Bird in the Nest

Dear Curly,

The other night your Daddy was out of town so you, and your sister and I had a sleep-over in my bed.  We watched a movie and giggled and stayed awake until late at night the yellow Alaskan twilight finally, finally faded pink, then gray, then the color of blueberries and your eyelids closed as gently as the setting sun.  We spent the night cozy as three birds in a nest, me with a wing around each chick. 

I woke very early in the morning.  And the first thing my eyes landed on was you.  Warm beside me.  Sweet and beautiful.  Indescribable you.  In the softness of the dawn I saw you as my baby.  Fresh.  Just the way I dreamed you.  But real.  And ready to surprise me.  You gave me several moments to just soak you in.  Then, waking, your eyes met mine and you smiled.  Just the way you did as a baby when you so often caught me watching you dream.

I love you.

Mama 

For the Record

We are moving and I am glad.  Which is sort of a unexpected feeling for me.  This place has been hard in ways I wouldn't have anticipated.  We hoped to make it our home for many years but it turns out this job and this community have merely been a pit stop rather than a destination.  A place to refuel and tune up.  It has made us stronger.  And happier.  And better.  We have changed because of it.  There was a disappointing landlord.  A neighbor whose character was likely the very inspiration for Oscar the Grouch.  An opportunity to make large and hugely unpredicted changes in our path.  A time to close chapters and begin sketching new ones.  People who gave a lot to us.  And a lot of opportunities to give.  I am happy to record that we are leaving this house better cared for than we found it.  I believe that homes have personalities from the moment they are built, and this sweet old building was begging for a refreshing bath and a little kind companionship, which we could give.  We'll leave it with a full host of pink and red flowers waiting for the next tenant.  And the hopes that perhaps we contributed other less tangible things in the vicinity.

Yet I still found myself uncomfortable with the idea that for the first time in my life I will leave a place without the slightest inclination to linger.   I like to put my roots down deep and quickly.  I like to fall in love.  And it just didn't happen this time.  We were here so briefly and in the midst of such a swirl of constant transition that I had doubts as to if I would even remember much about it.  Then today, I felt the crunch of last October's leaves underfoot, and I knew precisely how I our time here will indeed live in my memory.

This morning I let the girls lead me through the white picket fence that an unusually harsh winter battered beyond it's original rustic look.  I saw the tulips we planted poking brave green shoots like spears through the leaves that merely waited out the months under the snow.  The leaves are crisp again now.  They rustle under foot.  And the dappled sun is playing gently with my darlings as they swing and twist and their own kind of light bursts through in the shine of their eyes and the effortless happiness of every muscle in their little faces.  It feels to me exactly like a golden autumn afternoon.  I realized that in my mind it will always be autumn in Connecticut.  Our autumn.  The one with blue skies and endless hours running loose in a yard built precisely for the catching of leaves.  Two little girls in it, chasing after leaves twirling down on a breeze in the hopes of catching a wish.  An eternal moment.  Like the sunset on Oahu, or a moment of quiet solitude under a midnight sky.  A memory you visit like a location, not browse through like a file.  This is where we really lived.  And that is how I will remember it.

The Truck Was Not My Friend

Today it was lovely outside.  Fifty degrees with blue skies on valentine's day lovely.  So I got us all ready to go get Daddy a Valentine's surprise from his little ladies.  Opportunities like this are rare in the winter, since the girls and I hoof it while Daddy commutes to work.  The girls wore their favorite lately: crazy busy tights and delicate tulle skirts.  We added layers in heart patterned fleece hoodies and cozy puffy vests.  As if that wasn't enough texture and pattern for any out fit, the whole look got finished off with sparkly princess/fairy snow-boots.  And the usual dredging in sugar and spice.  Perfect.  I got my boots and cream puffy vest on too, just because.  Looked pretty good, if I say so myself.

Then we headed up the street with the double stroller.  Me in the street.  The girls happily navigating the absolute rivers between the "snow tunnels" that have honestly been the best any one could expect your average citizen to carve out above the sidewalk considering the many feet of snow we've had this winter.  I figured it was the safer course for the moment, plus it allowed them to get their hollers and tigger-esque wiggles out.

There was a point, after we crested the hill and successfully avoided overly obsessing over the mummified roadkill specimen that had unfortunately surfaced as a result of the thaw when I saw an opportunity to get back on the sidewalk without getting completely wedged between two walls of gray slush.  Little Blue was dragging, barely keeping herself moving ahead by repeating the goal "Surprise...for Daddy....I'm SuperGirl.." with every step.  Cinderella Baby was starting to look a little droopy in Curly's arm.  It was time for offer these little gals a ride.

They got settled with a little box of candy hearts a piece (courtesy of Mammy) and we rounded the corner, on our merry way.  I was enjoying the blue sky and dreaming of spring and feeling awfully pleased with myself; after all, here I was cruising along with a hundred pound stroller over mud and slush through a luge shoot of greasy, melting ice and feeling cheery as a pioneer at a camp-fire dance.  And then, well, then my friendly smugness was rudely interrupted by a big fat splatter.  Mud and slush and cold wet.  All over me.  And my clean, straight hair and my white vest.  Compliments of the speeding delivery truck passing at a blur through a puddle.  The girls didn't notice.  I didn't cry.  But I don't mind admitting I wanted to.

Sometimes life is like that.

Busy

An itemized list detailing four hours in the lives of Curly Sue and Louisa the Blue....

Curly:

• snuggle mom on the couch
• make a valentines surprise for Ellie
• eat 1 bowl lucky charms
• get dressed
• eat 1 bowl blueberries while sitting on the kitchen floor
• inventory all mom's Nancy Drews
• unpack entire shirt drawer, throw all items over shoulder
• get dressed again
• make bed
• color paper hearts
• stuff them in an envelope for a variety of loved ones
• more beads
• finally go to the bathroom
• let your sister push all your buttons, lose all volume control and screech the word NEVER as many times as possible
• run around without underwear making crazy demands
• notice Shrek is playing, cheerily busy-foot it back to the bathroom for underwear and other necessities so you can watch too
• get your sister on board for a raid of the closet
• settle on two swimsuits and a cover up
• make a "beach out of blankets"
• yell "wahoo!" and daintily sit in the middle of your "ocean"
• swim
• snack
• rub a balloon all over your head, check out the halo it makes of your hair
• chase your sister around screaming because she won't trade balloons.  make it really fun
• have a balloon boxing match
• kick your sister and get sent to your room
• get released. wrap balloons up like babies in a blanket and settle in with them for a long, quiet movie

Blue:

• announce yourself as cowboy girl
• care for Beluga and Gray, they are two sick animals
• make yourself a necklace, sort of
• eat lucky charms
• eat two bowls of oatmeal and blueberries while crouching on the kitchen floor
• bathroom break
• attempt to get dressed.  the tights you want are not clean. 
• rush to the kitchen and collapse in agony in your underwear over the tights drama
• lock yourself in the bathroom as per same drama
• forget about it and brush your teeth instead
• semi-flood the bathroom
• sweetly emerge from your room in a shirt, pants, and skirt
• color some hearts
• lick the window
• find a stick in the living room (why is that there?) dance with it
• notice the stick makes your hand dirty, attempt to flood the bathroom again
• request a pink cookie
• get one
• climb into mom's bed, snuggle up with a cookie, look sweet, get crumbs everywhere
• harass your sister while she goes to the bathroom.  make several attempts to drive a truck that can't possibly fit in there, in there
• start watching Shrek the Third
• remember about your cookie you already finished, stress that it is "not in [your] mouth!" 
• try on several new pairs of panties and parade around in each of them
• settle on a pink tutu swimsuit, announce it's beach day!
• yell "wahoo" and actually cannonball into your "ocean".  don't show any sign that crashing flat-bottomed on a hard-wood floor was anything but delightful
• splash, swim and snack
• find balloons
• have a fun with them and then a fuss about them
• remember you wanted to watch Shrek

Glow in the Snow

It snowed over the weekend.  A lot.  Sunday morning we got up, got ready for church, and drove through a winter wonderland.  Branches that weeks ago wore brazen, ruffled reds and golds dressed for the day in minimalist white tunics with a tasteful shimmer of yellow and blue. 

We did our usual thing.  Church.  Eat.  Nap.  Eat.  Then we wrapped the girls in layers and ventured out into the dark and cold armed with glow sticks in hand.  I felt like Max letting the tide deliver him to the island where Wild Things roam.  Stepping across the snowy threshold of the white picket fence, I found our grove an enchanted forest and a royal rumpus about to begin! 

Glow sticks were buried and dug up like treasure, their green, pink and blue light dancing like a grounded display of aurora borealis.  The four of us threw snow like confetti, played hide and seek, did cartwheels and somersaults, lay down to find the "banana" moon framed in a web of branches above.  All of it reflected in the crisply drawn shadows over the blank canvas of light, fluffy snow.  A short, whimsical, monochromatic film.  

For about twenty minutes there were no grown ups, only children.  Delicious.  Then the wind began to blow a little fiercer and we again took a cue from Max.  We sailed back inside to the warmth and the light of the kitchen.  And though no mother had left a tray with dinner waiting for us, The Daddy made us mini hot-fudge sundaes that proved wholly satisfactory. 
 

All is Well

The summer of 2010 brought the news that my dad had passed away.  As one might imagine, this has been a bit of an experience and has brought along with it a brand new emotional learning curve.  Aside from an obituary and a thank you note or two, I have done very little to record this event in my life.  But below you will find, the short explanation of what I have found gentle (crazy though it sounds) about this piece of my life.

A letter for a later date:

Dear girls,

Once upon a time there was a little girl, whom you know as mommy, who had a wonderful daddy.  He was good at telling stories and making spaghetti.  He was creative and brave and kind.  He was playful.  And when he became a grandpa, he simply adored you. 

Then another time, the wonderful daddy, whom you know as Grandpa, got lost.  And nobody knew where he was.  We asked for help and got it, but as there was nothing pointing towards foul play and no clues as to where Grandpa was....there was nothing to do but wait.  And wait we did.  Quietly.  Months went by.  I was hoping he would knock on our door one day with a smile and a big fat story.  But he didn't.

We moved from Boston to a town in Connecticut.  With this move came a yard (yay!) and a swing set (yay!) and beautiful windows (yay!).....and the news that Grandpa had left this world for now.  Way up high in the mountains of my home Grandpa went for a drive, but his car had trouble and got stuck.  He was far beyond the range of being able to call for help.  He tried to walk back, but he had an accident.  He fell.  And Heavenly Father carefully helped him from this life to the next. 

This thing that happened with Grandpa, the way he moved on from this life, was a mess for me.  A disappointing, suffocating mess.  It was just not the way I wanted things to go.  But in retrospect, I see that even though this experience reaffirmed for me for the six thousandth time that I am not the Being in charge here, it also, once again, illuminated for me that all is, in point of fact, well.

A while ago, your Uncle Jon and I were talking about how this kind of thing can devastate a person's life.  And how strange and wonderful it is that at the moment we are all doing a great deal more than surviving it.  How this is possible is, I believe, a story we will each have to tell for ourselves.  The synonpsis for me is embodied in tender mercies that appeared aplenty in the form of volunteers who kindly and solemnly carried a conclusion from the top of the mountain with them, a filthy new rental house that needed scrubbing, a piano that needed playing, kids who needed loving and a life that needed living.  These gifts built upon a foundation of ideas that always point toward, and eventually carve out, calm, joy, and peace.  As floors come clean and my fingers slowly remember the geography of black and white keys, insufficient thank-yous are shared and two girls grow and laugh and learn before my eyes, I can feel the sad gray sludge of regret and grief gradually melt out through my fingertips while something brighter, cleaner, and sweeter springs up within me.  In the loss of my father, I find him restored, our relationship improved, and our love for each other very much alive.

I believe in a Heavenly Father that knows each soul perfectly.  Personally.  He knows Grandpa.  He knows me.  He knows you.  And it is, in short, because of that, that I find that all with us is very, very well.

I love you,

Mama