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The Sky

· March 11, 2012

It’s been a while since I looked at the sky. For no good reason. I follow the demands of my little ones quite often as they direct my attention to the moon or a star or a jet stream, but I have to admit that I don’t often ascertain the same wonder they seem to glean. No, my gaze is sometimes more of a momentary patronage of their whims while my brain is centered on my own passing fancies. I guess that’s how it goes with the seemingly constant multi-tasking that calls itself motherhood.

Yesterday afternoon I looked at this sky. On purpose. For no OTHER purpose but to see it. My children were using it as a time-keeping device for how long we could stay outside — until the sun went down. But, I was just looking. Just looking to see it change and glow from a peaceful seat. Just looking to let it impress me, which it rarely fails to do when I’m paying attention.

On Friday the kids and I came to the farm to spend the week of Spring Break. It’s a place where the main rule has become, “everyone does what they want to do.” And while being the mommy requires me to keep that in reason, still we try to adhere to the spirit of the rule as closely as possible. We’ve all been looking forward to it for a long time — since our visit here for Thanksgiving really, when we had the idea to spend this week here. It’s been my pleasure to plan moments and days in this place away from our routine, and somehow the moments become cause for celebration.

The word “respite” is defined as an interval of relief. It’s the word that has risen in my thinking as I’ve been approaching this week on holiday. I’ve felt the need recently for a respite and when I arrived at the farm I realized that I’ve been relying on this week to provide it.

A respite.
From demands.
From schedules.
From keeping time.
From routine.
From stresses.
From creative exercises.
From information.
From availability.
From the pull of being in touch.
From the push of deadlines.

I found myself reducing my expectations for any “work” I wanted to do this week, communicating to clients transparently that I would be out of town. I found myself eliminating my own overestimation of what I might accomplish — a rare occurrence for my brain which is a champion overestimator when it comes to organizing “free time”. I found myself searching my bookshelves for more books to read and skimming past the design titles for more fiction options. And, of course, I found myself wanting to soak up my babies, just to enjoy their presence and their laughter and their funny stories. I get that a lot from them, but I’ve been looking forward to a time when it wasn’t encumbered by schedules and reading homework and my own need to do the dishes or put the toys away.

Yes, I have a lot of expectations about this week at the farm. The funny thing is; those expectations aren’t based on what I’m doing. They’re really based on what I’m NOT doing — my own willingness to stop. To sit. To listen. To laugh. To gaze at the sky.

Categories : beautiful ordinary, mother's heart

Tantrums

Posted by haley montgomery

· February 6, 2012

Being a Mommy can be tough. I admit, along with Mommies and other people everywhere, that sometimes I just completely mess up with my kids. I know that when I choose a battle, as their parent, I need to win it. An older and more seasoned mother gave me that advice once. But, sometimes I choose my battles all wrong. Sometimes I inexplicably dig my heels in on some insignificant issue. Some ridiculous stance that has no meaning beyond “Mommy said so” — and I’m the Mommy in the room. Sometimes it’s about not wanting to stop what I’m doing. Sometimes it’s about being tired. Sometimes it’s about being tired of being needed. Sometimes it’s about wanting to be in charge at any cost. Sometimes it’s about being annoyed. Sometimes it’s about being ornery with some frustration entirely unrelated. Whatever it’s about, it’s almost always a stubborn, stand your ground, kicking and screaming tantrum. Mine. Not theirs.

Yeah, it’s an internal tantrum. It occurs in my thinking where I insist I’m in charge. Where I scream that it’s my way and everybody’s gonna know it. On the outside I may speak with a more rational facade that “mommy said no,” or “you need to obey,” or “mommy’s not going to change her mind,” or “this is all you, sweetie.” But on the inside, the bottom line is “this is what I want to do.” And we’re going to do what I want to do. My way.

And later, when the tears of this particular battle have been shed and the disappointment absorbed, I realize. That was all ME. Being an idiot. Focusing on something silly and staking my whole world at that moment on it. For in that moment, my world became about some stupid bandaid or special sippy cup or the time to rewind or the extra handful of cheese from the fridge, or whatever they wanted that I wouldn’t give. I let my whole world be about stupid instead of about them.

I chalk it up to misplaced frustration, or an overworked day or just a bad mood. I own it. And I go back to them. I give them what they wanted. That silly thing that mattered to them, but somehow mattered to me more than those amazing little hearts. And I tell them. Mommy tries to do it right, but sometimes I handle it all wrong. Mommy wants the very best things for them, but sometimes I make the wrong choice. And I tell myself again. Sometimes mommy messes up. All mommies do. All kids do. All people do. And their whole lives won’t be colored by that moment when Mommy did it all wrong. Their hearts and minds and spirits are way too big and wonderful for that.

In those moments I realize that perhaps the greatest lesson I teach them is that Mommy isn’t perfect. That imperfections make us real. They show us we feel and think and choose — even if it’s all wrong sometimes. And in feeling and choosing and thinking, we gain the unexpected privilege of offering compassion and patience and forgiveness and mercy.

Categories : mother's heart

A 2012 Posting Pursuit

Posted by haley montgomery

· January 5, 2012

“Courage does not roar. It does not need to.”

I read this truth a few weeks ago in an article by Nilofer Merchant. The post recounted an “aha” moment for Ms. Merchant when she heard herself saying something out loud for the first time — something that spoke her true heart. Something she hadn’t articulated before, but instantly knew was spoken in her own unmistakeable voice.

The moment she described has been festering in me since then.

The article was titled “Courage Does Not Roar.” That’s what caught my attention. For the last two years I’ve been haphazardly thinking about courage. I’ve made a practice during part of my blogging foray to choose a “theme word” each year. The word is something I want to define or learn or allow to characterize my life and thinking over the course of a 12-month period, and I try to explore it in words and thoughts through EyeJunkie posts. The word for 2010 & 2011 was “courage.”

This article appeared on my radar just as I was trying to decide on a theme word for 2012 — or even if I wanted a theme word. My thoughts have seemed so scattered lately, that I’m wasn’t sure I was really able to determine a year-long focus. I mean, that would require focus.

In the sphere of remarkable people and living, Ms. Merchant wrote of “courage” as being less about bravery and more about clarity. Boy, that really struck a chord. One I couldn’t get out of my head.

To be able to hear the sound of our own voices with clarity sure simplifies things. It makes choices and decisions much more obvious. It makes the worthwhile investments of our time and energy much easier to find.

These days, I hear a lot about finding “my own truth.” And while I don’t necessarily belief “truth” is that much of a moving target, I am also firmly convinced that we each carry a truth about ourselves inside of us. We each carry our own voice able to speak to what really matters to us, what brings us joy, what reflects our deepest desires, what acknowledges our purpose, what confirms the value we want to collect in our lives. That voice of truth deep in my soul helps me discern what I know, without question, is right in my own individual life.

The problem is that it’s so easy to allow that truth to be drowned out.

“Courage does not roar. It does not need to. The truer that voice, the louder it will sound, and the farther it will reach. That’s why I believe great innovators pay attention to the thoughts that come from their heart. They honor their truth. Because that knowledge will lead you forward. It will give you courage. It will make you brave. And perhaps, it will lead you to be more remarkable than you are.”

As these thoughts began to resonate more clearly over the Christmas holiday, I found myself actually excited about this theme word concept again. MY word was clear.

VOICE

It’s what I want to pursue in 2012. My own unmistakeable one — resolving to find it, speak it, know it, share it in new ways. And in old ways so familiar to me that I’ve perhaps become deaf to them.

Finding my voice where it’s been lost.
Listening to my voice where it’s been drowned out or squelched.
Knowing my voice where confusion has overshadowed clarity.
Speaking my own voice into decisions and choices and habits.
Hearing my voice come through in the defining moments,
Lending my voice to those who can’t speak.
Sharing my voice on issues and ideas that matter to me.

VOICE is a noun. And a verb.
It’s being. And doing.

2012 is the time to voice my life.
There is no other time like now.
And, I’m ready.

Categories : essays

Christmas Gaze

Posted by haley montgomery

· December 24, 2011

Sometimes my kids just make me smile. You don’t have to hang out around here long to figure that out, and Christmas time is ripe for smiles. Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl are getting to the ages when they can remember the traditions, decorations and fun activities from previous years. They are beginning to have their own memories of Christmas and their own treasured moments.

We have Christmas everywhere at my house. My mom shared with me the joy of celebration from a very young age and filled our holidays with memories and special decorations I looked forward to each year. I’ve tried to do those same things with my own kids and it’s very special to me to see their eyes fill with wonder and excitement as they see the traditions — and even remember some of them from last year.

Of course, my babies already seem to have their own take on the process of celebrating Christmas. I have several nativity scenes around the house — some I’ve gotten just so they can play with them. Most are inexpensive versions given to me or picked up from the dollar store for their particular kid-like cuteness. They each have the requisite super-glued parts — evidence that they have just enough combination of doll and action figure familiarity to make them attractive for playing and storytelling.

I always set them up in the same way. The way most folks do I guess. The baby is in the center, flanked by Mary and Joseph. The wise men file in from the baby’s left with the occasional camel in tow. They were, after all, from the East. The shepherds and members of their flock take their places to the right and the barn’s resident cow and donkey stand wherever available. An angel usually stands behind the babe overseeing the scene. Oddly, the people always seem to be facing outward — so we can see them, I guess. I’m not sure why they logically have those assigned seats in my mind, but they do.

A funny thing happened this year. One of the $5 dollar store versions sits on a table next to our couch. It’s a tiny porcelain collection of child characters painted with sweet smiles and pastel colors. A week ago I noticed that every time I walked by the table, the figures were moved to the same position. At first I didn’t really pay attention. The kids like to play with the set, which makes me smile. So, when I saw the rearrangement, I simply moved the figures back to their assigned spots and went on about my business.

Only, they caught my attention again later. The figures were again shifted from the standard positions I’d given them. And they were shifted to the same new positions. In fact, I noticed the same reorganization of players in some of our other crèches. Hmmm. Cue the mommy brain. I think my kids were demonstrating their own preferences for the nativity scene.

So, I looked closer. Baby Jesus was in the center, to be sure, but the others weren’t stretched out in a pageant-esque tableau. No, the onlookers were standing shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle around the holy child. They seemed to be crowded in as close as possible with each animal and child-like character gazing at the newborn king. You couldn’t see all their cutely painted faces from across the room. The wise men didn’t appear to be traveling together — or coming from the East, for that matter. And, although I doubt you could even tell they were supposed to be a “manger scene,” I imagine in the thoughts of my Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl, each little colorful porcelain heart had a necessary unobstructed view of the tiny Savior. Each was looking full-faced and undistracted upon the baby in the hay.

I haven’t moved the figures since. They are still staring, quite focused, on the Christ child. And I have to admit my own heart is a little more focused as well because of it. My attention is drawn to the baby birthed in such humble circumstances, yet carrying the seed of heaven in his tender chest. To the little hearts running around me, full of constant energy and motion. Somehow they are my very own heart looking right back at me. I’m drawn to the simple messages of loving and giving and hoping and unabashed gazing they seem to find so easy to comprehend. The messages that are so easily clouded from my view at times. What a pleasure to turn my own full gaze to the manger and see that wonder again.

Merry Christmas.

Categories : mother's heart, on faith

Slowing

Posted by haley montgomery

· December 23, 2011

I saw an old leather-bound journal in my office the other day. It was one I had gotten from Barnes & Noble several years ago with a dyed and stamped, striped leather cover that I know reached out to one of those artsy tendencies in me. I thumbed through it again and discovered that it was mostly unused. I’d only written in a fraction of the pages.

I was thinking about that journal, and about the process of writing words. As I sit writing this post, I’m using my iPad and an app called Chronicle. It’s my diary these days — my journal. I use it to record my thoughts, compose them and refine them. It’s a process I once used my bound journals for.

My digital life has made many things more convenient, even many things more possible. But, I also wonder if I’m loosing something in tapping keys and touch points rather than moving ink along a page. I type faster than I write. It’s why I started journalling on a computer to begin with, and there is some value in using a tool that allows me to record thoughts quickly. But, there is also value in using a tool that slows my thoughts and ideas and memories long enough for me to capture them — to absorb and experience and embrace them. It gives me time to ponder, to synthesize, to form opinions, to take stands.

It’s the same with the experiences or moments my words are meant to expose and evaluate.

Embracing experiences is a special skill. It requires engaging the senses. Engaging the mind. Engaging myself with others around me. Slowing the process of thinking and processing to absorb the nuances — much like the process of writing by hand in that journal. Slowing the need to move to the next thing. To remain in the present long enough to enjoy it, absorb it, reflect on it. Or, maybe the reflection comes later. Maybe you have to remain in the moment long enough to let it’s uniqueness make an impact — an imprint on your experience. An imprint that you can later touch and feel with your spirit. And draw conclusions from. That doesn’t happen when moments are glossed over or rushed past.

I’m finding that I’m in need of slowing, of retraining myself to soak in, absorb and speak. After so often slipping into the habit of glossing over situations, of hurrying from one thought to the next, I’m re-learning how to discern my own opinions and impressions of an experience, be it a conversation, something I see or hear, or the actions of others. I’m relearning to expose myself to the things that really interest me, to define for myself what experiences are valuable and holding them long enough in my mind to glean all they have to offer my spirit.

I’m beginning a week or so of time away from home, visiting my parents for the holidays. Although I’m not sure three excited children running through the house in search of the full Christmas experience really qualifies as “slow'” but I’m looking at is as an opportunity to practice slowing. To focus my attention on these few simple treasures as I seek to define where I really want to focus my broader attention in 2012.

Categories : beautiful ordinary

Hello & welcome! I’m Haley Montgomery, and I’m the designer and owner of Small Pond Graphics. I sometimes fancy myself a frog kisser— a documentarian coaxing poignant moments from unexpected places. This blog has evolved from those moments.

The small Pond FIELD GUIDE is part diary, part sketchbook, and part wish list – an archive of ordinary wonders. For years, this space has housed my stories – creative ideas, vintage inspiration, our forays into curious places, and the simple artifacts of quiet of conscious living. Through watercolor, photography, and illustrated tales, these pages uncover the blessing of ordinary days and the wonder found in authentic places and pursuits.

I invite you to open the boxes.
Peek into the drawers.
Rustle through the pages.
I’m honored to have you here.