RED!

My First CAR	Rudolph's Nose
Romance	Santa's Suit
Sex	Valentines
Sun (sometimes)	Mars
Moon (sometimes)	Passion
Fire	Debt

Many people can think of a certain word and by association then can come up with many thoughts and memories. Let's talk about some of these as they relate to me. My first car, a shiny brand spankin' new sports car. My dad was a sports car kind of man even though he had never owned one. He did many things in his life so that I could have and do more than he had. That car brings back memories of cruising the strip, waving at guys and even having guys give chase on occasion. I was already part of a group of people deemed "the popular" crowd but that car cemented my place in the popularity contest.

We all know the song of poor ol' Rudolph and his Red nose so naturally when I think of things that are red, Rudolph is one of the folks I think of first. I look around right now in my living room and see not less than 5 Rudolph's, all with that bright and shiny Red Nose. He was such a poor ol' fella after all was he?


Santa's Suit is obviously always red. Why is that you ask? Santa has been around in many fashions, a skinny guy that Kris Kringle and a not so skinny guy, an "overweight superhero" is the man I know now. Either way, find you a picture of Santa and just try to color his suit any color other than red…you simply can't do it. It's not natural.


Life itself in the form of blood…the same red as Santa's clothes and Rudolph's nose. When we think of blood, we almost always picture the red substance oozing out a cut or smeared everywhere on some bludgeoned freak show woman... Either way, blood is one of those ideas that the color red provokes. That leads me to Valentines. Valentines are about love and thus they too, along with Cupid's skimpy outfit, are decorated with that color red.

By association, the color red also brings about ideas of passion, romance and even sex. We've all heard of people who claim to engage in red-hot sex. I think this particular set of thoughts has to do with the color of blood, the color of life, the color of love and thus romance.

Onward, red also conjures up thoughts of the blazing sun, the red moon, candles flickering a small red flame and even the idea in Greek Mythology that Mars is red.

Lastly, what does the color red mean to me? Especially at this time of year, with gift giving such a prominent part of society, I hear the color red and immediately I think of our bank account, which eternally exists…..IN.THE.RED.

I am a wife and mother to two lovely boys. I write candidly at A Crack 'n Life and that's where you will find Amanda today. Come see what she has to say and come back and visit later if you wish.

Jerri Ann

Chowdah

Just for kicks...a photo of the time Sean thought it would be a good idea to buy chowder at the Washington County Fair.

Cause, ya know, nothing says great chowder like livestock displays.




Hey, Man? Umm, I don't think that chowder was quite right...



Sean, did you get a look at the guy serving it? Doesn't bode well for the chowder when he uses the back of his hand to wipe from the bottom of his chin and on up to his nose before using the aforementioned hand to ladle the milky substance with chunks into a cup for you.

Briar tasted her first bit of soft serve ice cream that day...not exactly a milestone this health nut was excited about, but you only live once, right?

Hazy, Fuzzy, Dreamy

There are pictures from my childhood that have a grainy, muted quality. I'm not sure if it's an issue of the passage of time, the quality of the paper or the lack of training of the photographer. I find them absolutely enchanting. There is an electricity that passes from them, reminding me of the space between Wendy's home and Peter Pan's Neverland. These photographs represent a sweet time that seems to exist in another place. Every once in a while I take a picture of the girls with the flash off and I recapture that same feel. To some it may be a bad picture, to me it's a little bit of Neverland. I see that in today's picture of a napping Avery.

We've arrived

I always vowed that I would not put a headband and bow thing on a daughter of mine. However making bathtub mohawks is another thing entirely. I am irrationally excited about the possibilities her ever lengthening locks hold for bath time fun. And, treat of all treats, she is a more than willing participant.

More, Mommy. Again. Mirror?

The look our model is sporting in this picture is a variation on the Ace Venture Pet Detective pompadour and a sleepy Pippi Longstocking.

Love, Fireside

Briar demonstrates affection by turning her head face away from yours, raising a shoulder and saying, "Mmmm-nice," while she rubs your arm or back. If she's really serious she'll knock her knees together and scoot her backside out.



In this shot she is actually just thinking about hugging Barnaby the cat. He has yet to really let her do an official "Briar Hug". She has, however let him give her a "Barnaby Boo Boo" on her right hand...no pictures, would feel too weird to post injuries.

T'is the Season

Cardboard Boxes and Feet

It's true. All you not yet parents out there. Kids really do like the boxes things come in more than the things that come in the boxes.



But don't underestimate the attraction a rag wool sock clad foot can hold for a child surrounded by toys.

No No No No NoMine Mine Mine Mine Mine

No want it. No want it. No want it. NO WANT IT!

And that was my Friday, how was yours?

But seriously, I'm thinking if I am ever in a position to be interviewing people for a job, I'll work in a question like:

How did you handle life with a two year old?

I can understand why some people turn to wooden spoons, the bottle or padded walls.

Luckily we made it to today and the demonic toddler has returned to her lair and allowed Briar to come out and play.

Shhh, let's not wake her.

Ah, Butts

Briar being adorable with a carved wooden bear. Damn the filthy ashtray.

Blasted Blender

Read the directions Amanda. Before writing the menu in ink, consult the recipe and directions. I had no idea the freaking lentil soup that I was serving ala the Grand Dame of Everything Spectacular in House and Home Miz Martha Stewart herself in a baked half squash, needed to be blended. Our hand mixer died last Thanksgiving and our blender is missing its lid. Of course we have the plastic thing from the lid that you open to drop things in, but no lid. Too late to go back. I took out a box of Saran Wrap...WTF with the metal strip onthe side for ripping the plastic? They've been making this stuff for what, 50 years? And they still can't make something that actually rips it? After 3 tries at ripping off a piece and two nasty scrapes from trying to force it, I managed to fashion a lid for the blender.
Blend.
Blend.
Frappe.
Mix.
Beat.
Stir.
Ice crusher...does it make a difference?

Time to pour it back in the pot to mix in the lentils Note to Healthier You cookbook editors, the recipe on page 74 so does not take 15 minutes to prepare.
It's stuck. Too much was staying on the sides, so I retrieved the kick ass orange spatula we received from Dave and Liz for our wedding - LOVE IT! - and started to scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scra---
Damnit. It's stuck.
Yank.
Oof.
Lentil-less soup smegma smacks my forehead and douses my hairline as the kick ass William Sonoma spatula handle comes whizzing out of the blender while the spatula portion (the coolest part if you ask me) stays in the blender, rendered totally ineffective by one of the blades.
Argh!



Despite referring to it as smegma, and its general appearance of vomit, the soup was awesome. The recipe, with the caveat regarding actual time required to prepare, is a keeper.

The blender, however, is not.

All ended well, and our guests had no idea anything was amiss as I managed , in effortless (Ha!) Martha style, to return the scene of the crime to a prisitine state. Well as pristine a state as our old kitchen can look. Please note the "Everlasting" floral arrangement in the corner, courtesy of Domesticity Doyenne in training, Miz Briar.

Give Thanks

No, actually we don't feed her.


Why do you ask?



Doesn't it look like our friend Betty is cheering her on:
"Ya kid, go! You can do it. Bite it!

Princess Pastry

Looking at this dress hanging on a rack (no offense Debbie) is an assault on the senses. So many layers of garish pink man made fabrics with sparkles and jewels and metallic threading. The crown is a chintzy kind of gold thing and there is a Barbie medallion front and center on the bodice of the dress.

But dear lord, put this dress on Briar and you better stand back. Some sort of combustion occurs and the dress and Briar become irresistible.



She looks edible. This picture makes me feel as if I am standing in an upscale bakery, a display case in front of me filled with the most over the top, buttery, sugar creme cookies imaginable, each prettier and more tempting than the last. I seriously feel that I might die if I don't get to devour each and every one.
She makes me want a princess dress and tiara of my own.

Night Terrors and Unsolicited Late Night Nursing

I have a confession to make:

There is a small part of the night terror phenomenon that I enjoy.
I love leaping from my bed and running to Briar. I love being there before she realizes she is looking for me. There are plenty of times when she cries and I leave her for a moment or two. I understand letting them work it out. But sometimes sweeping in in a magnificent flourish of mama magic, wrapping her in my arms and nuzzling her neck and whispering, "I'm here baby. Mama is right here. I've got you. It's ok." while I rock her to and fro is perfect. Sometimes she'll stroke my face or mold her body to mine. I know this time is so fleeting and I want to lay this foundation with as much nurturing as instilling a sense of independence. I want her to know she can find solace in my arms or trust that I will give her the space to do it herself.

Ok, so there's one more confession, more of a two parter really.

Avery sleeps through the night. I mean she really sleeps through the night. Normal for us is she is asleep by 8 and wakes up around 7. She doesn't fuss, just patiently waits for someone to pop a head in her room. She always greets you with an, "Oh, cool. I was hoping you'd be back! Want to be joyous together?"

Well, I go in at 10 or 11 each night and nurse her. She has never asked for this and after what we went through with Briar I am probably crazy to tempt sleep fate, but I do. I go in, scoop her in my arms and hold her to me as she nurses. Some nights it's for five minutes, others it's more like 30. I stay for as long as she nurses and it is the sweetest night cap imaginable. Some nights I watch our reflection in the mirror by the light of the moon pouring through her window. Other times I just rock side to side watching her little face and allowing the lump in my throat to grow until I think I'll have to cry aloud. It is on these nights when we are both feeding. My hunger for the feeling of joy she gives me is insatiable. I could stay up all night watching her, feeling her, loving her.

I confess, I am addicted to my girls and my role in their lives.

Get the Works

So a few months back my mom said to me, "Why don't you make an appointment to go to a salon or a spa and have the works done. I'll pay. Moms need to do this kind of stuff." I think she meant it both ways...young moms (this is when Sean would chime in: You're not that young...so help me marrying a younger guy has its challenges- it's like 33 months,but he loves to treat it like more.) Ok, by young I mean the moms that have toddlers in relation to the moms that have adult children. Anyway, I think she meant I need to do this kind of stuff from time to time and she needs to get to be the one to treat me to it.

Anyway, that was about four months ago. She brings it up from time to time and the memory of the offer floats through my head every so often. Honestly, I think I enjoy the promise of the offer most. If I leave it out there as something I could do, then it is always there, a big, puffy cloud of hope. No disappointment, no end, just a happy, decadent promise.

Tonight I was sitting in our car. Briar was dozing in the back seat. Avery was in asleep my arms nursing. It was dark out. Street lights festooned with wreaths an red velvet ribbon were casting shadows along the sidewalk. The brightly decorated storefronts dappled the wet pavement with red and green light. I was lost in the music, the shoppers buzzed in and out of the stores rhythmically, and my eyes rested making the dashboard a golden blur. Avery shifted and I turned to look out the window. A woman was walking down the street and she caught my eye.

The coat she was wearing looked like something I'd choose if money were no object and my objective was to look casual, stylish, athletic, important and polished...The reality of my life these days is more of a choose one rather than select all that apply approach to style. In addition to the coat she had on great jeans. The kind of jeans I read about and dream of trying on, but could NEVER bring myself to pay full price for. They looked great...why can't Levi's or somebody figure out the formula and do it for $50 bucks. I won't be able to pay $180 for jeans until I'm 50 and then I won't want to wear them damnit. With these fantastic jeans she had her hair pulled back in a pony tail. It screamed: Yes, let's just pull this back like so, it will be so much easier to go from Pilates and straight to the salon with it like this. Which is exactly what she did. Ok, maybe not the Pilates part, but she did take her Razr and walk right into the Aveda Salon with an ease that made it clear she'd done this before. I didn't see the ladies inside jump up to fawn over her and greet her with squeals and energetic offers of fresh magazines and anything she might like to drink, but I am pretty sure it was something along those lines. I'm really not bitter. A little envious? Ya, you bet.

But then I think about the promise of a trip to the salon. Having anything I want done and not worrying about the cost. My little expiration-free salon offer is all I need to chase the any envy away. And actually as I sit and think about who I am and what I must look like to the folks walking by- Calm and happy, my beautiful Avery with her velvety little hand on my chest as she nurses, her dark, silky hair feathering against her forehead and my chest, and Briar gently stretching as she slowly wakes from her nap, and then there is Sean walking to the car smiling and silently mouthing, "My girls." It feels pretty enviable.

Sappy Mom Post

Ok, so. Briar is going through a vocabulary explosion and she is killing me.
Tonight we were driving home and she was in the back seat (duh, sorry) and she was singing:

Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, staaaar
Wonder what you are
Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle staaaar
So high 'bov wor-so-lie
Huh dine
Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.

Then she made a request:

Christenhow. Christenhow now,k.

She was requesting: T'was the Night Before Christmas as read by Meryl Streep.

Ok, honey. Good job. Yeah for the Christmas cd. I practically sang with glee.

Yeah Christiandom, she sang back.

Christinadom...c'mon, you can't make this stuff up, it's 100% pure soul healing goodness.

Then there are the different ways she says Santa:

Sicken Fraus

Sintin Clause

Satan Claw...ya, really.

And another thing she's doing that makes me do little mama flutter kicks of joy:

"Mama cookin' it now for Briar mine," she says as she holds a clementine up for me to peel.

Everyone should get to experience this delirious exisitence of little revelations delivered through the actions, words and smells of a young person. It is just incredible.

Fudge Lights Now

Life with a toddler can be a bit like playing a drunken game of telephone.

Nums-up.
Nums-up.
Kee now-gown.
Crup and wed it kee now-gown.

Which of course means:
Arms up.
Arms up.
Kitty night gown.
Come up and wear it, kitty night gown.

These days Briar is learning something new hourly. So yesterday we were sitting at the computer.

Mommy, she says.

Yes, honey.

Mommy, pees leev-un. Pees leev. Wees, pees leev-un.

I looked into her huge blue eyes. What honey? What is it you want.

Pees'n leev-un wees now.

Oh, honey, I don't get it. Show me.

Ees peesn leev-un now, gin.

I was desperate. She was trying so hard to communicate, but god help me it made no sense. I'd never heard these words and she was looking at me with such trust, anticipating and expecting me to seamlessly satisfy her request. Her lashes quivering just above those eyes that are the exact color of a sunny January morning sky. I can do this. I must do this.

What do you want, honey?

Want.

No, what do you want to watch?

Watch.

Do you want Hips Don't Lie?

Fudge lights.

Ok, I'll put on Hips Don't Lie.

No, mommy. No want it Fudge Lights.

You don't want Hips Don't Lie? Ok, then what do you want?

K.

Brair. Honey, you gotta tell mommy which one?

One.

No, baby, show me.

Show you

Ok.

Nothing. She made no move, she just looked at me with a "Thank you mommy. I know you can do it." faith.

Ok. How about Broken Stuff? (Invincible by O.K. Go)

Uh-uh.

Running in Blankets (Suddenly I See- KT Tunstall)

Mommy? Now? Please?

Sweet Jesus what does she want now? I can't...I don't..ummm, stall, stall.

You want some cheese?

No, mommy. Eees peesen leevum.

What is that?

That.

Give me patience lord.

Is it this one?

One.

Briar, honey.

Different. Pees leevem.

She's beginning to look panicked. I know I feel panicked.

Peeses...what the hell?

Mommy, now please?

Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, oh, oh mommy.

Mommy got it, Briar. You want the Pieces? Leave the Pieces? (Shaky singing:And it's all right, I'll be fine. Don't worry about this heart of mine just take your love and hit the road...)

K, mommy. Peeses leevum.

Yeah. Leave the Pieces.

Yeah. ya ya ya.

And so we sang along to the Wreckers.

You're not sure that you love me
But you're not sure enough to let me go.
Baby it aint fair ya know
to just keep me hangin' round,
you say you don't wanna hurt me,
you don't wanna see my tears.
So why are you still standin' here
just watchin' me drown?

Chorus
And it's all right yeah I'll be fine don't worry bout' this heart of mine. Just take your love and hit the road, there's nothing you can do or say you're gonna break my heart anyway. So just leave the pieces when you go.

Now you can drag out the heartache
baby you could make it quick,
really get it over with
and just let me move on.

Don't concern yourself
with this mess you left for me,
I can clean it up you see
just as long as you're gone.

Chorus

You not makin' up your mind
is killin' me and wasting time.
I need so much more than that.
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

Look at the size of her head

Why no, my name isn't Mitch.
Or Jimmy.
Or Allen.

No, I can't change your oil.

Excuse me?

Ah, no, I don't know what station the NASCAR race is on.

Nope, not sure if we have a Super Wal-Mart.


Ok, so I am so going to hell for that. Look, I got a bad haircut. Bad. I don't mean an, "Oops, she styled it weird. I'll fix it in the morning," kind of thing. I mean this is an, "Oh my god, is my head really shaped like a butternut squash?" kind of quasi mullet-bob atrocity. I am long since over the sobbing about too much length being cut or walking out with bouffant styling. Usually you can undo what they have done with a long shower, a brush and a blow dryer, or worst case scenario a pony tail holder and a cap. But what she's done defies conventional masking techniques. Down, up, wet or dry, my head looks not entirely dissimilar from the Edward Munch face..you know the one I am talking about, the haunted jug headed figure. I have serious doubts that this is going to grow out into anything beyond a longer version of what it is. Honestly, I don't know what kind of scissor wizardry she used to so effectively butcher the shape of my hair.

A few months back my sister visited and she and my mom laughed at me as Abbie cut my hair while I sat ramrod straight, tense and ashen as if waiting to be executed. She wasn't doing a bad job, but it was 10 o'clock and Abbie is a painting major, not a hair stylist. I was 4 months postpartum (not the time of a woman's strongest self-image as the body continues to sort of stall and say, "Hmm, are you sure you want things to stop being slack and doughy? Cause we can just sort of stay soft for a while...") Anyway, we survived it. I think Abbie was a bit miffed that I ran out of juice and I was annoyed she wasn't more understanding. Now as a mom of two girls I know my mom was torn between trying to defend me and protect Abbie...can you say "no win"? If I had it to do over I would invite Abbie back and let Shawna be on her merry way to bumpkin-o-fying other people to her heart's content.

So I am sentenced to spending the next 4 to 6 weeks as a 30 something mom in upstate New York sporting what looks like a bad Dolly Parton QVC "bob-lett" wig. The kicker, I was supposed to get my hair colored but we ran out of time, so they made me pay in advance and I go back tomorrow. Am I insane? You know she's going to ask me how I like it. Ummm, not sure what I'll do. Guess it'll depend on if she has already applied the color. Wouldn't want to open myself up to further damage. Then again, if she totally screws my color maybe people will think, "Poor thing, someone really messed up," rather than, "Strange, she seems kinda pretty, but sorta looks like the dude in Mask with that hair." We all have these stories though, don't we?

Stats for the Holidays

A request has been made, so an answer shall be given...

Drum roll please-

barump barump barrrump
(thank god Sean is musically inclined, I can't even type a drum roll)

The girls for the holidays-

Avery is a 6-9 month, soon to be bigger.
Maybe 9-12 if we're talking a month to a month and a half from now.
Currently worships Briar. Thus far getting the short end of the stick via hand me down just about everything only to have it wrenched from her hands by its original owner.
Avery doesn't wear shoes yet and all the cute infant slippers we bought or were gifted were only just found and they don't fit.
She is 27" long and weighs 17lbs.

Briar is a 2T, but I get 3T in sweaters etc and roll up the sleeves.
Pants are a 24 month or 2T someone please explain this,is it just to prepare them for never being able to buy without trying on? Her shoe is a 6 or 6 1/2.
She cannot wear pajamas that prevent access to the belly button. EVER.
She is 35" long and weighs 25lbs.

Current obsessions: PRINCESSES- Cinderella, Ariel, Belle and Snow White(not so much on Sleeping Beauty)
Also worships- Blue, Elmo, pigs and frogs.
Fond of: Butterflies and sparkly stuff
Loves books. Her Grandpa Greg and Grandma Cindie sent her books with companion cds which we have in the car (they don't know this because I can't send a thank you note to save my life) She loves them!

I am shamefully delighted be dressing them alike.

Why yes, it is cheese.

Ah, potty training. The books, magazines and tv tell you the kids will tell you when it's time.

Don't push, they'll rebel. Don't punish, they''ll regress. Don't forget to prod, they need reminders.

Other moms will take a haughty or condescending tone and let you know that milestone has already come,gone and been scrapbooked.

Older women, maybe relatives, maybe just nosy neighbors will get that tinny tone and flutter and ask why it hasn't happened yet. Or criticize the "way you're doing it."

Let me just speak for mothers like me everywhere by saying, "We ain't doing it in any way. It is being done at the sole discretion of the toddler so, no pun intended (but thoroughly enjoyed) BUTT OUT."

I'm kidding. It's an interesting odyssey that I never expected to have any control, leverage or shred of influence over. So along I merrily go buying Pull Ups and training pants, Elmo and Dora seats, making sticker charts and learning new ways to entertain myself as I wait patiently and unjudgementally in the bathroom.

Here we are. Chatting by the potty.
Hey Briar, think you might go potty?

No.
You mind if I just take off my Zoe slipper?

Sure. You gonna go potty?
Ah, heck, might as well just shuck my pants off.

Gonna go potty?
Wait a minute, you're taking pictures.

How about going potty?
Ha ha ha ha ha and I am eating cheese.


A close look at the continuity error of her pants lets you know the dialogue isn't exactly how it went down (which it never did) but (hahahah) it's close. If nothing else I figure she got her RDA of dairy.

To Mean Fifth Graders Everywhere

I had a pretty happy elementary school existence.
I liked school, loved sports and had great teachers.
It was all sunshine and - whatever goes after that to mean a good time...roses?
Makes me think of Days of Wine and Roses which was most definitely not happy times...

Anyhow, up until fifth grade it was perfect.
Enter Rita Molina.
A tiny, manipulative girl disguised as a tomboy.
We hung out, played slaughterball, 500, did dead man's drops off the high bars. We were thick as thieves and happily excluded from the activities of the other girls at recess. Then one day she turned on me. The malicious girl came out and suddenly befriended all the girls who played in the sandbox in their tidy little dresses while we got sweaty and winded on the blacktop playing with the boys. I never knew what hit me.

You remember those stupid games where kids would draw a "button"on the outside of their hands and ask you to push it and then they'd flip their hand, open the palm and deliver a "message"..?
Well, all the girls in class did it one day, little did I know that they had a message on either hand. They choreographed a charade, asking every one to push their little "buttons" and then when they'd come around my way I'd press the stupid "button" and
BOOM

I hate you.
You are gross.
I don't like you.
You are ugly.

My eyes were burning and I felt like I might lose control and give into the lump in my throat when I raised my eyes and turned to the door and saw Rita leaning against the wall with a smug look on her face. It was my first experience with real cruelty for the sake of cruelty. I have clearly never forgotten it.

I am looking forward to moving ahead and taking my incredible family and raising more girls like myself,but giving them a slightly thicker skin and a clue about how every once in a while, despite the general goodness in people, there are some twisted folk out there.

So Rita, Stacey, Lisa and the rest of your ilk, I got myself one of the best guys on the blacktop and we have ourselves two fun loving, sweethearted little girls. So you can take your buttons and shove'em in the sand.

Not My Daughter

From the first time I really started thinking about kids circa 1984 during the Kate and Allie hey day until 6 months into being Briar's mom these were things that ran through my head:

No pink.

She'll wear jeans.

Never one of those foofy headband things.

Pony tails, baseball caps, hooded sweatshirts and lots of navy and green

Yup, any daughter of mine will wear denim overalls and tshirts. Maybe a pair of red tennies.

I wasn't meaning they'd look like Iowan hicks (apologies Iowans...feel free to make West Coast or Upstate NY slams with my blessings) or butch tomboys, just that they wouldn't be the:

"My mom always dreamed of having little girls- our names are Ashley and Heather and we love purple, pink, ponies and playing with pom poms and Barbies" type of little girls.

Ya, well in the same way that certain things are determined way before you have any sense of, "Hmmm, maybe I wanna do this" the degree of girliness in a child is out of a parent's hands, no matter how hard they might fight- and I really did fight for 6 months, but damn if she didn't light up like a tree in anything pink or purple.

Briar is pure, pink, frilly princess loving girl to her core. She loves ponies and purple. She has electronic, metallic fuschia pom poms. She loves dresses and lip gloss. She loves tiaras and dancing, she loves kitties and castles. She is the antithesis of the daughter I raised in my head. And she is everything I could have ever hoped for and so very much more...she has introduced me to a side of me I never knew existed- this whole princess and wearing pink thing if fun.

Below you will see the beautiful marriage of the tomboy I imagined and the princess I was blessed to meet.





The boots are my favorite.

Dear Diary

Please don't ever let me forget the feel of Briar's tiny hand in mine.

Let me always hold onto the smell of Avery's hair. The sensation of her cheek pressing into mine. The way her chin is always so cool against my face.

I want to remember the feel of holding them close to my chest. Little hands clutching and stroking my side and breast as they pressed their faces to me to nurse. The delicious twinge of pain washing over me as my body let go of the milk it created to nourish them.

Help me to capture the sound of their sighs as they shift beneath the covers as I tuck them in at night.

Don't allow the quirks of their early language to slip through the cracks in my memory. Save the 'wenaks' and 'hollyghosts' for the nights when they no longer sleep down the hall. Let me use a can opener and hear the echo of Briar's little voice saying, "mommy drive it."


Freeze the images of Avery attacking each developmental stage in pursuit of Briar. I want to remember that Briar fought the introduction of cereal and baby food, while Avery met the challenge with such zeal.

Don't let the memories bleed so that we forget the miracle of the two deliveries. The nurse who took my hand and said, "You are going to feel the need to push and then we are going to deliver this baby," followed by 20 minutes of hard, diligent pushing and then cheering. And the nurse who said, "You just breath it away each time you contract," followed by much more than 20 minutes and many more 'just breath it aways," and a look of disappointment when I whispered I needed help. And how having each girl handed to me felt like catching a shooting star.


I beg you to help me hold onto this enchanting and fleeting time in our lives.

Let us remember these days of love and learning, before the cruelties of life intervene and allow for bullying, broken hearts and different time zones.

Help us to remember how close to the surface these two creatures brought our deepest emotions. How alive each moment feels.

And please, help me to spend each of the rest of my days living up to the honor of being their Mom.

Bewitched?

Avery and I had a first tonight.

Sean and I have been working so hard. Trying to co-parent is not easy. It's easy to fall into the role of defending the child-
It wasn't that bad. She didn't mean to. She's two. You need to lighten up.
Unfortunately, I am learning, that parenting can be really not fun. Getting to know Briar's remorseful face, recognizing the "I'm going to misbehave" stutter step, it stinks. Then the Today Show goes and does a show on Mommy Anger disorder (WTF?!). 2 year olds are going to make you angry. And boy did she make us mad tonight. I sound like a haughty, religious nut, but the word defiant is very appropriate so are:
bratty
audacious
stubborn
impossible
spirited <---that one cracks me up, it's the equivalent of "unique" for a blind date
exhausting
Anyway, it was going to be a bath night. I had given several warnings. The she earned a timeout. Then she blew it on the time out. Then we talked. Then there was a reprieve. Then back to the table. And back to timeout. And then the final straw, with full knowledge that getting out of her chair would result in forfeit of bath privileges...She got out of the chair. Huge grin. I went to pick her up and she tried to weasel her way back in the chair. Damn I had to agree. There were no excuses, she went too far.

I took Avery upstairs for a bath, leaving Briar behind the closed door at the foot of the stairs saying, "Mommy. Mommy bath now Avery Briar."

One foot in front of the other. You can do it. Keep walking.
She knew the consequences. You have to stay strong or she won't learn.
It's hard not to say, "My god, it's a bath. We're all entitled to bathe."
But I didn't.
I ran the water, added some lavender bath wash and set Avery in the tub. She spread her little legs out, looked at me with delight and clapped her hands on the water's surface sending droplets into both of our faces. More squeals. One of my favorite things about Avery is the way that she looks to me to make sure that I am enjoying the experience too. Her wide, expressive eyes look up at me, then that high wattage grin erupts across her face, dimples popping up all over the place and she dives back into whatever she is doing. She's already so strong and coordinated. She is sitting in the tub, chasing toys and keeping her balance. She was eager to swim tonight so I put her on her belly. Her pink little backside peeked out of the water, the perfect rolls on the backs of her legs glistening as she kicked and scooted forward chasing an orange star. After a while I sat her upright. For the quickest moment she turned her face to mine and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face conveying so clearly her gratitude and delight in being in the water, and I swear it was my grandfather. The way the smile moved across her face, the way her eyes danced as she watched my face, and the way one eye seemed to sparkle a bit more, it was a look I have seen on my Grandpa Davie's face a million times. I don't know what made me happier, the montage of memories of Grandpa swimming that flitted through my mind or the idea that this little, dark haired daughter of mine has harnessed a bit of my grandpa's magic to live within her forever. I am still learning about the love I have for Avery, it's rooted within me differently. She is deep inside of me as if she's been with me forever and is growing out to the surface and beyond. Loving her and knowing how deeply she loves me back is dizzying.

Ache, ache, ache for Briar

Ok, so I'm noticing something. I have not cried with Avery like I cried with Briar. I cried so much with Briar. I think back to the early days, weeks and months and all I remember (for the purposes of this entry let's say) is cradling her in my arms and weeping. Her beauty, her smell, her sheer existence was so perfect. I am so grateful for that experience, for loving that hard and that totally. I have never before been so completely in a moment or in an experience. How awesome that my first time really living lasted for so long. I do think, and I realize I say this at the risk of sounding part greeting card, part Lifetime movie of the week, that being a mom is going to forever embrace me in the act of living in the moment.

Yes, I do let myself rise out of my body and go to a special place when the Chinese water torture experience they call The Backyardigans comes on and bleets that hateful audio rap vomit misery....yes, that made no sense, but let's see how literate The Backyardigans leave you.

Where was I? Crying. Living. I have realized is that living alongside Briar and Avery I have moments when I am aware of the passage of time. Lately I have been witnessing Briar shed her infancy like the delicate skin of a snake, I follow behind her catching a light in the corner of my eye, a bit of skin left behind. Today it was: Hiding.

This doesn't mean anything to you, "hiding," but to have spent the last months playing with Briar and 'hining' with her.

To hear that 'd' take the place of the 'n' made a lump grow in my throat.

Mommy. Mommy hiding with Briar.

Yes, my sweet Briar, mommy is hiding with you.

I thought I might die from the ache of knowing that like so many other things, Briar is leaving a part of her behind. She is surging ahead into the territory of kids. The soft, devastatingly beautiful cherub I cooed over, the sweet fingers that brushed my torso and breast as she nursed, the little body that burrowed between Sean and me for more nights than not over the first year of her life is being left behind. She'll always be there in my heart. At night as I drift off to sleep I can conjure her up, feel her little body next to mine. I can remember how it felt to wake up, keeping absolutely still to revel in our position, her nose pressing against mine, her long lashes dusting her full cheeks. For now though, as she sprouts ringlets that test our ability to impose consequences, as she grows into her huge blue eyes, as she chooses to walk the stairs herself rather than be carried, I am working to celebrate the new Briar she is becoming. I know that I shall love her too, and one day I'll mourn that incarnation of my first born.

I never wanted to say it, because it's so awful to have something truly be inevitable, but I am going to say it:

Oh mom. Oh my sweet, sweet mom. I cannot imagine with daughters at 33 and 27 how much you must hurt. How unfair for all of us that becoming moms didn't make us perfect. The world should make us capable of perfection so that we can protect and forever please our children. I forgive you for anything you regret and thank you for everything you have done, whether I have known it or not.

And to any women who have not yet become moms, let me warn you it hurts more than anything you can ever imagine, but man is it worth it.

I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.
Mother Teresa

When is Cinco de Mayo?

That's a little nugget from my day. How was yours?

Seriously, I'm in a room, a discussion is taking place about an event due to happen in March, and someone says:

Well, so when is sinko duh my-yo?

Now I know not everyone speaks Spanish.
But I think it's fair to say that most people know "cerveza" means beer thanks to Homer Simpson and more people can say "for Spanish touch the number one" than realize it thanks to the automated hell that is 1-800 customer service.

Cinco de Mayo falls right in there. Grocery stores in middle America without a migrant population have adopted this holiday to add another money maker in May. Furthermore, the woman who posed this question, well let's just say I think she probably knows her way around a margarita. I am sure she has had occasion to hear and see "Cinco de May" used in such a fashion that figuring out it's the 5th of May wouldn't be too great a stretch.

¡Jesús Cristo!

Rainy Afternoon

Playing together, sharing, and giggling on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.



Ok, seriously, when they look at me I feel a combination of pure joy and sheer terror. How will I possibly protect them from heartbreak? How will I not disappoint them? How will I ever care about anything but their happiness and safety ever again?



I guess I'll just love them to pieces and then try to always be forgiving- of myself and them. Everyone, but the hateful medical people who make little children bleed. Oh the rage, but that's for another day.

Different

Some girls love a tiara...



And others just don't.

Just Because

A little Avery to get you through your day.

Quickie

Not much time. Just wanted to post some pictures and give a quick update.
Briar is stilll working on using the potty...more working on it than doing it currently.
Avery is learning to eat. She is loving the rice cereal and spoon. Luckily she is still loving nursing with me.

Both girls are growing like weeds. Beautiful, glorious weeds. They have doctor appointments tomorrow (Debbie if you are reading this they are at 9:00 and 9:20 respectively).
So I'll pop on later with height/weight stats.

Awww, playing together.



I LOVE BRIAR!



My mom used to say I looked beautiful when I was crying....
Briar looks extra beautiful when she's cold.



My baby girl is sitting in a high chair and eating!





And flirting!

Lollipop + short nap+ Nana =

First Lolli-POP High

Briar's take on The Blue Man Group...The Blue Mouth Boogie Squat

Halloween Hodge Podge

I know, I know. Many days have passed since Halloween.
Better late than never I say.
And since I get so little feedback-
special thanks to Mom, Tet, Cindie and Jeannie for being exceptions
I get to pretend I know what you are all thinking and wanting.
If you are looking for something different, speak up.

Oh, and Sean! He gets special exempt status for being his fantastic self, except when he's being stubborn and then I say, "Hey, knock it off, you remind me of how stubborn I am myself when you make me say things to you that I am used to hearing you say to me dang it!"


Umm, ok, is there anything in the world that is cuter than a big kid proffering candy to a little kid? I think not! Thanks to the sweet little big girl down the street that was so angelic with Briar on her confusing first trick or treating excursion! And thanks to her mom for being so sweet to Briar.




With 2 pink costumed little girls, 2 witches, missing porch railings and scented candles powering rotten after only 4 days jack-o-lanterns, Halloween was barely contained chaos. Cute, fuzzy, sticky, pink chaos.



I swear I wasn't going for the tired 'sex kitten' mommy costume. I threw on the ears and painted my face at the last minute to try and persuade Briar to let me draw on her face to better illustrate that her costume was of Minnie Mouse. I loved trick or treating but cringed at the thought of people thinking that I was trying to be some sort of Denise Richards Playboy mom, not that I'd mind being considered a knock out, I just wouldn't use bunny or kitty ears to accomplish that. Oy, sometimes I wear my neuroses right on my sleeve.



Ok, so back two the cutest thing on earth, I may have to call it a tie between the little girl/big girl costumed candy exchange and any tableau that involves a father and a daughter, costumed or not. The photos I have of a naked Briar checking out what there was to eat in the fridge with her towel clad Daddy sends me into a weepy ball of mush worthy of one of those "the touch, the feel of cotton, the fabric of our lives" viewed at about 2 weeks postpartum.



And when they kiss? Fuggedaboutit!



So here we are: a beautiful 6 month old in a bunny costume that ended up looking like a cross between a pink Eyore and a blushing mule; a Minnie Mouse in pink rather than red, with gas station attendant coveralls type writing indicating Minnie if you looked hard enough; and an unintentionally tarted up Kitty Mama. Ain't we sweet?



Ok, we have a third contender for that cute title: kids in overalls. And let's be honest, moms, kids of yours in overalls.

Holly-Ghost

Trick-or-treating with witch escorts, fuzzy pink costumes, a lollipop that seemed to go on forever and a surprisingly easy post event bedtime. Here are a few two pictures from last night. (Blogger upload issues darn it!)