Shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.

"Hey, do you mind if I tell you a story? One you might not have heard. All the elements in your body were forged many, many millions of years ago in the heart of a far away star that exploded and died. That explosion scattered those elements across the desolations of deep space. After so, so many millions of years these elements came together to form new stars and new planets. And on and on it went. The elements came together and burst apart forming shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. Until, eventually, they came together to make you. You are unique in the universe. There is only one Merry Galel and there will never be another. Getting rid of that existence isn't a sacrifice, it is a waste!"-- the Doctor to Merry Galel on "The Rings of Akhaten" (Doctor Who!)

Do hard stuff.

They all wanted to climb the cliff. There was a cave up there, and the three of them were ready to explore, head lights and all. I eyed the mouth of the cave warily, considered the climb. The way up wouldn't be easy. It was nearly a perfectly vertical climb in some places, though you could see where attacking the angles of the rocks and dirt could give you some relief. Just a little. The way down would be harder, almost, coming down so steeply, trying to keep momentum and gravity from joining forces.

I didn't want to do it.

I told them that. "I'll just wait here," I said. I had my camera; I could explore the creek and take some pictures. Get some alone time. I ignored the way their faces fell, or tried to.

Wayland pushed. "Come on," he said. "You can do this." Madeleine, who was already on her way up, came back. "I'll help you," she offered.

Violet was already ahead of all of us, scaling the rocks with ease.

How does she do that? I wondered. How do any of them?

Finally I agreed to try the climb.

They all climbed up without me and I took my time, almost stubbornly slow. Climbing a little, pausing. Staring up at them, feeling: Nothing. Well, not nothing. Sort of a tug downward, I guess. A tiny voice in my head telling me to go back. That I could stay on the ground and explore the creek alone, take my pictures. And a tug upward, too, watching their complete ease with the task: up and up, so sure of themselves. I wanted to be them. I wanted to be with them. But I wanted to not have to try.

I never want to try. I want it to be easy.

So up and up I went.

They reached the mouth of the cave and I sat on one of the tiny ledges I found on the way up and stared at them. They weren't all that far away now. It would take me less than a minute to get there. But even coming so far, the tug downward was still there. Stop. Stay. You don't have to do this.

"What's wrong?" Wayland asked.

"Do you need more help?" Madeleine asked.

"I don't want to climb," I said.

Violet came closer to the ledge and peered down at me. "Well, you have to climb sometimes," Violet said. "Otherwise you won't know if you can do it. And you will never know how fun it can be."

Why is my kid smarter than I am? I wondered.

I did go the rest of the way, but I didn't explore the cave. And I didn't feel it, that thing I am sure they were feeling. Just connectedness. A belonging. A natural ease with themselves and their relation to things.

I consoled myself there at the mouth of the cave, waiting for them to come back. It's OK if climbing isn't for you, I told myself. Not everyone likes to climb.

But it isn't really about the climb, is it? It's about being afraid and unsure and letting that dictate how you enjoy your life. Or how you don't at all.

When was the last time I did something challenging? Frightening? Something that yanked me right out of my comfort zone? When did I last do the good growing? The kind where you plunge your hands into dirt and sift through the sand, the kind that leaves you raw and new and electrified. When was the last time I allowed myself to be a conduit for the sort of energy I want to project to the world? That I want my kids to have?

Do hard stuff, was my takeaway here, because I have stopped growing. Just stopped. Thanks, kid, for teaching me.

Motherhood, today

You made more sense as a bud
petals furled around a delicate blossom of blood and vein
you made more sense contained, all a part and not apart from me
you made more sense then, a slender tooth of bone
wrapped in cells dividing into infinity,
you made more sense.

I'm not a miracle, you say, and the act of saying renders you wrong
you, whose tongue shapes thought into sound, you
whose brain whirls and clicks, all inward gentle machinations,
plotting the peculiar way children do you make me see the unseeable:
holding up a folded paper, you say: look, a rainbow prism, and I agree. 
I can see the light shining from your paper or maybe your fingers,
of course I do.

You are a study in nonsense, of surprises and
dashed expectations. You're a blossom of angles
and edges, bent knees and sheer will. You're full flower,
unconstrained, and it is still infinity, an unfurling that extends so far past my reach
that I'm left grasping and gasping.

Come back. Stay forever.

I can't, you remind me. One day I'll die. 
And one day you will, too. 

You made more sense as a bud --
I could harbor a bud, easy.

But there is no holding on to this, no tether

(you infinite bloom)

There is no letting go, either.