sand (copy)

I see you standing there, wishing you had time to do the things of dreams and nonsense, but you are a mother first and a creative second. A dreamer on a mission, a mission to find the balance between being a parent and finding the thing that defines you.

I feel your frustration, you want to create but today, I your muse, has abandoned you.

With a heavy heart you sit slumped on the beach, watching your son stick his head in the sand like an ostrich, he giggles, I know you want him to be happy, but happiness is different for him.

“Why don’t you go in the water?” You ask, I wonder are you thinking about your writing or editing your story.  I know you are frustrated even though it is hidden behind your half-smile.

“I don’t want to.” Says the boy.

I know of your guilt, as you try to connect with your son, he is growing so fast and now the apron strings are cut and he is turning to his father for a dose of male bonding and adventure. This is a beautiful thing and the way it should be and yet you mourn the loss of the infant child who needed you so.

“Want to play a game?” He asks.

“Maybe later.” You reply and he buries his head again.

I see you.

I see your tears of sorrow when the world does not try to understand your son and his differences, a multitude of labels bundled together, a complex web of issues with no quick fixes.

I feel your anger.

I want to remind you that you are human, flesh and bone. You have weak moments but your strength comes from a river within of eternal optimism, even though you are often hollow, I know you will never give up.

I see you shine.

I see your tears of joy, when things go well and a triumph which might seem so small to most, you celebrate in your private world.

I see you  surrender to the day.

“What game do you want to play?” You ask.

“Bet you can’t catch me?”

You run, jump and laugh in the sand with your child, I hear the golden ripples of  laughter and happiness. A single moment of joy, your gift on this day.

I return and sit beside you, I have tormented you enough, together you and your creative self  smile at the glistening ocean, the breeze is soft and playful, the air salty and the mood optimistic once more.

In one long breath out, I see a splash of renewal spread across your tired exhausted face.

Life is one big journey of ups and downs, you look towards 2014 with hope and love, that is all you have.

You hope your children will grow, learn and laugh lots. You hope you can find that inner strength to be both loving mother and a the creative soul that burns from within.

Learn, live, thrive and survive.

A new moon awaits

I see you in many people, walking the path of the caring, nurturing parent, no matter what comes your way.

I want to thank all those inspiring people who visit me and my muse under the golden haze of a summer sky and wish you all a very prosperous and especially bright 2014

sand2 (copy)

About Minuscule Moments

Everybody has a DREAM. Today is the first day of the rest of my writing life. Its a lonely world out there when you are learning the craft. This year, as the same as last year, I want to finish my first children's picture book. I have learn't many wonderful lessons on this journey. You are never too old to learn.
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42 Responses to I SEE YOU

  1. Lisa Edwards says:

    Beautiful Kath. So honest. I love the photos, too.

  2. Kath, every time you write your words they are an outpouring of beauty and love. It is really an honor to follow your blog and your creative journey. You are an amazing mom who never fails to inspire and humble me with your faith and determination. I hope this New Year is filled with blessings for you and your family. We are just now turning the New Year in 7 minutes! Happy New Year friend!

  3. You bared your soul with those beautiful words, Kath. I hope 2014 brings you many blessings. x

    • Sometimes I don’t even know what I am going to write until I start tapping at the keys Jennifer, I thank you for your consistent support through out this year and know big things await you on this writing journey.

  4. snappychat says:

    Kath, this is a beautiful piece about you and your son. I wish it could be published in a magazine that all the world could read especially mothers that have many challenges with their children. Happy New year and hope you have a wonderful, extremely rewarding year in both your family life and the creative side of you.

  5. Theresa says:

    Beautiful thoughts and words; sending along New Year Blessings…

  6. This post spoke to me, Kath, “mother first, creative second” – so true. And I feel your heartache and deep devotion for your dear son. Wishing you and your family a wonderful 2014.

  7. Oh, you have captured it beautifully, the duelling urges of motherhood and other expressions of creativity. Thanks for sharing, and Happy new year.

  8. This post is proof that your creativity is alive and well. Those moments of joy (or pain) when you lament not writing are actually moments when the writer within is growing as a child once grew. The writer, like the child, will one day have the freedom to flourish. The day will come. The son who steps away to bond with the father will eventually re-bond with his mother as a man. That day, too, will come. Creativity and the child. Treasure them both. Cherish them both. They never truly desert you. Happy New Year my dear friend and thank you for the most beautiful, thoughtful post I’ve read this snowy day.

  9. Just beautiful, Kath. You have helped me “see you.”

    • Susan, some of me is flawed, yet I do the best I can. I am learning that we all have challenges and we must use our time wisely. The balance is a very thin line. It is doable. Thinking of you my friend.

  10. Pingback: A Word and a Winner | celiac kiddo

  11. Happy New Year, my friend, the dreamer. Your first post of the new year and it reads like poetry, the images beautiful and inspiring. I will follow you to the ends of the earth. We are all different – maybe not labeled, not enough labels in this world. Anyway to all those people that don’t understand they are like ostriches – sticking there heads in the sand.
    I promised myself that this year I am going to be all I can be – life is not a rehearsal.
    I see you…in joy, anger, hopelessness and in your strength.

  12. Sheila says:

    Really beautiful writing and now it feels like I’m soaking in the glow of it. Wishing you a new year filled with golden moments like these.

  13. You are so special, Kath. You make me feel special. Thank you. And know I cherish you, too.

  14. Sara says:

    So happy to have read this post. Dream on and shine on throughout the new year.

    • Sara as will you and your writing my friend, I am forever grateful for the Nano challenge my WIP is going well, how about you?

      • Sara says:

        I haven’t revisited my WIP since I put it down over a month ago. Too busy with holiday events! Now that the cold is settling in for a while I’ll have plenty of time to cozy up and make revisions. And perhaps start something new!

  15. Michael Lane says:

    Really beautiful stuff.

  16. bizigal says:

    Oh boy….this has my name written all over it! I feel this exact same way! Thanks for posting.

  17. Shelley says:

    Everything speaks of a loving and sacrificial parent. What a touching piece. I loved how you wrote from a removed perspective. The poignant mood and pictures spoke right to our hearts. Happy New Year, friend.

    • Sitting on the beach that day, all the family had gone to the movies, my boy does not tolerate the sounds, one day I hope I can take him. It really does feel like a part of me leaves when I am low. Yet somehow I find the strength to smile and keep going. Thanks for dropping in Shelley.

  18. Desi Clown says:

    I wish I had HALF the reservoir of strength and optimism that you have. Life does its best to throw you off balance, yet you manage to get back on each time. You’re one of the most inspiring people I’ve had the honour of talking to. Thank you! 🙂

    • Desi I cannot believe you are reading so many of my posts. My optimism is my gift, my mother has it too, even after nine children. I would wake up in the mornings and feel like something magical was going to happen. Then life and loss found me and I lost it for a time. As I aged it came back and I realised the optimism and magic was the gift of being alive for one more day. So cherish this day like no other and on and on you go. Thanks for reading, this is one of my favourite posts.

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