I slept like a baby last night after dancing my bootie off at Michael Franti and Spearhead at the Paolo Soleri outdoor ampitheater in Santa Fe. Instead of the usual opening band, the presidential debate was televised front and center on a large screen over the stage. The crowd listened, booed, cheered and bonded-it was obvious that this was an Obama group. We listened with the rest of the country to talk of the war, the economy, the gas prices, I didn’t say that, you are wrong, I am right…Good Goddess! I can barely manage my own life, let alone run a friggin country-let alone one that is in the shape American is in. What an enormous job is ahead of the next president.

I must say that when the band was ready to play, I was more than ready to dance. And I was not alone. Mamas danced holding their babies-their hearts connected in hope…through the ethers I sent my grown children love. Partners bumped against each other…I felt grateful as I looked into my partner’s eyes. Arms waved…we jumped, we yelled, we let the heaviness of the debate go and and celebrated the night filled with music. We danced and danced and danced.

What better medicine than dance? It heals a lot of what ails ya. Your blood get pumping, yer muscles get much-needed exercise and perhaps the best part is that it gets you out of your head and into your body. Letting go….letting go….

The old order is crumbling. The patriarch is in big trouble. The world is restructuring. With all that is happening in our country, we need to remember to celebrate that which is good, that which is working in our lives. Our children need our optimism, they need our hope, our faith and our gratitude. They need us to dance and celebrate our lives.

I hear the economy is in trouble. I know gas costs are rising, the environment is in trouble. Yet all three of my children and my grandbaby are strong and healthy, I have more than enough food to eat, I am warm, I have livelihood that I love. I think I am a force for good in the world. Wait! How could I doubt that I am a force for good? I am a mother…and a grandmother. Day after day after day, I join with mothers all over the globe to make the world a better place. We rock, we feed, we soothe, we love. Yes! Our love is the glue that holds it all together. Who knows what shape we would be in without that love.

This coming week my preschool’s curriculum is gonna be to dance. The children will love finding things to celebrate. As the Mamas (and the Papas!) drop off their children in the morning, I’ll invite them to dance with us and celebrate this precious day! Get up and dance with us, Mama! Celebrate your life and your young ones! Turn the music up loud and shake your bootie. You’ll feel better. Your children will feel better. What more have we got to lose?

It was my daughter-in-law’s birthday and I called to wish her well. I could hear my two year old grandbaby, Marcus, whimpering in the background. I inquired about his mood and Jaylene said that he had ‘thrown a fit’ and was recovering from it. She put Marcus on the phone and told him to tell me that he ‘threw a fit’. I can’t describe how sweet he said, “Nana, I threw a fit.” My heart melted and I wished I could be tele-transported to his livingroom this instant to hold him tight and tell him that its over and all is well. I know that ‘throwing fits’ frustrate mommies and daddies and they will go to great lengths to make tantrums stop. With my age and experience comes the understanding that ‘throwing fits’ isn’t all bad.

Yet little ones throw fits so easily! Something doesn’t go their way and-bam! they are down on the floor wailing and kicking up a fuss! They bump into the table and hurt their knee and wah!-you would think the roof fell in. After being with children for 30 years, I see the value of the tantrums, throwing fits’ as Marcus and his mama call them. Wailing and kicking and screaming releases tension, it gets what ails you out of your body. It’s like inner housecleaning in a tornado.

I hung up the phone and thought-good god(dess!) I want to throw a fit at least once a day! All I have to do is turn on the news (which I hardly ever do since I want to control my fits!) and I could wail and howl. The ‘elected’ president doesn’t give a flip about the planet that we live on and my grandson is inheriting, men are killing each other all over the planet, children are dying without food…yes, there are a lot of fits that I could throw! And every once in a while I do-but my fits are usually good hearty cries. The kind that make your eyes red for days and everyone feels bad for me since they think I have allergies.

I do my best to focus on that which is good, that which feels good, that which makes me feel better. All around me are mothers caring for their children, nursing them, feeding them, loving them. The birds are flying overhead heading towards warmer weather. The sun shines warmly on my face-the season is changing and the equinox is here. I know Marcus’ tears have dried, he is feeling better, that his mama is back on track and I know for sure that he will recover from many fits in his lifetime-just like I have…

I had been smiling ear to ear for half an hour. The love I felt in my heart was as warm as the afternoon sun.

Fridays are my yummy grandmamma days. After I cover the sandbox and take out the trash, I lovingly close the door on my preschool program. I fuel up my sturdy, faithful Volvo while I consciously focus my thoughts on how grateful I am that I have the means to pay for the gas. Then, I happily drive an hour to care for Marcus, my eighteen month old grandbaby while his mama and papa work.

I ring the doorbell, delighted to be spending a night with this young one. Marcus sees me and chants “Nana…Nana…Nana…”and hugs my legs. In an instant, I have been transported to heaven.

Both Marcus and I delight in our afternoon stroller-walk-run-sojourns in a nearby park. We assemble all our stuff to take in the stroller: my stainless water bottle, healthy snacks and a few other things we never have needed. My son’s house is teeny-tiny so I open the front door to scoot the packed stroller outside. Oh, the sweet smell of the spring air-what a world we live in. A young boy was contently playing basketball in their cul-de-sac. My grandbaby saw him, squealed with delight, ran into his room and grabbed his balloon (it looks like a ball!) and ran out the front door-dressed in socks, a onesie and a pair of pants. Oh, and a diaper. How can anyone run so fast in those bulky diapers?

I grabbed Marcus’ sweatshirt and hat and chased after him as he eagerly cooed, gooed, laughed and bee-lined to that boy and his basketball. To see something you want and go after it with such enthusiasm is a skill worth having! I followed Marcus, ear to ear grinning. His intense focus on the present moment was a gift to me. I have spent half my life teaching preschool and have learned that young children naturally and happily live in the present, if they are allowed to.

We startled Michael, the 8 year old basketball player. I’m sure he had never had a young baby charge at him before but he instantly surrendered his beloved basketball to the newest player on the block. The two boys basically ignored me while I witnessed a mentoring the likes of which I had never seen before. For the next thirty minutes, Michael modeled friendship, vulnerability and basketball sharing. He rolled the ball to Marcus-gently bounced it-let Marcus lead their game-complete with eye to eye contact and sweet smiles. The patience. The kindness. The presence.

My attention was on my breath, deep and full, grounded in the now. Marcus’s hat and sweatshirt lay unneeded in my lap. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do that was more important or precious than this moment. I was choosing to be right here, right now. As I gave Marcus the simple gift of my time and attention, I could feel my internal battery miraculously recharging without any conscious effort on my part.

Our revelry ended when Michael was called home-dinnertime, I presume. Marcus ran after him and would have gone inside too had I not scooped him into my arms. I hugged my grandbaby, feeling our hearts touch. He squirmed to get down and I chased him back into the house.

Had I ever been this present with his dad? I don’t think so. No, I’m sure I wasn’t. If Sky had run outside gleefully like Marcus did, I would have wanted him to put on his shoes, his hat, his coat. After all, I’m his mom. The wind is blowing- cover his ears, he might catch a cold. His socks are new, they will get dirty, he only has three other clean pairs. I can’t sit here too long, I need to start dinner and tonight is bath night. Life is so full.

Mothers always have meals to cooks, clothes to wash, baths to tend. Grandmothers don’t. They, I mean, we, have experience on our side. We know that toast can be a healthy dinner, holes in socks are signs of a well-played child and dirt happens. We are keenly aware that the days pass way too quickly. If there was a rewind button, many of us would push it to redo moments that whooshed away all too fast.

I am only at the beginning of this grandmother journey but I am crystal clear that my role is to BE with my grandson. Sure, I can do all the other things and I will. I promise I will cook him dinner…in a few minutes. Right now, I want to be right here. He is 18 months old and I know that Marcus’ babyhood is almost gone. I want to drink in every single drop. It seems only a few yesterdays ago, that his dad was a young boy. I have experienced the minutes ticking into days and, the next thing you know, years have stacked up and the boy has grown into a man.

Marcus is teaching me to BE. To find moments to be pleased.

Moments to consciously stop and allow this moment to be enough.

Moments to let go of the grip on striving and reaching for more.

Moments to relax. Moments to surrender and feel a full heart.

We have all heard that the present moment is a gift. It’s really all we really have for sure.

At least once a day, okay, once a week, we should inhabit it fully.

Conscious presence is quite a nice gift. For everyone.

I arrived at Body of Santa Fe to facilitate the first of our Mother’s Medicine Circles. Eight moms sat in a circle on the smooth, bamboo floor of the large movement studio around an altar dedicated to the feminine. A small stuffed turtle represented Mother Earth, a small child statue symbolized our children but also stood for the inner child in all of us, a goddess was for, well, the goddess… Many totems were placed around the candle which anchored our space as a container for healing, growth and connection. The children were situated in the room next door, happily building and drawing. A nursing mom arrived late and smiled as she pulled up a backjack. We held hands, took a few breaths and breathed in the company of other mothers.

A circle is an sacred, geometric shape symbolizing unity, eternity, perfection and wholeness. A circle is not a class, it is not a workshop, it is a non-hierarchial form, which feels natural to women. Each woman has a physical position that is equal to every other woman in the circle. There is no leader. Each woman has her unique valuable voice and contributes to the collective wisdom of the circle. This is equality at its finest. Each mother contributes and adds to the circle by her presence and her innate wisdom. We passed a ‘talking stick’-a stone egg, in our case. This idea was borrowed from our indigenous relations who used a talking stick in their councils. Since listening is as important as speaking, one woman speaks at a time. You can just imagine the quiet. And the presence.

We sat together for an hour and a half-one mom had to leave because her young one just wasn’t happy away from her. She smiled as she left our circle. She knew that we all understood.

Our circle topic was ‘A Mother’s Medicine Bag’, an idea I came up with from studying shamanism. A traditional Medicine person’s medicine bag or bundle contains personal objects of power. A Mother’s Medicine Bag may not be obvious to the ordinary, naked, untrained eye. A mother’s medicine bag is not a piece of jewelry nor does it hang around her neck. Her medicine is invisibly housed in the restorative, calming energy of her heart-the center of her being and the home of her breasts, from where she gives nourishment. Her heart, itself, is the container of her medicine and embodies the values she lives and gives each and every day. Just like her children, her medicine is ever-evolving and growing.

We passed our egg around the circle, taking turns talking about what we loved about our children-what their special ‘medicine’ was. Joy. Tenderness. Laughter. Kindness. Compassion. Tears flowed copiously as we spoke about the beings we loved the most in the whole world. “I love that my child looks me straight in the eye and says I love you. She loves so easily, so deeply.” “I love that my child has such a lightness and a sense of ease and humor.” “I love my child’s smell.” Heads nodded and hearts swelled.

We filled small medicine bags with jewels, symbols of our own medicine. Intuition. Gratitude. Love. Love. And more Love. We shared what we struggled with, what we hoped to grow more of. Trust. Understanding. Balance. Balance. We bonded, we uplifted, we knew that every mother in our circle could relate to our personal struggles and triumphs. Oh how I love mothers! Our hearts are as wide as the universe! Our vulnerability is precious. Our connection triumphant!

Time stopped when it was Julia’s turn to speak-she touched the heart and soul of every one of us. She shared how much she struggled with not feeling that she was enough. Day after day, she measured her worth from the outside. She put too much stock in other people’s opinions instead of following her own intuition. “What my child really wants and needs” she told us “is for me to really be me. For me to be authentic. For me to love myself. I want to give her the real me. She deserves that.” There wasn’t a dry eye in our circle. We all could relate. We all have that personal struggle. The truth is we are enough. We are exactly what our children need. Our truest medicine is to be the authentic ME from the inside out. Thank you, Julia. Thank you for the clear reminder of our innate worthiness.

The heart energy filled our large room. We gathered strength and courage from each other’s stories and lives. We all felt bigger than when we entered and bigger than our smaller selves. We were more in touch with our essence, our true nature, the spiritual practice of mothering. We ended our circle, holding hands, sending our medicine out to other mothers all over the globe. I am sure our circle gathering made the world a more loving place-at least for a few moments. Namaste! Or as my friend, Elizabeth’s daughter, says Mamaste!

My husband, Bill and my daughter, Margaret and I just returned from two weeks in Ecuador. The country is beautiful, our jungle trip was amazing-what’s not to love about monkeys and birds and paddling downstream in a dugout canoe. Two weeks was enough time for me to leave any perceived problems behind.

On one of our days, Margaret and I went on a medicinal plant walk up to a waterfall. On the way up a path, we passed a small house, a hut really and I stared as I realized the family was doing their laundry. The family. Not the mom. Not the dad. The family…with a lot of children. I began to question our guide…do children do laundry here? In my country, children don’t work. I see children working and they are working hard. I continued to stare as our guide explained that the mother was in the hospital and only the children were doing the laundry. One, two, three, four, five, six of them. The youngest must have been two-the oldest, maybe twelve. There were a few buckets of water, a pile of clothing. It felt chilly. The oldest boy’s eyes met mine as he looked up from swinging a piece of clothing up over his head and beating it on a rock. I felt embarrassed to stare. This was their life. Their very hard life. I brought my hand to my chest to touch my heart. I felt like crying. My shirt was clean. I had worn it for a few days but still it was relatively clean and so were all of my clothes. I never really gave it much thought that I had a washing machine….and a dryer. Clothes were hung on lines all over this country. I was amazed how focused these children stayed. No laughing, yet they didn’t seem to be in pain. They were doing what needed to be done. And today, no, right now, it was the laundry.

I am an early childhood educator and I pride myself on being in the business of building healthy self-esteem. I work with the children, I help the parents. It is important to me that a child in my care feel good about him or herself. I really work at it. Yet I now am realizing that there is so much I (and most of us) take for granted…

Abraham Maslow taught us that safety and security are the most basic of human needs. If you aren’t safe, if bombs are going off or an animal is going to eat you, nothing else matters. Safety is the very bottom line. Food, water and shelter come next. You must be fed and have a roof over your head. You will die without water. Only with these essential needs covered do you have a prayer of building self-esteem. Yet, I wondered what these children’s sense of selves were like? They were safe. They had a house to live in. Our guide owned the house they lived in and he promised me they had food. And water…we all know what the water is like in some places and Ecuador is one of them. So, they had their basic needs met but still, what about their self-esteem? It was on my mind for the rest of the trip and still is.