A Thousand Paper Cranes

Once upon a time my handsome hubby folded one thousand paper cranes as a Christmas present for me. I, know! Sweet. He put his legion of tiny winged creatures in a tall plastic vase where they live on the top shelf of our bookcase. And I love them: love them for the delicate, meticulous, sentimental gift that they are. And, strangely, love them for the gorgeous color collection they embody. That man of mine, he picked the perfect colors for this lovely gift: soft baby pink, bold earthy turquoise, sunset orange, deep rose red, sunshine yellow, lush purple, fresh greens, and blues that reflect ocean and sky in a variety of moods. Colors that lend breath to each tiny little crane as it dances it's part in the wish-granting choreography that is its legendary destiny.
I am not the only one who loves those magical origami beings. Curly Sue is crazy about them. That's why they live on the top shelf, because sometimes I feel a little protective of my special things.....maybe even a little stingy in my sharing? Maybe. But, this particular point of stinginess broke one day last week. I decided to let my big girl play with the prized paper birds with the understanding that if she did not treat them very carefully, this would be a one time thing. She had asked so often, so eagerly, that I thought I ought to at least give it a try. She agreed, so, with a deep steadying breath, I handed her the goods and let her loose. And I did not regret it. Not one bit.
We took them down and looked at them. Talked about their beautiful colors, about the way Daddy folded them one by one. Tossed them in the air to see if they really flew. Then decided to make them fly. Together we piled them in a loose gigantic lump on a piece of fabric; and one, two, three, we held the corners tight and bounced those babies higher each time until they came raining down on my laughing sweetie, lively, lovely, blobs of color falling in concert with her gorgeous giggle. And showering magic to match the sparkle in her joyful eyes. We repeated again. Lined them up end to end in one gigantic rainbow. Then talked about how the real cranes act, flapped our wings, experimented with sounds, 'till our play evolved into a game of animal chase. She the eagle, me the lion. She the eagle, me the bunny. She the eagle, me the frog. Eagle, dog, eagle, elephant, eagle. Laughing, flying, crazy, regal eagle.
In the end, she carefully helped me place each paper crane back in the vase. One wish granted, a thousand more born. A thousand more promised in simple joy, simple faith.

Four

We spent last week in Toronto with family. Kuni's Japanese grandmother flew in for a visit and we happily zipped up to introduce the girls to the woman who had a hand in naming them. Hiibaachan is a one of a kind. A tiny, lovely, general of a lady. She and I don't speak enough of the same language to have a conversation in the classical kind of way, but that's never stopped us from talking. We have things to say! So we chat here and there, in our respective tongues; two languages, lots of gestures, lots of enunciating. It's rare that our verbal exchanges are technically successful, but that never seems to slow her down, so I keep trying as well. And the message is clear, she and I have love for each other. And that's all I need to know. She adores the girls. They speak even less Japanese than I do. But all the same, by the end of the week, the same message had been delivered between Hiibaachan and Louise, Hiibaachan and Suze too. I could see that it brought her joy. And me too.
We went to the zoo on Wednesday. Chihiro, the bug of "fathomless depth", our baby who's not such a baby these days, casually glanced at an animal or two while she people-watched. A parade of individuals marched by for her entertainment: folks dressed in school uniforms, turbans, even full sleeve tattoos. We wandered for hours, enjoying creatures as varied as the humans observing them. Towards the end of the afternoon, Hiro-chan opted to ride on Hiibaachan's lap in the wheel-chair. The two of them cruised around with perfect posture, one out of nature, the other out of practice. Periodically, bitsy Lou softened her stance and rested her fresh, pudgy cheek against Hiibaachan's shoulder. Young and old, enjoying the sunshine with all their strength. I watched them, and I felt happy.
Hisako, the monkey destined for "eternal child"hood, is a notoriously slow warmer. I like that about her, she's cautious. She showed obvious signs of uncertainty regarding this stranger so clearly thrilled to be in her presence. It took till Friday evening for her to finally crack. Hiibaachan was invited to sit in on bedtime stories, so down the stairs they all went: Daddy, Curly, Baachan, Hiibaachan. I got some things settled upstairs and went down to contribute my good-night kisses. Crowded on the bed I found four generations, sweet-stinky monkey in the middle, listening to "Go Diego Go" in a circle of comfort while Hiibaachan lived a dream and drifted off beside her. I joined the party. The warmth of the room reminded me of the family I grew up with, often voluntarily crammed in together for the pure pleasure of one another's company. I wondered how many people feel so at home with the families they married. And I felt lucky.

Bella Mama, Prima Ballerina

I worked up a piece that I meant to post here for Mother's Day. But as I worked on it, I found I was enjoying myself too much, and after a few revisions I submitted it to the NPR tributary "This I Believe" instead. Somewhere in me, it's been a goal of mine for a long time to write something I thought might be good enough to submit to any kind of publication. And maybe I just needed something as inspiring as motherhood to help me realize that goal. It was fun, and energizing. So if you're interested, you can find my first attempt at sharing my heart with the world at large here.

Fun in a Bin

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.

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.

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.

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.