Sing mama sing

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Last night at yoga, we talked about singing and chanting. How it lifts your soul, changes your mood and affects the brain. We talked about the sound that comes from singing and chanting and its power to affect your well being on a spiritual and emotional level. It was a very enlightening class. A reminder that we have the power to change our outlook, we just need to look within.  

It seemed quite fitting, as lately I have been noticing the ladies asking me to sing more. Especially when we go for walks.  Our walks can have many moments of chaos. Four (sometimes five) preschools walking and a double stroller means I have a lot to do and to pay attention to. It can get a bit overwhelming at times. The requests for song seem to be more frequent.

‘Mama, sing the red robin bopping song like Gagu’

‘Mama, sing a song about flowers…’

‘Mama, sing a song about the birds in the sky’

‘Mama, sing about Canty-boy’

I feel l am constantly singing to them. I sing about eating, I sing about walking, I sing about how we feel,  I sing about everything. I try my best to keep up with their song requests. 

I even have noticed the gentleman I am babysitting also making up their own songs. They make them up, sing them to me and ask me if I like them. The latest was a song about sitting down and putting your shoes on. It has become a regular on our playlist.  It is now known as ‘Aiden’s song’. 

I sing because they ask me, ask and you shall receive. But I am noticing I sing even when not pushed to. My intuition goes to singing. Singing when I feel over whelmed, singing when I feel lonely  Singing when I feel frustrated. I am instinctively trying to change my perspective by immersing myself in song. The ladies instinctively tried to show me how to change my perspective. Their reminders and request showed me that joy can be brought to each moment, no matter how simple, all you need to do is add a song. They make me feel like my voice can lift angels. They don’t see embarrassing moments when they demand song in the middle of a busy store, they just want to feel joy by their mama’s voice. They know what is needed to change the mood and they tell me.

I am glad I listened. 

 

Sing mama sing, 

Sing to us a beautiful song, 

A song of joy and laughter,

grace and beauty, 

To bring back moments

that made us shine

 

Sing mama sing, 

Let your voice lift us

Let your voice rise high

keeping us free in the sky

letting our wings fly us home

 

Sing Mama sing

Let your soul be the light

let us guide you to our song

 

Sing mama sing

 

 

 

Have a joyful and beautiful day. 

Much love, 

Jessica

‘Children need models more then they need critics’

 

 

 

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Drug of choice

Typical for me,
Underestimation,
Assumptions
Judgements

always knowing what come next,
prepared for the unexpected,
Not succombing to bewilderment,
Not accustomed to unforeseen wisdom

But…

He surprised me,
His insight,

Profound and true,

He speaks from his heart,
free from condensation
full of truth and light

‘You get a high for the control,
A buzz from the power’
he tells me

He is right
I am addicted to powerful authority
to being in control

‘Addict’ is in my blood
It boils deep within me

An uninvited friend
Who keeps try to get me to do ‘bad’
A friend who won’t leave

This existence scares me
the fear can be overpowering

I escape the fear,
reality can be too much

I am no different
then the addict I fear

Still overtaking.
Still overpowering
Still keeping me small and scared

I am still escaping my reality,
Just with a different drug

My drug of choice.

 A hazey world. Escape can come so easily, with your drug of choice.

A hazey world. Escape can come so easily, with your drug of choice.

We are addicted to our thoughts. We cannot change anything if we cannot change our thinking.
― Santosh Kalwar

Much love,

Jessica

Colorful angel

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Color dripping

transcendent allure

 

wings gracefully lifting and moving

a tiny body living fully in the skies

 

the butterfly soars through the air

lifting the mood

soaring our spirit high

 

we mimic the joy they bring

by creating with our own color

our own insight brought to those precious wings

 

is it an angel, she asks

an angel with color and wings spread far

 

is it an angel that I see?

                                    she asks profoundly

 

the answer being no,

it is a butterfly

                      it is a butterfly that you see,

oh, she says perplexed in her common nature,

Her insight is blinding

deep and powerful

it comes bubbling forth

 

I will call it an angel,

a beautiful colorful angel

 

Much love, 

Jessica

 

Grown men can learn from very little children,
for the hearts of little children are pure.
Therefore, the great Spirit may show to them
many things which older people miss.

Great Elk

 

 

Yesterdays blunders forgotten and today’s story being written

Yesterday was an odd day.

It all began swimmingly. The kids were happy, I was happy, we were all meshing well together. I even had a good friend come over and help me with my website, *soon to be revealed, I am so excited!*  We shared ideas, brainstormed and simply worked. It was nice change of pace.

Then around 3:00, it all went to the dogs. The kids and I were on different planets.

They were defying me, pushing me and I was yelling at them, pushing them back. It was a game of tug of war, with no winners. Everything was sending them into a tailspin, and everything was sending me into my ungraceful mama fits. 

It was an afternoon/evening that I am going to put in the books and move on from, not one of my finer times. 

After my little’s were put to bed, mostly by my bumblebee husband, I had great intentions to  blog last night. I wanted to spill my soul and show everyone how hard this motherhood thing is. I wanted to be truthful and honest and bold. I was hoping that would break my guilt driven sense of frustration, but instead I fell asleep.

I am glad it was sleep over writing last night. I was a lost cause and what I would have written would have been no use to myself or anyone else.  

So I slept, sinking deeply away from my world. 

This morning when I awoke, a huge sense of ‘newness’ washed over me. 

Today is a new day. Yesterday was filled with blunders, but today I can write a new story. 

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

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Lessons from laundry

wind flutters

smells linger

fabric snaps and cracks

the line squeals

thankful to be moving after its long wait

 

 

Intoxifying my senses

transporting me to a new place

 

Its here,

            Its here,

                         Its here,

 

The new start,

Spring time

 

My drying laundry tells the tale  

its invigorating presence reminds me

after every winter comes spring time

 

after the darkness,

                              there is light

 

there is always a new beginning

a new start

always a chance to try again

 

 

 

Much love, 

Jessica

beginnings of sound

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beginnings of sound:

beginning with the gurgles and lulls
murmurs of life
the beginning of your indicative sound

the noise while your drank
the ravenous gulps
thirsting and striving
the noise that demanded more

the flow of your breath
a steady rhythm,
lungs inhaling
breath flowing
ribs moving
the orchestra of your life force

My breath beginning to mimic yours
my sounds stay true to you
trying to connect
trying to attach

these noises I longed to hear
these sounds I held close

Early signs that you understood
hushed sounds showing me that you knew
you knew the truth to my spirit

Your communication to my soul
our connection,
‘mama and son’

These noises now becoming more dynamic
soft murmurs and quiet gulps
giving way to loud screeching and simple syllables.

yelping new demands for time and joy
speaking simple syllables
showing me you know

ma
da
ba

the beginnings of our words to share
the progression of your communication
so prevalent
so transformative
so powerful

simple sounds
powerful connections
constant communication

poetic inspiration

Each day I ask, 

“What was your favorite part of the day?”

The question posed to distract them while I make dinner, do dishes or feed their brother. A question to keep them still and connected with me. It saddens me that sometimes I don;t hear their answer. It saddens me to realized I move to fast to hear their answer. Ir saddens me that I miss the beauty of life through their eyes. 

I have begun to stop, listen and pay attention. 

They have begun to be my creative inspiration. 

My muses. 

Today, they told me their favorite part of the day was watching two spiders in the window. They told me they played with them, a boy and a girl. one moving, one not. 

Their words poetic. The joy seeping and bubbling from their little voices. 

I wanted to see that joy. Feel it, touch it, and simply be with it. I wanted to see the world their way.

Poetry can bring me their. Use their words as my inspiration. Use their eyes as my guide. See it all as they do, with the pure beauty that is the mundane.  

 

 

Waltz of the spiders

By: Jessica Kennedy

 

pressed to the glass,

they lay,

still,

side by side, 

 

waiting for an audience

 

A boy and a girl.

Dance partners

 

spiders waltzing among the beams of light

Moving to their own music

 

We watched them

limber and fast

dancing gracefully in the noon sun

 

in their own world,

between the vast outside

and hollowed inside

 

they danced together in their own exceptional universe

and we watched,

with eyes of wonder

We witnessed their intricate entanglement

 

relishing the mystery of these tiny creatures

the mystery of the dance

 

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 much love, 

Jessica

sticky fingerprints

The evening sun beams penetrate the window, blinding me momentarily. I am laying on the couch watching cartoons with the kids. I am not present, I am lost. The day was bad. Grey and cloudy and full of anger and frustration. I am tired, I would even go to say completely exhausted. At this moment the sun is too much and the noise of the TV and his music in the other room is overwhelming. I want to yell at it and be angry because that seems to be how I am handling the rest of lives difficulties today. 

But my eyes adjust, and in a moment I am shifted. My conscious is shifted to a much more present place. My mind is suddenly awake and I realize what the sun is trying to show me. 

The sticky finger prints on the entertainment unit. I remember hearing the kids playing with the WII games using them to create stories and the giggles that proceeded. They loved to tell stories about the pictures in the front covers. 

The dusty hand prints on the patio window. I am transported back to the moment two little girls wanted to go out side in their dress high heels. I fought and fought them till I gave up, exhausted by their keen negotiation skills. Once outside, they had a blast trying to skip and play hola hoop in plastic princess shoes. 

The loud music, the dance music. The music Daddy puts on, luring his girls to come join him for a dance party. That music to them is joy. It means daddy is waiting and they are about to fill the better part of an hour with laughs, new dance moves and quality time.  

The grayness dissapeared, and though the sun was setting in the sky, it was filling up my soul inside. I didn’t clean the dinner dishes while they danced, I cuddled my little guy, and watched three maniacs dance their hearts out. I didn’t immediately grab the dusting cloth and window cleaner to clean the windows and entertainment unit, I looked at those messy and imperfect marks and smiled.

Someday there will be no little hands to leave finger prints around. Someday the noise will be gone. All the noise, the giggles, the storytelling, the whining and crying. Someday there will be no desire to dance for most of the evening with daddy. Someday there will be no cuddles with my wee man. Some day everything that pushes me and exhausts me will be gone and grown up. 

and I will miss it, with all my heart. 

Much love, 

JessicaImageImage

 

While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.

~Angela Schwindt