapped in paper, limbo and popsicles on the beach, whale watching, moon gazing, the ballad of francis and mimi, last days of summer '19, such a beautiful time with friends. 

easter morn.

here, scenes of our earliest hours lived easter morn, baby's second, when quiet, holy light spilled over our apartment, four flights up, and our morning song was one of baby's squeals over the contents of an easter basket, ukulele strums, vivaldi's the four seasons, hands at work atop the cake  (frosting, scattering violets) we would share with family in the afternoon, papa just home from the farmers market offering hot coffee and sweetest words: i brought you easter daffodils, my own thankful exhalations as the thought rang like a bell in the cathedral of my chest: to be a mother on easter, yes, this, too, i wished for...

which is to say, a morning song of gratitude and grace, love and spring, redemption and peace and celebration. joy, bountiful.

how many ways to say "love."

the days leading up to easter have especially beautiful to me this year. i have felt held by the sweetness of that spring gathering ritual in a mother's life: the easter basket. this year it's a small wooden bunny, a stacking rainbow, a book, and a ukulele, nestled together in play silks i dyed myself. all well- and thoughtfully made things for him to discover with his mind and hands, all things our family will use and treasure for many years.

i have been aching to work with my hands of late, and francis adores the play silks we use in his music class each week. i love how they can be anything, anything! the steam of a rolling train. soup to stir in a bowl. grass to feed sheep. costumes. flags of a ship or a parade. truly, what minds can imagine, play silks can become. making our very own set has been such a joy for me to labor over these past few days, from reading about the simple, natural dyeing process and what plant matter yields which color, to awaiting white silks in the post and trodding that sacred ground where patience and time meet earth's offerings and my own two hands.

working with turmeric and beets and black beans, hibiscus and chlorophyll and kale -- holding jarfuls of color up to the light -- dipping, rinsing, considering, drying, perhaps dipping again -- always finding a job for my eager boy's hands...the process was one i hope he forever sees and knows me by: curious ideas made manifest, rhythms of my hands, movements of my body at work in the kitchen and over our table, sacred columns of light, a mother's joyful handiwork, a mother always, ever, seeking lessons and meaning, a mother lost in joy of being alive.

and what i have sought and gathered like a spring bouquet, these bright days of easter week: the threads of god's love and grace and eternity i see and experience, every day, in my motherhood. how the ritual of repurposing plants and watching silks drink color and and noticing the change in the tree just beyond the window is itself a lesson in new life -- is, holy and wholly, a poem of rebirth.

the boy with the red balloon.

just some little somethings for our love dove on valentine's day. from each set of grandparents: love notes -- one that sings, one that springs -- brought by post. from mama and papa: a carved-wood cub and a ruby balloon. francis was expected valentine's last, though he himself had a january birthday in mind, and he has forever re-defined this day (and love and life and thursdays and all days and and and...).

i love doing all the little mom things. like dreaming up a valentine or baking cookies from scratch or planning clothes or stuffing a stocking or gathering treasures for an easter basket...i love it all, every last bit, so. darn. much. everything an expression of the trillion bursts my heart feels with every beat. everything an answer to the questions i am asking every tick of time: how can i love him best? how can i make it special for him? what magic can i make?

they're just some little somethings for our love dove on valentine's day. but also, they're not. you know?