2 Odes to Mamas

Part One

Elm Street: A Short Story

This year as Mother’s Day approaches I’m feeling particularly grateful. Awestruck, honestly, thinking of my family of blessings. Thinking of how God has brought us together, at least for a season, close in proximity, and close in love. 

Last week my toddler grandson got on an airplane in California, and flew halfway across country with his very brave Mama, while Daddy drove the whole long way to Minnesota. In shifts they arrived at a house they’d purchased, but hadn’t seen in person. How brave is that? Beds and toys waited in a driveway pod while a whole family crew pitched in for a week of fixer-upping. Uncovering hardwood floors. Replacing doors and trim. Scrubbing and cleaning. Hauling away truckloads of garbage. Papi was the foreman of the loud operation. LOUD—according to Quoia, who mostly stayed back at Nana’s house. 

Quoia: Ba-ba? 

Nana: Papi’s working at the house. 

Quoia: Ba-ba—AHHH! 

Nana: Yes, Papi’s saws are LOUD!! 

The little house on Elm has been a revolving door of family. Small cousins, over-the-moon about their new neighbors, arriving by stroller and eBike. Jimmy and Sidney—toting newborn, tools, and cleaning supplies. A caravan from Iowa—Brina’s parents and sister joining the welcome and work. Every day its own adventure, overwhelm of familial love. 

In the meantime Papi and Nana have sold a house, and are optimistic about buying the next one. After months of following the wind of Spirit whispers…riding the waves of ups and downs…doors open, then shut. We hold out hope to the eleventh hour, and God has provided, and then some. More than imagined. More than we’d asked. The perfect buyer for a lake house. A new/old home on the river—short walk to Oakwood, short walk to Elm. And a nice quick drive to see our Baby T.

The past week has been a whirlwind of family—our new normal. Every day there’s a reason to gather, a project to tackle, kids to snuggle, sports to watch. As Mother’s Day approaches I am in awe of how it’s all unfolding. 

A miracle, this family story. 

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Part Two

Mamas of my Grands: A Poem

Mamas of my grandchildren. You who grow 

Perfect babes inside your wombs. 

Allowing flesh to be inhabited and stretched. 

Then ripped. And stripped. 

Labor beginning with no end. 

First newborn cries. Soothed from womb 

Now nestled to chest. Vibration

And rhythm. Bump. Bump. Bump.

From water to skin. Mama’s heartbeat 

A comforting drum. 

Tiniest mouth devouring life. 

More. More. More. You pour and you pour

Refill and replenish 

Milk and love. Gaze meeting gaze

Fingers rest on silky breast.  

Babes grow. They move. Teetering 

For months. Years. Oblivious to all the ways Mama 

Catches and protects. Releases and teaches and prays. 

Independent spirits seek and explore while you wait. 

And feed. And clean. And repeat. 

Again Mama. Again and again. 

This book. That song. Build the tower. Knock it down. 

Squeals and shrieks. Full of meaning. 

Sixth sense. Smelling danger. Sensing gloom. 

Lilting laughter lights a room. 

Time slogs and races. Children grow

And know. Find their way to and fro. 

Resist. Insist. Seeking freedom. Seeking help.

You let them cry. You let them fly. 

Trusting in the One who made them. 

Mamas of my precious grands. Wise

And weary. Exquisite beauty. Honest faith. 

Washing feet and cleaning bottoms. Taking up 

Your daily cross. Laying down your very lives. 

Love personified.