Watercoloring on the Table

Be patient.

2012-02-12T23:27:00.001-06:00

And another weekend whooshed past, carrying with it my due date.

No baby in arms, but Joy still loves hugging my belly and is excited about kissing the baby when it comes out, so that's good. If only I could sleep, I wouldn't mind any of the rest of this waiting game. Though now I'm pretty sure I know why I hid out the last week of waiting for Grace. It's hard to meet the hopeful eyes of so many - no baby? yet??? Listen, it's harder for me to wait. Be patient.

But, our house got listed and has two nibbles this weekend, so that's fabulous. I know it will likely amount to nothing but... a girl's gotta hope. Be patient.

There are boxes all around, but for some reason, just keeping up with life is so hard right now (um, huge belly anyone?) and so they sit. I was ridiculously productive on Friday and have done little since. Still, the boxes will wait. Be patient.

I've been having a hard time with a certain growth spurt of sass in the house. It's unfortunate because I understand the 2-3 year old thing. Fits happen. It's due to exhaustion or feeling unheard or just needing a little extra. And I accept all of that. And calmly say that yelling doesn't get you what you want. Because that's a life lesson I hope to instill in my girls. (Emotional manipulation is not okay.) However, when it comes to my nearly 7 year old, I'm much less willing to try to think of the reasons for her acting out. Rolling eyes? Oh, so not okay. Sassy backtalk, whoa! My reactions are big and swift (go to your room - that's not how we talk in this house). But, they are lacking. I'm just seeing the behavior I dislike and forgetting the depth of the soul of my daughter I adore. She's feeling unseen. She needs more too. And she deserves my calm and attention. It's amazing how a calm reaction creates different results, even when I say the same thing. Be patient.

Time is a funny beast. I feel more and more certain of it's ambiguity as I age. There are moments that slowly flow like molasses and some that tear past like the wild wind. I want so much to control time, to divide it precisely like the clocks seem to, but it is not mine to control. I can only be in time, finding the pace of each moment. Patiently.

My uncle

2012-02-08T20:55:00.001-06:00

I mentioned my uncle a while back. He's been fighting a cancer for a long time, longer than my children have been alive. Until the last month, his life has gone on as normally as possible, but things got worse. And today he died.

So, today, I want to write a few short notes about who he always will be to me.

Of all my uncles (I have four), he had the loudest, most encouraging laugh. Hearing him laugh was enough to breed more laughter even if you didn't get the joke. Just like his dad's.

He was wickedly smart. I'm not sure how many languages he could speak/read/translate/think in. I think it neared double digits. He spent more than half his career in a distant land, speaking a different language, teaching about what he adored.

He could dig a mean hole. No really. He's the guy you want around when you plant a tree or do other earthworks around a house. Big holes. Happily dug.

At dinner, you need to watch him. Having a batch of brothers, he learned to eat fast and get more. When all were around the same table, conversation was loud and meals were quick. No wonder my grandma had set amounts for everything. (You can have two. Until everyone has had what they want.)

He loved his nephews and nieces. Whenever we got to see him, he was interested in our lives and our interests. And he was ever a teacher. His passions flowed honestly. He was enamored of my first baby, though he only got to see her once when she was little (being abroad does have negatives). I'm sad that he didn't get to meet Joy or this baby. Time has proven too short. Perhaps it always is.

His wife is the most wonderfully articulate and audacious lady I know. She is brilliant and passionate about treating people fairly and justly. And that he found her, and loved her, and created a life with her speaks volumes. Back when this was rare, she stood up to her father in law, gently, making sure he did his share of the dishes! Today, that might sound silly, but those were different days. I wish we lived closer so I could hug her right now, and let our tears mingle as they must.

Mary

2012-02-07T22:32:00.001-06:00

I turned on the tv, which is set to PBS most of the time. We don't watch often, but when the girls watch anything it's there. But tonight it's not Sid or Dinosaur Train or even The Cat in the Hat. It was a documentary on the underground railway.

Instantly, my mind flashed to a dear family friend. She was like an extra grandma to me. Her husband was a mentor to my dad early in his career, and as they had no grandchildren of their own, they took us in.

As young kids, we would sit at the ends of a lovely long low table. The grown ups talked about all manner of adult things while we all had tea and wonderful cinnamon rolls or pimento cheese on toast and at the end we might get a piece of candied orange peel. In the summer, we might have lemonade, served in glasses with real glass straws. At each end of the table, there was a drawer, filled with crayons and bits of paper. When the conversation was boring, we'd color to our hearts content.

We had tea in a little sun room, surrounded by plants. Mary had an uncanny knack for making seeds grow. She wasn't always sure what kind of plant it was. And she had a lovely created name for those. My dad still has a grapefruit (?) tree from her collection, along with several others. As if that wasn't enough, there was the best (BEST) magnolia tree to climb out front.

Of course, the conversations weren't always boring.

Mary was a spunky lady, full of stories. But she was matched by her wonderful David. He died when I was still young, and I only remember a few of his tales, but he was a terrific patty-cake player. But he lived large in her stories. They attended the same university for graduate school (in fact, the same place I met my husband), and one day at dinner, he held her hand under the table, slipped a ring on her finger and announced to all that they were engaged. From her dance cards, oh yes, she had dance cards from those early days!, she was quite a popular lady!

Before getting a masters in social work, and helping to start the organization that eventually became Head start, she had to get to college. She grew up in a farm in the Midwest. She had a favorite horse, of course, but also she raised a pig. This pig went to win first place at the state fair. And Mary rode that pig to college. Okay, so she rode that money to college. But she always started by telling us she went to college on a pig.

But that farm was much more. When she was a young girl, a new family moved to town. No one would rent to them, many wouldn't speak to them. Because of their skin. But, Mary's family welcomed them to a cabin they had in their 100 acre wood. So the KKK burned down the whole 100 acres.

But that wasn't all. Mary's family home had a false wall in the basement. And a hidden doorway to that hidden room. She would show us a special picture of her childhood home and point. Out the bush that hid the door. And that is where her family welcomed runaway slaves to their little stop on the underground railway.

While my family has stories of fighting for the end of slavery, it is Mary's family story that stands out strongest in my mind. I hope I caught just a little of her courage and passion from those many afternoon teas. Knowing her was one of the greatest gifts of my childhood.

No end

2012-02-06T09:41:00.001-06:00

When our Internet was set up I thought life would just be good. Ahhhh... Except we have the slowest service ever. Okay. Not five years ago slow, but slow enough that it won't stream anything, slow enough that I can't load two web pages at the same time. It's terribly limiting.

When I got the heat fixed a week and a half ago, I knew it was a temporary fix. But they promised the part in just a matter of days. Until I called last week and it became clear that they forgot me. Just in time for a 'cold' snap. Houston style. So, not really cold, but cold enough. And of course the AC decided to stop working the last day of our unseasonable (even for here) heat. I love the house. But not so much with all it's systems.

Our cats are doing truly terrible things on one part of our new floor. Not cool girls, not cool. We've got about a week of tolerance left and then, they become outside creatures. Because no one needs this. No one. Especially when you find the offensive matter with your feet. I adore cats, but this little treat is enough for me to accept my husband's long standing desire to get cats no more forever.

We all have allergies. It's not okay to have spring allergies in February. Gosh, it'll be a long spring. And I can't take anything! As if I slept well enough without impaired breathing. Oh, sleep!

Which leads me to this. Still I wait for this baby. Friday, I had contractions every three minutes for two hours, so I went in. They were strong enough to get the baby's heart going too. The nurse was excited. And then they stopped. And in all that time, they did nothing productive. Nothing!?! Because that's what's going on here. Ready, set, ...... Pause.

A few good things

2012-02-02T13:06:00.001-06:00

I've been grumpy lately and frustrated. It's not nice to be around, even in my own head.

So. On to lighter fare -

We just moved. And you want to know the best three things about our new house?
1. I can walk to school in five minutes. A couple of days ago this meant that in the time I would normally spend in the car I got to take a shower. Perhaps I shouldn't say how much of a great success this is.
2. Our bedrooms are no longer next to someone else's driveway. If you're looking to buy a house in Houston, this really isn't a big deal. I mean, our last house was practically perfect in every way, so come and buy it. But, if not... Wow. It's dark, Dark!, in my bedroom at night! I won't even talk about the neighbor who liked to pull in and honk the horn. Always at bedtime.
3. Our yard is quiet and calm. We don't get to bring Steve along (it amazes me that so many people check out that little picture post!), but we have a new slightly smaller Steve (though I wanted to call her Stella) and not one or two but seven trees in our front yard. Shade! I hear the birds singing! This is good.
4. Because I can't count, I have to add this super duper extra bonus one. We have amazing neighbors. Really. New families are moving in. Long time residents are kind and family folks too. I've never just randomly met so many neighbors within days of moving in. Good people. I bet they never honk.

I'm a bit anxious to meet this little one, who the doctors don't think is so little. But there are benefits to keeping him or her in -
1. I can help get the house show ready. Because I couldn't live and show again. It's just awful. But, if you've done it, you know that I have the biggest motivation to make it look it's best.
2. I get to unpack a little and help the girls feel like this is home. For the first few days, Joy cried about home. It was hard, we had to go back and forth so much! Today, we had to meet a guy about a fence, and she said we can't live there any more. This is our home. Beauty.
3. While a big baby scares me a bit, bigger feels just a little less fragile and with everything in our world, less fragile is good.
4. Of course, it's good to have one less noise maker for a little while. Though, gosh, I love newborns.

Now, I plan to be done with the old house on Saturday. And I hope to be unpacked enough by Sunday night. Though, really, all we need are kids books, beds, crayons and clothes. The kitchen and baths are nice too. So we're really set up enough, no matter what happens. Though I guess we should get the car seat set up in the car.

Hoping you can see the bright spots too.

Stress points

2012-01-31T23:43:00.001-06:00

My mom joyfully arrived last week to help with our move. It was nice to have her around, she got to see the girls in all their glories and not so glories. And she was pretty sure I was dropping and going into labor. I feed on this idea. I want the baby out. I can't walk. My Braxton Hicks are strong this time, strong enough to leave me sore. And my OB is concerned about the size. Baby is measuring about 8 pounds. Last week. Now, I don't put much faith in those measurements. Grace was supposed to be 10, but came out at under 8. But, I know she sees a clock ticking now. So better sooner than later.

I appreciated having someone else in the house. I loved having someone else go to the grocery. I was a bit bewildered when she took naps even if I didn't get to, but whatever. She didn't want to leave, feeling certain that would bring the baby. And that she needed to be here for that.

And then she had a serious stress attack (strong enough to make a doctor think it might be her heart) and spent a day at the hospital and then fled home. Because apparently, this life of mine stressed her out deeply.

I understand stress. I understand anxiety. I do. But, I'm disappointed again to I find myself in the place where someone told me to trust them to do something and then they can't. It hurts. But, it's a repeated lesson in my life. Again and again I learn that I cannot depend fully on anyone. Which sounds bleak. Maybe it is. It's also my experience.

And then, there's this - two friends, new friends, promised that they would bring food when the baby comes. As in, you know we're bringing you dinner, right? There is wondrous support all around, and there is always enough to buoy me up. It often comes from places I least expect.

Perhaps that's the more important lesson.

Briefly

2012-01-25T22:49:00.001-06:00

First -
Moving is pretty terrible. But, we're almost out of one house and between the boxes, you can see the outlines to a nice home shaping up. Of course, we don't have internet yet, and just two days in our stovetop is broken and the dishwasher isn't working, but, hey, we're here. Both girls like this house, but at bedtime, Joy wants to go home. Me too honey, me too.
-
It's hard to have anyone else pack your stuff. It makes unpacking harder. It's more emotionally difficult to have family help you pack. Which is why I ended up in the closet crying twice this weekend. I appreciate the help tremendously. And still, I needed a cry. (control freak? or just hormonal? probably both)
My husband is amazing. He worked all weekend long getting things moved, and took yesterday off to start to get things settled here. And even in stressful situations, we work well together. This is good. Of course, I prefer to talk and play or just sit reading next to each other, but it's good to feel the closeness that can come from struggles.
More closet space doesn't always feel like more. Nothing fits like it used to.
Oh, and moving day, my mom said, hey, I think you've dropped. Um. Hmmm.

Which leads me to our current place in this pregnancy. If we were settled feeling, I think this baby would be here. We're both ready. And the contractions are getting stronger. I think my feeble mind (oh, please let me get settled a little more) won't hold him or her in much longer. (speaking of which, it's hard to move when pregnant, harder to move house.)

So. I'll be back when I can, hopefully with baby in arms, fewer boxes, internet, and a fully functional kitchen. Or maybe just one of those...

In the mean time, I feel terribly out of touch, but life is chaotic and full and I hope you are all well.

I'll place you on a brief silent hold...

2012-01-17T20:50:00.001-06:00

Oh, the phone calls I've made, the frustrating people I've dealt with, the delays and delays and delays.... (and the wonderfully easy folks who say sure, we'll work around that, no problem, we can do this, why don't I do it today?) It's not all bad, just felt that way today.

I'm tired. And want to settle in, not box everything up. I'd like to walk without a waddle and the inevitable need to pull my pants back on. (oh, dear maternity clothing makers, don't you know we already feel ridiculous at this stage, why can't you create something that stays up? And don't get me started on all the dresses with skirts above the knees. Hello, I can't keep my knees together when I sit.) Today, my ankles disappeared. Bye. Sniff.

My girls were grumpy messes today. It's fair. We're been off on bedtime, and distracted and that leads to less nice behavior. I know what I need to do- focus on their needs for a few days. But the movers are coming and so are my in laws and things just can't be like this and.... Dang it. I put them to bed early. One down, the other stayed up and up and up. I don't know why! I even took a nap while singing lullabies. Go to sleep, my sweet babies.

So pardon me while the days rush by, and I try to knock a little off this to do mountain. Next week, we'll be in the new house (without Internet, because that's to hard for the phone company to do in one fell swoop) and within another week, we'll be done done done with this house. Painted and listed and dear god, please let it sell quickly. And then I'll be full term, and then a new chaos will descend. Oh, did I tell you Grace told her sister about how hard it was when mommy went to the hospital? And how Joy said, no, mommy will stay at home. No. Mommy will stay at home. I'm coming with you!!! This crazy timing was NOT the plan. But, I guess upheaval is life. Just teaching my kids to go with it, right?

Pardon me if I'm absent for the next couple of weeks. Likely the baby has nothing to do with it. Just boxes and houses and paint and in laws (oh my!). Hope your January is flowing more calmly -

Lists and names (Calling all namers)

2012-01-12T00:00:00.001-06:00

Everything I write turns into a list these days. Lists of things to do, people to call, things to find, checks to write, budgets, what to organize, where to put things, what else needs doing, what to add to the hospital bag, and on and on and on.

But I can't seem to write this list (which is driving my husband crazy) - top names for a baby.

You see, I'm kind of jaded on the whole name thing. We had a list when Grace came, but not one of the 10 names fit her. Well, five were for a boy, but still. They all felt to fluffy somehow. She came into the world so fiercely herself, so strong and so determined. I couldn't see those names on her. And so, they all went into the trash. I thought and thought. And somewhere in that first 24 hours of amazement and bewildering tears (poor baby couldn't get milk for a bit) her name came through to me. Clearly. Life felt like utter chaos when Joy was coming, and I just threw in the towel on the whole name thing, but this dear man of mine created lists which I just crossed off nearly everything from and somehow he doesn't remember that I didn't do a list. It wouldn't have mattered. Her name came about a day after she did too.

So, now, here we are. He needs a list. I'm pretty sure I won't stick to it even if I do have one and I don't have many names left (particularly of the girl variety). And that is where you come in, dear readers. Do you have any great name suggestions? (Think one to two syllables, simple names, kind of like Kate).

And while you're at it, is it terrible, just awful, to name someone a name that ends in the same letter that begins your last name? (Like Mabel Lewis - totally made up, by the way and clearly why I need help with this naming thing) Does it run together poorly? Is it worth kicking out the name of a dear family member? (This is actually a pointless argument. The name I want for a boy has been summarily shot down, and I guess thats okay, we both have power of veto.)

How did you name your kids? Do you think the 24 hour pattern will hold this time too? Oh, my goodness, I bet a could write a list of pointless questions. Don't you?

Rains

2012-01-09T10:50:00.001-06:00

This morning, as we drove to school, thunder threatened, but the clouds were just low. Once we got home, they became dark. Dark enough to feel like night. And the rain started. Calmly at first, with big thunder. Then more fierce rains and darker skies.

Joy really wanted to watch Sid the Science Kid, and we turned out the tv. I checked the weather reports, almost by accident, and then I knew that I needed to watch for tornados and flooding. Oh goody.

As Kermit sang, the sky lightened to a sickening green. Green. Luckily, that was the worst. I kept my ears open and my eyes. Once the pets calmed down, I knew we were okay. The sky lightened. But the rain pours on. Our street is a river. But Sid is on, and we're okay.

I hope people stayed safe throughout our city. I hope by the time we go pick up Grace the waters have receded. I hope the workers at our new house are safe. (I also hope that house is well about the streams!) as the rain continues, I hope we stay dry!

The weather man called this a draught buster. Well. That's good. I hope.

Last night, we read the great last chapter of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's magic about a rainy day. It would be nice to find a big treasure on such a day as this. Gold and silver and jewels. Or warmth and love and family. Precious gems.

Looking forward

2012-01-06T00:58:00.001-06:00

Looking forward to calm and peace
Okay. Fine. That's too far away.

Looking forward to the narrow vision
that a new baby brings, swaddled.
Wrapped firmly in the timeless expanses.
Bound by the simple and constant.
Away from the silly house questions.
Away from the gazes and questions-
When? Really? When?!?! Boy or girl?
Tightly coiled with family, close, closer.
Forced to see only what matters.

Today, I'm participating in Six Word Fridays, check it out.

Sappy

2012-01-05T10:45:00.001-06:00

Oh, there are so many neat things to learn with a new house. Some more costly, others just fill my mind with more randomness.

Like pine beetles. We're lucky, our pines are healthy. But the arborist, who my husband had to have check the oak whose roots were cut for the plumbing repairs, gave me a quick lesson. Pines in Houston are battling beetles, and many too many are succumbing. Why? Well, normally, a healthy pine has so much sap that when a beetle tries to bore it's way in, the sap pushes it back out. Unfortunately, with our draught, too many pines are too dry. Without enough water, there isn't enough sap to keep the beetles out.

It's been a tough week for me. There are so many draws on my energy, I am feeling pulled and pressed and less capable of bouncing back. Last night, as I felt a contraction (and simultaneous terror, I'm not ready for this baby - we need the carseat at least), I felt a bit like a pine. You see, I haven't been conscientious enough about doing the things that nourish me. And without enough good inside, the small nuisances bore there way in more easily. And slowly, I turn from the joys, seeing only the problems.

So, last night, I put myself to bed early. This morning, I actively looked for the good, while finished a few tasks (like putting on different drawer pulls and packing away the last of the Christmas stuff ), and continued the constant ones - laundry, dishes, sweeping. Joy and I played a matching ducky game. Now I'm laying down and drinking water. Because I need to. It's not time for this baby to come out. Yet. Later, Joy and I will join Grace at school for lunch. Attention matters. This afternoon, between calls to switch out our new fridge for the right new fridge and scheduling the electrician and finishing homework and making dinner, I hope to slip a little yoga in. And then to bed early again. Because I want enough sap to keep out all those nasty beetles.

Happy new year!

2012-01-02T21:28:00.001-06:00

2012.

We celebrated with sparkling cider (for all us girls) and ice cream, early to bed for the girls and a special time for the two of us (who says you have to go out to have a date? Okay it would be nice, but really all I want is a place to cuddle, romantic lighting and maybe a bit of chocolate. Less these days. Oh, the agony!)

And then we woke to 2012 and my instincts went into crazy drive. I need this house clean NOW. Never mind that we're trying to organize four different contractors at the new place and that I need to move and it'd be good to sort things first and and and... No, right now, I need a peaceful and calm home. (Can you hear me shouting it? Oh, hormones.)

My husband looked at me at the end of the day (which of course included black eyed peas, because, good luck isn't something to be taken for granted) and sighed. His eyes said, who are you? I laughed. This is the first time he hasn't been traveling as I enter the nesting mania. Which is probably why he was all for three. I'm sure I'm not alone, but crazy is a nice term for me right about now.

It'd be better if my body worked. I might be less crazed if I weren't already having contractions (rarely) and feeling like this baby is low. I'm supposed to have six more weeks. Give or take. I'd certainly be happier if I could find those bitty baby clothes I saved. It's only a few items, but I adore them. And everything would be nicer if I slept. I'd be nicer. Not that I'm mean or crabby or demanding or anything. Of course not.

So, for the next few weeks, I'm juggling the demands of life to the bet of my ability. I've said I don't like juggling, right? I can't keep my eye on the right ball. I always drop something. But, you know what? The important things happen. They do. And sometimes you just have to let something drop.

All this crazy is almost enough to make me lose all perspective. Almost. But, yesterday we sat next to a family who's son was battling cancer. Today I heard my uncle is doing very poorly. We are all (knock on wood) healthy. And we are together. And all this chaos that whips up around me is a silly distraction from this beautiful, wonderful life.

Being pregnant.

2011-12-28T23:58:00.000-06:00

I'm baffled by the speed of this year. Some time during the spring, everything suddenly took on a speed and complexity that baffled my mind. Or maybe my poor brain was addled with too many hormones. Ah, pregnancy. I know enough to be grateful for this healthy pregnancy and the baby who looked great on Tuesday. Oh, yes. And still, I'd like my body to work more effortlessly. It'd be nice to pick things up with ease or to keep up with my two year old without desperation or to sleep a full night. But, truly, I don't want to complain. I've had a sense of calm about this pregnancy from the beginning. Everything is okay, my brain and body say. And I am deeply grateful for that.

My first pregnancy was easy. Ridiculously easy. Of course, I had time to take special care of myself - massages, yoga (for free!), water aerobics. I didn't love my OB, but hadn't really thought much about that. I knew my mom had no trouble with birth, and assumed I would be the same. The biggest concerns were how to walk the dog with a baby and if my husband would be halfway across the country when I went into labor. The dog part worked out so I walked her less. Poor puppy. And I never needed to worry about where we'd be. I had to be induced. It wasn't my dream labor, I didn't want to have an epidural, but the contractions were clustering in ways that allowed no break and I was making no progress from 7 centimeters. So, after the drugs and an hour's nap, I was ready. I told them to turn off the damn medicine, which they did with only moderate grumbling, and then a crowd flowed freely into the delivery room (they were worried she'd be huge and get a shoulder stuck) and I pushed out my under 8 pound baby girl. That moment of transformation is beyond words. I felt kissed by the divine.

My second pregnancy was awful. No heartbeat, and my body did nothing. Nothing. I carried death and I hated my body for not doing what was needed. I was so lucky to have switched to a new OB, who will forever be the best doctor I have ever met. Her compassion and focus and care were wonderful. Especially through the turmoil. It ended with surgery and tears and pushed my relationships in ways I cannot think of without tears. My grandmas, who would have known, were gone, and instead I was surrounded by family who needed as much handholding from me as I did from them. Instead, a friend reached out to me and gave me the soft place I needed. And then more friends showed up with their stories and their knowing eyes. Miscarriage is painful and frightening, and I am almost ashamed to say that it taught me humility and such deep gratefulness for what I have and reminded me of the power of connections with women.

My third pregnancy was fraught. There were clots, I had a clotting disorder. The best moment, was a specialist telling me that the disorder was inconsequential. Best word ever. And then in a hurtle of crazy, we were welcoming a house guest, who turned into a roommate and then we were moving. I had no time to think. Except worry that my husband would be halfway across the state when I went into labor. He drove up no less than four times in a month, finally staying put. Have I said that his workplace is wonderful? It is. But, I started worrying that he'd need to head back and set up an induction date. And promptly that night went into labor. (I followed advice given by my OB and it got things going.) It wasn't short labor, but nearly 24 hours later, I pushed out my second baby girl. Hooray--- wait. I didn't get to hold her. They called in NICU nurses. My heart stopped. There were no cries. She had taken a large gulp of amniotic fluid and needed to be suctioned, but about 30 minutes later, she was in my arms. Those were agonizing minutes. They felt like days. I worried, but her lungs sounded great the next day, and though they continue to react a bit more than her big sister's, they are good strong lungs.

And now, we're here. Moving again. By choice. Having to do construction work first. Having to sell a house again. Oh, gosh, I hope it sells fast! I hope the baby waits at least a week after we move. But, I don't control those things. So, instead, I sort girl clothes into sizes again. I resort the toys into their bins for easier moving. I go through the art supplies and the games and find missing pieces and dried out pens. I'm trying to find peace and order in a world that is in complete chaos. I guess that's what we're all doing.

My birthday came and went too and what remains most is this silly song my mama sang me: "Happy birthday to you, you live is a zoo, you look like a .... (pregnant pause)... hippo, ....." I finished it with "and I waddle like one too." Because I do. And sorry for the bad pun. I can't help myself sometimes.

Our house is still littered with boxes from our wonderful far flung family. Boxes that soon will help move our lives to a new home. We had a good Christmas. The best gifts were books, as they often are. But the best toy is a basket that is hidden behind a couch I had to move to set the tree up. It's a train, and the girls go everywhere in it. Even Hawaii. Of course, the very best gift is being here, almost healthy again from the dang croup virus, with two lovely girls and my best friend who looks at me with the best twinkle in his eyes.

In the rush and flow

2011-12-21T22:59:00.001-06:00

The currents of life are complex right now, pulling me in so many directions. This morning, instead of starting off with my too many things that simply must get done, when the girls asked for pancakes, I said yes. I even let them both be flippers (one can do it solo, the other had a copilot). When they were sad that we couldn't go to story time (someone still has a fever), we created our own, complete with a craft (simple print out coloring sheets, made exciting by glitter crayons that were intended for stockings, but desperate times call for glitter). When someone looked too tired, I called the doctor, crawled into bed with two girls, a pile of books and some glitter crayons and made the most of it. When someone wouldn't let me nap too, but wanted to play, I asked her to help me with a special project. Boy, she sure loved putting stamps on envelopes! I forget how much fun it is to be of help, and hey, our cards are almost ready to mail! And when it was time to get the prescription, we all had lollipops to make the wait bearable.

Sure, we still had to go to the vet, but both girls were full of attention. There are matters pressing in on me and I'm getting the early cough that brings whatever this is (oh, please let me have some immunity!). Yes, I simply must go to get cat food tomorrow, and I still haven't called about the paint and the flooring samples haven't come in, but we need to order them next week and the cards are still here.

Sometimes, the needs of everyone in the house leave me without. But, they are honest needs, and these days, though long, pass quickly. When I see the current for what it is, I can seek the most efficient, most fun, most loving path. I've been fighting the rapids and eddies too much recently.

Christmas is coming, as so is my birthday, and then the new year rushes upon us and after that, I know time will bend and flex and confound me. So much is coming in 2012. Much of it unknown or unknowable. But, in this moment, I'm remembering to stop to read the river, to find the paths through the rocks that make the rapids exhilarating. Sure, there are moments when you must carry your canoe around a particularly rough patch, and there are moments when the calm is as deafening as any rushing water, but going with the river is glorious.

Whatever you celebrate this time of year, I wish you the best. May joy surround you, and love fill you.

Monday

2011-12-20T12:43:00.001-06:00

Last week, in the middle of the baking and the playing and the shell collecting and the oh my goodness we have less than a week until vacation, a mean virus took hold. We thought it was just a little cough. But, it was cruel. Still, it only attacked one in our midst and we were set to carry on. Until the second got hit. Joy's lungs are a little more reactive. She doesn't have asthma, but coughs can go down to her lungs and croup like coughs are just god-awful. Luckily, this round did not include the cough until you throw up fun of previous encounters. Yippee. We did have fever and rattly breathing and the tell tale bark-like inhale when really worked up. I say had hopefully. Tonight, she sleeps. And breathes without a rattle or a rasp.

This morning, she was full of needs, and her big sister, fresh in to her vacation and fresh out of daddy, was not thrilled. 'Why does Joy get all the attention?' It's not a question I ever wanted to hear, and I know even a six and a half year old doesn't understand that sick babies need more everything. Here was another chance to remind my babies that the world isn't fair, that if we're lucky, we get what we need, not what we want, and that I cannot possibly divide myself equally.

What they don't know is that my love has no divisions. It is whole and full and encompasses them so completely that my boundaries blur and fade in my passion for them. I can hope they feel the love, but I don't know if it's something that is understandable until you are a parent. I certainly didn't know how deeply my mom loves me before I had my girls.

A friend's daughter had a rare (and luckily not too important) disease this fall. It was scary until they found out it's identity, and we ran into each other right in the midst of that. Our conversation, short, but sweet, ventured into areas we hadn't gone. Miscarriage. Marriage. I love my husband, I do. I love that he surprises me, that he is stronger and softer than I expect. But I know that I survived okay without him once. And marriage did change my life, but it didn't change who I am fundamentally. Not like having children. No, I am not who I was, and I do not know if I would be okay without them.

So when my baby struggled, briefly, for air last night, a deep and primeval fear reared it's head. I did all the things the doctors and nurses told me to do. And my mind ran circles around us, trying to create a boundary of protection from that terror.

Tonight, I hope to sleep again, still cuddled next to my slightly feverish, stuffy girl. I need to hear that breathing.

Tuesday

2011-12-14T09:30:00.002-06:00

I woke up at 3:30 to a very insistant voice – “Kate!” But noone was there. I check Joy, who had crawled in next to me, but she was fine. Itried to go back to sleep, but there was this nagging feeling. So, I went tocheck on Grace, who has been coughing for a few days. She was hot. Hot hot. Andclearly not comfortable, though she slept. I found the thermometer, grabbed the motrinand went to mommy work. An hour later she seemed fine, still sleeping. Ichecked on her every time I woke up the rest of the night. (First time I’mthankful for the effects of pregnancy on my sleep.) I’m scared of fevers, afterone spiked suddenly, bringing with it a seizure. It’s been years, and years, and I know I amlucky in having that experience only once. Still. That stays with you.

When our house woke up, I was trying to figure out how toconduct my day. Most days are easy for me to reshuffle, but I was seeing notone but two doctors, and neither felt like places to bring a sick kid. Luckily, my husband took her to work, whereshe sat on a couch and watched lots of Dora and Dinosaur Train. I love that herfirst thoughts were missing a few last week activities! But mama, today we weregoing to show off this… Of course, if she isn’t well by Friday I think I maynever hear the end of it. It’s pajama day! So virus, if you’re reading, getoutta here by then, okay?

On the way to the doctor’s, I was behind a big black SUV. Itswerved this way and that, trying to see around a work truck. It was a one lanestretch of road, there was no way around, and I said, ‘come on, buddy, we allget there.’ I meant of course to our current desitnation. Of course, we don’talways get where we were meaning to go. Things happen. But, my mind went to thattrue inevitability in life. We do all get to an end, eventually. And yet, wespend so much of our precious days looking ahead, trying to see past this curveor over that obstacle. We forget to be here. As I was doing when I turned intothe parking garage. I hate parking garages. I was grumbling in my head aboutthe awfulness of paying to park, the spinning circles, the extra time it takesalways, when a little voice said, ‘Going up is fun.’ Joy, in the back seat wassmiling hugely, enjoying this ride she was on. Ooops. Me and my pondering tookme away from my now. And how says the garage isn’t fun? We get to spin andloop, and woosh down! Breath.

After the second garage, we went to get Grace from theoffice. As we waited, I called the pediatrician. I though a cough followed byfever is something to check out. It was nap time, but we still hadn’t had lunchand I was tired and so was Joy. And I still had to run to a store to get some necessities.Visiting the land of cows for lunch seemed like a good idea,and so we did. Aswe pulled into the parking lot for the big store, Grace said, ‘I think I leftbear behind.’ My first reaction was cruel. That’s what comes of taking thingsaround. You’re in charge of taking care of your stuff…. But, I breathed. Iremembered losing things. And I thought of turning around, but what of thepossible nap? No. I called, and they put it away safely for us to get when wecould.

As we rounded the final bend, almost forgetting the verynecessities we came for, I got the call back. And we had to set an appointment.I had an hour and a half. And If I didn’t lie down, well… I was going to atleast sit. The girls watched more tv, ate snacks, relaxed. Both were ready fora nap when it was time to go. Of course.

At the doctor’s office, I offhandedly mentioned thesestrange little bites Grace had been getting last week. I couldn’t find anybugs, so then I thought maybe it was a contact rash of some sort. She does havesensitive skin. Still, I couldn’t figure it out! The doctor looked at it allvery carefully and listened to her breathing and her cough. Viral Bronchitis.Those bumps, they were a rash that started the whole thing. Oh. It’s itinteresting how much we see things through our own experiences, isn’t it. Ofcourse I know that rashes are indicators of viral disease (that seizure, it wasfrom a fever from hand foot and mouth, but the ER docs didn’t look their firstand instead spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to get a urine sample tosee if it was a UTI). But, my mind was focused on bites or bumps. And due tothe length of time, we got a prescription.

Back to the store. Where I forgot dishwasher soap. Again.Third time in two days….

Sand between my toes

2011-12-12T00:26:00.000-06:00

Last week was a blur of calls and must dos, a flurry of signatures, a celebration of what's to come (yeah new house!) and the necessary shut down after so much activity. The eerie calm on Thursday really shook me in odd ways. I felt the looming deadlines, but they weren't there. And then Friday came with it's own little rush.

Saturday we joined an expedition down to the beach with a malacologist (they study shells). It was Texas cold and beach windy and terrific.

I am ashamed that I forgot my camera. I did remember snacks to last four days, a good lunch, layers of clothes (and changes for everyone), disinfecting hand wipes, baggies, markers and paper. But. No camera.

So, I'm staying up too late tonight to try to capture a little of that morning in words.

Low tide was early, so we got two sleepy girls out of bed at 5:45 to drive the hour or so down to Galveston. I have never lived so close to the big water. The ocean is a special place for me. It is calm and excitement and thrill and peace. Everything about where the water meets the land thrills me. The sand or rocks (I adore both), the way the wind moves me, the sounds of the crashing of the waves, the colors of water that churn and mix, the rhythm of water, the cadence of the birds.

Grace is our budding shell seeker. She looked carefully at each find, thrilled to put things into her special bag. Face beaming. Her step full of excitement and purpose. Our favorite find was a lovely shell, nearly complete. I was so excited when I picked it up, I forgot to look inside. Oops. A hermit crab was at home. So, it was a nice find, but one that stayed there. To be honest, Grace's best find of the day was not a shell, but a bone (maybe a fossil she said!). It was part of a skull, quite possibly from a wild boar. (So said the forensic anthropologist on the trip.) But, sadly, the skull wasn't only bone...and while we were given directions for good cleaning of shells with -er- extra matter in them, I don't have the stomach for that. (If you do - you soak it in half clorox, half water, then spray. Repeat if needed. Then soak in soapy water to stop the clorox. You can also put baby oil on shells to help keep them moist.). She would have loved to collect feathers too, but that's forbidden. Even with a biting wind, she cried when it was time to go. There was so much more to see and do.

She was also thrilled to see sea gulls, sand pipers, and pelicans. We were lucky to see the brown ones who live here, and white pelicans who migrate through. ("Mom, they're big, like Quetzalcoatlus." Thankfully, not quite that big.)

Joy had a different focus. I ran to keep up with her meandering, joyful steps. I showed her a shell. She picked up a couple bottle caps. (a budding environmentalist?) But, her real passion was for moving sand. And chasing birds. She needed a break from the wind, a snack for her tummy, but properly fueled, she would have run small circles along the beach all day, gathering handfuls of wet and dry sand (she started with gloves, but by midmorning they were more of a liability than an asset).

I wish I could capture the movement of my little ones, the easy smile on my husband's face (he loves the beach too), the two pink coats quickly darting and scooping up treasures, turning back towards their tall daddy in his black jacket. I hope I can remember the simple, pure love that filled me during those calm, thrilling moments. The sand found it's way past my shoes, right into my socks. I only hope this memory is as tenacious.

Counting days

2011-12-06T12:07:00.001-06:00

With all the house hoopla, we're not quite geared up for Christmas. There are no decorations up. The lights wait in the attic. The tree is yet to be found. But I did order all the gifts last month. Priorities I guess, or maybe what I could do. They are smaller and fewer this year, and in many ways, I appreciate the thinking that had to go into it. Fewer may really be better.

But, this weekend we had to do something to get started on the spirit. First, we went to see the snow at our museum. They fill a piece of yard with 'snow' and the kids play. It melts pretty fast in the 80 degree weather, but it was snow. And then we also went to our symphony's holiday family concert. I cannot say enough good words about our conductor (he dressed up as a bright red ornament - it was brilliant). The music was fun and certainly made me feel part of the season. So, on the way home, we stopped and let each girl pick one thing to give to another child who might not have gifts coming their way. And then I made an advent calendar.

I've been obsessing about advent calendars for the last two years. They are fun and exciting, but so many are just full of more candy or toys or whatnot. We don't need to get more. So, this year, I made a big tree on poster board with 25 brads stuck through and 25 paper ornaments to hang on it. Each ornament has something to do or give. "Give a giggle." "Share a smile." "Give a compliment." "Feed the birds." "Decorate the tree." "Sing a song."

Nothing grand or exceptional. Just nice things to remind us to give most days, even if the giving is a bouquet from the garden (Grace's suggestion) or a little tickle.

May your season be filled with goodness and light.

Oh, the joys of closing

2011-12-06T00:04:00.001-06:00

Okay. So forget all that peaceful bologna from yesterday. This morning I was waiting, just waiting for a call. It was excruciating.

This would be easier if we weren't falling for the house. It would be much easier if the family we're buying from doesn't need this money to help an aging relative. Or if I didn't like the family so much.

When we looked at the house, and wanted it, we called for pre approval from a loan company I trust (having worked with them twice before). Everything went though fine. I checked and double checked, our finances to see that we could do this. They agreed.

When the paperwork was in front of me, I saw a credit card that belongs to my inlaws. I asked if we needed to jump through the hurdles to straighten that out. It would have been easy to get a note and a statement. If that would do. No, no, I was assured. Your numbers are good.

And then last Thursday, I got a call requesting specific documents and saying that we are 'on the bubble.' Well. No doubt, we'll be carrying two houses for a time and that is not really in the budget. But - your company said it was all good. And now, now, with less than a week, you drop this on me?

I give you the numbers and you say it's probably good. It's close. I fiddle with insurance to decrease the yearly cost. And send that in as well. It should be good.

We obsess all night, and realize we're just a little bit away from paying off the car loan. Easiest way to lower our monthly debt. So, we pay it off, guaranteed by the website that it will post Monday. But now, they say it takes 10 days to show up. I hope we don't need that proof. But it is nice to have that monkey off our backs.

Finally, the call comes. We're probably okay. We need three more things. Two easy fixes. One, well, hoping is the best I can do. (Oh, and it's of course one I called about three times last week to see if it was needed. No, no, I was told.) So, I get working. Circles, calls, emails, I am a chicken with my head cut off. Going no where, hoping to get it done. Today.

But, what is possible, given the time, well, it may not be enough. And that stinks. I'll keep trying. As much as I get annoyed with myself for not being on top of it all, I was on top of everything asked of me. As much as I hate not knowing, I was certainly a squeaky wheel, trying to get attention to make sure this went smoothly. Ha. This will be our third house. And the first with such a roller coaster ride.

At the end of the day, I know we'll find a solution. I just hope it's this week. Once the papers are signed, everything is simpler.

Kind of. Then the foundation work begins. And the plumbing. And painting. And then moving. (What have I gotten myself into?)

A shard of glass

2011-12-04T23:34:00.001-06:00

On the counter in my bathroom sits a piece of glass. The ocean handled it roughly, dulling every sharp surface, changing a dangerous item into a thing of beauty. My granny called this swishes glass, but most people correct me, oh you mean sea glass? No. It will always be swished glass to me. But you are welcome to call it anything.

The piece on my counter is white. Though I suppose it once was clear glass. When we were young, we sought out the rare colors, blues and reds. But green always seemed most jewel like to me.

Tonight, the constant waves of thoughts about moving and home repairs and finances was overwhelming me. I felt subsumed in a vast ocean of details, essential and not, in my power and not. And then I saw the glass. Maybe these waves will soften my edges if I allow it. Maybe the grains of irritation will cause shifts and changes. And maybe, just maybe this is how strength and beauty are built.

Finding calm

2011-12-01T09:11:00.001-06:00

It took me a while to learn how to put a child to sleep, how to prepare them slowly and gradually for the calm to descend and the stillness to take effect. I would never claim perfect knowledge, there are days when something from the daily light hours simply pops up and up and up and will not let peace and calm in. And there are days when I am not calm enough to lead them along the path. But, even then I often get myself in check, focus, read and sing, listen and help them let go. How I wish I were as good with myself.

I am a planner, a stewer, an over-thinker. These qualities have benefits, so I'm told. But when I get to many variables going, they tend to lead me into anxiousness. For whatever reason, nighttime is when the thoughts spiral and grow and won't let go. Perhaps the lack of distractions and movement allows them to take over? Or maybe it's just too quiet. But, whatever it is, right now, I am smack in the middle of terrible sleeplessness. There are so many things to do! And coordinating them and not letting go of being a good mommy and oh, don't forget Christmas, which I promised myself would be calm and lovely and heartfelt this year. Um. We're probably moving a week before, but still IT WILL BE CALM. Ha.

When I keep my planning in a positive bend, thinking of what I can do, what needs doing, what my universe looks like, it makes me more productive and less stressed. But, how can I wrap my over-thinking head around the unknowns? Planning is a mode of control. And I am wildly out of control. As we all are,if we are honest. Life brings it's own unexpected challenges, or 'men plan, god laughs.' So, my challenge is planning what I can and trusting to be able to bend those plans to whatever reality brings. (And just this week, it brought a lovely thing. My husband's work suddenly shifted from overdrive to manageable. The only consistent thing about our lives is that they are unpredictable.)

And in the mean time, I hope to exercise more (a tired body likes sleep) and organize the chaos around me (controlling something helps calm the mind). Oh yeah, and breath. In. Out. In. Out.

Choosing perspective

2011-11-29T19:47:00.001-06:00

This weekend, we went to my parents house for a few days. It was a short trip, shortened by a sudden homesickness on Joy's part that took the form of crying for an hour at bedtime and waking for more than an hour to cry in the middle of the night. Getting home solved that. I forget often that my girls are different. What worked for one, what was true for one will not be true for the next. But, I think it's a lovely chance for me to keep my eye on now, and to stay ever flexible.

But, what I really wanted to write about was what Grace said as we pulled out of my parent's driveway. 'When we left home, I was excited to see my grandparents (she has quite special names for them actually), but sad to leave Daddy behind. Now that we're leaving, I am sad to leave my grandparents, but excited to see Daddy."

And that is life. Isn't it? Everything involves coming and going, leaving and being left, a constant pull of excitement and sadness. It struck me, sharply, that what we focus on, the joy or the sadness in each moment, is how we view our lives, the world, everything.

My husband has been busy doing just the kind of project he spent years preparing for. And this season is tricky. It's been a long haul. It's the start of holidays and he couldn't join our trip. (We did stay behind Thursday to share turkey as a foursome.) He's tired. He misses unstructured time with the girls and me too. And he was complaining about wanting to find a better balance. And while I appreciate that, and want him home more too, I stopped him. What he wants to do takes insane focus for certain stretches of time. It is the only way to do that work. And either he wants that trade off or not. But, he can't have it both ways, and he can't complain when dreams are coming true.

Perhaps I spend too much time focusing on the good side - who I get to see at the other end of the trip, what I get in my many tradeoffs. If I focus on the negatives, I always lose. Worse than the sadness, I lose sight of my many joys. Perhaps, some can see both, like Paulina. "She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd." (From the Winter's Tale by Shakespeare) Not me. My eyes are bound together and tied to my mind, and looking down brings it all down. I choose to look up.

Notes from a cluttered mind

2011-11-28T21:51:00.001-06:00

I should be doing something else. Like laundry or dishes or finding the numbers I'll need tomorrow or setting up the bag for the eon long trip to the OB tomorrow (hello glucose test - I tried to delay you to a time without kids tagging along, but that was foolish.) I could be searching for a new fridge. Or (gasp) starting to pack.

We close on our new home in less than two weeks. (!?)

I still need to find the right contractor to do some necessary, and not subtle, work. We will be in the house for a bit of tunneling under it. (Have I told you yet that slab foundations make NO sense to me? Build the dang house up off the ground so it is less likely to flood, so it dries out after rains better, so you can fix plumbing easily! Jeezem crumb.) I need to find a painter to put the right purple on the girls room. Oh, and I need to get this and that done, set up the utilities... Oh, and my mortgage company has gone ominously silent. They're good people. We've worked with them before. But. Silent? Eek.

We don't know who will be joining us in (oh holy moley) 2 1/2 months, but I kind of hope its a girl so we can always have a guest room/ place for me to be quiet. Then again, it would be awesome to have a boy too. I can't imagine how different that is. Although my aunt swears all you need to do is have brownies around and they think you are a goddess. But she is a goddess, brownies not withstanding.

Oh, I have a terror flowing through me that this baby will come early. Like tomorrow early. I never really worried with the others. Well, I did. I just worried that I wouldn't have my guy in town or that I wouldn't have anywhere for Grace to go. But, this is different. My body isn't acting quite right. And I don't know why. Fun back pain (it's really in my hips). Other oddness. Of course, my girls were both full term. And by that I mean 40 and 41 weeks. So, if history can guide me, I should relax.

Last week I had to take Grace to the dentist. She kept saying her tooth hurt with cold things. It was just a loose tooth. Which she lost tonight!

This week, I had to take Joy to the doctor. She has a little dry patch of redness on her face. Nothing to be alarmed about, but, you can only bury your head so long.

And today I had to take my cat in to be rechecked. Her thyroid is overactive. And well, it was all my fault that I had to go twice. Some days, twice a day medicine is too much to ask, you know? Okay. I'm just a bad pet owner. But, in listening to my vet talk to another lady, I realized, she's an all-you-could-ever-do-er. And I get it. I used to be too. Heck, in the early days, I walked my dog so much she got lame and then we had xrays and even an orthopedic surgeon consult. But really, I just needed to calm down. And, while I believe in treating all living things humanely, I wonder what level of veterinary care is necessary or humane. And frankly, how much is too much is a personal question. At some point, you have to say enough. This vet is a proponent of pushing that point as far as possible. I'm not.

I'm unbalanced. Precarious. Keeping my eye on what is directly in front of me. Always distracted from what is right there too. Wishing I had more eyes and more energy. Wishing my back didn't hurt, so I could go for longer without needing a time out.

And still. I know enough to be grateful. How lucky are we to be here, waiting for this baby? Insanely lucky. How lucky are we to be getting a house? Crazy. And my financial stresses are increased by not getting this one off the books first, but having that option is beyond wonderful. I've shown a house pregnant before. The offer came in 16 days before the baby. We made an offer two days before Joy arrived. I'm thrilled at the prospect of being in place for the baby's arrival. And not having to move. I'm relieved not to be trying to keep a spotless house in my current marine mammal like position. Like a whale, I flounder along. And yet, I hope to stay whale like for at least another two months. Even when this little lovely elbows or knees me so hard it hurts for an hour after. (grateful for the strength)

But, oh, for a few days without lists swimming through my head!

Gratitude- on balance

2011-11-22T22:56:00.000-06:00

You would think I understood balance.

Long, long ago, I did sports that required balance - like gymnastics, ice skating, karate. Not so long ago, I practiced yoga. Balance is not a static state you achieve, it is a constantly shifting, tremendously difficult practice. Back before my ankle proved it's uncanny ability to twist, I loved the balance beam the best. Sure, the floor was fun and the bars were exciting, but the beam... Oh. To be poised and just there. And work on the beam. Later, when my ankle was at it's worst, I spent two months in physical therapy, much of that on balance boards going in circles. What surprised me then was how many muscles - in your feet, your legs, your torso - that were involved in keeping that dang circle from touching the ground. (And if you don't know the device I speak of, you're lucky.)

So, when my sister moaned about seeking balance as she returns to work, I should know better than to think that balance is a singular thing. It is a constant effort, requiring work every minute. And for each of us, our balance point shifts with our body, our minds, our needs.

Right now, I feel the pulls of too many essential tasks. I'm pulled by the gravity of taking care of my body, my mind, my house, the bills, the home buying process, my children, my pets, my husband. I spin and spin and never feel like I'm quite on top of any of it. Just like when I was in PT, my ankle torture device circle is always touching the ground somewhere. So, I try again. At least to keep it all in motion. Because I cannot let any of these balls drop.

But why would I be grateful for the chaotic spinning of my world? Why would I appreciate the need to constantly seek balance, even though I know it is not something that can be fully or finally attained?

If I had but one pole, I could stand with simple stability, always clear that I was attaining what mattered most. And yet, for me, that is no life. Life is this rich and exciting intersection of all my interests, my loves, my choices.

And how could I not be grateful for the richness of my life - my loves, my interests, my choices. To be seeking balance is to be alive. It requires attention to this moment. And I am so grateful for each moment of this challenging, baffling, humbling, thrilling life.

Grateful, day two

2011-11-22T12:33:00.001-06:00

This morning, our house was cloaked in a drenching rain. This alone is a cause for celebration in a draught that I simply can't wrap my head around. Our lovely tree, Steve, has survived so far, but so many are not that lucky. We drove by a big park the other day and I wept, literally, for all the trees marked orange for the chain saw. I love trees, but I also see their power. They cool the air and freshen it, and in this big, hot, polluted city, the loss of this many trees is tragic beyond words. And I'm told the draught will last until next fall. So, today, I am grateful for rain. Any rain. And I am grateful for Steve. And the five (5!) lovely trees in the front and back of the new house.

I'm embarrassed to say, but I'm grateful for Sid the Science Kid who bought me a nap while Joy watched happily. I sat beside her and drooled. We had a nap on Friday and I long for another real one, but where ever I can steal a few moments of feet up, eyes closed peace, I'll take it. Thanks PBS.

I'm grateful for the lovely teacher Grace has this year. Experienced teachers are priceless. Patient, loving ones are beyond words. I know it'll ruin us for all future years, but what a great joy to have such a wonderful teacher!

I'm grateful for the Braxton-Hicks contractions that are reminding me to slow down, put my feet up, drink water, and let go. I can't control when this baby will come into our lives. But, I can choose to be sane these last few months. And I'm beyond grateful for the kicks and jabs. Healthy and strong, even if it's uncomfortable. Maybe that's a metaphor for parenting?

I'm grateful for online stores. My Christmas shopping is almost done. Mostly because we're cutting way back this year to accommodate the new house. Financial prudence is a good gift too, right?

And I'm thrilled that today was our last day of school this week. No more alarm clocks for me until next Monday. Maybe by then I'll have caught up on some sleep. Yes, I'm grateful for delusional hope too.

Grateful, day one

2011-11-21T09:12:00.001-06:00

It's Thanksgiving week, and THE turkey has been ordered, the cranberries await sugar and boiling, the pumpkin sits happily in it's can. I'm 'ready.'

This weekend was full. Just full, and life is about to get more crazy and then more crazy. And in all that drama, it's easy to lose sight of what really matters. I have two beautiful daughters. I am loved by a good man. I am kicked by a strong baby (though I really hope those are braxton hicks!).

Three years ago, nearly to the day, we learned that life was going topsy turvy. First, I left a preschool without a plan in place, only hope and trust. When you know something doesn't work, you know. And when it comes to my kids, I move. Quickly. We fell into another school, one I thought wasn't perfect, but turned out to be the best experience Grace had in all of preschool. And then, we had a house guest, who needed more than we could offer, but for whom a bed and loving house was a gift.

A week later, it was clear that we were moving. But when, and how? And I chose what felt sanest to me. Stick until the baby kicking my belly then (JOY!) arrived. Stay where we had school and friends and support. It was the best decision I made, in all those crazy days. But, it put me in charge. Of selling a house. Of tending a three year old. Of comforting a very depressed dear one. Of maintaining some sanity so I could keep going.

And that is where one friend came in. She is my mom's age, but cared for Grace's best friend daily. As a grandma, she had a perspective that I needed. And as a wife of an army man, she moved, she dealt with crazies, she did it. And she would smile and laugh and remind me that those crazy days would retain a glow later. The very chaos brings those days more sharply into our memories, and reminds us of who we can be.

I think having a problem to solve together, and solving it as a team, strengthened my marriage. I think that juggling and managing so much showed me my own strength. And I know that it reminded me what really matters. Family. Friends. Love. Compassion. And letting go with trust that we can do this.

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These crazy days are less crazy. There is no job change, no city change, no extra unexpected house guest in need. Just a move, closer to everything we do. Just a baby waiting to come. Just a little work to do on the house. Just a little financial juggling to keep everything afloat. (Please, please, please, let this house sell quickly.) I have to remind myself to keep my eyes on what matters. To trust that the things that must happen will. I am strong enough. Life is good enough. If I allow myself to fall backwards in trust, there are many who will catch me.

There is a reason that this is happening again. I prefer to be self-sufficient. Depending on others, even my husband, makes me feel sick. My anxiety spikes. I want to control it all! But, life is not containable or controllable. And dependence is a necessity. For all of us. Even me.

Um. Uh. Um.

2011-11-19T18:13:00.001-06:00

I was right. It was behind the dishwasher. But it's not any more.And also, never mess with your home builders or repair folks. We heard a great story today. It involves nonpayment, concrete and eggs. I had a piece of a piece of chocolate cake. It had six layers. And ganache. And toffee. And we want the expensive flooring options. Of course. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I still get to do what I did as a kid - cook - and my expectations are always met. And now that my kitchen isn't stinky, I can enjoy the it!

I hoped the smell was my dirty dishes (it's gross y'all)

2011-11-18T09:37:00.002-06:00

Really, really I did. But I knew better. I've smelled that before.

I held my nose and washed every last dish that I had let sit two nights (gross) and then I breathed. oh.

So, I cleaned the disposal and threw in a citris peel for good luck. oh?

So, I scrubbed the floor. no.

And then I did all the laundry I could. no?

And then I cleared out a little area of clutter that I hoped would be hiding something gross. no!??

And then I peeked into every cabinet, at first gingerly and then with bold resolve (and a mask). no.

In spite of never using any poison, one rodent found it's way into a wall. A wall of my kitchen and died. It's the most abhorrant smell. And the people I paid too much money to for taking care of our rat problem, well. They stink too.

Baking soda and lysol. And time. What I'm told is time. But I can't have Thanksgiving in a house that smells this way. Heck, I can't even make breakfast.

2011-11-16T20:45:00.004-06:00

My head has been churning with ideas for what to write, my internet painfully slow and my time filled with an excess of paperwork and phone calls.

I'm well and truly in my third trimester and now, as all along, I cannot keep my mind from slipping back to where I was when I was pregnant before. Each moment is set alongside the previous ones.

Today, I sat, thinking about labor and delivery, remembering my birthing class. Though my second OB suggested a class, my husband was out of town so much, I didn't want to go. He had been gone three of the fives sessions that first time too. And walking into class alone, bloated and ready to have a baby (but not even vaguly knowing what that meant, because really, how could I), oh it was scary. I would envision being alone through the birth and cry a little each time. And then I would stop myself.

The first day of that long ago class, a lady walked in with a friend and sat down for five minutes. During the introductions, she stood up and left. Her friend followed and then returned to say she wasn't coming back. Through a friend we didn't know we shared, I learned her story. A month before, her husband had died suddenly and unexpectedly. She would certainly be facing birth without her guy. She would also face raising her baby alone. I never met her again, but she has stayed with me. I worry for her, wonder how her life has gone for the last six or so years. I know she had a large network of support and I hope she still does. But, I wish I could have helped.

There is always, always someone who is facing something worse than what confronts us. And often, they do so with grace and courage, humility and humor.

And today, in my brief readings I stumbled onto this beautiful plea for the power we can share to change someone's life. You probably already read Big Little Wolf. She's amazing. Make sure you read this one.

My computer, my life?

2011-11-15T08:11:00.003-06:00

My nifty little computing thingy just won't connect to the internet happily these days. It's turned into a tease, connecting for a few brief moments and then randomly dropping the line.
I guess, the good news is that we finally (FINALLY) got our big computer that has to sit on a desk all fixed up. It had a couple of viruses and needed a nice little cleaning. All better. And, I like the way a real keyboard works. I like the big screen. But I miss being able to be 'doing something else' while I'm online.

Which made me realize something. I'm spending too much time and energy, which are in short supply right now, on computers. If I didn't HAVE to get emails and stuff for the house we're very, very likely to be getting, I'd go on a week long purge and see how I felt. As it is, I'll sequester myself into the dark study (note to self, find light bulb) and steal a few minutes here and there.

Someone's burrow

2011-11-13T12:53:00.002-06:00

I don't know why this is the fall of the uninvited guests, but it is. We had rats (okay, I'm being a bit optimistic with the past tense, but their scuttly noises are finally quieting). And someone dug two or three holes under our house. Our pest team set up some nice big cages to catch that someone, likely an armadillo (though possibly a skunk) and last night, I saw someone inside.

It was a possum. I called the experts this morning, but they couldn't come out until tomorrow. And I felt really badly for that little trapped guy.

Here's the thing, even if someone is your enemy, once you've caught them, you have to treat them right. And then I looked up about opossums. First - they are not diggers. This little guy was just borrowing the burrow. Second, they are excellent hunters to have around. They go after rats (hooray!) and mice, and snakes. Even venomous ones! They are fastidiously clean animals and don't carry parasites and are thought to be very unlikely to spread disease since they have a lower body temperature than many mammals. And they are not mean. They play possum. Or run away.

I looked at the little guy with even more sympathy and was thrilled my husband was home, who has an even softer heart. We released him.

Heck, who doesn't want a snake hunting, rodent killing marsupial in their yard?

Veterans Day

2011-11-11T11:17:00.002-06:00

Today is veterans day.

If you know a veteran, call and say thanks. Whatever we feel about wars, we should honor those who honorably serve.

Yesterday I got a call from a local charity who helps the homeless. According to them, more than 30% of the homeless are veterans who have recently returned from the wars in Iraq and Afganistan. We should do better.

But it brings to mind, an angel in the form of a homeless veteran, who sat by my father (another veteran) after he was in a bad bike accident. He looked at my dad and said, that was a bad fall. I've seen a lot of injuries and you need to go get that checked out. My dad remounted his bike, broken helmut and all, and cycled over to the ER. X rays showed he broke a bone in his spine. Just one in a series of moments that show how blessed a life my dad has lead.

Next weekend, we'll head to a pow wow. I am not an Indian, or Native American. But I was lucky to fall into a crowd in college where I learned a lot about their cultures. And I love a pow wow. The drums. Oh, the drums! But, my most favorite part every time is the veterans dance that happens early on. After the grand entry and the flag songs, the mc invites all vets onto the dance floor. And then asks those who have family who have served and friends and.... My first pow wow, I was nervous. Did they really mean me? But I was compelled to dance in honor of my dad. In memory of my grandfathers, in honor of my uncle and now of my grandfather-in-laws. I dance now too for my brother-in-law who is not yet a veteran, but still serves. And every time, tears fill my eyes. We should remember to honor those warriors. It is no simple act. In honoring and respecting those who choose to put their lives in harms way to help our nation, we sooth the hurt that cannot but follow a soldier home, we pay heed to the wounds that are deep and without blood or words, and we show that we value the sacrifices that are made on our behalf.

Random, cuz it's all I have

2011-11-10T23:19:00.003-06:00

1. House inspections are stressful. I forgot this. The last time we had a house inspection, I was laboring with something a little more important (JOY) and didn't really care about a roof, foundation or HVAC. Of course, we had no choice but to move that time around, since commuting 200 miles was not so good for family life.

2. My kids are happier when I make them go to bed early. I bet I would be too if someone would help me into bed, read me stories, sing me songs and give me a back rub. I need a mommy.

3. Have I told you I hate homework? Yes. I hate it. Not my own. When I had it. But six year olds need play time. I realize this is a fairly recent world view. But whatever, it's mine. Free time to explore and get bored is really important.

4. Yesterday was a short day at school. I don't understand how that made it impossible for any of us to do anything.

5. I'm feeling awkward. Already. I'm not quite into my third trimester, and already I feel like one of those weirdly weighted balls that doesn't roll right. Except I can't quite walk right or get down right or get up again. And neither girl cares a hoot for the fact that baby wants a little lap space. Squish.

6. I'm catalogue shopping for Christmas. Due to the possible (now probable!) financial strain of two houses, we're planning a smaller gift extravaganza (we try for small anyway), so I'm enjoying ogling the pretty toys - dolls, science kits, art supplies. But I haven't ordered anything. It's kind of nice to need to be more thoughtful.

7. The house, the new house, the lovely new house we can walk to school from, it has a little bitty foundation problem. And a little bitty plumbing problem. We expected this. And aren't afraid of those mean old contractors. But. Apparently this drought has been a flood of work for foundation companies and they're all booked solid. Which may mean no house. Send good thoughts for me to weedle, coax, plead, beg my way into someone's schedule (who is also a very good foundation repairer at a reasonable cost). Don't you think they'll do it if I promise fresh baked bread on site? And coffee? What? That won't sway them? Shoot.

8. I've been driven to punning. It's a curse in my family. This one is bad... Last night, I rushed around, picking up the house. I'm really hoping it didn't disturb our foundation. (I warned you. It's bad.) Heaven help me. But if it's my grandpas up there helping, the pun won't ever stop. (Jeez.)

Off to sing myself to sleep. Or read goodnight moon? (Which incidentally, I don't adore because when I was four and broke my collar bone the little boy who's house I was staying at loved the book and demanded it twenty times straight, thinking it would sooth me. Poor little boy's mama. She didn't know I broke a bone. My parents didn't either. For a week. Whatever. Goodnight clocks, goodnight tocks, goodnight cats, goodnight rats (yep still scurrying around up there). Goodnight full moon, goodnight real soon.)

A picture of dancing

2011-11-09T07:00:00.000-06:00

I just spend a little time looking a pictures of a dear one at a wedding. She is young, so young and carefree. Okay, I know that last part is a little off. She has cares. Life is full, always. But. She looks carefree, spontaneous, dancing in a crowd of young folks full of mirth and the anticipation of things to come.

I would be lying if I said I didn't miss the days when staying up late involved parties without deadlines to be home or worries about what the late night would mean for tomorrow. I miss the random life of my early twenties. But what I have now I would never trade for that.

Weddings make me melancholy these days. It's not that I don't believe in marriage. I do. I think when two people choose to commit to sharing life together, through all that it brings, we all get a little stronger. (Truly, when two people commit to love and support, however they choose to or can.) I remember both vividly and vaguely my own wedding day. Even then, I knew it was not the main event of a life built together. My grandfather said in his toast to my parents on their wedding day - remember to celebrate the big days - you know, birthdays, anniversaries, Mondays, Tuesdays...

I love this advice more and more as the years go by. Because it is the everyday that builds our lives. And yet, there is a certain almost pain in seeing the great awe and joy of someone stepping into the beginning. I had been together with my husband for nearly six years before we put rings on each other's fingers, but still that day was the beginning of something new.

Maybe I envy the newness, the anticipation of what lies ahead, without having been through so much?

I heard a few months ago, from a neighbor and from a newspaper, that the seven year itch is a real thing. Seven years is apparently a hard patch for many, or it is when the irritations have built to the point of decision. I thought about where we were at 7 years. We were on the downhill slope from a horrible few years. Horrible from the outside, not the inside. And maybe it was lucky that we had to battle those outer demons. It unified us. I feel lucky that our bumps and bruises have led us to deeper trust, clearer understandings, fuller love. But I don't take that for granted. Love is not an emotion, but action, participation, listening, being present. And my marriage is based on more than just love. Though saying so seems to go against everything our modern culture tells us.

And still, I see the eager young faces, full of so much to come, and I miss that place of looking forward with more simplicity.

A cousin of mine just got remarried. He and his beloved are both parents of teens, both have seen much. The pictures of their big day show faces full of promise and joy, and something deeper. A kind of hope and faith and love that I just don't know the words for.

Dripping

2011-11-08T09:11:00.003-06:00

The air is heavy, sticky and dense. Just walking makes me sweat and wish to hide. Or find a pool. It's not hot. For Houston. 70s and 80s is cooler. Really, I don't mind the heat. Most of the time. But the sticky draining humidity is exhausting. It doesn't help that our AC decided to start an unhealthy rumbling. And yes, I feel like a horrible person running the AC in this cool, but it also dehumidifies our air. And sweating while I sit inside is just too much.

I told Grace it was humid yesterday. She said, oh, like 'sultry?' Which was a vocabulary word a few weeks back and she's on those words in amazing ways. I said, yes, sultry means moist air, but it's also got an undercurrent of excitement. Humid is just wet air. We talked about how humidity is related to temperature. (My husband is right, I get all factual and boring too often.) And went along our way.

Most days I don't miss the frigid cold I once lived in. I don't miss the months of gray skies and gray snow. I enjoy the green around (less this year without enough rain). Most days our muted seasons don't bother me. But, in November and December I long for a crispness in the air. I long for visual cues that life is changing, as it does every year.

For more Just Write posts, go to The Extraordinary Ordinary.

2011-11-04T18:53:00.002-05:00

I've been lost in thought tonight. Planning, considering, muddling through my sleep deprived, hormone riddled, faulty brain. It's a wonder I've made it to Friday this week. I missed one appointment, we were late to school twice (I got a note about that and felt the shame of being called out), we were down to one car most of the week so I've been a shuttle more then a person, we put in a contract on the house we're looking at (AND THEY ACCEPTED!), I rebooked the appointment, rescheduled an ultrasound, set up a check up for the cat, scheduled too many inspections (it's a old house), forgot to make lunch. Tomorrow is Saturday, and we need to get the car from the shop and let the pest guy into the attic to confront the rat (or worse, it's big and it's not going away and it took a glue trap with it), but then we get to go to the museum before we part ways for work and more fun. Because this is busy time again, and days of rest are not possible.
My girls are contented together. I don't mean that they are playing full of ruckus and disaster, they are playing happily. And have been two hours! There are no words for how I feel about this beautiful relationship growing between my daughters. I love having a sister, but it wasn't always smooth, and I know that it won't be for these two. And yet. Oh, they work things out so well. My heart sings.
We had pizza because I couldn't face the kitchen, though I need to not buy extra because until this house sells, the budget will be a stretched. I'm thinking about how that affects Christmas and thanksgiving and summer travel and how to manage the move and the repairs that are inevitable in an old house.
I've been sleeping fretfully. Joy's screams in the night didn't help. Not sure what went on there. And my husband needing to chat was good for us, but not for rest, and there was homework all week and fits about it and we're still recovering from Halloween late nights and I need to get onto bedtime, but my girls are happy. And tomorrow is Saturday.

I am lucky, so lucky, to have a life so filled. The chaos and concerns are certainly blessed ones. And still, I long for more space to breath.

May you have a calm weekend, filled with joyous, overflowing life.

2011-11-01T06:00:00.000-05:00

Good morning! How did it ever get to be November already? I am shocked by the passage of time more often then I would like to admit. And I'm a little scared. In less then two months I add another year to my age. In 3 1/2 months or less, we'll add another person to the world (about which feel incredibly lucky and blessed and absolutely terrified). My six year old wants to be seven and is fascinating, while my two and a half year old is blossoming verbally in ways that knock my socks off daily.

Here's what's been going on:

I got a cold. Sneezing is not dignified for a pregnant lady. Then I got laryngitis. Not being able to talk is really tough as a mom. Not being able to sing lullabies was just painful for the lot of us. My voice is almost back, but still, it's rough and ugly.

I sewed and sewed and sewed. First Joy wanted to be a monkey, but on seeing the pattern, which included a white bunny, she wanted that. Which tickled my funny bone and so we were all rabbits (except for the daddy rabbit who doesn't dress up) for a Halloween party last weekend. Grace wanted to be a princess. A purple princess with broad sweeping sleeves. As I made that dress, Joy wanted a princess dress too. Pink. Not blue, like grandma made for Grace when she was two. No that would be too easy. And how do you tell a child you can't do something? Especially when it's a common refrain in your house that 'can't isn't a word here.' I couldn't tell her I wouldn't. So, I didn't. I made her a pink dress. (With a simpler pattern.) They wore them joyfully to a party Friday! Hooray. Of course, Halloween night they chose to raid the costume closet and Joy was a pirate with pink fairy wings (who was also a doctor and a vampire, though I don't know where she even heard of vampires) and Grace was a blue princess with pink fairy wings. Letting go the HOURS of work on that purple dress was a little tough, but it's her life. And if I'm honest, I enjoyed the act of making the dresses. Except for the zippers. I hate zippers.

We've had a couple of family weekends, filled to the brim. And now, it's back to the work grindstone for my guy. It's funny, I miss him terribly when he's gone, as do the girls. But it's really easy to not resent someone for not doing the dishes when they just aren't there. And how could I expect him to reach across states to put away his clothes? Somedays I think lower expectations are the key to happiness. Then again, I have some high ones that I don't waver on. Luckily, we agree on those biggies.

School feels awfully busy, especially with homework. I understand the need to practice some things. Grace started violin this year (more on that another day) and that requires consistent practice. And I don't mind helping with spelling words, reading time and math concepts. But I also feel like they have her for seven hours a day. Why do they need to take another hour? Research doesn't support that homework is essential, by the way, though I see the value in extended projects and later in research and writing. But, for young ones I wish they could guide their own explorations based in their interests. Last Sunday, Grace and I spent two hours creating a timeline of American history up to the civil war. Not for an assignment, but because she asked. And she wanted to go on longer! Amazing! That was joyful work, not the drudgery of another worksheet.

Life feels full. A little too full in our small three bedroom house. Which I should be thankful for. I know. And yet, I think we need another room. And we may have found a house with everything we want - good trees in the yard, four bedrooms, good sized kitchen (oh, how I long to not feel like my girls are underfoot when they want to cook with me!), oh and walking distance to the elementary school (which has a preschool program that starts at three) and the park! Of course, it's an older house with some older house issues. And that means a bit of a headache. And then our older house with older house issues would need to be sold and then... Yikes.

A small glass

2011-10-23T22:49:00.000-05:00

Tonight, as I did the dishes, a small glass fell from my grasp. I was carelessly picking it up, and it tumbled. I watched as it fell towards our very very hard floors. And then it bounced. Not once, not twice, but four times before it came to a rest, whole and unscathed. A miraculous glass.

I've been careless with myself too much lately. I've been running on empty and pushing myself to keep going. I know I am fragile, as all humans are. I know there are hard places to fall. And yet, I keep going without enough compassion for my own needs.

But I must be more alert, more aware, more present. My daughters need me. My husband (thank goodness he's home!) deserves more of me. But in truth, I need more of me. So, I'm taking a step back from this place.

More and less.

2011-10-20T20:17:00.000-05:00

I've been quiet this week. It's been one of those weeks. The lack of nap is taking a toll on Joy (and me) and while I can enforce a calm time, a quiet time, a snuggle time, I cannot make her sleep. So, I need to move up our nighttime schedule. And as long as I'm the only one doing bedtime, there will be one routine. Which means Joy stays up a bit, andGrace goes to bed earlier. It's the kind of compromise that no one quite wins at, but every other option is a losing one.

Here's the tragedy in all this. I need to stop taking Grace to her girl scouts meeting. It's too late in the evening. I've tried, desperately, to shift the time (even offering to take on more responsibility). If she didn't adore it, if it wasn't a place for me to connect with other moms too, I probably wouldn't have signed on at all. So, I feel very guilty about taking away one of her favorite things.

Then again, it was clear last year that ending the meetings at 7 (with a sugary snack!) and then the need to play on the playground for just a few minutes mommy, well, it just wasn't working for us. I could see her behavior slipping into exhausted grumps on the day after meetings. Oh it's not pretty. This year, it's gotten worse. And every meeting is the day before our weekly spelling and math tests. (why?)

So, I'm the mean mommy. I don't know what else to do. I knew it would crumble this spring when the baby comes, and my husband reminded me that it's better to keep it separate from the baby. Wise man.

And here's the thing, Joy is still tired, but she's less stressed. Which means I am too. Less screaming and wailing about nothing is always a good outcome. Even if there is a little more screaming and wailing about something.

Sometimes it stinks to be the mommy.

(And in related news, I get my partner back tomorrow!!! Oh, my goodness! And really it hasn't been a bad week, just a week full of responsibility and the clarity that I'm the only adult here to do it. Gosh, I am so amazed with single parents.)

Our weekend

2011-10-16T22:27:00.004-05:00

Last weekend, I felt a little frantic parenting solo. I thought, how will I fill the time and clean the house (a little) and cook and get a break and give the kids a great enough run around so they will sleep and not fall over? Oh, and our calendar was blank. Yikes! We survived. And while some moments were beautiful, it was mostly frantic.

This weekend was different. First, we had plans. Both days! And I had a million things that piled up on me (or snuck up on me) so I had goals. To heck with fun. I have to take my dog's urine sample in to the vet. Whoo-hoo. (Which by the way will have to happen next week. Sleep, blissful sleep was more important.) I had PLANS.

Saturday, I woke up to happy little person sounds, noticed it was unusually bright and a bigger little person was curled in next to me. Hmmm. Oh my god. I slept in until 9am! On most any day, this would be the supreme prize - but today we have a concert that starts at 10. Okay. Priorities. Dog out, dress, cereal. Go go go. We might make it, but the roads are crazy with construction and I'm still a baby downtown. I can't find the parking garage, and we have no time to walk, but there is a valet set up in front! We have five minutes! Wait. Where is the valet? Um. Crap. I try to call the box office. The don't answer on performance days. I pull the girls out of the car, walk up, and switch tickets for the 11:30 concert. I am a hero to my girls and as a blessing from the symphony gods, I get an extra ticket to the next concert since we bought four tickets, expecting to share this outing as a family. Oh, and the garage was plainly in sight if I could have just seen through the twenty construction barriers. We parked, and had an hour to fill. Hmmm. Too bad the Turkish fair across the street wasn't open yet. Instead, we went in search of muffins and tea. We found a nearby swanky hotel. I figured they'd be nice, we'd find muffins and not get lost. They were nice-ish. They only had english muffins. But we didn't get lost. (As a side note, when I pay 11 for pancakes, I expect real maple syrup to come too. Not the imitation stuff that gives me a tummy ache. I'd rather have the honey please. And if you put on airs about dressing appropriately, I expect impeccable service.) The concert was fun. Our symphony has a whole series of concerts geared to kids. It's awesome. The conductor, who clearly has a sense of humor, dresses up. This time, he wore an excellent prince costume (very period with a lovely golden dress coat and stockings and little black shoes with heels) and a lovely purple powder wig. Oh, and the ballet company got in on the action and did a few lovely dances. Both girls were thrilled. (Until Joy got a little tired. But that was just the last piece. Not too bad.)

We drove home exhausted. At least two of us. But you see I'd made the mistake of talking about a pumpkin patch in the morning, so Grace wanted to go there. NOW. Tired won. We went home. Only to realize that I left the milk out and forgot to feed the pets. So later we went to the grocery to get milk. Which turned out to be good since I needed to pick up my prescriptions. Oh, and we went to a cafeteria place where kids eat free Saturday. I paid 12 for all three of our dinners, with excellent service and no fake syrup. Hmm.

Sunday started a little earlier -8:30! We played outside. I cut the fabric for two white rabbit hoods - and an extra set of ears. But I forgot I need lining, so I have one more trip to a craft store later this week. Oh, the horror. (on my budget) I hurried the girls in when I needed a lie down, and they played quietly for an hour. A whole hour! Together! I know, I'm a little scared too. Then, we bundled ourselves out the door (it's still hot, so no bundling really) and went to a neat local museum that has a once a month free day for kids. Blue grass and zydeco music on a big lawn. Blackberry cobbler cooked the old fashioned way (in a Dutch oven at a campfire). Crafts and people dressed up as cookies (?) and a tour of the house on the property. It's filled with furniture from our country's past and is beautiful. Once again, I bundled a sleepy girl and a wired one home. But being out today soothed us all.

As I cooked dinner, the girls picked lettuce from our garden. I know, I know! For many it's past garden season, but after our summer of hades like heat, it's just finally starting to feel like the sun isn't trying to kill us. The birds are all singing brightly, some hopeful grass seeds have sprouted and everything feels softer around the edges. So, yes, a month ago, we planted our garden (in a raised bed my husband built) with seeds we sprouted inside and a few bought plants. The real standouts are a tomato and bell pepper that survived in containers through the whole summer of draught and pain. Now there are about 10 baby bell peppers and nearly 20 gorgeous yellow tomato flowers. We found our first green bean! And both girls ate a little green from our own soil.

Okay, so the plans didn't really have much impact on my weekend. Instead, I bent when I needed too and I let the girls be themselves instead of pushing for whatever is next. I'm not looking forward to the alarm clock tomorrow. 6:45 is going to feel terribly early. But, it was a good weekend. And next weekend, I should be back to sharing it with my team mate in the crazy parenting gig.

Fie on this peaceful life

2011-10-14T13:10:00.001-05:00

Voices clamor, cats meow, dog whines
The alarm clock started it's tune
too long ago. Time to rise.

Rush for breakfast, dress up it's
picture day, don't be late.
Errands, errands, circles, going going gone.

Impromptu lunch shared together, as the
Cafeteria echos with joyfully freed voices.
See you at pick up, homeward, finally.

Cats need food (oops), mommy poop.

Their energy and needs never cease
But my body yells for peace.

So, I find the bed, peaceful
at last, at least for now.

Today, I'm participating in Six Word Fridays, check it out.

Thursday shorts

2011-10-13T13:18:00.002-05:00

It's still hot here. I'm wearing shorts. Which is why I nixed the plan of making a full body suit for Joy's costume. She'd melt. But, when she saw the pattern for the hood, she changed her mind. She wants to be a bunny rabbit. And I thought that's an awesome costume for the pregnant lady too!

You know, we had rabbits once. I was little. Friends (ha!) gave us two. After about two years we had 17. Even after a few bunny funerals and bunny giveaways. Because, you know what bunnies do best.

We had all kind of pets and they had babies - cats, dog (not babies) rabbits, mice, gerbils, hamsters, rats (we'll get back to that), birds, the random lizard our cats tried to kill... In my house, we only have three pets - two cats and a dog. But, there is an unwelcome tenant in our attic. And I'm just going to say, though it pains me since I know rats are smart and not gross, but dude, I live in Texas and once you're in my houe, it's well within my rights to off you. So, move on. Or watch out. The traps are set (by someone else, because pregnant assassin is not a cute look). Go on. It's cooler outside (though not much).

* How obvious is it that Joy has decided this is the week to not nap, though she needs it and I need it and we're both grumpy and groggy and goofy?

The pile by my bed

2011-10-12T14:26:00.001-05:00

The girls have taken to curling into bed with me in the evening to read together. Last night, exhausted and finally listening to my body, I just dropped the books by the bed, cuddled down and went to sleep between to little ones.

Here are the books I found this morning--
Keep the Lights Burning, Abbie by Peter and Connie Roop
- Based on a true story of a girl who kept the lighthouse lit during a terrible storm. We found it while we were in Maine, where it took place, and then we rode a ferry named after the father who had to go for supplies and medicine.

Baby Farm Animals (classic golden books)
-because we all love animals here

The Owl and the Pussy Cat by Edward Lear, illustrated by Jan Brett
- I grew up with this nonsense and love it. And Jan Brett does wonderful pictures.

Jane and the Dragon by Martin Baynton
- Isn't it great to find a girl brave enough to do things that are unexpected!
Especially when she teaches a dragon to do the same as she saves the prince?

The Village of Round and Square Houses by Ann Grifalconi
- The author went to Africa where she found this remote village in the mountains of the Cameroons. I hope the village gets more than notoriety for the book, but find it a fascinating view into another culture.

Sacajawea: Her True Story by Joyce Milton
- You've seen the gold coins, and probably heard of her in passing. This is a good introduction to a brave, adventurous woman.

Can you tell we love stories about strong girls here? I have two. I want them to see their strength in the context of others (real and fictional) who do what they think is right, who pursue their passions, who do what is necessary. And though I am firmly of European descent, I think hearing stories (well written ones) from far and wide instills a healthy respect for cultures that are different from our own.

Fool that I am.

2011-10-10T23:13:00.004-05:00

I've felt the heavy tug of burdensome emotions all day. But I am not good at naming my emotions or even letting them peek into my awareness. They bubble and gurgle below a surface that is translucent on a good day. Today, those waters were white with froth. I can tell you something is wrong. But what and how? It's funny, I am deeply self aware about my physical reactions to life and my thoughts are a constant flow, but emotions, especially big ones, are so hard for me to understand. Writing that makes me feel stupid. What kind of fool doesn't know her own feelings? Then again, I know that it is a coping strategy. My emotions are big. BIG. Often, with time, they become a manageable size, but by then the moment to deal with them best has long since passed. Try telling your spouse why you were angry yesterday. Or last week. It's weird. I've gotten better about speeding up the time, but sometimes, like today, I just stay clueless.

I thought about telling you about how pounding the gate latch to try (in vain) to get it to open (it's swollen from our rains) so I could take out the trash cans made me realize that I'm angry and sad and frustrated and weary. See, physicality is a key for me, even with my emotions. But, then one of your dear comments pushed me in a different direction.

I've felt for much of this year like I am trudging uphill alone. I'm moving, but slowly. Sometimes I wonder why I feel so alone. I'm beginning to know people here. But, it's still just surface friendship. Not the kind of people you breath deeply with. Not the kind of friendships that bring you back to yourself after giving too much and then remind you that you are wonderful.

I've always had dear girl friends. I'm lucky. We grew up in one place, together, through thick and thin and goofy and mean. And then we scattered. Briefly, we all found ourselves back in our hometown, but again, we're far flung. In college, I had a few true dear ones who are now sprinkled across the country. It took me time, more than I was used to, but I found dear friends through playgroups and preschools and neighborhood groups. And then we moved. I miss my old home, for those friendships more than anything else.

I don't know if life is more complicated with two or if I've been a little lazy in building relationships. It doesn't matter. With each month that passes, I forget a little about what I like best about me. Not as a mom or wife, but as a woman and a friend. Sure, I need to cultivate those relationships around me. But I wonder, if I forget my zest and whimsy, my positivity and smile, my laugh and good listening; how could anyone else see them too?

Take a moment to think about what you bring that is unique and lovely to this world. If you can't think of it right now, call an old friend. She'll remind you.

(And by the way, fools just see the world differently.)

Murky and glittering.

2011-10-06T23:39:00.000-05:00

The last few days have been full. Mostly by my desire not to stop and think. And of course by laundry.

Today, Joy is mostly better. Like so many tummy bugs past, I thought we were in the 24 hour clear, when... Dang. And so, I'm back to laundry and cleaning messes that make my poor pregnant nose wish it were anywhere else. (Seriously, I had to take Joy into a port-a-potty today and after the week we're had, my nose said, eh, whatever. It's been bad folks. Bad.)

But really, the mess I'm shying away from is in my head. This morning, with waffles and peanut butter, we sent my husband off for two weeks straight. Two weeks. I feel like I shouldn't complain. My brother-in-law goes half away around the world for 4-6 months at a time. See. Two weeks is nothing.

For me alone, it would be fine. Even for me with two little dependents it's very doable. If something is to be done, I do it. Simple. But, there are big emotions brewing in both girls. We'll spend countless hours talking about when Daddy will come back. Tomorrow? No. Tomorrow? No. I made a calendar to make the days finite, but it doesn't take away the need to talk. And emotions seep from one to another.

'Daddy's at work.' Uh, huh. He's at work. 'I miss Daddy.' I know.

I've been emailing my sister a lot lately (schedules conflict, calls are hard), and she hit the nail on the head. Twice. First - sometimes it's easier to be the only adult in charge. Even when we enjoy the peace the change of the guard brings. For now, I make all the decisions. I'm drunk on my own power! But, I wish sometimes I could share the burden of responsibility. (Like yesterday, when the alarm went off and I knew I had to get up for school, but I'd just slept three hours, very interrupted, and I didn't care about school, we would sleep in. Daddy had to leave early that morning too.)

But her second beauty is this - when it gets easier, it gets harder. As my kids get bigger and sleep better, I expect more of myself, life, them. There is no way I can meet all these expectations. And so, I feel let down. It's vicious.

And yet, in these murky days I've had three glittering moments. First, I spend two hours talking with my husband. Two hours in deep conversation. Not trivialities of life. Real connection. And then, in the middle of the night, I took Joy into the bathtub to get us both all cleaned up. She was calm. So was I. We both giggled. It was just the two of us, together. Nothing external to do, nothing pressing, nothing needed. Just us. Finally, this morning, Joy heard her daddy up and had to go see what he was doing. Grace decided she wanted to stumble over to my bed and crawl in. She snuggled up to me. We spend thirty minutes half asleep knowing that we are loved.

I've felt so torn, so scattered, so disrupted. I can point to the million things that will make me feel more peaceful (cleaner house, more sleep, more time with friends) but really, what I need most is time to connect simply and purely with these, my loves.

Icky Sicky

2011-10-05T15:31:00.002-05:00

I'll be back once this tummy bug leaves our house. For now, it's laundry and naps and baths and laundry and new sheets. No time to think, much less write.

A little bit of this and that.

2011-10-03T13:00:00.000-05:00

My brain is too fractured for a full length, cohesive single thought. So.... random it is.

1. When I was out with friends on Thursday, talk turned to Starbucks. Orders were placed to rev up the afternoon (when I took my nap) and I said something which I think is actually very telling about me. I don't order their sizes. Small, medium and large are sufficient descriptions of size for me. Venti, Tall and Grande just feel wrong. One lady laughingly said that I should just get with the convention. Here's the thing, if I don't see the point to a convention, if it doesn't make sense in my little head, I don't do it. No matter how many times the fancy barista tells me that I should call my small drink a venti. (And by the way, do you have a standard order at such shops? I don't have a regular drink. Even when I'm not pregnant. Does that make me strange?)

2. I've started Grace's Halloween costume. And by started, I mean I cut out the pieces in the main fabric. She picked a beautiful batik fabric in all purple swirls and the contrast is also purple batik. I still need a good pattern for a hood for Joy's purple sateen monkey costume. (Maybe I shouldn't let her pick? Wait, of course I let the pick. Life is too full of things you don't get to decide.)

3. Speaking of Joy, she's taken to creating installation art pieces with toilet paper on the potty. They are often elaborately draped, meticulously placed. And they make it impossible to use the potty. I wish I could show you. But, the camera is still lacking a battery (it was lost on s summer trip and supposed to get mailed back), and our real computer is down with a virus. My husband promised to get it fixed, but he's been busy. Just a little. So, maybe 2012 will be the year for pictures. (And yes, I am completely aware that I can get it fixed, but I don't want to carry the heavy stupid thing to the store and wait in line with Joy and wait and wait. No thanks. I'll get by on my iPad. Since I have that I feel I can't really complain.)

4. Both girls nearly lost it (luckily to giggly silliness) in the grocery. I should have gone Thursday, but then it was the holiday, and then Friday was crazy and yesterday... Sunday, we were out of milk, cheese, soup, meat, fruit. There was no choice. What is normally a 10 minute drive took 40 minutes, after I waited too long to make the girls clean up beads they spilled everywhere. On the plus side, Grace felt really proud of cleaning up. And the fridge is stocked. Oh my, don't let a pregnant me in the store if my fridge is too bare. I get a little frantic about making sure there is food to spare. So, the food budget for October starts with a serious dent.

5. I got a massage this weekend. Sigh. I'm not into lots of primping, I don't like pedicures or manicures, and I rarely get a hair cut (too rarely, but if I have to choose between a hair cut and a massage, you know what I choose. Looking good comes with feeling good. Some might say it the other way.) But a massage is worth is every time. I get tense. It doesn't like to go away. Friday I barely slept for my achy shoulders. But now I'm all better.

6. I'm so not ready for the week ahead. Even with a fridge full and a meal plan and the laundry all clean and piled up. Ready or not, here it comes!

Preschool jitters, part two

2011-09-30T11:56:00.002-05:00

(If you want to read part one, here it is.)

Monday morning, we went to school. Joy said she didn't want to go, but she's said that before and walked in happily. So, we went. And she balked. And balked. A teacher came to coax us in. Joy was adamant. No.

I took her home.

The next school day I asked if she wanted to go. No. Okay. We didn't go.

And then I get a call. (I am terrible at remembering exact conversations, but these are some highlights. Or lowlights.)

'So, I was just wondering about how Joy is. Is she coming back?'

Well, I don't know. It depends on how she's feeling. I don't want to push her.

'There are plenty of kids in the class that were having a hard time and now they're so happy.'

...

' It's fine to offer a child a choice about blue markers or red, but not school...'

- I cut her off - I just have to disagree with you. She's two. She doesn't have to go.

'You're setting her up for failure. (!!!???) It will just be worse it the next time you try.'

That's not my experience. My older daughter had serious separation anxiety, not just tears at drop off, but stress that interfered with every area of life. When she was three, she was ready. Really ready. No tears. I will not push my child into school. It's not necessary.

'She's just manipulating... You're teaching her...

If I'm teaching her anything its that her mother listens to her. She's not manipulative. (As a side note, if she is trying to control things, this is her life and what's wrong with that?)

And it just got worse.

Let me be clear. I know some kids cry 5 minutes and then are HAPPY. I know some parents who have no choice about child care. My reaction doesn't apply at all in those circumstances. This is about me and my child. And a teacher who pushed too hard.

Under good conditions, teachers know what's happening classrooms. They understand the dynamics of groups of kids better than I do. They certainly know the trends in emotions better too. However, parents know their children best.

And my inkling was that Joy's sudden concern about school wasn't about me. She's ready for independence. Really. She is. Later, in a brief moment with her daddy, she told him all about school. 'My friends cry. My good friend cried and went home. I didn't cry.' (Crap. Another stoic child. Teachers don't always support stoic ones as they need. Despite her anxiety, Grace is amazingly stoic. For others.) This teacher who just told me my parenting sucked didn't know what was upsetting my daughter in the classroom. At all.

My reaction to the chaos and high emotions in her class? Right on. Of course it is frightening to a child to see 10 others cry. And if the teachers are busy comforting these, what does she get? Doll time? I know when I called she was always engaged. And sometimes the class would be happy as a whole. But. My girl is sensitive. She feels the feelings around her, and though she doesn't always react in kind, it effects her.

My hope was to give it a little time, and allow her to see that the kids had calmed down. My hope was to let her ease herself back to where she wants to be. However, after the conversation I had, I cannot send her back to that classroom.

I do not easily fall out with someone. We can disagree about politics and parenting and climate change and it's okay. We can be friends. But. If you tell me that my choices (valid choice, choices that DO NO HARM!) are wrong. If you fail to listen, even as I keep my cool and calm and speak respectfully and comment often about understanding how things work differently for different kids. If you fail to see my daughter for who she is, after several hours with her. Well. That last one. It's a nail in the coffin of any relationship we'll have that involves my child.

Now. This is tricky. I still like the school. And would like to go back in the future. So, how do I handle her withdrawal? Do I explain about what made my daughter upset? Do I tell the director what pushed me to the edge of a decision? Or do I swallow hard and just say it's not working, but we hope it will next year?

No school, let's play

2011-09-29T17:00:00.004-05:00

Today is Rosh Hashana (happy new year!), and we have our official fall holiday from school. Unlike last year, we can't make a three day weekend of it and go visit friends or family, school is back tomorrow, but we did find our way to fun.

Early this morning, despite the threats of drizzle, we went to the park, met some friends and played. I thought it would be a short morning, cut off by the need to have an early lunch and nap. But we all went to lunch together and then, oh glory, my friend offered to take Grace for nap time. I had quiet! I have friends! Grace has friends! And not just we see you here and there folks, but come over even though it's a mess folks. That's the way to start the new year!

When I went to get Grace, those big girls were happy and the moms were too, so we hung out for another hour. And now it's dinner time, spelling word time, and a big old thunderstorm time. Rumble rumble. I love a good storm. Everything feels clearer.

We're having beans and rice. It's easy. Like our dinners all week - pizza (crust bought from the store), soup and sandwiches, pancakes and eggs. My guy's away. Cooking meat turns my stomach. I want easy. We have spaghetti for tomorrow. I know so very creative. Any suggestions for Saturday?

Parenting confessions

2011-09-28T11:06:00.005-05:00

Amber called us to confess...

1. As much as I enjoy being home, and I do crave time at home, after a certain number of times of spilling the crayons everywhere or demanding something, I need change. I realize this is my need, not theirs. When I had just one, getting out of the house would pop me out of a funk easily. We could go just about anywhere. With two, it's worse then a trip to the dentist. They go different speeds, I forget the sippy cup and the snack (less now that I need snacks every two hours too) and then we all collapse into a terrible, hungry, upset mood. I have yet to find a place that suits us. And once I do, it will all change again. So, we stay in more than I'd like.

2. I have never been an angry person. My emotions are easy to control. Or so they seemed. Kids can push every button, often at once, and I get to the edge of my reserve, the edge of my power. When I feel the primal urge to scream, I do my best to make sure they are safe and then flee. Mommy needs a time out. Often in the bathroom. But sometimes in the kitchen. When I am followed, I give my kids the scary eyes that say, oh hell no, you stay out. I try to say, I need a minute, but sometimes it's better just to keep my mouth shut.

3. I did yell at my daughter for pooping in her pants once. She was potty trained (like for a year, people!) and we just had a new baby and I was DONE with cleaning up the sh*# of two little ones. Especially when I knew, oh I knew she could make it to the potty. So, I yelled. Even though I knew that wouldn't help. My girl doesn't do well with yelling. And even if she were, yelling about a bodily function, really? Bad me. (I've yelled before and since and I am sure I will again. Though I wish I wouldn't. Sometimes time out comes too late.)

4. I have turned on dinosaur train in order to get some ... errr... special time with my husband.

5. Yesterday, when Joy decided she didn't want to go to school, I said okay, brought her home and then essentially ignored her for an hour. Apparently, my need for a little time was pressing.

6. For all my talk about chores, there have been markers all over our carpet for the past 36 hours. At least I did the dishes, right?

7. Having a yard is my saving grace. Outside is the magic potion for most kids (that or tv and I save tv for special occasions). I used to play with my kids outside. Or at least push them on the swing. Not any more. Find your own play, kiddos.

8. I let my kids do things that are forbidden (like jump on the bed) if it means they're happy and I get a moment to breath or read or tidy up. But not the markers. They belong on the carpet, right?

Go check out Amber's place for more parenting confessions and nonjudgmental parenting.

Expectations, shifting

2011-09-27T18:20:00.001-05:00

We were supposed to have the weekend. This weekend. To be the four of us. To just be. I knew work might interfere. I knew busy-ness was at our door like a wolf, lurking. Ready to invade. But we had this weekend coming up. It would be a last chance for uninterrupted naps and a little house TLC.

I should know better than to bank on expectations. I hate expectations. They always lead me to feel angry. The unmet expectation. The unfulfilled hope. I sound jaded. Maybe I am. It's just that expectations are where trouble comes in in my life.

When I got married, a friend said that marriage changes things because we expect different behavior from a spouse then from a boyfriend or girlfriend. It's true. I never expected my guy to be handy. Until we were married. But I grew up in one house, one house with certain ways of being, very very different from my in laws. My parents shared cleaning, cooking, childcare. My father did all the yard work and maintained the house. Complete with newly built furniture. My in laws separated tasks. The wife cooked and cleaned and outsourced maintenance. The husband worked and rested. And did hobbies that were his own. He has gotten more involved as time went by. We all change. But, the ideas, the ideals, the basis of expectations were set in those early years. (And to my husband's credit, he works hard to adjust his expectations to find a middle ground.) I worry about the example we are setting. Will my girls expect all the house care to be primarily their job? I hope not. It's a task better shared.

When I had kids, I had to learn anew that expectations must meet the person where they are. I had read about Vygotsky's idea of scaffolding with children as a student. Its brilliant and simple in theory, but asking a child to do just what is beyond their ability with just the right kind and amount of help is a constant challenge. And it constantly changes. I remember, with shame, the anger I felt at then two year old Grace when she wouldn't listen to directions. Don't put your hand in the dog water! But she needed more then words. She needed a gentle hand to corral her away and help her find something else interesting. But if I didn't expect her to follow directions and rules, it would be a hindrance to her now.

It's not that I don't believe some expectations are essential in life. I expect to be treated with kindness and understanding by my family. (They do their best.) I expect my children to love books and to want to learn. (Thank goodness they do.) I expect those who partake in a meal to say thank you and help clear up. (It's been known to happen.) I expect my dog to bark when the mailman comes. She never lets me down on that one. But maybe I just expect her to be a dog and so it comes naturally.

It seems to me, that the less you expect from life the easier it is to accept what you must do. Like wash the dishes every night. Every night. Every night. Every night. And fold the clothes and put them away and feed the dog and do all the bedtime rituals that finally free up a moment of silence. Those rare ones I struggle with. I expect help. Even though it is not in the normal flow of the life I actually live. My husband's hours are long. Bedtime is mine. He travels. If I don't do dishes and laundry and pet care, no one will. And he does help when he's around.

Is it clear that this weekend is a work-full weekend? A weekend without break for either of us? It will be okay. I just have to stop, vent, and readjust my expectations. I'm feeling better now.

Left, left, left right left...

2011-09-26T13:13:00.003-05:00

I started to write something else today, wanting to write deeply on s subject that matters to me. The words are sticky, they refuse to get organized. I know it's to do with my life right now, which is filled to the brim. By a desire for sleep (oh, dear Joy, please don't drop your nap!). By constancy of needs (I'm one week into a month of near solo parenting here, wish me luck). By too many idea floating in my head. (I'm reading about homework and the economy and what characteristics make us strong. I'm thinking about how life changes, how pregnancy is so different each time, how we make our choices and how much we judge ourselves.) By my realization (how many times will I re-realize this?), that if I want anything in my life to change, I have to be the agent of change. From the state of chaos I call a home to the brief connections I hope will sprout into community.

Oh, and I'm going to sew a very fancy Halloween costume for Grace. She needs to be a princess with flared sleeves and a dress that goes to her ankles. Purple, of course. Joy wants to be a monkey. Purple. Thankfully a monkey is made by ears and a tail, so that one isn't too taxing. Actually, I am thrilled about making things with my hands. This weekend, we made bread and banana bread and I made brownies for my date with my husband. We went for a walk in the nearby woody area. Oh, my heart, the trees that have died! It's terrible. But, making things, being in nature, reading books of ideas, having friends over, that is the beginning of gathering steam. I've felt stagnant a bit. Stifled a bit. Unsure of how to get where I want to go. It's one foot in front of the other, nose pointed determinedly in the direction I hope to go. Right back to me.

Time's incessant pacing

2011-09-23T08:51:00.002-05:00

Out of step, off the beat,
My timing is just not right.
I cannot keep pace with anything.
Not myself, my girls, the clock.

I tell myself to go slow
To accept my rhythm, my pace.
But I feel the seconds pacing
I feel the world racing, racing.

Breathe. Pace yourself. Don't pace. Be.
In the moments this voice persuades,
I feel peaceful in time's swirl.

Go to Melissa's for more Six Word Fridays.

Go read this, too

2011-09-22T07:00:00.000-05:00

My brain is overstuffed right now. Good things- new books, different ideas. Annoying things- homework dramatics, small regressions. Exhaustion, of course. Some I'm hoping to talk about more. Some I just can't, which really bugs me.

One thing I deeply enjoyed reading lately is this article from the New York Times magazine. It's not a short read, or an easy one. It's filled with the kind of ideas that make you question yourself as a parent. Am I smoothing too much of the way for my girls? How do I encourage them to learn the things that matter, not the vocabulary words or how to add, but how to be strong, how to persist?

I don't have answers, just more questions. But I like these questions. They leave me leaning outward, wanting to think deeply.

Clean up this mess, right now!

2011-09-21T13:28:00.004-05:00

Chores.

Gosh, we're a mess over here. Always.

The art supplies sprawl out.

The dolls cavort with dust bunnies.

The laundry piles are shout - wash me, fold me, put me away!

I wrote down what I want my kids to do. This list isn't about perfection, it's about learning self discipline, about being part of the solution, about giving them opportunities to see concrete results of their actions.

Make their beds. Yes, even a two year old can throw a pillow around and push her sheet up. It's better than pillows and blankets enjoying conferences with the dog hairs, right?

Put away what they use. This one is trickier. I have to lead the charge. Okay, soldiers, it's time to put the puzzle away before you get out Candy Land. Step lively! My darling husband rarely sees the value in timely tidying, which leads me to throw out sets missing pieces. (He says, it's in the house, we'll find it, but I know our black hole better. It's gone. Until 85 days after the trash has left. Then it will reemerge, unscathed.)

Take their dishes to the counter. Yes, sometimes things break. But thats just a chance for me to sweep and vacuum and mop. Hooray!

Put their shoes in the shoe basket. I've only succeeded in teaching Joy this skill, but she often puts mine away too, so it's something.

Put away folded laundry. We have simple drawers - underwear, shirts, pants/skirts). I pile each type together and let them go. Who cares what it looks like in their drawers, as long as the clothes are away! Someday, I'll teach them to hang their dresses. Someday.

The problem is that I am not consistent enough, either with myself or them. So we're trying a chart. As I was thinking about this topic, I wrote down my chores. Gosh it's a long list. I won't share it. You have your own, right? Let's see how gold stars get me motivated. But, no matter how many gold stars I get in a day, our house will be joyfully messy, full of interesting projects scattered here and there.

Go check out Amber's place for more ideas about chores.

Clouds, gray and mottled

2011-09-19T22:26:00.003-05:00

I've been trying and trying and trying to find words to wrap around these feelings, but perhaps I'm trying too hard. I'm going to Just Write with Heather of the EO today. No editing, little thinking, just writing.

This morning there were clouds, dark clouds, low clouds. After storm clouds. They made the world feel cozy. It's been a long time since we had rain, and we had rain and rain and rain this weekend. The sky has been so blue, I almost forgot the glorious shadings of grays and whites that bring texture and height to the sky.

This morning, as I drove back from school drop off, there was a rift in the clouds. It was low, near the horizon, but somehow the light filtered up past a dark, hard edge into soft drawn out fluff.

All day the clouds changed. I had several appointments and places to be, and each time I looked up, it was different. Once it was strikingly blue with a few clouds meandering pleasantly. An hour later, it was gray again, with depth and breadth. Back when I lived in Chicago, I had a hard time understanding the clouds that would settle in during winter, low flat gray clouds. I missed the exploration of perspective, the studies of black and white etched in the sky.

That's a long lead in to what I really want to say.

When I was 11, I looked up one day and saw a lady in the sky. I knew at that moment that my Granny was dead. She had fought valiantly for a long time, my whole lifetime really. Every time I try to write about her, I fail. She is too big a force to confine in my poor words. Her laugh filled the room. Her hugs were life affirming. Her opinions strong and firm and true. To her. She hated blue, it wasn't really a color. She made even the simplest social gathering a party. No, I should say a PARTY. She was loud and loving and fierce. And she saw me and adored me.

When I was 13, I dove into a research project for my science class about leukemia. We all had to pick a disease and my Pop (my grandpa) had just been diagnosed. I learned everything I could. The day I went to present my project, complete with poster board and models of the blood cells present normally and during leukemia, my mom seemed off. Everyone did. It wasn't until that evening that any of them bothered to tell me Pop was no longer here. He was the oil to Granny's vinegar. Soothing, calming, steady, with a mischievous grin and a handkerchief that acted like a mouse. He was the quiet joy that came from a life lived lovingly, and from passionate sailing.

This week, I am thrown back into mourning for them. The house I knew them in, the house I played in Granny's bubble baths and learned to sail at Pop's elbow, the house we made apple sauce and silly gadgets in the little fish house down the field, where I can still hear their voices echoing. That house is no longer ours.

It has been in our family six generations, if you count my girls. Though Joy will never remember it. That alone is a tremendous gift. And it was a terrible burden too. It is a homeplace full of ghosts of joys and sorrows. Tragedies happened there. Fires had to be put out, people rushed by hearse to boat to mainland for medical care. Luckily to return in a normal car. And there were terrific joys. My sister planted a tree instead of having an engagement ring. Just last month, my cousin's proposed to a lovely lady under the apple trees.

And so, I'm back to clouds. They float through all day. Gray and white. Fluffy and unbearably beautiful, low and powerfully ominous. Showing patches of blue, yielding to the expanse of shocking fall blue.

A simple day

2011-09-18T22:32:00.001-05:00

Sunday morning, I went got up early with the girls. I usually let them get my guy up, up first, but I went to sleep about five hours before him, and since it was 7am, we'd slept in! We played and got the right kind of cereal in only the second bowl. Gosh, being two is hard, isn't it! And then we played with stamps. I made pancakes (because cereal only gets you so far) and woke up my sleepy man up because I had a bee in my bonnet to go to church.

So I waved goodbye to the family and went. They have a perfectly timed morning service, but no big kid stuff at the same time, and since I've only been to this church once before, I just wasn't sure how that would go. Clearly, two years in and we're still church shopping. I'm kind of difficult about my church. I need to feel at home and be challenged to live better. I'm really happy if I find interesting people in my pew and intellectual stimulation from the sermon. So, I search.

Anyway, I walk in 10 minutes late, because I left five minutes late and then got lost in one way streets. Still, not bad. I made it. As I sat down, I noticed the lady behind me with a very young baby, and another across the aisle. Both discretely breastfeeding. It reminded me of the first time I took Grace to church when she was three months old. I was a bit terrified of feeding her in public, so I was housebound more then I needed to be. That changed when I flew across the country with my husband for two weeks for is work and a change of scenes and visit dear family friends who lived way up there now. These folks are salt of the earth, loving and kind, full of song and good food and joy. They are my aunt and uncle without any blood relations. And when they wanted to show is their beautiful church, we went. I said I was scared. My Auntie looked at me and said, no, dear, you just make yourself at home. So I did. In a grand 100+ year old church.

The sermon today was given by a lay person. They are celebrating experiences this month, and she was talking about what sustained her through the death of her husband. Her stories were poignant and I wiped a few tears here and there. I love that she summed it all up with this - faith (or trust), love, time, and mystery were what carried her through that shadowed time. Accepting and enjoying the beauty of the mystery that is life and death!

I came home to two freshly scrubbed girls who had splashed in puddles with their daddy. We had RAIN! Both days this weekend! RAIN! We had a full, full day after that. Now, I hear peepers of some sort chirping away. It's a sound I never heard before moving here, but it's been largely lacking this summer. And the baby within bumps and kicks while my two big girls rest, gathering energy for their school days ahead.

Tomorrow is a new week. I hope to live in that faith and love, humbled by the glorious mystery that is each moment of time.

Rambling Friday

2011-09-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

1. Monday, my doctor told me something I never thought I would hear. I need to start gaining weight. Since I got pregnant, I've lost five pounds and stayed there. So, yeah, it's time to gain. Since all I crave is non-fat yogurt and peaches, it's a little tricky. But tonight, I found (and wanted) a hidden stash of chocolate ice-cream. Yum.

2. I've been struggling to figure out what is wrong with my kids at bedtime. It must be their problem, right? They get all worked up. Hmmm... Today, as I read to Joy at nap time, I realized. It's me. It's all me. I'm rushing and frantic to be done. And they are catching it. Don't you just hate it when it's all you? So, tonight I slowed down. I decided it would take however long it would take and they fell asleep almost an hour before our terrible new normal. It wasn't perfect, there is more streamlining to be done, but, it is me. Wait, maybe I should love that is was me. I can fix it.

3. Over the last week, we built a raised bed garden. And by we, I mean my guy did most of the work. I did hammer in a bunch of nails, and Grace helped a few too. Joy even helped dump dirt in. Tonight, after dinner, I finally planted the seedlings the girls and I started a few weeks ago. I hope they like their new home.

4. I stepped on a toy. It was hard and plastic and mean. Really mean. It left a nasty little cut right on my arch. Mean toy is in the trash.

5. I was cleaning the kitchen sink. Which is of course, when I hear a voice -- 'Mommy!?! I neeeeeed you!' I find the source of the voice. In the bathroom. The mess I found... Well, let's just say lots of clorox met it's fate today. And the bathroom is now clean. So, that's good.

6. This weekend we have NO plans. That's about as awesome as it gets.

Night and morning

2011-09-15T11:48:00.001-05:00

It's bedtime. But I don't want to begin the battle. It's been a battle every night the last two weeks. They are not ready, not ready, not ready to be still or quiet.

But at this moment, they are sitting quietly in another room, Grace reading to Joy. Well, first, Grace 'painted' Joy's toe nails with crayons. It's their new thing. But, whatever they are doing, they are happy. And the calm of the evening is descending on me too.

My husband is off on an adventure tonight, the start of something big for him, something good for us all. I miss him in the evenings when I am spent. I miss support through the bedtime battle. But, in truth, our bedtime is during his work day, so it is rare indeed that he is here. It's me and my girls. I'll really miss him tomorrow morning.

When I had just one, I often thought about the world as the two of us against it all. Not that my guy isn't essential. He is. But differently. I have never defined myself by my relationship, nor felt defined by it. I adore him. He enriches my life with passion and truth. And we are a team. But we're not always pulling the same wagon. Often our work is done in concentric circles.

I've been thinking a lot about the past recently. About my first trimesters with each of my girls. About the BIG sonogram. (This time, like before, we left the gender a surprise.) About picking OBs and hospitals and the countdown to the end. About schedules and school. About subtle and dramatic shifts each time we have gone down this road.

************************

The moment of peace ended, I was needed, we struggled and finally succumbed to sleep. First Grace, then Joy, and then I was the worst offender. I am exhausted, but those quiet moments at night are so enticing, I can hardly convince myself sleep is better. And then, once I did sleep last night, Joy woke. A lot. Nothing was obviously wrong. I think she's growing. So, this morning, like most of my mornings, started with a little foggy moment. 'If I turn off the alarm, they'll sleep too, right? We could just skip school and sleep, right?' As reality sets in, I try to collect myself, gather myself for a day of going. I have to rouse them, I have to get Grace to school. I have to move. Now.

This particular morning, I moved, slowly, but toward the goal. We've been running later and later this week, and it had to end. Everyone got dressed. I even had a shower. We got breakfast. We even had time to do two girls hair. Then shoes. Oh, shoes. Why? It's PE day for Grace and she has to wear appropriate shoes. She tried to get by with the wrong ones. No. Find your sneakers. (Do you call them tennis shoes or sneakers or what?) 'Moooommmmmmmmmm, I can only find one.' Look again. 'Mommmmmmmmmm, I did.' Look again. I do poorly with feigned incompetence. The shoe was in or by the shoe bin. If she looked, she would find it.

Joy, find your shoes. She did, and sat nicely on our one carpet to put them on. I returned to find the mysterious sneaker. It was right where I thought it would be. More feigned incompetence. 'Mommmmmmm, I can't untie it.' Really? Shoes on. Let's go! 'Mommmmmmmmmyy, I peed.' oh? Joy needs new clothes.

Now we're on the edge of late, the edge of my patience, the edge of my little sanity.

I need sleep. I just hope I don't listen to the siren calls of the silence tonight.

Preschool jitters

2011-09-13T13:09:00.001-05:00

Last spring, sure of myself, I signed Joy up for preschool. It's just two days a week, 9-12. She needs more time with kids her age. I think she's ready, and I am too...

But the truth is, I'm not ready to let her go. Once they go to school without me, our time is no longer just our own. The sense of freedom and ease that I love about being a stay at home mom is gone. (I have to remind myself that that sense of freedom is bought with freedom too. I often find myself trapped too.) Its been different with Joy. We've always had school schedules in her life. And now she's learning about homework too!

On top of the time, my sense of knowing my whole child starts to erode. Yes, of course, I still know my babies. Both of them. But, as their worlds expand beyond me, there are parts of their lives that are unreachable to me. And I want this. I want them to have big worlds, full worlds. I want them to navigate life on their own with ease. But it's hard for me to let them go.

This is the second week of school. We missed yesterday since my OB appointment was during drop of (and actually extended to pick up). The first day, she walked in confidently. She was a bit confused by all the little ones who were in tears. But, still, she did well. She was actually angry I picked her up early! (the only way to keep her nap is to pick her up close to 11!) Today, again, she walked in calmly. But when I picked her up, her lips trembled. She shook with emotion in my arms. Like her big sister, she is stoic to the outside world, hiding her tears. She saved them for me.

So, now I don't know what to do. Has she caught some of the sadness from her classmates? Did she like some of her day? She doesn't have the words to answer these questions. This is exactly why I didn't send Grace to school alone until she was three. And boy was she ready then. No tears (until her best friend said no girls allowed) at all.

Joy still longs for time with other little ones. She still is ready, I think. But I may be changing my mind about if we're ready for the changes that school brings. Next year is very soon too.

*Please know, this is just about me and my reaction, not about what anyone else should or should not do.*

The air

2011-09-08T09:19:00.000-05:00

This morning, as I opened the door to let my dog out, cool air met me. Cool! Gentle, loving air, soft cool air! After the summer we've had, the relief is palpable. Every one seems calmer. Except my dog who is finally willing to run like the banshee she truly is. Maybe I can correct that. Everyone is acting more like themselves.

When the dry winds brought in the cool air, we celebrated with two days of outside all the time time. We've been inside for months. When you're used to sweating at 8am, just from a leisurely walk to the car, this change of weather is glorious.

But, we didn't know what else these winds brought.

Texas is parched. We're in a drought that is predicted to last another year. And already some trees around my neighborhood are dying. Or just giving up for the year. If you don't water religiously (only on the city approved days) your lawn is brown. And if you do, patches may be going anyway. I read an article about spontaneous combustion of the grass by a road in Austin weeks ago.

Fires have been a problem all year, but those winds, those glorious cooling winds, they made it worse. A fire popped up in central Texas (last I knew no one is certain of the cause). It's close to my birthplace, my family, my friends. With dry fuel and a whipping wind, it spread. And spread. People have been evacuated. This morning, local news said that they estimate nearly 1400 houses had been destroyed by this 34000 acre fire. There is a smaller (only 8000 acres) fire closer to my part of Texas. It's not close enough to be a threat to us, but this morning when I opened the door to that sweet cool air, it smelled of smoke.

If you pray, pray for the firefighters and men and women flying aircraft as they try to quell the fires. Pray for the families who wonder if they have a home to go back to. Pray for my hurting home state.

When you gotta go, you gotta go...

2011-09-06T22:32:00.003-05:00

Ah, nothing like a quote from Annie. And such a truism too. Kids and toilets. Hmmm. This can go no where good. But, don't thank me for the topic. Go by Amber's to see more...

1. I forget there is even a door on our bathroom. No point in closing it, someone will open it within 10 seconds. And if I lock it, the screams will be more disruptive then a little person just coming in. I guess I should teach them to knock. I did try my best to remember the door Monday while my in laws were in the house. That's good right?

2. Potty training is an enigma. I would offer advice, but I am wise enough to know that I know nothing. You have to listen to them. It's hard.

3. New potties at school are tricky.

4. You'd think I'd be scared when my child fell into the toilet. It scared her. A lot. I just laughed. It was funny. And she was safe. (Oh, and it's happened to both of my girls. One wouldn't go near a big potty again for months. The other didn't care.)

5. I worry about what will happen when my girls get older. My sister had a mean friend (actually two, but the other story doesn't involve toilets, so I'll save it for another day). Really mean. I don't know what I did to deserve it, but she flushed my head in the toilet. (face up, thank god.)

6. I'm pretty sure self flushing toilets are the work of evil. Seriously. Loud and scary.

7. In a related note, one of my girls LOVES to flush. She runs to the lever! The other one is testing a theory that sooner or later whatever is left inside will disappear.

8. This fear of flushing may have something to do with the fact our toilets overflowed with shocking regularity when we first moved it. Water coming out of the potty, that's just scary to everyone. Except the plumber. He just saw dollars flowing.

9. Sadly, the big cylindrical toy someone stuck in a toilet wasn't the only cause for overflows. But it did stop the toilet pretty good. In fact, the only way to get it out was to take off the whole throne and bang it. Our plumber said he would either get it out or break our potty trying. Luckily for our dollars, the awful jiggling toy came out. And went straight into the trash.

What have we learned? Privacy is relative. Or for relatives. We all learn differently. Some girls are mean, but I hope my laughter never came off mean. Some technology is questionable at best. And don't look in my potty. You never know what lurks within.

Good morning in dare...

2011-09-06T07:00:00.000-05:00

Joy woke up in the middle of the night, needing water and mama. After I filled a sippy cup, I pulled her in bed with me, hoping it wouldn't leak, wanting sleep more then anything.

A couple hours later, the light just kissing the sky, I heard tip toes coming into my room. If I just pretend to sleep, will Grace join us? I played possum. She slipped into bed by Joy and whispered, 'good morning!' Joy shifted. Just play dead I thought!

Suddenly, there in the bed next to me was a giggling pile of girls. Nose kisses, cheek kisses, 'No, Joy, no biting', more giggles, more silliness. (Just play dead, maybe they'll decide they want Dad!)

It's been so cold, I actually put a quilt on the bed. (By cold I mean the AC didn't run all night. So, of course, I'm joking. It's new to me and precious, and it only belongs on a bed.) Grace decided she needed to go spelunking. Under she went. Joy followed. More giggles. I had to peek in on them. 'No, mama, close the door.'

There was more giggling and twisting. Grace found herself next to my growing belly. She put her hands on and started singing and talking. 'Hi baby! I hope you're a girl!' Joy joined in. 'Hi, baby! ... (she looked at me) You have a baby in dare?' When I said yes, she smiled.

That's a good way to start the day.

Happy Labor Day!

2011-09-04T23:23:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling futile recently. Each task quietly multiplies or simply refuses to be finished.

Examples from Friday...

Call the doctor to change the prescription (it's insane for a vitamin to cost 50 a month WITH insurance.) check. Oh, wait, I didn't leave the number to the pharmacy.

Call to get pet flea meds ready. Check. Oh, wait, I don't have a chance to pick them up.

Write my friend a letter. Um. Paper? Construction paper. Okay. Pens? No. Only crayons. Every one of which is broken into tiny pieces. Hmmm. (Yes, I hand write one friend letters regularly. We both enjoy it. I'd probably write more if others did too... You do what works, right? ) Add to list, get new pens. Keep them highER up.

Call my mom. Assuage my daughter guilt. (You can only get four emails saying you're out of touch, before you must call. Even if you write nice longwinded emails back.) Abruptly say goodbye when the topic veers somewhere you don't want to go. Add to that guilt. Accept that there will be more emails wondering (demanding?) a better time to call. Sigh.

So, with our glorious three day weekend, did I plan a trip out of town? No, after my summer, that sounds awful. I enjoyed every trip, but there were a lot of them! Did we invite guests? No. Or did I plan to fraust the day away on the couch (as if my girls would allow that!)? No. I decided it was time to deconstruct the kitchen and sanitize the cabinets. And then I went through all the toys and reorganized them, cleaning the built-in they live in as I went. Then I attacked the linen closet. and that was just Saturday. Oh, I have plans for tomorrow! (But I just learned we're having a last minute visit. So much for my exciting plans!)

So much of what fills my days repeats in endless cycles. There is no end to dishes, laundry, baths, meals. That's okay. Life is constant motion. But just today, I wanted to do something that will take more then a minute or a day to undo. I needed the sense of accomplishment that comes not from the process, but the product.

In the process, I got three hours ALONE. Just enough to miss the noise and chaos that is my always.

For East Africa

2011-09-02T08:34:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago, I stumbled around the BBC news website. I do this on occasion when I feel wholly out of touch with the world. I have friends and family scattered to the winds and though I am a terrible long distance friend (I love you just the same, but I forget to write or call), I like to know what's going on where they are.

One dear friend of mine is working in Africa. She has a beautiful vision for children of the world and a realistic sense of what nonprofits can do. So when I go to the BBC, I always check out the news in Africa. It doesn't make front page news here, not that I'm reading the paper often but still. I found myself reading heartbreaking stories of people finding their ways to camps in Kenya in search of food. East Africa is griped by drought, and in Somalia they are also mired in war. They felt no choice but to leave, sometimes leaving behind weak or sick or young ones. My heart broke a little more with each story. But I couldn't stop reading. Now, when I click a little more, I find dire predictions for a long lasting drought and continuing famine.

And then this week, I came to Jeannie's place, A Lady In France. A while ago, I read about her time in Africa and you should too. But on this day, I found a link to a what would you give up to help those who are starving in East Africa.

I believe in sharing (without gruesome details) the difficulties of the world with my girls. Joy is too young to understand but Grace gets it. Grace already gathered up the few coins she possesses and put them in an envelope. 'Will this help?"

Yes, honey. It will.

And so will the money I save from not going out to eat this week and the money I will save by making do with the maternity clothes that I have instead of adding more. Oh, I long for something flattering and colorful and cool to cover my belly, especially since I gave away much of my maternity wardrobe six months ago, but I would rather know those dollars helped fill bellies and souls in need.

What would you give up?

How 45 minutes made me reflect on the nature of time

2011-09-01T07:00:00.000-05:00

Time moves differently for my children. Minutes stretch into eternities, whole weeks simply disappear. What feels to me like a cobbled together day of hither and thither is an adventure if I look to them (and don't rush rush rush them along).

Today was a bit of a mess with household chores to do and school drop off and pick up and gym for both girls (their only extracurricular this fall) and dinner to make and nap to plead for and library books to return, but that will have to happen tomorrow, and homework to do, and nasal saline to find because a certain runny nose just won't quit. I felt ragged several times throughout the day. My attention frayed. But every time I looked up, my girls were focused and present and enjoying this moment. Sometimes today, I almost felt like there were no moments to enjoy. My tunnel vision on what's necessary keeps out what's essential.

We had about 45 minutes at home between things. Often I would fill that with an errand, but we had a violin that had to come home, so we did too. I fretted about what I wasn't getting done. And then I noticed that they were fine. 45 minutes can be long. Long enough to eat three snacks each. (Hungry girls.) Long enough to practice all our spelling and vocabulary words. Long enough to color a picture. Long enough for two complete wardrobe changes. So, I breathed and relaxed a little and my pregnant back pain eased a bit. My mind stopped racing and the rest of the day went well.

Thinking of how time works differently for my girls, reminds me of something I find shocking, in a good way. It is the time it takes to forgive. Both of my girls forgive quickly and fully. They are completely enraged, I am terrible and horrible and no good. And then, the light shifts, we find a new moment and they have left that anger and resentment behind. Me, well, it takes a while for the frustration and anger to drain. And when it does, I often feel empty, not full of love. But they are back to themselves in a flash. Filled with smiles and joy.

Did I once possess this skill? If I did, where did it go? It would come in handy in life to not hold a grudge, to let the past be in the past and to move forward with the assurance that what's most important is ahead.

Sleep?

2011-08-31T07:00:00.001-05:00

In my 6+ years as a mom, I've done it all in terms of trying to get my kids to sleep.
Really. They've slept in my bed, in my room, in their own beds, down the hall, but never across the house. I wouldn't guess they'd sleep well in the kitchen. I've soothed them with milk, my arms, laying by them; I've left the room to wails (and giggles) and lights on with books to read. I went with the flow, watching for signs of sleepiness and I've been rigid about THE schedule. I would call our sleep philosophy ever evolving.

Here is what I believe about sleep. 1. Routines help a lot. But a routine takes time and cannot be rushed excessively without bringing on chaos. 2. All children will learn to self soothe, whether they cry it out or you go to them every time. 3. Sleep is the most precious thing. And while it makes no sense, sleep begets sleep. A good nap often means a better night. Weird.

When it comes down to it, sleep is one of the most difficult things for a mom of wee ones. First, you cannot make someone sleep. Just try. No, they have to choose. So, it's a coaxing, teaching, praying kind of game. And second, you need them to sleep. Without consistent sleep, fits are worse and life is harder. And of course, if they don't sleep. You don't.

Any dramatic shift seems to throw my little ones sleep off. Travel, a storm, visitors, the wind from the west. This summer has been full of travel and little changes, and of course I'm extra tired even though I am officially through with my first trimester. The good news is my older daughter sleeps more consistently through all kinds of crazy. So there's hope. Let's just not put a number on the years I'll be waiting for sleep.

Right now, we're transitioning back into our school year schedule, having to wake up before the sun. It's hard of my first grader, she's tired. But it's excruciating for my two year old. Those early mornings throw off naps and either she's dropping her nap or I need to find the sweet spot for putting her down. Afternoons are - um, er- interesting, with a cranky tot, an exhausted mama and a spent kid. But we'll get the hang of it. Sooner or later. Here's what I know, sleep will come.

Go check out more posts about sleep at Amber's place with lots of good supportive parenting.

It's probably my lack of sleep, but I can't make the awesome button work for me. Just hit the link okay. Thanks.

Easy there.

2011-08-26T11:34:00.002-05:00

I want to yell, slow down!
Easy young one, there's time enough.
Instead, I silently watch my girl,
my baby, holding hands with him.
Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend? Of course.
You need one when you're six.
Holding my tongue is not easy.
Watching her walk away tugs ferociously.
Knowing that I must let go,
let her grow, let her learn.
Somedays I would rather pause time
then keep quiet. This isn't easy.

I'm participating in Six Word Fridays, check it out.

Compassion

2011-08-24T22:50:00.000-05:00

I dropped Grace off at school yesterday, ready to take on the world. And by that I mean come home to my disaster and clean it so the repair man coming could fix a few things. Joy and I were walking, hand in hand. As we do often these days unless she says, 'Mommy, I carry you.' Wouldn't that be nice?

Anyway, yesterday I told you how my cleaning went. I did get the stove finished. So, that's something. And my sheets are clean. But tonight I wanted to write about something else that happened as we walked out of school. We were late, having had to stop to bafroom, of course. All the kids were in their classrooms, the pledges had been said, we observed a moment of silence. And then we walked out by the cafeteria.

A group of kids were in there, having breakfast. I missed something, but a mom walked out, tears bursting to her eyes.

I fought with myself, trying to decide what to do. Does she want to be left alone? (Example: when my husband hits his thumb with a hammer, he gets more upset that I respond urgently to his yelp of pain.) Or does she want to be acknowledged? If I were by a stranger, tears on my face, I honestly, would probably want to be left alone. Maybe. But talking about what bothers us takes some of its power.

So, I took a chance, and smiled at her, asked her if she was okay. She told me a quick story about what was wrong. I commiserated, as best I could, and wished her a nicer start to the next day.

The details don't matter. What shocks and amazes me is the isolation of our world. When we cry, we need comfort. When we hurt, we need others. When did it become better to 'protect' others by ignoring their truths?

Shouldn't we try to see the messy, truthful humanity in everyone we come across?
Shouldn't we meet that humanity with compassion?

Murphy's law or why I shouldn't bother.

2011-08-23T19:45:00.001-05:00

If I change a set of sheets, one child will accidentally pee on them at nap time.

If I mop the floors, someone will find paint and drop them. Oops. Thank goodness for washable paint.

If I fold the laundry, someone will see it as a perfect fort. And I get to retold.

If I sweep, they all track in enormous amounts of dirt and sand and mud. But where is our mud coming from? We have no rain.

If I clean the toilet. Well. You know. It gets absurdly messed. Which I will discover when I am summoned by shrieks. Just as I'm finally properly scrubbing the stove.

And even after I clean it again, it is bound to overflow. Not just a little, but like it's trying to flood the house. And always at the worst time. Like when the girls are in PJs and it's time to brush teeth, but instead I get to mop up a floor. And of course on the night my guy is out if town, so I'm going to have to do it any how.

Just how many of these happened today? I'm not saying. Too many.

First day. First grade.

2011-08-22T23:02:00.001-05:00

Somedays you hope for survival. Simply making it through each moment. Simply finding your way back to bed, to hit reset and start over.

Today wasn't that kind of day. Though it threatened often.

Starting at six just about killed me. And sent Joy into ear splitting tantrum mode by 8:30 am. Just when we were at the store. Cart half full. But, I'm a seasoned mom now, so I told her that I was sorry they didn't have the pull ups she wanted, but we needed to get mac and cheese. And if she could just please calm down, I would love to understand her. We finished shopping. But not before a doll sent us back over the edge. 'Green baby' has been the adored doll of late, but Joy is ready to throw her out of the house for a new model. I wanted to say yes, just to avoid tears, but it was a 25 dollar doll. And you know that'll be tossed aside soon too. No, we weathered that storm too.

And then she napped. From 10:30-12:30. Which is great, except that is right in the middle of her school day. Or her proposed school day. We'll see how she does.

We made it back to school in time for pick up. Though Joy didn't wanna. I've been fighting their emotions too much lately, but today instead of saying but it'll be fun! I said, I know. It's hard. And she was fine. I almost scraped my chin. (Note to self: when behavior escalates from bad to really bad, it's mostly my fault.)

I could pick out the first time kindergarten mommies and daddies waiting anxiously. Gosh, that first day is rough. It was better for us both this year.

After school, there was homework. For me. I think I filled out roughly 10 forms. It was better then last year. My sweet, tired first grader started her descent into grumpy-grump-groan. I considered picking up that ball and playing grouch. I mean I'm tired too. And I don't want to sign ten forms or make dinner or stand up either. Too bad. But, fresh from my success with Joy. I just said, uh-huh, and kept moving. Because nothing I can say will make her feel less tired. But, making dinner (yum hot dogs) will help. The girls spent the last 30 minutes of their evening singing and dancing together. Baths, stories, hugs, sleep.

Lunch packed, breakfast planned, clothes laid out. I guess we'll do it again tomorrow.

Kids should be kids

2011-08-21T22:33:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow school starts for Grace. Our first walk in to first grade. Our first of many days navigating the bustling hallways of her lovely school. And it is a lovely school. This year, it looks as good as it feels, due to some much needed updates.

Tonight, though, I am troubled with the coupled onslaught of influences on my girl. Look, I'm not set on much. I believe there are many, many good ways of living. I am comfortable with different religions, different languages and cultures, different views and politics. But when it comes to kids, I feel strongly that children should be children. I worry about the blurred lines of adulthood we present to our kids.

This summer, we took the girls to two movies. That these are the first two movies my children have seen in a theater probably marks us as strange. The first was with a group from my husband's work, and their much younger kids were all about the movie. But, it wasn't right for my girls. There was violence (though done on objects) and a plot that wasn't geared toward children. Joy walked out. Grace was upset by it, but wanted to know what was happening. Since none of us liked it, I won't even mention the name. Later, we found our way to Winnie the Pooh. That, my friends, was a child friendly movie. It was gentle in a way that most shows today are not.

I don't like the way our stories (and movies) for children seem more violent. To be fair, Grimm's fairy tales are pretty gruesome. So maybe I'm going too far. Stories just for kids are a fairly modern invention, and children handle darkness much better then we expect. Still. There is a difference between a story where you can see your audience and adjust if things are too much and a movie which just streams images and voices into little heads.

Last week, I visited a friend's house with my girls. Her's are about the same age as mine. It took me a while to get that her girls were fighting over a Justin Beiber picture and then the young one was singing and dancing to one of his songs. Look, music is good. It is. Really. Even baby. I still felt shocked somehow.

But why? Why should it shock me to see a toddler gyrating? Why does it shock me that girls of six wear shirts proclaiming love for a 'rock star?' Why does it shock me when children's clothing looks more like a teenager's (if you roll with the elementary set, you know what I mean). Short shorts, fitted shirts, labels on shirts that borders on offensive, thigh high boots (I wish I were exaggerating), high heels, make up. Look, I think that life is complicated enough without worrying about Hollywood and lady gaga. Simply working out how to order lunch and where to sit takes a lot from a little one. And six is still little. Not little like two, but little.

I abhor the continuing sexualization of our children. Every summer when I start to buy bathing suits I am repulsed by the infant suits with ruffles just so to add curves in the right places. I wonder too if bikinis are necessary for young children. Seriously, the tankini was a brilliant move, especially for a mommy in the midst of potty training during swim season, but string bikinis for kids of 3? Really? And if I think that's too far, you better believe my jaw hit the floor when I read Big Little Wolf's piece on French Vogue and learned about their child models.

When I walk my daughter into school, I take her to a place I cannot control or censor. (Just to be clear, yes, I think it is a parent's job to censor the world for their children. But it's not society's role. I choose what my kids see and read. Until school.) Her friends teach her new and interesting things. And for the most part, I think this is good. But thinking she should look 'just so' and talking about who is fat and such. This, I could do without.

(Enough ranting.)

Meet and greet

2011-08-19T17:46:00.000-05:00

Time to go to school, sigh.
Time to meet the teacher, sigh.
Papers to fill out - oh - more.

After all the drama about going,
now she doesn't want to leave.

I like that kind of unexpected.

I'm participating in Six Word Fridays, check it out.

Expectations always get me in trouble

2011-08-18T12:22:00.001-05:00

I expected drama and fear when starting kindergarten. I had no dubt starting in a new school, knowing only one person would be nerve wracking. I expected the seven hour days to be draining. I wondered how lunch and snack and potty time and recess would go. I worried about the teacher, the class, the school. I was a mess.

But she wasn't. She was excited and brave.

The days were long, but fun. She learned so much. She found friends.

So, naturally, I expected the lead up to the first day this year to be full of excitement and joy. School! Friends!

I was wrong.

Perhaps it has something to do with her sister starting (soon) at her old preschool? Perhaps it's all the changes at school (different hallway, new teacher, a different group classmates)? Maybe it's this lazy summer?

I think she knows now what's coming. Months of school. Homework to fill some of our few hours together. Early mornings.

This week, we walk a tightrope of emotions. Falling often. I wish I knew better how to cushion her falls.

Next week, when the other realities become clear, I hope she'll remember she actually likes going to school.

Summing up summer

2011-08-16T11:18:00.001-05:00

Next week, my baby will be a first grader. In two weeks, my babyest baby will start preschool. (full disclosure, it's only twice a week for three hours). By September, my world will feel different. A silent moment won't be a struggle to find. I can go to the grocery or yoga or the doctor alone.

I struggle to describe this summer. My words break up, my thoughts dissolve into effervescence. Twelve fleeting weeks of nearly constant togetherness. Adventures, both far flung and close to home. Tremendous gifts - of family time (great grandma's are truly great; new cousins beguiling), of boredom (nothing like nothing to get imaginations afloat or sisters singing), of practice leading to success (reading and swimming, unlocking doors heaven help me!). Little moments and big ones, gathered together in a messy bouquet.

These twelve short weeks, and oh they have flown, have shown me glimpses of my girls that bring me more than joy. Kindness. Generosity. Compassion. Persistence. Confidence. Passion.

Of course, there have been many moments in between. Moments of agony, doubt, pettiness and fear. Not just mine. Though I have been in weak form all summer. I do poorly with exhaustion as a constant companion. But as much as I've wanted to fast forward days and weeks, I know this summer will become a pearl in my memory.

Drought

2011-08-14T22:32:00.002-05:00

It's dry. Really dry. The kind of dry that leaves cracks in the earth, open wounds longing for water. Dry.

A big maple, down our block, has turned red, dropping it's leaves. Normally, leaves here barely change colors, our days are so long all year. I hope the tree is just cutting it's losses for the year, not dying. Poor tree. I notice more and more of them as I drive around town. Young trees, older trees. Maples, oaks, pines. Brown. Of course, the garden is dead. I gave up watering it. We'll try again next year.

And our house sits in that parched ground. We water that ground, soaker hose threaded around the house, trying to keep our foundation sound. Last week, I visited a friend's lovely house. I commented on how great it looks and she said, sadly, but it's falling down around us! And the cracks in the plaster are there. Not as bad as my neighboring vacant house, which has an inch crack on a side, and a noticeable slant to it's roof. Things are falling apart.

I have always loved rain. Always. Fierce or gentle. Water from the sky. It is joy and sorrow and release to me. A gentle rain gives time for peaceful reflection. A grand electrical storm jerks all the tension from the air. A sudden, tropical downpour is always a bit bewildering to me, foreign still. But, like the others, it changes everything.

I miss our rain.

Eight unrelated (maybe) notes.

2011-08-11T13:05:00.000-05:00

Yes, I'm going random again...

1. I had to share my peaches yesterday. Three of them were just on the edge of overripe and while I am adoring peaching, that was just too glutinous. So, I shared. Peaches and yogurt (plain, with a little honey) are all I want these days. Appetite? In related news, I still am down about 5 pounds. I don't expect it to stay that way for long.

3. I've rearranged two rooms already. But it takes me the rest of the day to recover. My energy stinks. It's worse when all I want is to scrub it clean, but can't muster the energy to do it.

4. My dog found a rat. In our house. Did I ever tell you we saw it living outside? I called pest control, who basically shrugged and said, yeah that happens. Well, while we were away, the pets were too and apparently that was just what that big brown thing needed. An invitation! Embossed! But, she or he got the message, vamoose or be dog food. We set a trap (a have a heart one, cause we have hearts) but no more little rat paws have been seen or heard since. Thank you, my dog!

5. Its a week (just about) before school for Grace, two for Joy. Time alone!?! What a strange concept! Now, if I can just get us onto the right schedule. We've been waking up when the tardy bell rings.

6. Am I a bad parent for expecting Grace to use the same backpack? It was expensive and it's holding up well. And she still likes it. Oh, and I also plan to buy only a very few new clothes. Why are we supposed to get a whole new wardrobe? It all fits from last year!

7. How do I tell our daisy troop that the snacks are too sugary? Any ideas? Sugar at 7pm on a school night when you need to be up at 6:30 is just wrong. I'm guessing that's not the way to say it though.

8. My girls are friends. When did they get old enough to laugh together at jokes? When did they start singing and coloring together? Wow. Best gift of the summer.

Speak

2011-08-05T16:10:00.004-05:00

"Speak the speech, I pray you"
Say the words, becoming each subtle
shade of meaning. Let the passion
Resonate inside you. Be transformed.
Using old words to find new truth -
A truth deeper then the play,
though the play is the thing
To find yourself in serious playing.
Speak. I can't wait to listen.

This weekend, my family is headed to one of my favorite spots, to hear words written 400 years ago, but new filled with passion and meaning.

I'm participating in Six Word Fridays, check it out.

Without boundary

2011-08-04T21:00:00.002-05:00

We're missing Maine this week. Don't get me wrong, being home is just what my body needs. Rest, food, ease. But Houston is a BIG city and it's HOT here.

Which means we can't be outside all day. And my girls can't just be. Our first few days on vacation were by the ocean, with grasses to explore (and ticks), a sailing boat to go to and have juice and cookies with a grandpa for the little one and all that plus a sail to see the seals for the big one, lobsters to pet (but not eat), shells and rocks and salt water to feel. Then we spent a week in the woods, where my girls built fairy houses, explored on and off trails, paddled canoes, swam (YES!!!), and just were kids. Not 'hold my hand' kids or 'keep close' kids. Just kids. Yes, they wore life jackets on the dock (even new swimmers need that), but there was time enough and space enough and no cars rumbling by or strangers rushing past. They both glowed in their feelings of independence and liberty. Immediately, I started thinking about how to make these trips last longer. Because, Houston is not a town for tremendous free exploration. At least not for years to come.

Today we went to our children's museum. It was crowded and a bit overwhelming for me with both girls, though they managed to stay in the same direction most of the time. They loved it. But the moment that I think was the highlight for Grace was a moment I caught myself and remembered that freedom is how we learn to trust ourselves. She wanted more pizza during snack, and Joy was enjoying her food. So, I handed Grace some money and sent her to the line. She waited patiently. (As I watched the whole time.) Got pizza. Waited some more (more especially after a mean mommy swept past her to the cashier, but did I shoot daggers? Maybe). Paid for her food and came back full of pride. Deep pride.

So, today I'm realizing I need to look for the boundaries I can push past to allow my girls, both of them, to do more, to grow more. Independence is gained step by step. And it's my job to let them go.

My little world travelers or vets or...

2011-08-02T20:49:00.003-05:00

This morning, while I made 1001 calls, my girls traveled to the jungles of Italy. They wanted me to come along, and I was welcome, even with phone in hand. You see, we got a special invitation to a ball from the queen there and the queen in England and India and China and some place I've never heard of but Grace knew the language, so it has to be real. We got to meet all the princesses and queens and dress up too.

Later, our long suffering dog became the focus. You see, her bones were very bad. 6i% apparently (no that is not a typo. That is exactly what Grace wrote on her long note about her diagnosis and what to watch for.) Very, very bad. She had to be kept wet with wipes for a month. And then her bones would heal. Then of course, they found that her pee pee was going to her brain. It actually made her brain explode. That is also in the detailed note. But, don't worry, Grace and Joy knew just what to do. As they did when her veins got holes and her heart broke in two. Don't worry. They have special wax that turns into vein stuff in 1 day and fixes the holes. And heart wax that does the same in 0 days.

My girls are imagining together. If there is alchemy, this is it.

Still tired.

2011-08-01T16:07:00.003-05:00

I do appreciate being home. Really I do. My bed is comfortable, so I slept better then I have since we left. My kids are safe in our more or less childproofed house, so I can relax.

But my kitchen was empty. At least of edible food. I threw away three bags of stuff from my fridge (gross) and two from my pantry. The dreaded pantry moth is back. My husband kindly went to the store and bought a few things - bread, hummus, chicken to cook and a couple of sides already prepared. Oh, and the best olives ever. But no milk or eggs or cheese.

Today we grocery shopped. We can't survive long without milk. Both girls are growing, I think, how else to explain going through a half gallon in less then two days? (I'm lactose intolerant, so it's not me.) The girls went wild in the produce section - can we get this? Um, you want brussel sprouts? Okay. And these? And these? Beets and turnips? Another day, when I'm feeling more adventurous. It took us nearly two hours to navigate the store. That's a record for me since having kids. And I came home exhausted.

But then looked at that fridge, which I put off because our trash can is full too, and had to clean it. Like sanitize it. (Yes, I am pregnant.) And then the pantry (the trash is really full). And now my back aches and I still need to make dinner! At least there is food.

But there are still bags to unpack and I have to brave the box store for the right kind of pull up and the laundry is in heaps and one of my cats is in hiding.

I am exhausted from my very mundane day, but I guess that's good. I should be tired, right? At least I'm home.

Friday night grumble

2011-07-31T21:56:00.002-05:00

Traveling is wonderful, seeing new places, living differently, seeing family... but with kids it's also taxing. Bedtime suffers, clocks change, airplanes leave too early to contemplate, meals are later or longer then normal. And whenever bedtime suffers, little ones need more more more. More stability, more attention, more compassion when they fall apart, more to do, more to eat, more more more. Grace, at six, is more flexible, but even she is showing signs of wear after two weeks away.

But, in truth, it's me that is taking it all the worst. My naps have suffered. And with this little one growing within, I need my sleep. Without it, my mind turns mushy, my patience shortens, my calms is a mirage. In short, I am exhausted. Tomorrow is my last day to see my sister and her family. It's a rare treat. But, all I want is to go home. Home, where I can nap. Home, where I know what's in the kitchen. Home, where my children's footsteps don't wake downstairs neighbors. Home, where things make sense. I want home. Now. (Cue toddleresque tantrum. Believe me, I can do it.)

But, I breath, and remember that seeing my big sister juggle life with a new baby is something I will not get again. And I marvel at how well a 3 and 6 year old play (love cousin love!). And I promise myself that tomorrow, whatever else happens, I WILL nap. Because all of this will look better with just a few more hours of sleep.

And because too early on Sunday morning, I have to leave behind this piece of my family and navigate my way to the airport, through a city I don't know with construction blocking the easiest path, and then survive the flight home alone. But once I get there, I'll be home. Home, where my partner in this crazy life will be waiting to help me carry the bags and drive to our house. Home.

(I wrote this Friday night, and now all I can say is there is no place like home!)

Of ticks and E. coli

2011-07-19T09:49:00.001-05:00

So.... Yes. We're off and away to the house of my soul, the place I feel peace and joy most deeply. And in a few days time, it will be under contract to become someone else's house overlooking the ocean.

It's a bittersweet trip, saying farewell and enjoying the wind and the waves, the rocky beach and the grassy field.

But saying goodbye is eased by finding out that there is E coli in the 'special' well water (so far, knock on wood, we have no symptoms, but...) My guy went and bought more water then you can imagine. And we leave tomorrow.

It's easier too after having to remove a tick from Grace. I hate ticks. I have had more then I care to count. But never here. They were all Texan ticks, mean little brutes, but here I could run through the tall grasses without concern. They even have Lyme Disease here now.

But, the girls are loving everything about the place, even learning how to properly remove and identify a tick! And that makes it a wonderful trip.

I had to find Internet to pay our bills, but now I'm headed back into the beauty.

What we took, what we left behind

2011-07-16T20:41:00.000-05:00

Yes. We're off and away! Today we flew across the country to a cooler place. We all laughed when we were asked if it was cooling down. 80s have been our lows. Not highs. This is heaven!

I am a bit fanatical about preparing for air travel. You need what you need, but you don't know what that is until you are high in the air. So, I always over pack.

The key with packing a mommy friendly carry-on is organization. Tons of it. When I first traveled with a three month old Grace, I tried out a fancy bag with pockets and such. It didn't work for me. But, I learned the hard way that having things loose is asking for trouble. It's impossible to get back in. You lose essential items or just can't find them!

So, my back pack is filled with smaller bags - a thin bag filled with (paperback) books, another with art paper, a zipper bag with diapers and wipes and fresh clothes and baggies for oopsies, another zipper bag filled with snacks (this time portioned out for two), a bag of terminal toys (windups, toy cars, soft balls to roll), and art supplies. This year, each girl had her own back pack and
I slipped a pencil case filled with crayons and markers in each. But
I hold back the stamps and fancy colored pencils (fancy to us since we do not often use them). They are novelty items to use in case of extreme boredom.

Why don't I just pack my iPad and be done with it? First, Joy watches 10 minutes at the most before getting bored. Second, I really don't like who Grace becomes with more then an hour of tv. They squabble over it and I'm not buying another. And learning to entertain yourself is highly valuable.

So, all month I've been looking for coloring books, neat crayons, play dough and stamps, puzzles and games, post its and stickers. (Best purchase of the trip? A box by Highlights includig glue, all-plastic scissors, one book to cut and two with fabulous mark and erase pens. I first bought only one and was sad to see the box was huge, but the contents small. Then Joy loved the scissors, spending 20-30 minutes at a stretch cutting! So, I bought another set, thinking only the scissors would be used. No! The erase books (containing puzzles and mazes) were adored by both girls! And we haven't even pulled out the cut-it-up books or the glue stock. I'm glad it was worth it! I had to look at three stores for the second one!)

I packed like a maniac, thinking of contingency plans - what if Joy won't wear a pull up? How many changes do I need? What if we can't get lunch? How many snacks are necessary? And how do you entertain kids for HOURS in terminals and planes? How much entertainment is necessary? Please, let it not break my back!

Then there were the snacks - favorite granola bars, babybel cheese, goldfish and pretzels, almonds, dried fruit. As a special treat, I threw in some yogurt covered raisins. They were a godsend as we descended in a smaller jet. Joy's ears hurt, she just woke up from a much needed nap to pain, and wouldn't do any of the things that help ease the pressure. They were sweet enough to distract and chewy enough to help. No more tears. Hooray!

Now car seats and airplanes deserves more then a brief mention, but today we tried the CARES airline belt for little ones. Joy loved it. 'No, Mommy! I do it on own!' and sat contentedly. It's small and easy to use. It did cost too much, and I only wish they gave it to me (or gave me money) to review it. I've tried so many different things with car seats. Now...if only someone would come up with any easy way to carry TWO car seats. We checked them, but still. Yeesh.

.... Today was the travel day. One of the perks of a traveling man is free tickets. Unfortunately, our current airline is kind of restrictive, so it was travel EARLY or get in LATE. We chose early, needing to leave our home around 5 am for the airport. Of course, Joy picked up my packing mania, and wouldn't fall asleep. Seriously, the child was up until 10:30! Then, at 3:30 I heard a voice. Yup. Grace got too excited to sleep too. Yawn.

After our flights, we played for a bit at a convenient and great museum and then hit the road. More miles to cover. We're almost there, but tonight we stop. As I get out clothes for the girls and me for tomorrow, I was congratulating myself on an excellent job of packing. Until I realized I lacked a certain foundation piece. I see London, I see Frace, by gosh I wish I saw any underpants!

All my medical woes explained

2011-07-11T18:56:00.001-05:00

Hello again!

Starting in May, I found myself on a bit of a medical odyssey. It started with tummy woes, a common problem in my family with occasional dramatic flares. Which means I take it all seriously.

My GP was unimpressed, but said she would send me for a CT scan and then "I should forget about it." Easy for her to say. And cause for me to seek another opinion. I hate being dismissed. The second doc confirmed it all, but wasn't quite right either.

I hemmed and hawed. I finally scheduled the dang thing in June, but I was late. Now, with Joy weaning, late might mean nothing. Pregnancy tests (yes, many) confirmed nothingness. At the CT appointment, I shared my concern, a blood test confirmed nothingness too. Which allowed the scan, which found nothing of note. Hooray!

Fast forward a few weeks, all of a sudden, my GERD is really bad. Like when I was first pregnant with Joy and I went to the ER, suspecting a heart attack. Bad. But my GP was so dismissive, I didn't want to see her again. And then my heart was racing. That's just not right. I may be out of shape, but racing is NO GOOD.

So, I went back to the GP and she confirmed that yes my heart was fast (blaming my thyroid), ordered tests, got me referrals, since I had good insurance why not? (I am in the hunt for a new GP.)

First I saw a cardiologist, the nicest, calmest guy, who found nothing but a quick beat. But ordered a few tests, just to be sure. I had to wait a week for the tests, another for the results. My heart is fine. But I need to get better about exercising and avoid cardiologists' offices since my beat went up every moment there.

Then, I saw a GI guy. Who stood across the room, computer between us, telling me I didn't need to be there. I thought, please, just examine me since I came all this way, and tried to impress on him that pain hurts. Her wasn't trying to be mean. But I teared up a few times and I'm pretty sure he thought me a nutcase.

And then I realized... I am still late. And now I have GERD, nausea, fatigue, and I'm overly emotional. Hmmmm...

The next morning, the stick said the classic +. So did the next one.

So, as the girls watched PBS, I called every doctor (and my endocrinologist too) to check on medications, to see if the tests were still safe, to find an OB. Because I'm still searching since we moved. You may think I am picky about doctors. I am. I've learned that the right doctor makes even a terrible situation better, while a mismatched one just leaves your insecurities growing.

Last week, I saw a little nub, head up, heart beating away. From those measurements, we're eight weeks in. I'm still in my early, not quite ready to believe it all state. After a miscarriage, you take less for granted. I know my body can carry babies, but I also know that each is a miracle.

Yes, those tests, all of them were wrong. The OB (who is wonderful) said that a CT that early is an all-or-none event. Either it causes catastrophic damage or nothing at all. So, I shouldn't worry. But it does make me a bit more in awe of that little growing 'gummy bear' as the doc called it. Not only did it find it's way into existence, but it dodged the x-rays too. Go little ninja!

Now, if I only had a drop of energy in my body. Dang, this early part is rough this time!

Mama mama maaamaa! I go poo poo!

2011-06-28T18:19:00.000-05:00

This might be a good thing. Today, it's not. We are in the process of potty training. Or should I say I think we're working towards that goal, but who knows. I'm trying to follow Joy's lead this time around. Potty training is surely one of the levels of hades.

As the words register, I see a child streak across the house holding - what? Ah, a dripping wet pair of training pants.

Poop.

I find the child, I clean the mess, having confiscated the training pants and sent her back to the bathroom. I work backwards since another child is playing too and er... water isn't nice to play in. I'm feeling pretty good, under the circumstances, until I come to the bathroom. First, there is a child playing with decidedly not white toilet paper. Then, the sink. Oh, the sink. She tried to wash the poop out into the sink.

Mere hours ago I scrubbed the sink pristine.

Murphy's law of parenting, just when you clean up, sh#t gets everywhere.

Catching up

2011-06-13T20:57:00.003-05:00

This spring has been hectic. Full of illness, unexpected adventures, changing plans, not enough time, never enough sleep.

Last week, when Grace finished Kindergarten, we started our summer, complete with a huge list of to dos that were supposed to be already dones by the end of May. Some I regret not getting to, we'll have to wait on swim class. Some worked out okay, but mostly I just hate having so many things to do that I cannot focus on what I most enjoy about this life - being a mommy.

So, I'm stepping back. Way back. In fact, I'm putting myself on an Internet diet. I'll be checking email, but only once a day. Maybe I'll go on Facebook. Maybe. But, I need to be in my here now, not here.

As soon as my world feels less topsy turvy, I'll be back. Hope to see you then.

On marriage

2011-06-11T11:04:00.001-05:00

Almost a year ago, a dear friend asked me about marriage. You see, of my three dearest friends and their siblings, only my sister and I are married. We both have kids. There is one divorce among the eight of us, and fortunately for all involved, they didn’t have kids. So, my friend asked me if I thought my parents did anything specific that helped us?

My answer was that my sister and I were lucky to find our guys when we did. And my parents did model a kind of marriage with love and passion, with mutual support and confidence. But, it wasn’t without flaws, it appeared to me to be an attainable love. Among the other parents there is palpable fairytale-style true love (really, nearly 40 years together), a stormy passion filled with small battles and dear love, and a very complicated separation.

I wanted to write about the conversation. But when I tried, I found it was much more intense then what I can write into words. So I shelved it.
Then, at Christmastime, my mother said, “I don’t think people should promise ‘for better or for worse.’” I kept my loud “WHAT?!?” in my head. I wanted to write about that, but found myself floundering again.

Two months ago, a neighbor sighed and shook her head when I said we had recently celebrated our 8th anniversary. Oh, she said, that seventh year was horrible. Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t for us. We’ve had our share of good and bad, but last year wasn’t a stand out bad time. Then again, we weren’t moving, changing jobs, having babies, buying houses, dealing with cruel bosses, mourning relatives and neither of us were in a low place. How could it be a bad year?

I’ve been thinking about how marriages work, and what use they are in our society. I know happy couples who choose not to marry. I know couples who should never have gotten hitched. And above all else I know that how a marriage works is a closely held truth between the two people in it.

Back in my academic days, I was fascinated by marriage ceremonies. When I looked specifically at ceremonies from far away, I saw a clear framework for creating bonds between two families, most specifically material, financial bonds. I believe marriage is, at it’s very core, an institution created for the mutual financial benefit of all parties, including the extended families of the couple. As such, it is part of the bedrock for communal life.

In America today, unlike many places in many times, young couples find their own places to create their lives. They choose (often) not to live near the wife or husband’s people, which means our marriages are more about supporting each other. And that is my fundamental rule of marriage. I believe the primary goal is to support one another. Materially.

And yet, we all know that is not enough. But what else is required? Living together? No. I know couples who live in different countries and maintain strong marriages. While we never lived that far apart, nor spent months separated, I will readily admit to enjoying the benefits of a separate household when my husband was traveling a lot. The rules of the house were mine alone. Whatever I did was fine. And if he didn’t cap the toothpaste or wash his shavings down the sink, it didn’t bug me. When we came together (nearly every weekend), it was without the everyday irritations and was filled with pure excitement. I am sure part of that has to do with adjusted expectations.

I think much of a relationship’s future rests on expectations. We all come in with deeply held beliefs about how a marriage works (or fails) from watching our parents. And yet, no two marriages are the same, so inevitably two partners come with different expectations. It is impossible to hash out all the details, and many of our expectations are so deep they feel like part of the surface of reality rather then something we’ve brought along. I know this is where I get into trouble. My base assumptions about life and marriage are set up around a life I do not have. My parents had flexible jobs. My husband does not. My father loves to do handiwork. My husband does not. My parents shared household tasks, my in laws did not. Some of these I cannot change. My husband’s work is good for him and us. And he will never enjoy working with wood as much as I do. I will always clean the bathrooms (some places just need to be clean), but, he is learning to do the dishes and cook a little. When faced with different expectations, we have to find a compromise that respects who each of us truly are and what we need our world to look like.

While my marriage is imperfect, here are the things that make my marriage work (when it is working at it’s best):
1. A willingness to compromise, to adjust expectations so they can become realities, without compromising what is most essential to yourself.
2. Speaking to each other with respect – voices should not be used to condescend nor coerce. We know each other to be intelligent people who have each other’s best interests at heart. When we fight (and we do), remembering this helps enormously.
3. Accepting one another’s truths – when one of us says we feel a certain way, that is proof enough of the reality of the emotion. This is something my husband taught me, and it blew me away nearly 14 years ago when I first cried that I felt hurt and he didn’t demand exact circumstances to back up my feelings. Instead, he said, if that’s how you feel, then it’s real.
4. We keep our promises – there is nothing that erodes trust faster than broken promises. We have simple promises, like doing the dishes or cleaning the cat box. And then we have bigger promises, like not being intimate with others. I know some believe that marriage would work better with a bit more latitude in affairs of the body, but not for me. Our definition of the line is ours alone. It is certainly something every couple needs to iron out.
5. Passion. I know that a fire burns with changing intensity, and so does my love. But, I must not let the fire go out. There are fireworks still. Sometimes they catch me by surprise.

Each of these is dependent on the others. Without respect and acceptance of each other’s realities, we could never compromise, and without compromise (and discussion) we would both feel the weight of broken promises (even if these promises were just in our expected reality).

I wonder how to give my children the tools to succeed in life and partnership. I am pretty sure we all need support to thrive in life and believe we should all have the opportunity to promise to love and support our chosen ones. But how do we teach our children to choose well? How do we teach them to expect for their souls to be held aloft by their loves?

Therapy

2011-06-08T20:42:00.003-05:00

I've made no secret of not quite feeling myself lately. I've been grumpy and glum. But, today I had a day of healing.

1. Music therapy.
Joy snuck a kazoo into the car. Then insisted I play it. Just try to keep your sour puss when you have a kazoo. I also loved the priceless looks from fellow drivers. Strange, yes, but look y'all, it's a hands-free device.

2. Art therapy
We got a box from Amazon today... With 62 colors of markers and 24 cans of playdoh. I won't tell you who shrieked the loudest in pure joy! 62 colors!!! Enough Playdoh to last all summer. Or at least through June!!!

3. A walk down memory lane.
I've started reading Swallows and Amazons to Grace. I loved that series of books when my daddy read them to me. Pure nostalgia, but great adventure and lots of sailing terminology.

4. Physical therapy
It all started with a little one 'coloring' on my back with these crayons. Then she proceeded to a bit of (in)accupressure and some cupping techniques. Since it didn't hurt and both girls wanted in on the fun, I lay down to let them 'color' my back.
Quickly, Grace decided I needed some water therapy (hot and cold) to help out. Lasted, she listened carefully with a stethoscope, determined that my heart was not beating and there was gunk in my lungs. Not to worry, if I put special medicine water on my back nine times a day, I should be all better in eight days. Meanwhile, Joy decided I needed a spattering of little toys laid on my back - a heart, a plastic bear, others? And then of course, I needed rainbow stickers just so on my back.

I nearly fell asleep as they carefully tended to me. Seriously, only once was I stepped on.

And then they went to sleep. Easily.

As the rain

2011-06-07T13:07:00.000-05:00

I have always loved the rain. The smell of damp earth. The sounds of big or little drops, quickly and then slowing. The profound shift a good rain brings, leaving us cooler, calmer, ready to grow.

I even enjoy the frantic, somewhat crazed spring, early summer Texas style thunderstorms. The energy in an electric storm is exciting. Until it terrified by baby. But even as I curled around my unable to sleep little one, cradling her, covering her ears, promising her that it was okay, part of me still loves the storm. The air feels fresh and new after that kind of storm. Everything feels reinvigorated.

This year has brought storms a plenty, terrifying storms that would likely work that joyful rush right out of me. But not here. This spring has been dry. Our local news compared our current annual rainfall to the Sahara. But, I live in an almost tropical rainforest (or so it felt to me the first year we were here). Rain comes often, sometimes with raindrops that look like they fell out of a bucket rather then a thin cloud.

Last night, we had our first rain. Really, it was just a subtle spitting on our ground. Not enough to soften the earth. Not enough to heal the cracks growing deeper, not enough to save our grass from the brutal and persistent sun. But a little rain.

I gasped when I saw it was wet outside. I opened the door to breath in the smell. A touch of dampness in the air, a subtle humidity which felt different from the muggy air that I often find on my patio. I too felt a brief softening. I need a rain. We need a rain. The gentle, persistent kind, which slowly soothes the earth, convincing the ground to soften and soak, creating beautiful potential for the new.

Stick inside, day one.

2011-06-06T15:51:00.003-05:00

Well, it's summer. And for some reason we're starting it with 100+ degree days. So, inside we stay. It's just too hot. Really.

Grace and Joy are finally well after a bout with a tummy bug (thank you school mama who said, 'yeah, she's been throwing up, but it's just a virus.' as she sat there letting our girls play. And somehow I was the bad guy when I made my daughter leave the scene? "Mama, did you know ants eat throw up?"). This is good. Their energy levels however are totally out of control, especially for being inside. Run, jump, bump a head. Dance, spin, crash with your sister. Tears, wails, squeals of joy.

I needed a little quiet. So, I took off, looking for something novel to do with the girls, searching through an old box of office supplies. Where I found some laminating sheets.

Jack pot.

First, we made place mats.

Then, we made a puzzle. And more and more puzzles.

Both girls enjoyed covering their pictures in plastic - to last forever!!! And it was quiet for a time.

Even if you don't have laminating sheets, a puzzle is fun to make. Any picture works, and you choose how tricky you are as you cut it out. Or you can let the kids do it. But mine have lost their blunt tip scissors, so I said no. Maybe next unrainy day.

Now, we're listening to the dry thunder and wind and wishing it brought less bluster and a little gentle rain.

O Frabjous day!

2011-06-03T08:52:00.002-05:00

The heat has arrived, Texas style,
I sweat while pushing the swing
at 8am. But even that
Can't dampen my joy - Summer is here!

Today, kindergarten ends. Today, we celebrate -
This year of learning so much,
and the promise of a summer
filled with adventures, lacking schedules,
Just me and my girls. My joys.

It's Six Word Friday, go check out more at Making Things Up.

Happy?

2011-06-01T09:30:00.003-05:00

I believe that my happiness is rooted in just a few simple things.

First, I must feel some control over my life. If everything feels like a wild ride with no steering wheel (or even with someone else driving) I am not happy.

Second, I have to spend more time looking out then in. I do believe in examining my life, my experiences, my ideas, but (and it's a big but) when I get too caught up in 'belly button gazing' I cannot seem to be happy.

I've been wondering about happiness lately, as I catch glimpses of it's splendor, but feel off. Just off.

Something happened around the new year, and while I cannot go into details, pesky details, it sent me for a bit of a tailspin. Here's the tricky thing about it all... Nothing serious changed. But there was a whiff of disaster, however brief and my recoil is prolonged.

To be honest starting kindergarten sent me into a bit of a haze. All these timelines that weren't mine! From the start time (who gets out the door before 8? Even when I worked, it was at reasonable times, like 9.) to the stress on learning to read to the social turmoil and weird inside politics of the PTO. This wasn't the world I was used to. Luckily, Grace needed little balancing, she felt at ease in that new world. It was all for her. But somehow, even in all that haze, I still had to keep a schedule (as best I could) for my little one. Oh, poor dear, there have been many interrupted naps. (I hope you know I am referring to myself as the poor dear. Waking a sleeping child is just wrong.)

But then, well... I felt thrown off completely, unsure of where solid ground was, much less level ground. Its funny how the past can make our experiences seem magnified, isn't it? This little nothing, a blip in reality, felt like a looming mountain. And my brain hasn't quite gotten the message. All clear. Stand down. There is no enemy at the gate.

I feel less control then I like. Less certainty. Less sure of what to do, and how. And I've spent far too much time boo-hooing my phantom issue. Me me me. Why is it always me? Poor me, so stuck on me, I cannot find my way back out into the fascinating world.

Last week, I sat on the floor with two two year olds, as the big girls did girl scout stuff. We colored. We read. I focused a moment too long on one of those big girls, and 'we' colored the book we were reading. But that focus on the children in front of me fed my soul. And I could see them drinking in the attention too. I adore how fully present children are. I adore their emotional immediacy. I adore their abandon to a good laugh, a good cry, a healthy hug.

I get so caught up in my internal dramatics that I forget the cure to what ails me is right here, right now. Locking eyes with someone else. Seeing who they are, deeply. Now. And now. And now.

Hooray? for the long weekend?!

2011-05-31T12:56:00.002-05:00

1. Two grandparents visited for a nice 24 hours.

2. One two-year old refused diapers, except at bedtime.

3. One two year old got a wicked case of the collywobbles, which provided more opportunities to use the potty. Or the floor next to the potty.

4. One five year old decided that underjams are outdated, and made it.

5. One five year old also got a cut last week tht suddenly looked black, providing a trip to the ER (Sunday!) and lovely antibiotic medicine that is healing the cut.

6. One mama cut her hand while cutting potatoes. And again while getting laundry out of the washer. Life is dangerous..

7. Said washer did enumerable loads of laundry. Piles, mountains, housefulls of laundry.

8. One husband was working until 11 on Friday and most of the day Monday. But still got started on a PINK step stool to fit in our bathroom so the two yer old, wearing panties can stop falling off the trashcan as she tries to wash her hands. No mama, self!

9. One five year old decided a four day weekend, started early due to her own collywobbles, was simply not enough and came home after two hours of school. I'm pretty sure she got overheated at recess.

10. Friday is the the day of school. Then it will all be weekends. Kind of.

Kept

2011-05-27T08:09:00.004-05:00

She called herself a kept woman
It left me aghast and amused.
What ease with 'just a wife'!
Who sewed and cooked and cleaned.

She was no 'just a' anything
Filled with wit, brilliant as stars
Calm as the moon, less changeable.

My own mother rankled at the
thought of being kept. But needs
To be kept in the know,
In the loop, in touch, always.

We keep each other, and no-one.

Go see more six word Friday posts at Melissa's Making Things Up.

Self sufficiency

2011-05-25T10:37:00.003-05:00

Joy is two. And wants control. Clothes - self! Shoes - self! Seatbelt - self! Tooth brushing - self!

Some I let her do, like her backwards shorts with the pockets nicely in the rear or the inside out, upside down shirt.

Some I help with. Buckles are tough.

But this morning, we reached a new something. When I went to diaper her she said no. I should have seen it coming. She sat, patiently, willingly on the potty yesterday for three or four hours all together. But today we had places to go, cars to pick up. I thought...and grabbed a few extra sets of clothes. That was more then three hours ago. We made it through the car swap (hooray, I have my car!) and once we got to music, we tried their potty. We left class once (very abruptly) to see that potty again, but it wasn't until we got home she actually used it.

Now, I know a morning dry is not potty trained. Believe me. But, I'm following her and trying to let go of control. We'll see how this goes.

For now, I am celebrating a morning without diaper or accident.

When the wind blows

2011-05-24T09:54:00.005-05:00

I remember the sound, like a freight train, and the look in my mom's eye. Tornado. We sheltered in the only spot that didn't have windows, a small hallway, flanked by four doors. And it passed quickly. Somehow that little storm touched down only in our neighborhood park and a yard across the street, tearing up about ten lovely mature trees, but sparing homes and lives.

I remember the sirens blaring in Dallas, our last home, and holding my infant in arms, wondering where in my own house of windows to seek shelter. Worrying about how to corral the dog and cat to safety too. Listening with too much concentration to the sounds of the storm.

When I went to college, in Chicago, I drove many times through Texas and Oklahoma, through Missouri into Illinois. I almost always stopped in Missouri, needing sleep. Every time I drove through, I feasted on the beauty of the rolling lush hills. And once, just once, I drove down to the southeast corner of the state, to a little town near where my grandma grew up on a farm. Way back then, that was newly drained swamplands. Her stories of the farm and later St Louis still ring in my ears. Missouri (sounded like Masura in my Grandma's mouth).

When I heard, late since I rarely seek news these days, about the terrible tornado in Joplin, well, there are no words. The storms this year have been brutal, and responding with our hearts to all of them can become overwhelming. And yet, that is what community is for, to catch each other, to be there with coffee and a shoulder. In this far flung community, we cannot easily reach out to hug our friends, but we can help. Even by simply spreading the word about a fundraiser. (This Wednesday to Friday.) Or by bidding, or donating to the Salvation Army or Red Cross.

Just the facts

2011-05-23T19:01:00.003-05:00

1. Nearly a month ago, I just didn't see a pole as I turned into the parking lot and scrape. Luckily, I saw tha car and the kids and avoided crash. So. My car has been getting spruced up for two weeks now. I miss it. And I need it. And they promised it by Friday. So, when they said Wednesday or Thursday, I hung up angry. Then I took a breath, redialed and told them I needed it. And viola, it'll be ready Tuesday night. I hope. (Wednesday morning is the ONLY time my husband can help me get it this week.)

2. Of course, after I spent the morning, too much money and all my power plays with Joy at the grocery, we lose power for three hours today. At least it was pleasant out.

3. My grass is dying. It's dry here. Send rain.

4. There are only two more weeks of school. I have no camps set up, I missed time with Grace. Now that the girls have started a whole new sibling craziness (yelling, biting, crying), I'm pretty sure I'll regret it.

5. Oh yeah, and in two weeks, my husband likely will be headed off for a two and a half week trip. Conveniently scheduled to start the last day of school. (He is not at fault here. But still.)

6. Joy isn't sleeping well again. After two nights straight of sleeping through (okay, fine of putting herself back to sleep, but still), she's back to needing me. Groan. I think I have dark circles, and I'm not sure but my brain might be going out the escape hatch.

The power of pictures

2011-05-20T12:12:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, my girls were playing with friends after school. There's a bit of lawn and patio under trees right by the school and we like to hang out there. As I chatted aimlessly with the moms, I noticed a woman come up and take a picture of my girls. They posed for her. (They barely ever pose for me! Where did they learn that?)

I just didn't know what to do. Is she a threat? Mama bear starts to growl. Is she a nuisance? Is she just a grandma who doesn't think twice about the ramifications of taking pictures of strangers? (She was in fact a grandma. She clearly didn't think to ask a mama first.)

I know that the whole camera in phone thing has made lines fuzzy at best about when its okay to take pictures and when someone is taking a picture. I know. But, I had never felt the effect of this easy technology myself.

What do I do? Well, I summoned my courage, because I don't call people out much, and asked, "Hi, those are my girls, what do you plan to do with that picture." She told me, in lots of detail how her daughter and her go crazy for girls in boots and how she only has grandsons and blah blah blah about a pageant friend of hers. (Dear god, who knew getting a pair of boots for Joy would make anyone think of her and pageants. I may have to lose them now. Except she loves them. And anyone with a two year old knows how important it is to have footwear that is adored and can be done by 'self.')

I wish I had the courage to say, please erase that picture. I'm not comfortable with a stranger having a picture of my girls. (Do you notice, I don't post pictures here? It's one of my few lines, negotiated with my husband. He feels strongly about this. And it's a pretty easy line to keep, though I would love to show you my beauties.)

Anyway, the woman went her way, and I was left feeling off. I felt like I must be overreacting, and yet I that I didn't react enough. When Grace came over to tell me a stranger took her picture, I told her next time, say no. We walk a fine line in our house of stranger danger, knowing that it's okay to say hello to others, but we NEVER leave the park, store, yard, with anyone but mom or dad. Where do pictures fit into this scheme?

My degree in college is in Anthropology. I studied Native American communities. Lesson number one about respect for others is you never take a picture or story without asking permission. Even if a story is unwritten, it is the property of the teller. And, even though no one can copyright their own image, it is theirs.