Trees Tall as Mountains (The Journey Mama Writings: Book 1)

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  February 15, 2008

  Here's the setting: We are at the post office, applying for passports for our kids, which requires both of us and all the kids to be there. It's a happy family outing in a Federal Building in the Capitol, where the security guard, who is a senior citizen, tells us he is heading to Hawaii on Monday.

  While we singlehandedly cause the line to stretch about a mile, we lounge around with our elbows on the counter, trying to keep the kids from wrestling, letting Kenya know that fifteen kisses is probably enough for Kai to handle (she always gets very affectionate when we are out together), joking with the post lady about how much money this is costing us. "My favorite thing!" I say. "I love spending hundreds of dollars on paper!"

  Then I notice the Stamps for February poster. "Hey Chin," I ask in a lowered voice. "Is that guy black?" He looks where I'm looking, at the Black Heritage stamp.

  "Well, remember, back in those days it was all about 'passing?' He looks like he's passing."

  I'm not so sure. "Yes, but... I don't know." This man seems to be doing a lot more than passing to me. He looks white down to his large mustache and the part in his hair.

  "Well, I don't have my glasses on," Chinua tells me.

  "Here, use mine." He takes them.

  "Oh no. That dude is not black." The (black) post lady overhears him and laughs. "I know," she says. "I've had other customers asking me about that."

  "Do you know who he is?" I ask. She shakes her head.

  "I have no idea."

  Chinua and I finish up and walk away with our miniature entourage. And got sillier and sillier.

  "For Black History Month, we've decide to feature white people!"

  "Due to the unnecessary controversy surrounding black people, we've decided to have white people featured for Black History Month!"

  "In the spirit of non-discrimination, we're going stop honoring Black People for Black History month! Now all races will be represented!"

  "It will be National Everybody Month!"

  After doing a little, you know, what's that called... RESEARCH, I realized that Charles W. Chesnutt is indeed PASSING. Go and read about his life— it's really interesting, and reveals more again about how strange and complex the racial undertones of the day were. And I really mean no disrespect to this man, who seems to have spent his life bringing awareness to black issues and decided not to live as a white man, passing or no passing.

  February 18, 2008

  There are few things that make me happier than the fact that the tree outside my house has turned out to be a cherry tree.

  It is for its beauty that I love it, nothing else. We will not be here long enough to eat the cherries. In fact, we are in the homestretch now. So soon we will be airborne. So soon we will be over the clouds.

  I remember that I am writing my story, that this is my own adventure. I remember that adventures are not often easy. Often you find yourself hiking wearily along, looking forward to the campfire and bit of hard ground at the end of the trail. But sometimes adventures burst out at you with a shower of sparks and you get to see your kids' eyes get really big at their first sight of a camel outside of the zoo. Or you find yourself drinking Turkish coffee on a side street that you've never seen before.

  It is this that I look forward to. I am waiting for these blossoms to unfurl, the tightly held travelers to burst out in the sun. I look forward to who we become, because this is our adventure.

  February 20, 2008

  Kenya and Kai have some rules in the car. Their rules, not mine.

  All the cars driving beside us are our "friends". The ones not beside us (I'm assuming on the other side of the road, but it might include the ones behind us, since we always seem to be fleeing- "Go faster Mama! Watch out, Mama!") are "bad guys."

  Also, lately, when we've been grocery shopping they pretend they're grownups! Getting their groceries!

  "Let's get some fruit!" Kai says.

  "I think I'm all done with my list!" Kenya chirps. "We love and love all this food, don't we! Because we're grownups!"

  Meanwhile, I shuffle along beside them, barely lifting my feet, wearily checking another item off of my list. My uterus is weighing on my pelvic bones with a pressure that makes me sure that in a minute I will have to pick it up off the floor.

  Maybe I should pretend to be a kid pretending to be a grownup.

  February 21, 2008

  Tonight we drove out as far as we could to see the eclipse. It was wonderful, except for the occasional whine from a child who was JUST SO COLD. I would love to see these children in an actual winter climate. Although they would probably be ecstatic, contrary beings that they are.

  Even Leafy said, "The moon is so boodiful!" And we saw Saturn. And I showed Kai and Kenya Orion, which has always been my favorite constellation, ever since it was my connection to Chinua, when we were thousands of miles away from each other, long before we were married. I would sit on the beach in San Diego and listen to the waves and when I saw Orion, I would breathe a prayer for my friend, the man who would one day become my husband.

  *

  I have never been more proud of Kenya than I was today. She wore a sock on her hand all day.

  She has sucked the two middle fingers on her left hand ever since she was about four months old. We have numerous pictures of Kenya as a baby, Kenya as a toddler, Kenya as a three-year-old, sucking her fingers. She does it ALL. THE. TIME. Not just for bed, not just for consolation. ALL THE TIME.

  But I have this funny list of things I need to do before we go to India. Things like, Find storage, Find a good shipping company, Train next bookkeeper, Buy sleeping bags, Buy kid back packs, Buy stroller. And then these odd things like Help Kenya stop sucking her fingers, Potty train Leafy.

  And now you know which one we are working on today.

  I really didn't know how it would make me feel. I didn't realize that my rush-in-and-protect instincts would swarm all over me and smother me and almost make me say "Never mind! Just joking! You can just keep those fingers in your mouth until your boss complains!"

  I didn't say it.

  It is time, and my brave, strong girl met the time to quit head on. Her teeth are visibly shifting. And I don't want her to touch things on trains and buses in India and then put her fingers in her mouth. Nope.

  I also didn't know that I would almost burst with pride. That I would see her thousand little reflexive moves toward her mouth, and then the stifling of the reflex, and then the hand that didn't have a place to be and so tentatively lay in her lap, and her mouth moving self-consciously around itself, that I would see all these things and my heart would melt, for her strength.

  I don't know that I've ever witnessed as much determination in overcoming something so deeply ingrained, in any of my kids before. This is no small thing. She doesn't remember ever not having this habit. It's all she's known. When at rest, left fingers go into your mouth. When you are hugging your mom, when you are reading a book, when you are watching a movie, when you are walking through a crowd...

  This is her mountain. I love to be here to see her climb it. (Even though I am a nervous twitchy wreck.)

  February 22, 2008

  Some questions:

  Is a pickle with a slice of Jarlsberg cheese wrapped around it considered food?

  Why is my eyelid twitching all the time?

  What will help me stick to my schedules instead of writing them out and then ignoring them?

  Does googling endless queries about mosquitoes and shipping containers count toward preparing for a big move?

  Why do my children take great joy in pretending their basmati rice is a pile of little maggots while they eat it?

  What does it say about you if you realize that the only piece of furniture you don't want to leave behind is your mattress?

  Speaking of sleeping, how does one rid oneself of crazy tormenting dreams about mean people?

  Why does the movie Anne of Green Gables soothe me so? And why did I think the acting was
perfect when I was a kid?

  Where did Kenya's other pink sock go?

  Why does Leafy swing from cuddly saint to terror child?

  Why does Kai swing from melancholic tyrant to sunny delight?

  Who poured my glass of juice down the drain?

  Where do those tiny K-nex go?

  Why is exfoliating so delightful?

  Why are my dreadlocks so linty? (I'm going to write a song called lint in my dreads. It goes, Lint in my dreads, Lint in my dreads, I've got lint in my dreads, lint in my dreads, like that. Maybe I'll add a verse that goes Trying to get it out, trying to get it out...)

  What it is about a down comforter?

  Do I like Chinua's face better with a beard? Or shaved?

  How tall will my kids be when they're done growing?

  Why is it so hard to find a decent cup of tea in a coffee shop?

  How do people find time to style their hair? Maybe they choose to do it because of the lack of lint?

  How many years will it take me to knit this sweater?

  Am I the only one who is repulsed by sweets when I'm pregnant?

  Did you know that my friend Chad is turning eight this Leap Year? Which means he's really thirty-two? (I could actually be wrong about that. I think that's what's happening.)

  What's the funny sound my van is making?

  And finally, whose idea was it to put cheap plastic toys that are really candy dispensers next to the cash register at Target, causing me to have to have a discussion about what is cheap vs what is quality every single time we go?

  February 25, 2008

  This has forced its way out of me. I have to write it.

  To the people who have shared air with me, laughed, cried, been friends, been family, been iron against my iron. To the ones I've hurt, to the ones who have hurt me, to the ones who have given and given, to those who were enemies, to those who cut deeply, to those who offered their cupped hands filled with water, to those who gave sustenance, I want to tell you this:

  I wish you nothing but good. The good that sustains you and is something you can lean against, like the tallest, thickest tree. The kind of good that feeds you when you can't feed yourself. I wish you good.

  I wish you kindness, the kindness that sends you a loving glance rather than a reproachful one. Someone to kiss your forehead when you are tired, and then to kiss you on that one spot on your cheekbone just because. I want someone to put their hands on either side of your face and tell you that you are so, so beautiful. That they will never leave you.

  I wish you puddles of sunlight on wooden floors. Thick rugs. Tea or coffee with friends, or just by yourself, with a book, maybe a crossword puzzle. I wish you afghans to keep you warm, down comforters on the coldest days, hot water for your tired feet. I wish you calm and peace.

  I wish you a clean home at the end of the day, firelight in deep winter, fields of flowers in the summer. I wish you wildness, the tangle of the ocean, hot sand and craggy rock formations. I wish you singing. I wish you dancing. I want to see laughter in your eyes, I want to think of you smiling.

  I wish you small children who will pat your arm and smile up at you, or hug your knees really hard, grown children who will lean over you and kiss your head. I wish you warm rain that you can wade through with soaking clothes, I wish you flowering cacti in your deserts.

  I pray that the good will keep you. That you will be safe in the midst of danger. That you are taller than you were yesterday, even if you are a bit scarred. I pray that your dark places are not lonely, that you feel sheltered, not stifled, that your legs will be strong from running. I pray that your tears are not bitter, that your heart is always soothed.

  I wish you courage. I wish you home.

  February 26, 2008

  Today was a long, weary day, but I won it over and made it mine. I pinned it down and tickled it. I slapped it in the butt and made it laugh. I was bigger, somehow, than the day that almost overcame me.

  I woke up to the sun, which would have been lovely after yesterday's storm, except that the sunlight stabbed me in the eye, where a large snake curled around my skull. I have had this headache for a couple of days, and it doesn't leave me. I can feel it pressing on my cheekbones and it hammers me in the temple when I stand up.

  But I dragged myself out of bed. Point one.

  Then I snuck out of the house for my appointed writing time, leaving before anyone was awake and returning when my husband needed to go to work. There were cherry trees blooming. At a local cozy coffee shop I had mediocre tea. But my breakfast was a naughty and much needed chocolate chip scone. And I had a nice conversation with the owner about Bill Bryson. Point two. I wrote as much as I could before my headache threatened to crack my skull. Point two and a half.

  At home I finally gave in and took some tylenol. Usually I have no problem with pain medication, but I tend to hold out a little longer when harboring a fugitive in my uterus. I was grumpy because the house was messy and it was past time for me to start working on school stuff with the kids. And there were crocodiles slashing at each other with their teeth in my head, which also made me grumpy. I barely said goodbye to Chinua, but at the last minute, we shared a long hug. Then I said, "Did you know that the guy who played the brunette Mormon brother in the Ocean's Eleven movies is Ben Affleck's brother?" because 1) I'm slow to catch stuff like that 2) I watched the Academy Awards at my friend's house last night (Did you notice that Denzel shaved his head and grew a handlebar mustache? What's up with that?) and 3) I'm deep like that, in hug sharing moments. Score point three for hugging my husband and no nagging.

  I noticed that the kids were playing really well. They wanted me to help them build a fort in their room, and then they sat and read library books in there for a long time. Instead of starting school, I took the opportunity to slowly and meditatively clean the house. My headache started to fade. My home became more peaceful. I lit incense and made sure all the blinds were as open as they could be. The kids were still in their fort. Kai was reading to the other two. I drank a second cup of tea-- totally not mediocre this time. Four points for me.

  When they and I were done, we sat down to do reading. Kai read to me and Kenya and I went over a vowel song to the tune of Old MacDonald. The vowels made the sounds, instead of animals. We were all singing, even Leafy, and I realized that although it seemed unlikely before, we were all having fun. Point five.

  Lunch was healthy. Point six.

  After lunch I folded laundry and vacuumed and then we did some math work and I knitted a few rows in the sweater that I am making for my mom. Leafy was taking a nap. Kai finished the last page in his math book. Tomorrow he starts another one. I told him that he's halfway done with kindergarten math. He made his eyes really wide in that way that he does. He worked on a bit of handwriting, and then he and Kenya sat at their little table and played with Play Doh. It was Kenya's heavily influenced choice for her "stop-sucking-her-fingers-reward". I say heavily influenced because I kind of steered her that way when I realized she was leaning toward Disney Princess stuff.

  I knocked some stuff off my to do list while they rolled the colored dough into worms. They are a little obsessed with worms these days. Later I stuck Charlie and Lola on for them while I knocked even more stuff off my to do list. I was on a roll. More points. I've lost count of points by now.

  Around dinner time everyone began to melt into the carpet. I realized that they all had low blood sugar because I didn't give them a snack in the afternoon. We sat down to eat, and Chinua was working late and I didn't complain. Another point. I tried to convince the whiny kids that if they wanted to be happy they should eat because their bodies were saying, "We don't have enough food to make us happy." When Kai continued to be sad, and more sad, and whiny, and more whiny, I tried an old trick of Chinua's, making my hands into ducks who talked to him. He turned his head away and said "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb," and instead of telling him that HE was the one being dumb, I just started washing dishes. Then I grabbed him
and sat with him on my lap and we were quiet and swaying for a long time, until suddenly he was happy again. Endless points.

  As much as I wanted to simply dump them into bed, I read. I read them loooong books, the kind that I opt out of at times, saying, pick another one, a shorter one. We probably needed to read the long string of words, tonight, and let it draw the kinks out of us. We probably needed some good stories.

  The day was long and weary. But at the end we prayed together, and sighed thankful sighs, and I kissed them. And you get a lot of points for gentle looks when you are seething, and kisses when you are withdrawing inside. These points aren't exchangeable, and you can't cash them in, but at least you can know that you didn't let the day put it's tire tread marks on you.

  February 27, 2008

  I am still fighting with this monstrous headache, so in the interest of keeping it positive, here's my list of why this pregnancy rocks.

  1. I'm sleeping through the night. Didn't happen when I was pregnant with Kenya, or Leafy really, for that matter. Sleeping through the night when you are pregnant is a nice perk. And I guess I should say, mostly. There is the occasional bad dream (Kai), wet bed (Kenya), or lost pacifier (Leafy) to deal with. But I didn't sleep through the night a single time from the day Kai was born until the day we moved to the Land when Kenya was fifteen months old and she decided she liked the quiet of the woods. Of course, at that point, I was almost ready to have Leafy.