Today we had some fun in a bin. A clear plastic bin, whose blue lid is missing, that had mysteriously made it's way into my room utterly free of its contents. So I used it as a toddler-distracter, in the hopes that maybe I could write an email in peace. But still, in fact, I couldn't. 'Cause I got sucked in. It went down like this:
I sat at the desk with a pudgy little cherub fresh from a nap in my arms and made to move like lightning and get through all my business while baby Blue was still too delirious to interfere. Then in flew Curly, with her energy swirling in behind her like a glittering cape. She invigorated Louise with her very presence and the next thing I knew there was no longer space for my finger on the keyboard, nor the rest of my body in the chair. Essentially, I dove at the first possible distracting apparatus that caught my eye: the clear plastic bin of yet untapped magical powers.
"Scooby, look at that boat just waiting for you to sail across the sea!" And she took the bait with a "Bye, bye, cabin!". But she couldn't shove off without her rosy first mate, whom I happily plunked down beside her. Mission accomplished, back to business.
And type-type-click, blah-blah-blah... SCREAM! Now there are sharks. Animated toddler, baby is pleasantly confused. Whatever can we do about these sharks?!? There is, of course, only one hope: whales. Curly Sue scans the horizon, paddling frantically. Sweet Pudgers raises her eyebrows and grins. Still no whales in sight! Then splash! Finally, a pod of friends playing in the spray. And now I'm an active player, doing double duty as both whale tail and boat propeller while the captain guides us, giggling, under the desk where we see whales, pink and purple and green, through the glass bottom of our craft. And the baby's eyebrow's climb to new heights. Sue leads us along, painting our adventure as it occurs to her fresh little imagination. Then bright-eyed Lou gave the signal, put her little pudgy hands in mine, and stood up. Then stepped out. Sweet thing overboard, and game over. Just as Daddy's key turned in the lock.
Our voyage was brief. A small adventure among many. But I loved it for more than its obvious playfulness. It was a miniature triumph in my mothering psyche. You see, I've been working on my balance. Because two is more than one. More goodness, more struggle. More work, more joy, more feelings. More multi-tasking, more balls in the air. I have moments where I feel divided, like I lack to ability to give each of them the attention they deserve. Or maybe it's more I'm reluctant to give up the ability to drink in every moment of each childhood as though she were an only child. I can't spend the bulk of every day focusing on either of them alone. And I think I might wonder what I'm missing with either of them. But today cruising our white carpet and observing pink and purple marine life, I felt a little release from that. I found my center of balance for a moment. And I know those moments will grow as I do, as our family does.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
For Mom
My mom hit a chronological milestone this week and her family threw her a party. I was miles away but I sent this little blurb along so she knew I was celebrating too:
Mom is a lot of things to me. My mother. My teacher. My friend. Fresh flowers on the table, warm meals in pretty serving dishes, the welcome escape of a good read; all remind me of her. A few years ago, Mom and I spent a weekend in Southern Utah, just the two of us. I don't remember exactly how old I was, or what official entertainment we had planned. But I will always remember chilling out in the sauna while we waited for that forgotten main event. In true Diane fashion, Mom had made a trip to the library beforehand and brought plenty of books along with us. Somehow she talked me into reading Irma Bombeck aloud.....and we must of read half of it in there, melting right off the benches and totally busting a gut! Maybe I remember that because we stayed in there forever. Maybe I remember 'cause it got so hot I thought my acrylic french-tip nails were going to explode right off my fingers. But mostly I think I remember because of the way Mom's laugh filled the hot box and sweetened the air. I love Mom's laugh. It's rich and sincere. And it, like the way she's always learning, or the way she loves to share, is a constant about her. It's one of the many details that gives her such life. And one of the many ways she will stay forever young.
Happy Birthday Mama! I love you.
Mom is a lot of things to me. My mother. My teacher. My friend. Fresh flowers on the table, warm meals in pretty serving dishes, the welcome escape of a good read; all remind me of her. A few years ago, Mom and I spent a weekend in Southern Utah, just the two of us. I don't remember exactly how old I was, or what official entertainment we had planned. But I will always remember chilling out in the sauna while we waited for that forgotten main event. In true Diane fashion, Mom had made a trip to the library beforehand and brought plenty of books along with us. Somehow she talked me into reading Irma Bombeck aloud.....and we must of read half of it in there, melting right off the benches and totally busting a gut! Maybe I remember that because we stayed in there forever. Maybe I remember 'cause it got so hot I thought my acrylic french-tip nails were going to explode right off my fingers. But mostly I think I remember because of the way Mom's laugh filled the hot box and sweetened the air. I love Mom's laugh. It's rich and sincere. And it, like the way she's always learning, or the way she loves to share, is a constant about her. It's one of the many details that gives her such life. And one of the many ways she will stay forever young.
Happy Birthday Mama! I love you.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Chicken Nuggets and Fries
Today was full. Of meals and errands, smiles and tantrums, schedules and phone calls, and rain and messes and conscious efforts to just keep it together. The baby has officially abandoned the infant box I've been desperately trying to trap her in. She's got two teeth on the way and has decided that she stands. With our help, but on her own two feet. Always. And the monkey is shunning the very idea of a nap. Like it reeks. As for me, my gear shift has been stuck in go-speed for at least nine days now. And Daddy kissed us goodbye before I was even coherent this morning. So today, in all of it's exhaustiveness was a pretty representative sample of a day in our life as of late. With the exception of a couple fantastic hours in the car this afternoon.
We were driving home from Target when it happened. Curly asked for a restaurant and a green and crusty "NOPE" was on the tip of my tongue. "We didn't have time for it." Which technically, we didn't. But I did some quick math mixed with some toddler-mode realism and found my car heading for the drive-thru window and my voice was ordering chicken nuggets and chocolate milk. I paid and made sure BBQ sauce and ketchup had been included. Then Goldie the car kindly chauffeured us to the beach. Where we the three of us enjoyed our junk food in the front seat, in full view of green stormy water and the city skyline. Pushing every button on the dashboard while seagulls bobbed on the waves. Sue and I talked about Daddy; that we miss him every minute and what he's having for lunch downtown. Then dogs, as a variety passed by. And finally named our bobble-head retriever. I believe we settled on Kyle. Meanwhile, the rosy little chubosaurus we like to call Lou stood, of course, on my lap. Most pleasantly focused on the traffic out the window. Tasting fries and chocolate ice cream. And occasionally honking the horn with her big diapered bottom. And just like that we got lunch, complete with clean up, checked off the list. Which is all we probably would have done with that space of time anyway. But this way we got cars zooming, birds surfing, and canines dutifully walking their owners. And it was just plain lovely.
We were driving home from Target when it happened. Curly asked for a restaurant and a green and crusty "NOPE" was on the tip of my tongue. "We didn't have time for it." Which technically, we didn't. But I did some quick math mixed with some toddler-mode realism and found my car heading for the drive-thru window and my voice was ordering chicken nuggets and chocolate milk. I paid and made sure BBQ sauce and ketchup had been included. Then Goldie the car kindly chauffeured us to the beach. Where we the three of us enjoyed our junk food in the front seat, in full view of green stormy water and the city skyline. Pushing every button on the dashboard while seagulls bobbed on the waves. Sue and I talked about Daddy; that we miss him every minute and what he's having for lunch downtown. Then dogs, as a variety passed by. And finally named our bobble-head retriever. I believe we settled on Kyle. Meanwhile, the rosy little chubosaurus we like to call Lou stood, of course, on my lap. Most pleasantly focused on the traffic out the window. Tasting fries and chocolate ice cream. And occasionally honking the horn with her big diapered bottom. And just like that we got lunch, complete with clean up, checked off the list. Which is all we probably would have done with that space of time anyway. But this way we got cars zooming, birds surfing, and canines dutifully walking their owners. And it was just plain lovely.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Windows
I love our apartment in the afternoons. Clean, white daylight pours through the big windows in the bedroom and the nursery, gently lighting our dreaming space. I love those windows. They make our home open and airy. They lend magical qualities to everyday moments. And today especially, I loved them twice. First for the minutes I spent with that lucsious lil' blue eyed baby. Nursing and playing together on an antique bed, with its antique mattress. Sunny yellow bedspread rumpled at the the foot, as bed-making is not a habit for me....yet. And light, fresh as new sheets, magnifying the perfection of those sweet cheeks. Then later, when the curly one woke from her nap and dove directly into a terrific fit. Screaming and kicking and beating the wall. There's been much of this lately; she's two. I ignored. Then scolded. But the tantrum only got worse. So then I just stared, stupidly. 'Cause I'm just learning too. And after a moment tried again. I scooped her up and cuddled her in the rocking chair. To my surprise, she let me. She softened and snuggled. And asked for a lullaby. A request I happily granted as the sunshine washed over us. I let it soak into my skin, the pure light of winter giving way to a fresh lively spring. Rocking and singing, grateful, and humbled, and warm. And a little bit new myself.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
When I was a little girl, my family lived next door to an Italian man and his British wife. They had kids, but I don't remember much about them. Just Peter, and Mary, two dogs and the back yard. As I remember it she had a small but lovely rose garden on the side that met with our property, next to his tomatoes. And on Saturday day mornings you could hear Peter out there, working the soil and singing opera like Pavarotti himself. It was idyllic. They were warm and welcoming people and though their cameo appearances in my life were relatively brief, they somehow mean an awful lot to me. Peter died of a heart attack when I was very young. I have no memory of the funeral, small impressions of his family after that point. But every time I smell a garden fresh tomato, I'm way back in that house with the blue kitchen and the pink bedroom with Figaro's chorus wafting in through the open window. The memory stays fresh, and consistent. And warms me like a cup of hot soup.
Isn't it strange how your mind squirrels things away like that? Picking seemingly at random and programing directly into the skeletal structure of your perspective. I have more. Brilliant fuchsia peonies are directly related to my mother, who planted them and graced our kitchen tables with them in wildly delicate bunches because her of grandmother. A walk home from elementary school with my brother that replays its vignette each time I crunch a leaf or breath in crisp autumn air. Piano music makes me close my eyes and drift in and out of consciousness on an overstuffed green couch while another brother fill our home with music and the smell of pot roast and rolls save my from being rocked to entirely sleep by the gently melodies. Tom Petty songs that transport me to the first time I danced barefoot in the living room with my husband. These moments, these things and effects, they've fused with the essence of me. And what's more, with the fibers that tie me to the ones I love. Sometimes I think they may be the sensory core of why I love what and who I do, colors that bring life to relationships that might truly otherwise be flat formalities.
And new ones too. Every morning and evening the bells of Sacred Heart Church call children to school and worshipers to mass. I have rocked, nursed and loved two babies by this accompaniment. And now, those ringing tones are tied forever to soft morning light, green leaves, pink blossoms, and sweet innocents. Curly Sue, standing squarely at the edge of the ocean, salty breezes blowing hair into a halo around her face while she looked on to infinity without batting an eyelash. This is what my minds eye sees when I smell brine on the wind. Deep, deep impressions pressed flawlessly in the soft clay of my memory. And soon, if not already, my girls will be making them too. Encoding moments and perceptions directly into their sophisticated little hard-drives. And building their sense of the world from and around that foundation. I wonder what those flashes will be?
Isn't it strange how your mind squirrels things away like that? Picking seemingly at random and programing directly into the skeletal structure of your perspective. I have more. Brilliant fuchsia peonies are directly related to my mother, who planted them and graced our kitchen tables with them in wildly delicate bunches because her of grandmother. A walk home from elementary school with my brother that replays its vignette each time I crunch a leaf or breath in crisp autumn air. Piano music makes me close my eyes and drift in and out of consciousness on an overstuffed green couch while another brother fill our home with music and the smell of pot roast and rolls save my from being rocked to entirely sleep by the gently melodies. Tom Petty songs that transport me to the first time I danced barefoot in the living room with my husband. These moments, these things and effects, they've fused with the essence of me. And what's more, with the fibers that tie me to the ones I love. Sometimes I think they may be the sensory core of why I love what and who I do, colors that bring life to relationships that might truly otherwise be flat formalities.
And new ones too. Every morning and evening the bells of Sacred Heart Church call children to school and worshipers to mass. I have rocked, nursed and loved two babies by this accompaniment. And now, those ringing tones are tied forever to soft morning light, green leaves, pink blossoms, and sweet innocents. Curly Sue, standing squarely at the edge of the ocean, salty breezes blowing hair into a halo around her face while she looked on to infinity without batting an eyelash. This is what my minds eye sees when I smell brine on the wind. Deep, deep impressions pressed flawlessly in the soft clay of my memory. And soon, if not already, my girls will be making them too. Encoding moments and perceptions directly into their sophisticated little hard-drives. And building their sense of the world from and around that foundation. I wonder what those flashes will be?
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Baby Hands
Ten pudgy digits, two fleshy palms. The backs are dimpled at the knuckles. Dimpled so deeply that when she straightens more than one finger at a time the divots become creases, like lines attempting to connect the dots. But the wrists are still somehow dainty. Like a bottleneck, they force the chubbiness of her forearms into bracelets overlapping her hand. I love these baby hands.
They are getting increasingly dexterous. They can pass an item back and forth and back again, hold a spoon (or anything else for that matter) in her mouth, swat a tower of blocks right over, or gently stroke her little stuffed giraffe. But that's mainly just their larger utility. Like a fine emotional tool, Lou's baby hands have whittled a spot on the list of the reasons I have so enjoyed her infancy. Because it is with those that she reaches for Curly every time she sees her. Because with them she has conducted a tactile exploration of Daddy's beard. Because she sandwiches my cheeks between them before she opens her mouth at arms length, like a glutton with a cheeseburger, on her way to give me a big wet kiss. Or at least that's what I call it. And because, those little hands reach up to me as that sweet thing's eyes flutter at half mast, my lullaby escaping while soft little fingers trace a sensory map of my face and the baby drifts off to sleep. And oh, how I love those tiny hands.
They are getting increasingly dexterous. They can pass an item back and forth and back again, hold a spoon (or anything else for that matter) in her mouth, swat a tower of blocks right over, or gently stroke her little stuffed giraffe. But that's mainly just their larger utility. Like a fine emotional tool, Lou's baby hands have whittled a spot on the list of the reasons I have so enjoyed her infancy. Because it is with those that she reaches for Curly every time she sees her. Because with them she has conducted a tactile exploration of Daddy's beard. Because she sandwiches my cheeks between them before she opens her mouth at arms length, like a glutton with a cheeseburger, on her way to give me a big wet kiss. Or at least that's what I call it. And because, those little hands reach up to me as that sweet thing's eyes flutter at half mast, my lullaby escaping while soft little fingers trace a sensory map of my face and the baby drifts off to sleep. And oh, how I love those tiny hands.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Pink Sunshine
Dear Curly,
This morning you were such a little weasel! A curly headed, mischievious little monkey that gave me a genuine run for my money. You bossed and whined and demanded by turns. I tried to remember you're two. You woke Louie from her nap. And I counted to ten. You snatched things and ran, laughing like an evil genius. And I took a deep breath. You dumped an entire glass of milk on the floor and gleefully splashed in the puddle. And I prayed for patience. You intentionally clawed your sister and punched me in the nose. And we both took a time out.
Somehow or other, we made it till lunch time. It was a marathon of running up the downhill escalator. But food was consumed and carpet survived. Baby Lou went for her nap in the bassinet and you were read two stories. Then sung one song. And do you know which tune you emphatically requested today? Pink Sunshine: You're my pink sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.....
No melody could fit you better. In spite of the fact that you were an absolute maniac today, pink sunshine is exactly what you are. An impish little ray of rose colored light. Charming, and occasionally impossible to tame. You wreaked havoc on my to do list this morning. No matter, housekeeping never was my forte anyway. And laundry will always wait. Right now you've gone and made me smile in spite of myself. So sweet dreams, you beautiful little stink-pot. I love you.
Love,
Mommy
This morning you were such a little weasel! A curly headed, mischievious little monkey that gave me a genuine run for my money. You bossed and whined and demanded by turns. I tried to remember you're two. You woke Louie from her nap. And I counted to ten. You snatched things and ran, laughing like an evil genius. And I took a deep breath. You dumped an entire glass of milk on the floor and gleefully splashed in the puddle. And I prayed for patience. You intentionally clawed your sister and punched me in the nose. And we both took a time out.
Somehow or other, we made it till lunch time. It was a marathon of running up the downhill escalator. But food was consumed and carpet survived. Baby Lou went for her nap in the bassinet and you were read two stories. Then sung one song. And do you know which tune you emphatically requested today? Pink Sunshine: You're my pink sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.....
No melody could fit you better. In spite of the fact that you were an absolute maniac today, pink sunshine is exactly what you are. An impish little ray of rose colored light. Charming, and occasionally impossible to tame. You wreaked havoc on my to do list this morning. No matter, housekeeping never was my forte anyway. And laundry will always wait. Right now you've gone and made me smile in spite of myself. So sweet dreams, you beautiful little stink-pot. I love you.
Love,
Mommy
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