i ask you to show me who you are. i remind you not to wait till you’ve lost that weight, or have the right outfit, or the sky looks just right. that this time keeps whizzing by and there’s not a lot of room to wiggle into exactly what you want it all to look like. that Now is the right time. that Now is beautiful, and worth recording. because in a quick blink, it is all gone and not showing back up, and the moment has passed and these words and pictures, the stories and recordings, are all we have.  so at  1 am, on the eve (or morning, if you want be specific) of a big and adventurous trip for my sons and i, when i’m about to lie down, bags packed, lists checked off, boys sleeping (lanky linked arms), the mister sleeping (anxious about his family hitting the road without him, worrying himself to sleep),  i think “how lame that i never got the blog going”,(and i think this for the 157th time) and then pop out of bed, remembering that indeed i did start this darn thing. and it’s a whole 5 posts deep, ( in 11 months and with a good 15 drafts waiting) , with it’s inaugural post claiming how even when i wasn’t ready, i would launch this stupid thing into the world and share my story…and i haven’t. partly because life got less pretty (there are many half stories about that waiting in my draft box here ), partly because there are so many more important stories to read about and mostly because i wanted to wait till i had it all right. till i’d sussed out the links and perfected those posts and found my guest bloggers and at least read a few other blogs and  blah blah blah. but life kept spinning and i caught myself doing the same thing i encourage everyone to avoid… trying to wait till it’s perfect. and it never is. still, everyone has a story to tell. and every story is worth recording. and here is part of ours, which will be littered with imperfections and will likely always be incomplete and i may show you just half of me now ; the  prettier part that cuts off the big zit on my chin, and the black and white may lessen my laugh lines, but still, i have a story to tell. and it’s not all that exciting or meaningful to many, but it’s a story all the same. and one that i want, at the very least, my boys to be able to look back on and see and know and remember. hopefully with a smile. so i will let go of the waiting; to perfect the logo or many drafts and thoughts from the last year. i will start with now, with remembering and documenting how this adventure goes… both the one close at hand and the one long laid out before us. and then maybe i can feel okay asking you to allow me to capture yours.

the boys love to brag that they have “over 40 cousins”. there is some truth to that, in that i myself have a gaggle of them, thanks to 2 parents from 6 kid families. still, there is something precious and quite momentous about a first first cousin.

mo is the youngest of my husband’s 3 siblings. this always gives me a giggle; her being the “baby”, because she is ANYTHING but. she is truly one of the more maternal people i know;  constantly looking out for every one, often the organizer of adventures, always the dependable one. oh, and she’s fiercely, unshakably loyal to her people. so there was no doubt she’d be a great mama. and the lovable, loving man she married would be a fab daddy-o. all the same, meeting o; this bright-eyed and beautiful boy, this little beam of light that we all find ourselves so drawn to, was sweeter and more delicious than i’d expected.  as it turns out, auntiehood, much like motherhood, can shock you with the sheer depth in which you can love a little one. and it’s sure a treat watching the “baby” love the baby that is hers.

as if the first day of school isn’t bittersweet enough; we lament the end of summer and her long, sweet days. the delve back into school and routine and strict time constraints and commitments. that swift passage of time, and recognizing that just when you blinked your eyes, another year, another grade, has come upon you like a runaway train. they call it, at least in our waldorf-inspired school, “the handing over ceremony”. each first grader is welcomed to the family, the village if you will, that is our school community. and it’s all very lovely, what with the sing-songing teachers calling the name of each new member of the first grade, the rest of the school looking on. his big brother, who was JUST THERE, smiling at him from his tall fourth grade chair.

and they call his name first, and he moves forward to accept the flower from his young and pretty teacher; and she will see him more waking hours than i do during the week. and he will call her name when he’s afraid, or hurt, or confused, or simply wants to know more about the world or how things work. and the parenting of strangers suddenly influences what he knows, as it seeps out of the children surrounding him,  and the words of his peers nearly become his gospel. and i stop becoming his main influence. and he stops becoming mostly mine. mine.

that morning the first thing he muttered was, “i can’t believe i won’t see you for SIX HOURS.” and then, “do you feel nervous, buddy?”, met with, “um i’m REALLY nervous”. honesty.

and so i get to sit at the front during this “handing over”, armed with my camera and thankful that it buys me the nearness…that i get to sit right behind him because i’ve promised the principle photos of the gathering. but i’m not ready when they call his name, my eyes already glassed with grief, and then he’s sitting right before me, clutching his flower and wondering how this will all unfold, while i’m wondering the same thing. and he turns with this look…full of nerves and excitement and total unknowing, but faith that it will all be fine. and i will try with all my might to glean some of that faith. that what we’ve taught him thus far will carry him through. that the world will keep looking full of hope and beauty to him, and that the harsh realities will only trickle in when he’s ready. and honestly, i’m not ready for one minute to hand either of them over to anyone at all. and they have to teach me to be brave, to have some faith, and to trust that it will all tell a very happy story in the end.