After several frustrating attempts at writing his autobiography Mark Twain finally found success when he threw the planning factor out the window and wrote only about what appealed to him at that particular moment for only as long as it continued to appeal to him. This year my mom, my grandma, and I are using the Mark Twain approach in working together on a personal history project. Every month we pick a topic, I'll be making recording mine here...
One Single Day--- looks like this:
7 AM: wake up, feed Bebe, sing, play, snuggle with Bebe, open curtains and greet the blindingly bright "happy day" together, change Bebe's diaper, hand her orange plastic doggy to chew when Louise flies in with bedhead to say good morning, get Bebe dressed while Louise makes "a tunnel" over both of us
8 AM: send Louie to the bathroom, use the facilities while small people happily barge in, oohh and ahh over Louise clever choosing of an outfit that matches Bebe's, comb hair, talk about eggs, birdies, and worms, go downstairs and get cereal and juice on the table, check email, wash, slice and freeze excess turnip greens from the CSA, Curly appears, back upstairs to open her curtains, get her started on getting ready, get more juice and rolls out, start Super Why, make an Instant Breakfast, take Bebe upstairs for a nap
9 AM: take a bath, shave, use glorious peony scented exfoliating scrub, get dressed and ready, mentally list everything that needs to happen today, water mug
10 AM: comb girls hair, get snacks of blueberries and granola bars, fold a load of whites, send girls off to get ready for swimming, assemble all swimming necessities, Bebe is up, get her, help Lou get her "x" settled on her tutu swimsuit, ditto Curly, change Bebe, nurse Bebe, 3 handfuls of goody balls for lovely morning, family prayer, off to swimming, Louise picks a flower on the way in and freezes, screaming in horror when a bug ends up on her hand, save her, recover
11 AM: girls swim, play with Bebe, call mom to remind of personal history project assignment, get girls dry, clothed and loaded back in car, mitigate a back-seat conflict, arrive home and follow thru with consequences, Curly sits in the corner humming
12 PM: get the girls showered, dressed, hair combed, etc, "how many tiny steps equal one giant on?" discuss, also, "get those badboy's (and by badboy's I mean clothes) on" sparks a giggly progression "those aren't bad-boys, they're bad-girls!" "they're not bad-girls, they're good-girls, like Cinderella!" and then get on lunch. "You are my sunshine" sandwiches (nutella and jam) strawberries and milk for the girls, sweet potato puffs for Bebe, leftover ravioli, peaches and tomatoes for me, load and start the dishwasher, set up "Tangled" for a quiet time show
1 PM: Change Bebe's diaper, nurse her and put her down for a nap, relax and read for a minute, come back downstairs to find they've opted to snuggle up together and Curly is reading aloud, also Louie has cleared her lunch dishes, more goody balls!
2 PM: switch laundry, fold load of towels, pre-heat oven, start pre-soak load soaking, get sweet potatoes baking for Bebe, start dinner: chop 3 sweet potatoes, thinly slice 1 onion, dice a big bunch of CSA turnips, saute all in butter, garlic and ginger, wilt in big bunch sliced bok choy, add stock and miso soup mix (tofu picked out), start slow simmer, get chicken marinating in soy sauce and spices
3 PM: snack with the girls (a Drumstick ice cream cone) and finish Tangled with them, "finally, they're gonna kiss!" and then we dance, call Mammy to see if she's become a doctor at Louie's request after she catches an incidental kick in the face during a rough-housing episode, chat for minute, then Bebe's up, navigate the circus happening on my bed to retrieve, change and play with Bebe, Curly reads us something in Japanese (I'm completely at her mercy, have no idea what these kids books actually say), take Bebe down and plop her in her exersaucer which she finds very exciting while I pull out her sweet potatoes and put in the chicken, blow raspberries at/with Bebe
4 PM: play peek-a-boo with Bebe, check soup, start rice cooker, 27 fling boogie to clear a path, get Bebe some toys to chew/examine/babble at, think about doing a bunch of other things but play with her instead, nurse a minute, unload dishwasher, Daddy's home! shred chicken, toss in soup to finish simmering, discover that rice cooker was not plugged in, try that again, chat
5 PM: go upstairs to see the "blanket" the girls made in our room, it's huge, take a picture, do a story, herd everyone down to dinner, insisted everyone each "gis-gusting yams"
6 PM: hose down Bebe, get sandals etc on to play outside, change and jammify Bebe
7 PM: bed time! nurse and sing to Bebe, snuggle and sing to Curly and Lou
8 PM: reload dishwasher, start preparing Mother Goose Time: cut out craft, gather scissors, markers, glue, calendar boards, little chairs, computer and music, review lesson, tidy living room, sweep floor, wipe table and set everything out
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Things in Common
Dear Babies,
Tonight I rocked the Little One while you, Curly and Louise, were snuggle buddies upstairs. Soon the house was quite and it was just me sitting in the semi darkness, letting my mind wander as it so often does. And, as it so often does, it wandered all over but constantly came back to touch on each of my three every few seconds. One track mind I suppose, even when it's supposedly free. I thought about your gorgeous hearts and faces and your brilliant little minds and how each of you individually makes me laugh and breaks my heart in the best kind of way. I wondered again at what a miracle it is to not only be a mother, something a previous me was never particularly planning on, but even more so what a pure gift it is to have daughters. So what if you're 3 and 5 and 3 months. You're my babies and my best girlfriends all rolled into one, and you'll simply never escape that....
One of the best elements of this part of my life is that right now I know you adore me every bit as much as I do you. I see it in your eyes and feel it in the sparks that fly when you invite me into your beautiful worlds and I have the good sense to accept. And I just want you to know that I'm storing it up. In a great big invisible warehouse where there is infinite room for more. Because I know there will likely come a day, or a week, or an era (oh, please bless, not a long, horrible era) when you forget for a moment that I'm your darling mother. It will likely be my fault, but maybe it will be yours, or probably a little bit of both. I'm gonna hate it. Fully. But you should know I intend to stick to my guns about all of it, live on the love I'm hoarding now so I can do what's best for you. And don't worry, this will all come full circle and we'll come right back to this place eventually, except it will be new and improved. Mammy and I did. But I'm hoping when you and I are in the middle of whatever temporary mess we create for ourselves, that maybe you'll read this. I'm getting it in print for you: You're my favorite. In some ridiculous, jaw-dropping way. I loved you when you were chubby and smiling and emitting that delicious baby perfume. I loved standing in the dark for hours, doing the Texas two step and humming Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's "Fishing in the Dark" with you in desperate attempts to coax you to sleep. I loved you when you glued things to the wall or gave yourself a swirly and a haircut or committed any other horribly hilarious (or not so hilarious) misstep. I loved you when you triumphed and I loved anyone else who could ever see the faintest glimmer of how wonderful you were. And I love you now. No matter what. I just can't help it.
So read this later, ok? You might think it's false. But read it again a while later, and you'll see. It's nothing short of the truth. Love you,
Mama
Tonight I rocked the Little One while you, Curly and Louise, were snuggle buddies upstairs. Soon the house was quite and it was just me sitting in the semi darkness, letting my mind wander as it so often does. And, as it so often does, it wandered all over but constantly came back to touch on each of my three every few seconds. One track mind I suppose, even when it's supposedly free. I thought about your gorgeous hearts and faces and your brilliant little minds and how each of you individually makes me laugh and breaks my heart in the best kind of way. I wondered again at what a miracle it is to not only be a mother, something a previous me was never particularly planning on, but even more so what a pure gift it is to have daughters. So what if you're 3 and 5 and 3 months. You're my babies and my best girlfriends all rolled into one, and you'll simply never escape that....
One of the best elements of this part of my life is that right now I know you adore me every bit as much as I do you. I see it in your eyes and feel it in the sparks that fly when you invite me into your beautiful worlds and I have the good sense to accept. And I just want you to know that I'm storing it up. In a great big invisible warehouse where there is infinite room for more. Because I know there will likely come a day, or a week, or an era (oh, please bless, not a long, horrible era) when you forget for a moment that I'm your darling mother. It will likely be my fault, but maybe it will be yours, or probably a little bit of both. I'm gonna hate it. Fully. But you should know I intend to stick to my guns about all of it, live on the love I'm hoarding now so I can do what's best for you. And don't worry, this will all come full circle and we'll come right back to this place eventually, except it will be new and improved. Mammy and I did. But I'm hoping when you and I are in the middle of whatever temporary mess we create for ourselves, that maybe you'll read this. I'm getting it in print for you: You're my favorite. In some ridiculous, jaw-dropping way. I loved you when you were chubby and smiling and emitting that delicious baby perfume. I loved standing in the dark for hours, doing the Texas two step and humming Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's "Fishing in the Dark" with you in desperate attempts to coax you to sleep. I loved you when you glued things to the wall or gave yourself a swirly and a haircut or committed any other horribly hilarious (or not so hilarious) misstep. I loved you when you triumphed and I loved anyone else who could ever see the faintest glimmer of how wonderful you were. And I love you now. No matter what. I just can't help it.
So read this later, ok? You might think it's false. But read it again a while later, and you'll see. It's nothing short of the truth. Love you,
Mama
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Light Show
We got the girls out of bed at midnight. The Daddy got the girls piled in the car, cozied up in jammies and blankets, then drove circles around the cul-de-sac, trying to calm our crying Bebe while I grabbed a few other last minute incidentals. He pulled into the garage just long enough for me to climb in shotgun and then we were off down the Seward highway, away from the lights of the city that cannot outshine the white moon. The aurora forecast was impressive and it did not disappoint. Not in the least. A thirty minute drive led us to Beluga Point. Then just a little waiting and we had the most amazing display playing out above us. Aurora Borealis. Aurora Borealis! I've always wanted to see it and tonight I did! Soft, green swaths of light ebbing and flowing across the sky. It was like watching some celestial current work its way in ripples over and around pebbles and stones in an aerial creek-bed. My sweetheart told me that he'd been told the lights crackle faintly as they move, but we were never quite still enough to hear. We sat there in the darkness, that wasn't very dark. Craning our necks and letting the wind blow in the car a bit for the sake of a better view through the open moon-roof. Curly stuck her head and hands through, shouting "Boo-yah!" and deeming everything "awesome!" Little B was more quiet about it, but clearly happy just to be out of bed doing anything in the middle of the night. Bebe was nursing (as always). I had my sweater wrapped around her like a blanket and I could just see her profile etched out beyond the shadow of her hood. Beautiful and soft. The lights kept shimmering above us, with the moon and the stars shining through. And that's when it struck me again. What an incredible life this is. What an incredible, gorgeous world.
I thought of the God who made it for me, for my us, for all His children. Alaska has such raw, dramatic examples. Stark, bold, harsh at times, and breathtaking everyday. He created this earth as a staging ground for us to embrace challenging, edifying gifts. I thought of how we individually have, and are expected to use, the capacity to add beauty to the world; as human beings our station may be humble but our souls are not small. And though they may be subtle, neither are our gifts. God made a world grand enough to showcase each one. Sometimes I struggle to include myself in that. It seems...too much for me. Like a task I am completely unequal to, one I wouldn't even know how to approach attempting. But lately I have had more perspective, I've been able to recognize more happiness trailing behind us, spreading and dispersing like a wake behind a boat. Effects I didn't understand were being created as I fought to plow through the water that was then ahead of our family. I still, honestly, have trouble identifying what exactly I might contribute. I can see, though, that maybe sometimes to just live a good and happy life is brilliant enough. Quiet expressions can be spectacular. I saw that tonight.
I thought of the God who made it for me, for my us, for all His children. Alaska has such raw, dramatic examples. Stark, bold, harsh at times, and breathtaking everyday. He created this earth as a staging ground for us to embrace challenging, edifying gifts. I thought of how we individually have, and are expected to use, the capacity to add beauty to the world; as human beings our station may be humble but our souls are not small. And though they may be subtle, neither are our gifts. God made a world grand enough to showcase each one. Sometimes I struggle to include myself in that. It seems...too much for me. Like a task I am completely unequal to, one I wouldn't even know how to approach attempting. But lately I have had more perspective, I've been able to recognize more happiness trailing behind us, spreading and dispersing like a wake behind a boat. Effects I didn't understand were being created as I fought to plow through the water that was then ahead of our family. I still, honestly, have trouble identifying what exactly I might contribute. I can see, though, that maybe sometimes to just live a good and happy life is brilliant enough. Quiet expressions can be spectacular. I saw that tonight.
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