Clever men place the world into cages, but the wise woman ducks under the moon and throws keys to the rowdy prisoners. – Hafiz
There are only two questions that human beings have ever fought over, all through history. How much do you love me? and Who’s in charge?” – Elizabeth Gilbert
On Wednesday I had a hot and sweaty date with five demanding women. Heather and I took our respective progeny (two daughters each) to the beach.
A couple of weeks ago I had discovered – not-so-funny how some of us claim things new to us even when they’re long-known and owned by others, ahh the history of the world – Centennial Beach at Boundary Bay.
It was a spontaneous thing. I’d heard about this beach, we were out for a drive and I found my way there.
And what a beach. What a bay. Long, uninterrupted swaths of white sand bordered by a bird sanctuary on one side and the surprisingly warm Pacific Ocean on the other.
Did I mention the water was warm?
The water was warm. My girls immediately got in – clothes be damned, Sophie wore all of hers and Lola took ‘em all off – and stayed in. When you live north of the 49th and you find water warm enough to swim in, then by the water gods, goddesses, sirens and mermaids (but not Shark Week, damn you Shark Week!), you swim in it. Now. You don’t wait to be equipped with petty luxuries like towels and bathing suits. Skin is a fine swim suit.
And then you brag to your bff that you discovered what would have happened if the Holy Grail mated with a unicorn: a beach in the Pacific Northwest that doesn’t make your pointy bits announce their presence to the world or seek shelter internally.
Naturally, Heather immediately wanted a piece of this hot (ok, warm) swimmable beach action.
So we strapped all the kids into her super-sexy Dodge Caravan with the unspoken and fervent wish that the kids would splash and make sandcastles while we gossiped and all would be right with the kids-being-kids/mamas-being-adults world. You know, fantasy land.
When we arrived the tide was out – waaaaaaay out – and recriminations ensued.
“Why are you getting mad at us?” I asked. “We didn’t make the tide go out. That’s the moon. That’s a higher power than your mothers. You need to take that up with God.”
Heather and I unpacked the towels, blanket, snacks, sunscreen, wipes, extra clothes, and beach toys ferried from car-to-beach by a small fleet of valets, puckishly attired man-servants, donkeys, camels and helpful elves – which is to say “the two of us” – and then encouraged the children to play. With each other.
Heather’s two year old promptly reclined against Heather’s thigh while my four year old set up shop in the small of my back. They snacked. They ignored our pleas to go play in the tidal pool.
(Hey. We suggested a tidal pool, not traffic.)
And this, I told Heather, is the paradox of motherhood.
Our children know that we bring the tide in and out. When they are little, their world is small and we are large. So large that we duck under the moon to order bed times and vegetables and boss the sea. We choreograph their world so why not the natural world, too?
And just when we marvel at our own power and glory and incredible ability to command clouds and caravans and kids, they sit on us. With their casual permission to access our bodies they remind us exactly who’s in charge, after all.
One day I cross paths with a friend and her sweet ones. It wasn’t that long ago that the friend and I had orchestrated playdates for our littles. We do a lot of laughing and smiling and saying a lot of, “Remember when….?” And as she walks away, my son says, “Mom, she’s smaller.”
I say, “No, Honey, you are bigger.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on August 8th, 2010 at 7:36 am
@Jesse, oh honey, BEAUTIFUL.
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“And just when we marvel at our own power and glory and this incredible ability to command kids and clouds and caravans, they sit on us. They remind us with their casual permission to our bodies just who’s in charge, after all.”
I love how, with a couple of clever turns of phrase, you captured the irony and the beauty of motherhood. Sweet, lovely piece. thanks.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on August 8th, 2010 at 7:38 am
@ami | 40daystochange, I once told my friend Amanda Farough that motherhood hasn’t made me a better person, but it has made me a bigger person. I’ve become larger (in more than one way!) because parenting means I need the capacity to hold within myself ambiguity and paradox.
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You nailed it, in a most rhythmically and lexically delightful way.
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So true and beautifully said!
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on August 8th, 2010 at 7:41 am
@Andrea, Thanks Andrea!
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As always, a joy to read. In a strange way, you make motherhood sound almost enticing.
Almost.
Hugs and butterflies,
~T~
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Hey, Kelly!
First-time visitor to your blog, here. ~wave~ I followed you from a guest post (somewhere–I’ve been catching up), where I must have been impressed or I wouldn’t be here now. <;o)
I really like the way you've written about motherhood, honoring it but not putting it on an altar to be knelt down to. I wasn't gifted with being a mother (tho I was a wicked stepmother for nearly five years) and have released my maternal skills on the cats I've been surrounded by all my life. Not entirely different, but they might not enjoy your magical beach, tide in or out.
I look forward to reading more of your delightfully different writing,
Annie
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on August 8th, 2010 at 7:41 am
@Annie Stith (@Gr8fulAnnie), thank you, Annie. I appreciate what you said, because that’s EXACTLY what I’m trying to do. To me, parenting is a stint of hard labour interrupted by moments of divine joy. It isn’t necessarily a romantic enterprise, and I don’t idealize it, but wow do I treasure the fleeting moments of bliss.
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The moon, the tides, the body, and instinct. All of these threads that run through motherhood – womanhood – for me, and with which you weave so beautifully. As always. Thank you. xox
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“With their casual permission to access our bodies”… so so so beautiful and yet I can see the frustration. Well said.
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Kelly, not surprisingly, you’ve captured much in this imagery and your beyond-fabulous use of words. I feel this tension all the time: the push-pull between my wants and their needs, their wants and my needs. To be reminded of the beauty in that, the pull of the moon, the warmth of a back? Pure worship and grace. Thank you, my friend.
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I have the unfortunate job of telling you that this time, when you are the moon and your children want to spoon, this time is the good time. Enjoy! Love it! Embrace it! When they realize that there actually is something, someone bigger than Momma, troubles ensue because they are in teendom and, well, we then know nothing. Eventually, the world circles around and, as Momma, we start to know things worth passing on again.
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