This morning was Oliver’s last day of preschool.  Ever.  These changes in his life, the little episodes of letting go, where his growth up, up, up and eventually away feels imminent, I get wistful for the life I am living now.  Weirdo over here.

The only salve I can think of for this gaping wound of motherhood is to be so grateful for each moment I have with my little family.  I guess that’s the most powerful lesson motherhood is teaching me–to just be here now.

I’m a slow but steady learner.  For example, I’m learning, in moments of fear of the nature of life and its impermanence, to bring myself gently back into the here and now.  Right now.

For this lesson, I am grateful.

I wrote about all of this while sitting on the deck of the Treehouse this morning.  I wanted to call one of my friends and cry to them about how hard it is to be a mother.  But I knew that what I really needed was just to listen to myself.  To sit down and draw it all out.

I felt, as I always do after writing, remarkably lighter.

When I picked Oliver up from preschool, I gave his teachers a thank you note, and cried.  I couldn’t help it.  They hugged me.

I’m accepting that I love my family so much, I am overwhelmed by it most days.  It’s a blessed and lucky place to be.

I have not abandoned this blog.  I am in the process of re-vision, creating a new vision for my blog in which I highlight and honor the endangered art of the written word.  This is a blog about journaling by a Minneapolis mother, writer, teacher, bike freak, and lover of life.

I will be tweaking this blog until it feels right.  Through this blog, I aspire to inspire…