Posts from the “Mama Sap” Category

Hints of What Matters Amid the Chaos

Posted on October 22, 2014

  Time is doing that thing, that thing that reveals how fast it goes even while some days seem to last for weeks. It isn’t the back-to-school blur or a concentration of deadlines at work, though those are both real and present. It’s the toss of hair and expressiveness of Finley’s eyebrows, her declarations of, “It’s just odd!” followed by a quick scan of the room to see if we all caught how mature she is. It’s Briar slipping quietly into a private realm, emotions and Minecraft, daydreams and song lyrics. The way Avery thrashes in the night, limbs too long for her pjs and shocks of hair that when tucked behind her ear, reveal new hollows in her face. I buck against the…

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Saturday Lessons on LEGOs and Saying Yes

Posted on August 31, 2014

I woke up this morning to Finley spooning me. Her face was close enough that my hair fluttered as she sighed. I kept my eyes closed because I wasn’t ready. She ran her finger up and over my shoulder again and again. I listened, the house was quiet but for the ceiling fans running. “Where are your sisters?” I murmured softly enough that she’d know I still wasn’t committed to waking up. “Briar is downstairs, when I looked for Ave I couldn’t find her in her bed. Did Dad leave?” I nodded, she hugged me tighter. I cracked an eye, she beamed at me. I tried to keep it open, but the pull of sleep and the resistance to all that the day would…

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Can you cut them?

Posted on June 17, 2014

It was a simple enough question, “Mom, can you cut these for shorts for me?” Finely stood beside me, her hair irresistibly akimbo from going to bed immediately after her bath. I touched the raised, white polka dots and let the memories come. Three sets of legs walking around in these pants. I’d bought them on one of my many shopping excursions powered by a firm belief that kids should be encouraged to mix patterns. Soon enough they’ll have rules to follow, shapes to dress for, and other loads of shit that detract from just dressing to please yourself and suit your activities. She waited patiently, perfectly accustomed to my tendency toward glazed-eye reflection. “Cut them?” I asked softly. “Uh-huh, I don’t have anymore…

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The Ones That Stick

Posted on June 3, 2014

I am guilty, from time to time, of trying to be an architect of memories, thinking that if I arrange the art project just so or if I plan the adventure out with care, then I can slip moments in time in each girl’s heart that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. I work at creating these moments like a puzzle, turning ideas in my mind, sorting options, and then putting my head down until I make the pieces fit. The weight of wanting, needing, to nurture memories can be tremendous.¬†Every once in a while something happens and I am completely awestruck by how the girls are memory tenders themselves. “Hey mom, can you wake me up early to work on the…

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Just Perfect

Posted on May 7, 2014

I had a preoccupation as a little girl that people around me would die. Actually, it wasn’t about people around me, it was my mom; I actively worried that I would lose her. There are moments when the pangs of fear that I would feel come back to me, not as fear of losing her now, but that very raw feeling of being 8 and afraid that she’d be swallowed up by something and be out of reach to me. I think it was in that time, in those moments in our house on the hill, the twists of brown and gold rug beneath my feet and the weight of fearing my mom’s death all around me, that I developed my tendency to say…

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