One Single Day

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

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

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.  

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

Silent Night

The twinkle lights are shining a gentle rainbow of spotlights on three little nativity scenes on the mantle.  The tree is guarding a nest of presents, dressed in white and red and green, cradling a baby "Jesus" swaddled in cream pillow cases.  I can hear Curly Sue gently crooning out her version of "Angels We Have Heard On High" in the girls room where she and her sister lie, two little souls are snuggled and bundled.  Christmas is glowing softly in my heart.  

Again

Remember the day with terrible children and the miserable mother and the quarters in the pancake batter and the time outs all around?  We're back there.  Again. Back to the stress and the screeching and the tight, stiff feelings.  And the faces like anguished drama masks.  The girls are evil geniuses today.  Each makes the other their target.  They had an amazing knock down drag out fight within the confines of their double stroller.  Criminal contortionist kind of stuff.  Right down Main Street.  In the pouring rain.  Pouring.  Rain.  I caught a beautician gawking at us through the window....her jaw dropped right down to her collarbone. 
They got frog marched straight to their beds as soon as we got home.  And I stormed around, putting shoes away and threatening impending doom should I hear as much as one whisper of naughtiness. 
I heard a giggle.  Then two.  I was swooping in to.....I don't know what.  Transform into a beast, I suppose, when I got pulled up short.  They were in there, demons gone, children back.  Making a nest out of all their pillows with a stack of books waiting on the edge of the bed.  My mind flashed on the Wicked Witch of the West I'd just met in the hall mirror.  Didn't like it one little bit.  I'm in time out, again. 
In time out to remember, again, the guidance I was granted sitting next to the pancake batter puddle with twenty-five cent lilly-pads: Love them.  It came to me softly like breeze slipping through white linen.  Simply love them.  That's the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end of what I aim to do as their mother.  Everything else will grow out of that.  Love them, feed them.  Love them, clothe them.  Love them, teach them.  Love them, tell them.  Love them, laugh with them.  Love them, correct them.  Love them, play with them.  Love them, listen to them.  Love them, hold them.  Love them, guide them.
There are days when I remember.  When I hold those two words in the center of my mind and they help me relax.  Release.  Like the breathing in yoga helps me stretch.  And be strong.  Things flow smoother on those days.  Today, I was forgetting.  So I gave myself a time out.  And, will probably need several more at several other dates.  Until, hopefully, I finally remember forever.  But today, I'll settle for remembering, again.     

I'm Their Guest....

Remember way back when I promised to share my tips and tricks?  Well, I finally did!  Check out my thoughts on working with your littles in my guest spot on Bloom.  Thanks for having me Anne and Emily!

Weekend Ritual

There is a Daddy in this house.  He has two little girls.  He loves them.  They pretty much think he is it.  Saturday morning I came out in the living room and there they were, snuggled in the blanket.  Him in the middle, a chipmunk on each side.  Still in pajamas, all three.  Pink hedgehogs and purple red-riding hoods and blue plaid.  Observing the time-honored Saturday morning tradition......cartoons.  Did you remember?  I sort of forgot.  That's why there's a Daddy in this house.  'Cause there they were rosy and giggling and warm.  And completely unaware of to-do lists or chores.  Just enjoying Daddy and Pablo, and Tasha, and Tyrone.  And now I remember.  That sooo happy feeling of an empty day completely full with the simple promise of Dad.  And cartoons.  And cold cereal.  And pajamas till....never.  They do it every weekend.  I sleep in.  Next weekend, I'm gonna sleep in again.  But this weekend, when I stumbled in, it was like standing outside a window in the snow, watching a family start in under a fully loaded Christmas tree.  And having every confidence they would welcome you.  It made me feel cozy.  Like he always does.  So glad there's a Daddy in this house.   

Silhouette

The other day out at the swing set the sun treated me to a silhouette of myself pushing the girls higher and higher.  There I was larger than life, taller than tall.  My arms, stretched like tree limbs, caught and released two little bodies on aerial seats.  I love the fine detail of a shadow.  It gave me lace from the leaves above.  It outlined every errant hair blowing in the wind.  It reminded me with graceful loops and a tiny heart suspended above my head that I was in fact still wearing the crown from playing princesses with Sue while we rounded up shoes and socks.  There was my happy projected in the black.  I smiled and kept the crown on.  And we kept on playing.  Happy me.  Happy girls.  Happy us.  Happy sun.  Happy day.

A letter to Little B

Dear Bazooka Jane,

The other day at Aldi you made the assumption that all other customers were there to see you (and by the end of the trip they were ). You announced your self and your shiny shoes and told everyone you are two. Except you're not. Yet. But it made me think. About you and the bursting little life inside you. All smiles and eyelashes and fearless joy. And the places they will take you. It made me think about the pieces of your little personality. And the enormous strength you already have.

Every time I take you to the beach you make a frank and furious bee line for the water. With you there is no pausing to test the temperature of the cold Atlantic blue one toe at a time. You just plow right in, as deep as you can go, until someone saves you from yourself or a wave knocks you flat. At which point, you will only laugh, pick your little self up and head right back in with an even bigger grin. Sweet thing, you terrify your mother. But I have to confess, there is a part of me that loves this. Not the idea that you have no sense of danger, so much. But the idea of living without fear, of seeking life and adventure with insatiable zest and gusto. Don't lose that. Temper it with some sense, if you please, but keep it alive if you can.

You and I each measure our will against the other, mine to keep you breathing oxygen, yours to discover what it means to be a fish. Most often the only compromise we can find is to waltz across the wet sand. You in my arms and the wind in our hair. One, two-three, slow, quick-quick. Tide washing over my feet and your sister contentedly gathering every pink rock on the beach behind our swirling resolution. I love this part. Every piece of it from the blue horizon to the gray rocks marking the perimeter. The smell, the breeze, the gentle sounds, and the cool spray on my legs. And my girl laughing with her eyes. I love it. Keep this part too. Keep your will and your drive and your ability to yield too. And never forget how to let someone sweep you off your feet and waltz, two-three, slow, quick-quick, into the breeze.

I love you, Crazy. Love,

Mama

Sneetches

I was in the kitchen getting dinner settled and a little laundry folded fresh and warm from the dryer. The girls were splashing in the tub with their Daddy standing guard. Our new house features a much deeper tub than our old one could boast and the splashing possibilities here are primo. I heard plenty of giggles and swim-itty sounds. Then when I entered the bathroom with towels in hand I caught the tail end of the game:

"Stand up Sweetie!" the Monkey would call, and up the little one would burst, water streaming off her like an ocean fleeing a new formed volcanic peak. Then promptly a bright colored foam letter was firmly placed over Lil' Blue's navel, an orange "X" marking the spot, or a green "A". She ever so proudly displayed her new belly adornment to the audience like one of Suess' Sneetches fresh out of the magic machine with spanking new "stars upon thars". Then crash, she plummets to the white porcelain floor and the water steals her new sophistication in one smooth swipe. The "X" floats off behind a pink rubber duck and the "A" sinks slowly to the bottom. Never mind, there are more: "Stand up, Sweetie!"......

Reverting a Little

When I was a little girl my Dad's job required him to travel quite a bit. My actual memories of this are pretty much limited to the following:

a) My mom and I would have a sleep-over in my parents water-bed. Wrapped in a nest of blankets and pillows while still afloat on a friendly sea. I have vague recollections of wiggling while half asleep to keep the bed rolling. I think my love of the ocean is somehow tied to this. If that wasn't enough, I also often got to watch a movie to boot.

b) Dad would bring home gifts for all his kids, and come to think of it, probably my mom too. One time I got a Hershey bar from the factory in Pennsylvania. It was about the size of my current computer monitor.

c) I missed him lots. Do you remember the song from "American Tale"? Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moon sky, Some one's thinking of me, and loving me to-night I remember staying awake long after the movie had run out and Mom's regimen of stories and songs had been exhausted. Aching for my Daddy and singing myself to sleep like Fivel Mouskewitz in his makeshift bed. For whatever reason, that's the only song that ever helped.

The last few nights a piece of me has slipped back a bit to that little girl. I miss my Dad. And that piece of me is still singing the same old song. And some where out there, if love can see us through, Then we'll be together, Somewhere out there, out where dreams come true. Same as every time before, and valid as ever.

Love you Daddy.

How to Catch a Rainbow

Baachan and Jiichan have a new door with a pretty little window alongside it. One morning I heard Sweetie Blue riding her Diego truck in the hall and I peeked around the corner to see what she was up to. Sunshine streamed through the window, a collection of simple solo rays lending a bit of life to the blue way. I remember light shooting through the little diamond window in my Grandparents cabin first thing in the morning like that. A spotlight on the braided rug, calling attention to the woolen colors collaborating as they warmed the floor for feet fresh out of a bed on a cold mountain morning. It was one of my favorite ways to wake up. Ever. This was a little bit the same. It just made me feel cozy.
I caught up to the munchkin. We played more truck on the cool white tile. I noticed the joints of the window were acting as prisms, casting tiny little rectangles of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple. Little geometric rainbows painted on a robin egg canvas. I showed the little Puddin' Bear. She touched them, showed me all the pinks, and blues, and even a couple of "g'een"s. Let the sunshine highlight her golden little pixie face. Then she was off, like kitten after a butterfly.
I thought to bring Curly back a bit later, show her the rainbows too. But when she woke up they were already gone. And though I know they must be there, I haven't chanced upon them since.

I am mother to two little girls. They used to be babies and already are not. They are the fairies and imps of my world, leaving traces of sugar and cinnamon behind them as they flit about their mystical business. I know these prismatic instants are part of their daily magic. I can feel them. Generally, they escape me in the music and noise of housekeeping, callings, friendships, hobbies, and forward motion. The days pass in gusts like a whirlwind, and every once in a while I get moment to experience their childhoods as I pass through the calm eye of the storm. And those are the fleeting pauses in which rainbows are caught.

Breakfast in Bed

This morning I woke up when a blanket, baby doll, and cup of water were piled on my neck: "Foh'you, Mommy!"   Later they brought me breakfast in bed.  Daddy's specialty; ham, egg and cheese bagel, blueberry yogurt, and a big pink mug of minty hot cocoa.  Mmmmm.   They gave me loves and cards and wished me a happy mothers day.  The monkey proudly even signed her own name.  Bouncy little Lou waved her doggie card in my face and instantly reclaimed it.  Sweetie Sue climbed under the covers with me and Daddy turned on the Chipmunks Squeakuel for us to watch.  The little one jumped on the bed for us, sat on her sister, and ate all my ham.  The curly one took care of my cheese for me, and dispatched me for a glass of milk.  I felt a little bit like Mrs. Large in her well wished for bubble bath.  It was lovely.

Bird Bath

The blue bird got a rare solo bath this evening.  I think she's part fish.  She loves to splash and dunk her own head.  She slithers along the bottom like a snake and "whim"s on her stomach like a frog.  But she's still a little bird to me.  A happy little bluebird.  Hopping along and singing the most joyous little song.  She was born with a gift for enjoying everything around her.  I watch her, everyday.  Investigating the world like an unexpected gift, wrapped in aquamarine paper with a wide, orange ribbon.  It came without a card but she knows exactly who it's from.  She circles the box, hops all over it, chirps, tugs at the ribbon, pecks at the wrapping, tears into it with total abandon.  She finds the treasure inside and laughs.  Sings about it.  Throws it in the air just to catch it on the way down.  She was in the tub, jabbering at her little fishies.  Giddy about her dinosaur sponges.  She stopped to pat my face with her wet little paws.  And directly dove into the water just to peek at me over the rim, with the same old silly secret in her eyes.  And that transparent smile that makes me laugh.  She's delicious.  My little bird, twittering from branch to branch, then lighting on my finger for the briefest of moments, and directly flitting away.