Pink Ladies

There were apples on the beach when we got there.  I have no idea how they came to be there, but there they were.  A bushel-worth of apples scattered over the sand like marbles on gravel drive.  I thought they were balls at first.  There were so many of them and they looked so bright against the streusel colored sand....but they were apples; shiny pink with yellow-orange underbellies.  Pink Ladies from South America.

I picked one up and it was soft; the sun and salty air had baked it.  The blue bird tried to eat one.  I taught her to toss it in the water for the seagulls instead.  She did it with unbelievable definition to her actions.  That apple was going in the water with all deliberate feelings.  The game kind of took flight from there.

There goes the rosey-cheeked little monkey, running with all her limbs.  Gathering apples and bouncing over the seaweed stripe that separates the sandcastle beach from soggy one.  There go her apples: splish, splash, splunk.  One for the wave, one for the foam, one for the birds to dive for.   

Here comes the blue bird.  First to toss the apple one handed.  It lands, kush, in the sand.  She kicks it forward once or twice, then picks it up tenderly with two hands, only to lift it high above her head and slam it mightily in the tide.

Then off they run for more.  And I ski-ball a few in myself.  The sky is blue.  And flawless, like someone spent the night on scaffolding giving it a fresh coat of paint.  The sun is warm.  The girls run.  The girls laugh.  The sand is like sugar under my feet.  And spring is here.  Hallelujah, spring is here.

We count the apples when we're all done.  50 little orbs strung along the coast like a pink pearl necklace.  A little sartorial nod to the new season.  Happy spring!    

Time Out

I'm in time out.  My girls are in monsters mode this morning.  So I fired them.  And then I fired me.

The monkey rolled out on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  She got three time outs for: hitting, kicking, and an evil combo headbutt-bite.  Before 9 AM.  So I banished her to her room for a nap.  Fired.

The blue bird, isn't really fired.  You can't really fire a baby.  And 18 months is still a baby.  But if she wasn't a baby I would've fired her.  For whining about treats.  And trying eight gazillion times to rescue her sis from her banishment.  For being a sweetheart?  Baby?  Couldn't fire her.  Put her down for a nap instead.

Then the monkey, who still hasn't taken a nap, rather ripped her room apart like a puppy, woke up the munchkin.  Who now wants me to go "nigh-nigh piwwwwow".  Desperately.

So the baby is crying, and the kiddo is thwarting, and I am getting shrill.  And it ain't pretty.  There's this awful quality to my yelling voice that triggers this image of my normal face melting off to reveal a wraith-like Medusa figure within.  With flames splashing around me like waves crashing on rocks and everything.  I don't like it, so: Fired.

I'm letting them do whatever the please in their room for twenty minutes.  Obviously I need a minute to remember that they're my little loves, lest I sell them to the circus two for a dollar.....So, timer set.....

Dear girls,

I love you.  I also want to ban the following behaviors, forever: pinching, kicking, biting, fussing, whining, and saying the word "mine" with unnecessary vehemence.  Ok?  Ok.  Now that's settled, let's move on. There's a few things I want you to know.

-Curly.  You amaze me every day with your sweetness and your stinkiness.  I love you because you are so full of everything.  You are always up to something, which makes things terribly interesting.  You remind me of your Auntie with your faces and your phrases and your sudden flashes of heart-stopping golden generosity.  That makes me love you both more than usual.  And yesterday I complimented your good job sharing and you smiled and said to me:  "Know what Mommy? I like to share with you because I just love you so much."  And got on with your business.  It made my day.  So thanks.

-Bazooka Jane.  You are moving towards two.  You've got plans and attitudes and...words.  This week you swapped the word "m'ow" for carefully enunciated "meeee-ow".  I cannot stop you.  What will I do?  Your whole life I've sort of had a futile hope you'd be my chubby little infant forever.  You bucked that idea, now didn't you?  But I admit I love this too.  You're my little scientist on a discovery adventure.  You never ever stop moving.  Or smiling.  Or climbing things.  Ever.  I particularly like the way you are a truly emancipated little love bug who frequently pauses to give just-because-loves.  You're a busy little maniac that just breathes joy into my world.  If you could, hold off on getting rid of your so tiny little lisp when you say words like "mithce" just yet.  But I'll step aside and embrace things as you carry on with the development.  It's surprisingly delicious.  

Love,

Mom

 Time in.