Head to the hills, or the fields, or the woods. Anywhere mother nature resides. Take some time to think what motherhood means to you. What is your attention drawn to?
Take walk on the wild side. Take some time for yourself. Take a picture of something that strikes you as you walk. In a few sentences, tell us why.
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I look at my two children and I see such potential, not yet opened up to the world. That potential is beautiful, perfect, all opportunities open to them. It makes me sad that we lose that sense of our own possibility as we get older. I want them to stay that way as long as they can, feeling that they can and will become anything they want to be.
Autumnal butterflies signifying memories of loved ones lost. Photo goes with In Mumorium story. Photos taken this week , first week of November, 2011. Rushing outside to greet visiting butterfly souls, hovering and reminding me to make the most of every day, not necessarily having to DO, yet simply to notice and enjoy and acknowledge what feels like extra time that other mums never got to live.
I took this photo in Jubilee Gardens Penzance one sunny day this Spring after my first grand daughter was born, to join her elder brother, as I reflected upon the way in which nature produces generations. The larger blooms full and open, and above them the generation before almost out of sight and below the tiny rich buds ready to unfold as the next 'generation'. Since I took this photo another lovely grand daughter has JUST arrived....... unfolding into her parents life.......and mine!
I got caught out in the rain after dropping my kids off at childcare. These bubbles of water as heavy rain hit puddles brought a smile to my face. I imagined my kids joy if they had seen them.
They also reminded me of how precious each brief moment is with my children - this little bubble we are in before my son starts school. How they allow me to see joy where otherwise I would miss it.
Working with children everyday is very grounding. Alongside my studies and research, I learn so much from children everyday.
Yesterday my 6 year old son became my teacher.
We were walking to the car after school pick up, it was cold, windy and about to rain. As we walked through the school grounds together having a chat, my little man climbs over giant rocks, jumping off them and zigging and zagging through any obstacle he could find.
As we reach the foot path , he suddenly stopped, looked down and picked up a very ordinary looking leaf. The footpath was covered in leaves.
"Mummy look at this beautful leaf" he says, like he has found a rare diamond.
"Uhmm - yes its a nice enough leaf"
His eyes lit up "Mummy its amazing & beautiful, look at the colour, its so bright, you can see its bits inside, its like a star but feels like a nacho & its so different to the other leaves- I love autumn, the trees share their leaves for me to play with"
Well talk about stopping me in my tracks, I was caught up in his moment and he made me look at that simple leaf through the eyes and world of a child.
What did I learn from my son & his beautiful leaf?
* Gratefullness for special moments with him
* Nature is beautiful
* We are all like the leaf, with our own special qualities
* We are 1 in a million
* Taking the time to stop and appreciate
* It can be fun on the harder path
* Everyone & everything is unique
* Never Judge on appearances
* We all have our own beauty
On a spring walk with daughter, son in law and 2 grandchildren (one in a back pack and the other in stomping boots prepared for mud), I came across these camelias in differing stages of beauty, of promise, of experience & I snapped a pic of life's renewing cycles.
How age contains not only wisdom, but also all the experiences of one's own unique moments not necessarily relevant to the next blooms on the way. Evenso, as a gran, as NanaPea, I see the new buds forming around me, and I will honour my fading as I know it nourishes those who are growing.
This two-trunked palm tree made me reflect on how our children start as part of us but have to grow away from us in order to thrive (which I'm dreading...). Whatever happens, as mums we'll always remain at their side if they need us.
(the more I look at this image post-labour, the more it also reminds me of where our children come from... legs akimbo!)
I want to wrap my love round my kids like a protective layer forever. Looking at this ivy, I thought about how beautiful it was, but how ivy can also take over, destroying the plants underneath. I love my children, but I also need to leave them the space they need to grow.