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Posts Tagged ‘Letting Go’

bicyclegreen_edited-1removing training wheels

he types his essay
on heroes and anti-heroes
defining the noble, the ignoble
the brave, questing search
of the soul of a man
wrestling down, pinning
the argument of his
ideas

“read it,” he wants,
only half-way done
but in this letting go
of both our hands
he needs to trust his
argument, his support
the heart of his ideas
for now
until the roughness of it
is sketched in

the review wait
until further progress
frustrates independence growing
unused to hands-off processes that
stretches new-found
self-ownership and the evaluation
of it
by other minds and other hearts
who neither held his hands and nor let go
to walk, fall, and pull himself up
to try again until
he got it
on his own

like bicycle riding
solo
for the first time
with the training wheels of
independence
removed
revealing the sheer terror
of hands-off
for both of us
until his feet pressed into the pedals
his hands wrapped control around
handle bars
his inside boy balanced his outside boy
and he flew down the side walk

heart jumping, I stood
at the letting-go point
hands gripped at my side
words held back so they
wouldn’t get in the way
as he wobbled, teetering
from failure to success
in the newness of confidence
emerging
from owning the journey
two-wheeled independence

today he writes,
and I find busyness
in a letting-go moment
hands gripping the dish clothe,
wiping the counter
words held back so they won’t
get in the way
of his words, his ideas
of heroes and anti-heroes,
examples and arguments
of an essay written
comparing the souls of men

this slow removal
of the training wheels of
Independence
of a mama’s hands
letting go
to allow him to own
his success, his failures
his  picking himself up to try
again
and in that picking up gain
more than success
is
courage-soaked mother
who loves enough
to let go

Won’t you settle in, join me with a cup of spiced ginger plum tea, join me with Karen at Tuesdays at Ten? The writing prompt is . . . Letting go.

 

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Before Christmas, I bought a new quilt for my bed. Depending on my mood, it can be found either folded over the foot of the bed atop a white coverlet like the one in the picture. Right now my white coverlet is folded away in the closet. Regardless of which blanket is the main blanket, my original quilt – one about 11 years old, is not far away – either folded over the foot of my bed or on my settee.

The old quilt has history.  Snugglebuggles when all the boys would end up in our room, the biggest one wrapped in the Blue Cotton Blanket on the floor, and, depending on who wandered in during the night, one or all of the other 4. Climbing under the Green Cotton Blanket was synonymous with comfort, warmth, giggles, good-night books, a safe haven during a blustery thunderstorm, funny sounds in the night, a healing cocoon when sickness struck – and mom.

I guess they spent nine months in me – and the closest they could get to mama after those nine months was being wrapped up in the Green Cotton Blanket.

I’ve knitted blankets they love, bought little boy bedroom blankets, and Nanny quilted blankets for each son.  But none are filled with the Green Cotton Blanket Magic.

The surest sign they are growing up is when they stop wandering in for snuggles under the Green Cotton Blanket.  That is as it should be.  However, they’ve never tried to steal it. . . until a few weeks ago. Why should I be surprised, though?  One son stole the Blue Cotton Blanket; apparently, it is in the genes.

There, so innocently, folded over my bed, just waiting to be used – The Green Cotton Blanket.

The littlest guy, pictured below all snuggled up in blankets in his carrier, was he headed for a life of blanket theft even then?  In the background, you can see the green cotton blanket. Was the pull of the blanket just too much?  And he broke? Temptation is they name. . . Green Cotton Blanket?

Those same words from almost 22 years ago, the same facial expressions, just a different little boy, the littlest boy.  As his fingertips pulled at the blanket, he flashed a guilty smile full of bravado, “I’ll just take this.  You don’t really need it.”

“But what about if I take a nap? I’ll still need it?”

“How ’bout I get it at night, and you can have it in the daytime?” he countered as he darted out of the room, his body shielding me from the Green Cotton Blanket – as though I were the threat.

I stood there amused because the situation was so familiar to my heart.  And so bemused because I was out another blanket – one I really like snuggling with for myself.  We went back and forth for a few days.  He would trot to the bathroom; I would sneak in to steal it back. But I knew it was a lost cause. Because when you get too old to snuggle with mama, well, you really still do want to but you’re just too old, so the next best thing is the snuggle blanket. It is not a total snuggle-free zone yet, but I see the writing on the wall! Or the message in the blanket.

I just somehow feel like I’ve lost more than a Green Cotton Blanket!

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