Biggest in his eyes!

Giraffe

“My daddy is more bigger,” he announced after examining a photo on my wall of my niece and her (rather tall) husband. His curls bounced in certitude and his tone spanned the space from pity to challenge.

“Is he?” I noted, winking at the boy’s mom.

I know the father. Objectively this little guy’s dad isn’t particularly tall, but this wasn’t about being objective … To his son, the father may as well be the giant of all giants.

“Yea,” the preschooler nodded emphatically. “My daddy is even more bigger than …” he scanned the room for inspiration, “… a whole Empire State Building house or even more bigger than …” he narrowed his eyes in concentration, opened them wide, “a giraffe!”

 

For The Daily Post

 

Think Deeply

 

Think deeply about life.

Hold people closely, gently, in your heart.

Think deeply of the things that nourish:

Care and hope, compassion, truth, light.

Think deeply about what you know

And what you still would like to find out knowledge of.

Think deeply of the seeds you plant

In your soul’s soil

In others’.

Think deeply of the past and all its lessons

Of the way it can shape future histories

Or repeat woe.

Think deeply of the power of both joy and sorrow

Of the choices that can lead to more of both

And which one matters more.

Think deeply of the path you walk

The roads you pave for children and their children’s children

For this Earth.

 

Think deeply of all this

And think beyond it

Yet above and through and in between all of this

Thinking

Breathe in light

Breathe out hope

Offer comfort

Cultivate love.

by Buddha doodles

By Buddha Doodles

 

For The Daily Post

 

Do It Anyway

He has stage fright. The real deal.

Social phobia with all the trimmings.

Speaking in front of anyone renders him paralyzed with irrational but no less numbing terror.

Talking to a store clerk makes him sweat.

Let alone giving a speech in front of assembly.

The whole school. Faculty, too.

He trembles at the thought.

“You don’t have to do this.” His mother. She is distressed by his distress. Protective.

“But I do,” he says.

He’s scared.

Determined, too.

He asks me to teach him how “to speak even when my throat gets stuck.”

We work on it. On breath, on visualizing, on rhythm and on parsing and on tone and pitch and breath again. He practices. With me, at the mirror, with family, with a good friend.

He knows the words by heart. He wrote them. A speech about things that oh-so-matter and are so very needing-to-be-said.

“The words come into my dreams,” he tells me. “Is that weird?”

I shrug. I don’t think so. “What do you think?”

He smiles shyly. “I think they want me not to be afraid. The words. Like we are friends now, words and me.”

 

The day comes.

He calls me in the evening.

“I threw up twice and I trembled like crazy,” he says, but his voice is giddy. “Then I thought about the words. My words … like friends. The beads on the necklace like we practiced … and I could breathe … I was still scared but I did it anyway!”

 

learn-how-vvg

I Know You!

As told to me by Mom-of-Three-Under-Six:

“So there we were, on our way to what feels to me like the 100th birthday party of the school year, and possibly the real cause for childhood obesity driven by absolute overload of pizza, cupcakes, sweets and other junk food … (I’m almost — almost — considering serving celery sticks, kale-chips, and wheatgrass juice in my son’s upcoming birthday. What stops me is knowing he’ll need about a decade in therapy to deal with the untimely exodus of little feet and the almost guaranteed desert of future RSVPs to his parties …).

In any event, there we  were, cranky baby squirmy in the carrier and the hand of a squirmy already-hyper-on-the-thought-of-sugar preschooler slipping in and out of mine. When we finally arrive, the door is opened by the somewhat stooped and Old-Country dressed grandma (or great-great-grand …) of the birthday boy.

My boy takes one look at her and announces, full lungs: ‘I know you! You are Nanny McPhee!!’

I think I need about a decade of therapy.”

 

nanny-mcphee

 

For The Daily Post

Day of The Girl

Speak up for every girl.

For every woman, child.

For those who never had a say

Or book, or pen in hand.

Speak up for every girl

Who was shut up from choice

For every girl whose culture robbed

From future full of hope.

Speak up for girls who have no school

Who’re married before time,

Who men control with fear and pain

In violence, man-prowl, crime.

Speak up for every woman, child,

Trafficked, sold off, bound

For every one who’d been demeaned

Silenced, pushed around.

Speak up for girls who do not earn

Fair wages for fair work

Speak up for giving girls a voice

For futures they can mold.

Speak up so no more men teach boys

That women can be groped.

Speak up so no more women believe

Such men cannot be stopped.

Speak up for every girl who thinks

No one will care to know

Who worries rape will be about

Her face, her clothes, her fault.

Speak up so every girl

Can have a safe return.

From classrooms, boardrooms, wells.

So every child is free to be

To write, to talk, to tell.

Speak up for women everywhere

From girlhood throughout life

For mothers, sisters, neighbors, wives.

Speak up.

Speak up.

Speak up.

 

malala

Malala Yousafzai

 

 

Find peace

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/333055334913490394/

Find peace in quiet nature

Find peace in small things born

Find peace in flowers after winter

Find peace in green shoots grown

Find peace in human kindness

Find peace in life galore

Find peace in colors blooming

Find peace in blue-green shores

Find peace in sunshine streaming

Find peace in mornings’ glow

Find peace in smiles unexpected

Find peace in rivers’ flow

Find peace in children’s laughter

And hope in hearts who know.

oldfriends

Peace

In this time of repeated violence, I find solace in the truths that do not fade, for they hold more substance than fleeting words, shoulder shrugs, denials, numbness, pretense, or calls for more violence as a ‘solution’ for the inordinate violence that’s already there.

Truths remain. Even in the face of the most urgent attempts to smother it.

In this time of sorrow and frustration, I am reminded:

“There is no way to peace.

Peace is the way.”

                                             (A. J. Muste)

And

“The person who says it cannot be done

should not interrupt the person doing it…”

                                                  (Chinese Proverb)

From NPR.org by NASA

From NPR.org by NASA