Tuesday, February 16, 2010
She's so serious here. Trying to figure out the camera with the sensation of mother-love that comes all too little lately. I borrowed her for my 365 project today.
I'm working in a self-portrait angle this year, and three days into it, I'm certain it's going to be a stretching experience. I view myself in pieces right now. There is writer-me, depressed-me, insecure-me, loved-me, mama-me, person-me. The feelings ram against each other; my stay is not in my mood.
But this is a post about Piper.
She has grown so much. I hardly believe she is two anymore. Her homeschool-mama sitter sat Pete down after fencing recently (my husband is teaching fencing again, and taking Piper with him) and told him that she is operating at a four-to-five-year-old level. This report made one rather bad day of mine a rather good day at its end.
With her growth comes an expanded capacity for trouble.
I have an aunt who reads this blog who will cringe at this next photo:
Piper destroyed my grandmother's chair yesterday. I inherited a few small things from Grandma, things I treasure more than I should probably treasure earthly possessions. They're right up there with my camera in emotional value. Probably more so. This was one of those.
I didn't know it until I went into the living room to take a little time with her and found the pieces scattered all over the floor.
And mama-time went out the window.
Because I had told her. And I know she is old enough and responsible enough to know that she was not supposed to tear the chair up.
So I yelled, as all good mad mamas do. And I spanked her. As most good mad mamas do. And I sent her to her room, because I was too angry with her to not keep yelling, and I needed a little help with my self-control.
I didn't know what to do. When love rams up into loss, how do you react? What course of action can you take?
By now the baby was hollering to be fed, so I pulled him out of his bed and nursed him, fuming, frustrated, trying to figure out how to fix the situation - not the chair, the broken relationship. The relationship I had just knocked over the foul line.
I was still fuming when I heard her door open. I steeled myself, determined to keep my quiet, as she padded into the kitchen, crying softly.
She laid her head on the arm of my desk chair, on my arm resting there, holding Bredon as I nursed.
"I'm sowwy, Mama. Sowwy, Mommy."
Now it was my turn to cry. My anger dissolved. How did she know?
I got to forgive her. And then I told her I was sorry too, for yelling, for my angry. I told her I loved her.
And she moved on.
Childlike, childish - it was okay now. She could play again.
I sat and watched her, amazed, stunned at her tender heart.
And something else caught me. She didn't doubt my forgiveness once she knew she was still loved. She received the mercy she'd asked of me.
I don't even do that when I ask it of God. I'm too busy kicking myself for needing the mercy in the first place.
Talk about lessons in abundant living...
(Image © Informal Moments Photography)