Little Mirrors
Poetry & Reflections on Motherhood
My oldest daughter was recently featured in the local paper for her poetry. It was another proud mom moment. My girls have always been my greatest inspiration. Little mirrors of truth and wonder, they pull me back to what matters most. They remind me to see the world not just with my eyes, but with my whole being.
On weekends, we often frequent the local bookstore to browse and just be together. On our last visit, I found myself in the poetry section, soaking in the words, feeling seen by strangers on a page. Inspiration followed. I started writing again. And with the writing came remembering.
Time is fleeting, slipping past me while my hands are full. The never ending to-do lists cloud what is truly important. The daily hustle to get the kids to after school activities, ensure homework is complete, make dinner, remind kids to bathe, read, help with chores, and somehow find time to go outside and play like a kid, can be overwhelming. The cycle is in a fast forward motion.
When I finally get to rest my body at night, I can see the reel in my mind. The day my babies were born, taking their first steps by the oak tree, riding bikes with wind-blown hair, jumping through waves in the Pacific Ocean, building smoky campfires, and roasting marshmallows under starlit skies. And now, it’s as if the reel is spinning faster, scenes passing in a blur, but I long to still hold on.
My girls are eleven and thirteen. Soon to be twelve and fourteen. In the busy rhythm of life, moments slip through my fingers. They dissolve before I can name them. I have to remind myself to pause. To stop the doing and start truly seeing. Observe. Soak in the moment. Be the witness. Because in the quiet presence, the magic lives.
Watching my daughters grow, speak with courage, stumble and rise, question everything while staying endlessly curious, continues to awaken something in me. They’ve reminded me that every moment, even the still ones, holds a story or a poem, just waiting to be shaped.
As I watch my girls boldly navigate their worlds, I find myself capturing words in the quiet, in the chaos, or when a flash of inspiration appears. The inspiration unknowingly lures me to secret places in my heart and in my mind. Clarity arrives. The path is clear. The light is shining through the tall pines urging me to be bold.
Be Audacious
inspired by my daughters
Be bold enough to want more. More joy. More depth. More magic. More alignment.
This world may ask you to shrink, to smile politely, to ask for permission, to wait your turn. But you were not born for quiet corners. You were born to take up sacred space.
You were born to break patterns, to speak the words your grandmother swallowed, to live the life your younger self dreamed up in secret.
Audacity is not arrogance or disrespect. It is bold trust. Unapologetic trust.
Trust in your voice, your timing, your becoming.
So go on. Dream a little louder. Walk a little taller. Love a little wilder.
Carry your truth like a crown.
The world needs your fire.
I, too, have been inspired by my children (daughters and sons). It’s about that time in their lives (12 and 14) that we catch a glimpse of their adult faces, even as we remember their faces as they took their first steps or pumped the swing for the first time. The audacity and boldness that they exhibit indeed make us want to dig deep and find some of our own. I was particularly struck by your idea of “the words my grandmother swallowed”. In my case, my grandmother was born before the 20th century. I can only imagine what she swallowed, being a college educated woman (rare in those days), a tall, striking, dark-haired Danish woman. My grandfather told her she would never need a job, never need to drive a car. She lived past 90, wondering if her Home Economics degree meant anything at all. So she invested in her two sons, and in me, the first granddaughter. I probably inspired her with my counter culture ways, coming of age in the 1960’s. She never failed to support me, no matter what. (And there were a number of “what’s”.) And now, being the grandmother of a 19 yr. old woman, I can appreciate what I have swallowed that my granddaughter won’t have to. Thank you, Grace, for opening this door to my understanding.
I LOVE this 💕💕💕