I've Come to Take You Home

Maybe it was the melancholy sun.
Alone in the car I listened to the CD in the player absently, going over chores and lists in my mind. "Make the plane tickets for D.C., fold the socks, remember to buy more juice."

I heard the familiar blood-stirring melody faintly and reached over to turn up the volume.

Climbin' up on Salisibury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowin', time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night

Unbidden, tears pricked the back of my eyes. Suddenly I saw London at night, laid out below me like so many loose diamonds on jeweler's velvet. I saw my parents, walking hand in hand up Primrose Hill. I peeked inside the living room of a four-story Georgian townhouse and saw my family in its golden age.

Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing, stretching every nerve
Had to listen, had no choice
I did not believe the information
Just had to trust imagination
My heart goin' boom boom boom
Son, he said, grab your things
I've come to take you home

Home. I listened to this song alone in my English bedroom and felt the steady beat of the drum echoing my own yearning to be rescued. To be taken from the frightening social labyrinth of my new school and the strange country with its unintelligible accent and unidentifiable foods. This is not where I belonged. I wanted the familiar, the comfortable. I wanted to lay my head in my mother's lap and cry out the frustration and humiliation I endured all day, every day.

Then I saw in my mind's eye my parents. I saw them laughing and gilded. I saw them at the dinner table with my husband and me. I saw them at my wedding, eyes gleaming with love and pride.

When illusion's been a net
I'm never where I wanna be
And Liberty should pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes but still can see
No one taught them ettiquette
I will show another me
The day I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart goin' boom boom boom
"Hey," I said, "You can keep my things
They've come to take me home."

I pulled the car into the garage and sat for a moment, listening to the last strains of music fade away. I looked out the window and saw my house. Inside my daughter rested her head and my husband waited for my return. I would make dinner and feed my family and lay my head on the pillow tired and satisfied.

I waited all my life for someone to come and take me home. And just this week I realized I have arrived there all on my own.

Inspired by the music and lyrics of Peter Gabriel's Salisbury Hill.

Mrs. Chicken is a freelance writer and SAHM to the two-year-old Poo. She is learning to love life on the prairie while her husband pursues a doctorate at a Huge Midwestern University and blogs with dreadful regularity at Chicken And Cheese. She's tickled pink to host Amanda at her place today, so click on over and enjoy!

Referee

I am on the couch with Briar in the living room. Avery is at my feet.

Briar: Avery, no! No touch it.

Avery: Ba.

Me: It's ok. She's not going to touch it.

Briar: No. No touch it!

Avery: Ba-a-wa, ba, ya.

Me: Avery, leave it alone. Briar, it's ok.

Briar: AVERY! NO TOUCH IT!

Avery: Ba, ya.

Me: Avery, just scoot back honey. Briar, calm down.

Briar: AVERY NO TOUCH IT.

Avery: Ah ba ba ba ba ba.

Briar: STOP, AVERY. STOP.

Me: Briar, it's ok, trust me, mom won't let her do it.

What on earth could she be trying to keep to herself you ask?
A doll?
A book?
A cookie?

Foolish reader...

AVERY, NO!
DAS’A MY POOP IN MINE DIAPER.
NO TOUCH IT. MINE!

Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-Bump

Ok, so this is not a pregnancy announcement, nor is it a playful things that go bump in the night children's joke. This is a quick flutter of my toe back into blogging babies...my heart is still beating though it feels as broken as can be. Honestly, I could write a 1000 words a day for as far into the future as I can see and I don't think I could ever articulate how dearly I miss Grandpa. And as much as I depend on this writing, there are no entries that will ever write away the pain or the reality that he is gone.

He loved this blog and sent me many 3-5 words exclamations. Funny how someone with a legacy built on language could be so brief, but he could, and I have the hundreds of emails I never deleted to prove it. I used to keep his answering machine messages, which were not so brief, but I think I erased them all. The number 19 flashes on our machine and I haven't the heart to go through, better to think that the old man is in there somewhere, wishing he were here and telling me he'll ring again.

So, Grandpa, here's a little snippet of Avery to tide you over till you can come again.

Ok, back to living.

Big talk, not sure how long I can sustain it. I saw something yesterday and it opened a door. A chance to chase away a bit of the grief, a toe hold to begin the climb out of this hollow, this grim and cavernous world that is life without Grandpa. I should preface this by saying it is entirely possible that I am the only one who is able to find the laughter in this through the heavy layers of grief. But I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope that it gets through to a few of the people I know are suffering so many miles from here. So here goes.

I was looking over a report of the ways that people arrive at this here blog. There were huge numbers of folks logging on by jus typing in the url, meaning they know me, know this blog and choose to check in. Then there were folks looking to find out things about drying clothing, particularly people from England...sorry no dice. But the thing I saw that glimmered like a piece of quartz in a pile of gravel was this:

1 11.11% removing cat piss from wood floor

I love this. They didn't say feline urine or waste. They said piss. Piss. I love that. And certain people who grew up in the basement at 816, or walked the halls above that basement know that I had a very special relationship with cat piss. Other people who know about this: the people that taped my ankles before track practice - I'm sorry, the people that slept over and witnessed the glory that was Skittles' chamber of piss my closet.

So really, I suppose this isn't something that reads as incredibly illuminating or grief diminishing , yet for me, it was a gentle tickle at my side, that for a moment allowed me to let go. No more tense shoulders, no more clenched jaw. Just a smile for the "This'll make a great story someday" realization, and a "Better them than me" attitude about the cat piss remover seekers.

Excuse me, I think I'll go let Barnaby out.

Mama

My Mama.

It feels like the end of magic.

It is morning now and I still cannot believe...
Before I would have sat with you, held your hand and shared tears and laughter.

We'd remember, but we'd also look ahead. Imagining his delight and hearing his exclaims at milestones yet to come. I am sorry for the miles and for the hurt, but most especially I am sorry he is gone. It has been too much to bear. John, Grandma and now Grandpa, Daddy. Sister, daughter, mother, wife, nurse. You've carried it all for these months and years, bending but never breaking.

In some ways this dawn came as the final farewell, but if you listen in the distance you'll hear it...

peals of laughter
splashes in a pool
fingers on piano

Remarkable.

His legacy through you, coursing through these girls. We'll be here, and soon we'll be there. And Grandpa, he's here. Forever.

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”

Winnie the Pooh

Let it not be true, ever.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

For BDN, my grandfather.
With a broken heart, ADM.

Sleeping Beauties

It never ends. I am still checking on the girls every night.
I'm sure my mom is chuckling now, silently mouthing to the screen, "I still check on you."

Nights when Sean is working late I slip through the squeakiest door in our house to sneak upstairs. We usually leave the bathroom fan running to mask the sound of the tv downstairs, or the whistle of the tea kettle. It doesn't work, but it makes us feel better - that and the fan was the single hardest thing to install in this godforsaken, nightmare, money pit of an ancient house charming city home, so it feels good to use it. The poor thing will probably let fly a death sputter shortly for the overuse it has endured. No matter, we can no sooner stop turning it on, then an athlete on a winning streak could forgo the lucky underwear.

I tread delicately on the edges of the steps to outfox the creaks of our old house. Just at the moment I touch the banister to take the final step, the stairs, without fail, shudder and bleat a shrill exclaim as I cower uselessly in the corner, accomplishing nothing more than to make more noise as the wooden boards groan beneath me. I curse the creaks. Ella usually responds with a window rattling shake of her collar as I pass our bedroom door and lift my leg over the baby gate. Clang. I continue to miscalculate the height of the gate or overestimate the length of my inseam, and the gate rattles, echoing up and down the hallway. Briar stirs, Avery sighs, the cat darts up the stairs, hops on the railing, realizes I am there and does an "Oh shit" triple salchow and careens back downstairs, inciting the dog to give chase. Loudly. It is all I can do not to stomp my feet and curse the spirits that conspire against me in my quest for stealth approach.

Somehow I make it to each room without waking either girl. Avery sleeps with her face pressed against the furthest corner of her crib. She has always loved it, the place that for Briar had been nothing but trauma. The chewed edges of the railing remind me of the nights we tended to Briar, her face streaked with tears, her lips white with paint chip polka dots. The sleepers Avery wears belonged to Briar, the size difference between the girls has bridged what would have been a season innappropriateness. The drawers of her dresser are open and empty, save for one. Briar has been to visit and taken it upon herself to reorganize. I close the drawers and lean into the crib to kiss the apple of Avery's cheek. Her face is the color of frosted cookies, swirls of pink, violet and white. She turns into the kiss and sighs, the smell of her breath filling the space between us. This smell soothes me, it is the fragrance of joy, the scent of my completion.

In Briar's room, the dark railings of her big girl bed take me back to the day we bought it, months before Avery's arrival. Watching her gleefully jump on the only non-pastel, non-cutesy bed in the store as the weight of her sister to be presssed down on me, a leg kicking my belly as if trying to push aside the covers. Beneath four tiny fingers, the nails ragged from a biting habit that breaks my heart for the worrying it betrays, is a baby toy. A small frog kidnapped from her sister. Her rosy cheeks are framed by auburn curls, I trace a finger along the swell of her cheek and the line of her jaw. Her face is changing, it's becoming more slender. She's shedding, more gossamer layers of little girl fluttering to the floor as the arresting beauty of the woman she will be presses its way to the surface. She stirs. I know I must go, so I touch her quilt and tiptoe to the hall.

I stand between the doors so that I can hear the breathing of each child, my girls. They are as different as the sun and moon, yet in each I see the other. This house is already echoing their sounds, the morning exclamations for a new day and the evening calls for comfort. This house has another echo. It is the whisper that soothes them. As I walk back to my room the floor creaks, it is the song of being caressed in the night and embraced at the dawn. It is the sound of mom.

Sweet dreams my sweets.

2 aches for the price of 1

Today as I was walking out the door from dropping the girls at the sitter, I turned to give Avery one more smile and "I love you." I do this more for me than for her, or maybe I do it more for her, but I end up getting more from it. Is that the same thing? She was in Jen's arms. Her pony tail was cock eyed and one sock was already misshapen and destined for a dark corner as she has pulled it off her foot and gummed it a dozen times before we even left the house. She shimmied up Jen's torso to see me better. I waved and mouthed "I love you." She smiled, her eyes beating her mouth as they always do, an expression of joy that starts between her eyebrows and fans out in a showy explosion of sparkles and dimples. I felt the flutter in my stomach that before the girls was reserved for the moments Sean sang or looked at me in a certain way. She's mine and she loves me. And, oh my god she's waving to me, I thought. I waved back with what had to have been a very goofy grin on my face as large tears ran down my face.

I quite nearly floated into work as I reveled in the exchange, the communication. My wave, her wave, our smiles, we were talking. Hot damn. And then, it hit me. She waved. That's goodbye. I tried to calm myself with the rationalization that she was understanding that I could leave and come back. She could trust me to return, that or she was happy as shit that I was finally going. I typed through the morning in a kind of fog. First a wave, what's next?

She's been experimenting with sounds, mostly da-da, Ella, and something that sounded a heck of a lot like princess (Are you really going to saddle me with two princess hounds, oh great universe? Cause really, I'm fine with one frilly lovin', pink needin', tiara wearin' lil miss thang.) And yes, she says something that sounds like mama, but as I've learned, it's simply the best sound for making spit bubbles, sort of like yoga and "ohm"ing.

Once I got the girls home today I went about fixing snacks, nursing and then beginning the nap process, which I won't go into here other than to say the transition from one child to two with regard to sleeping can be most effectively communicated by saying it's a little like going from minute rice and butter to risotto and shitake mushrooms with a port wine reduction sauce and a delicate souffle, if that doesn't sing for you, imagine counting on your fingers and then solve one of those crazy equations with numbers.

Anyway, Briar was finally down and Avery was uncharacteristically up. I set myself up on the loveseat to work while Avery played at my feet. I was typing away while she babbled and played. I was cranking stuff out and she was beyond content to sit, sockless, playing with my feet and listening to the echo of her voice against the wall. After about twenty minutes something happened. At first it seemed it might have been the sun passing by the window, but then I realized that it was coming from Avery. I wateched her. Something was making me watch her, really watch. She was looking down, but something about the top of her head was smiling. I could feel the strength of the smile I knew she had on her face, I could picture the dimples and the sheen on her lips. Then, she raised her head and looked at me. Not a second later she let out an overyjoyed exclamation and took a step. It was a wobbly step that ended with a none too gentle plopping down on her backside, but it was none the less, a step.

The morning's wave came back in a heady rush. My sweet little baby waved and then almost walked today. Honestly, I'm a little bit dizzy from it all. The whole thing might have made me completley fall apart if I weren't so anxious for her to be able to stand and really defend herself against the frequent Briar blasts. Though truth be told, this evening in the kitchen Briar started in on her and Avery, sitting on the floor, widened her legs and then gave Briar a pretty impressive shove. I'd be lying if I said I didn't let out a "You show her, Avery" whoop. I have a feeling that some of the antics that make me wince are going to help pull me through some of the bittersweet milestones of the girls growing up.

So I was thinking

Hello.

Hey.

Hi.

What's going on?

Not much. Briar is finally down and Avery just expressed her distaste for the onesie I dressed her in by shitting all over it.

Nice.

Yeah. What's going on?

I thought I might come home for lunch.

Silence. Lot's and lot's of silence followed by:


Wonderboy left his wallet at home.

You being Wonderboy?

Yup.

K, I'll see what I can come up with.

Great!

How much time have I got?

Maybe a half an hour.

K, see you.

This was followed by a very loud, inside my head "shit."

Slim picken's in the fridge here. Seriously. What to do?

Expired ricotta. Old Jello. 2 jars of diced garlic.
Chardonnay. Eggs, probably past their "best by" date.
Half a tub of mystery tan colored baby food.
Toast crumby vegan buttery stuff. Shredded parmesean.
Nonfat cottage cheese that is not to be touched on pain of death as it is one of 7.2 foods Briar will eat.




Avery alerted me to the fairly obvious fact that there was an ass load of beer and condiments for the taking.



Hmm, improvise, improvise. The clock is ticking.
Desperation quesadillas?
A little jello and breastmilk on an organic red chile tortilla?


That might just convince him to walk out on me.

Hey, mom!

I think I see some sausage back here!

Super. I'll make soup. Little bit of this, little bit of that and a whole lot of:

What the hell do you want from me? I had 30 minutes and it contains no breastmilk. Consider yourself lucky.

I don't take it back

But I'd like to add a little something to the post about Briar and the amazing little girl she is becoming.

In addition to saying adorable things -

Standing over a heat register arching her back so that the hot air wooshed through her hair like a home spun Glamour Shots special effect she says: Look Mama, fresh hair. Briar is getting fresh hair.

She does something else. A lot. She applies pressure, exclusivley focusing said pressure on her sister.

Body checks.

Straight arms.

Blindsider shoves.

Tips-a-baby.

You name it, she does it. Poor Avery is impervious. She worships Briar with an energy and unwavering devotion that forgives even the most appalling hurts. She may cry a bit, curling up her little chin, wrinkling her nose and flapping her hands at her sides as she watches my reaction. None of this is to get Briar in trouble, just to maybe get a little extra lovin' from mom. Moments after any of these largely unprovoked and one sided altercations, you'll find Avery trailing after Briar- or, in the case of a time-out, sitting at the bottom step gazing up at Briar. Unfortunately the time-out scenario ofetn invites another episode because she is so kick in the faceable on that first step. Sigh.

As long as we can keep these big sister little sister dust ups under the ER radar I'll be ok.

I think.

Overheard...

Our life, taken through out of context snippets, may just be the best way to deter house guests* really let you taste what life is like here in the kingdom of dog hair, diapers and high maintenance cats...what's that? We only have one cat? You could have fooled me.

I want Donald's beans cock.

Daddy, eat Ariel.

I just can't get over how big sausage is out here.

Ooh, Mama I see a fag. Grandma, look a fag.

Omens Mama, give Briar poo omens.

Get the spoon out of her butt.

Crap, crap. Make a big crap Mama.


And now, at Sean's behest context and translations. I suppose if one of the lines read:

Ride Mickey hard, Mama.

I too, would demand context and translation. So, here you are:


I would like to watch Donald and the Beanstalk.

Daddy, eat one of these delicious Princess fruit chews in the shape of Ariel.

We were speaking about the popularity of rye bread on the East Coast and how I am not a huge fan having not grown up with it. My mom then commented on how popular sausage seems to be out here.

Oooh, Mama I see the flag that is visible from our window every day. Grandma, look a flag. Do you know how exciting it is seeing this flag? I mean I haven't exclaimed over it since just this morning, and before that I've only screamed about it every time I've seen that flag since they hung it in June.

Vitamins Mama, give Briar Winnie the Pooh vitamins.

Briar was trying to "take the potty" out of the dog's bottom with a teaspoon.

As we played with Play Dough and Briar realized that I don't stink as much at molding as I do drawing. Crab, crab. Make a big crab Mama.


*Not a slam about my mom's recent visit. Lord knows I'll have to pay her to come back after the hell on earth torture of "Kindness is important" at full volume and on repeat.

Don't Worry, Mama.

I am officially infatuated with the person I am getting to know in Briar. Each day, like a magical bird, she molts, the beautiful feathers I have known and loved so dearly. They flutter delicately to the ground and in their place new, bold colored quills. I am fascinated and grateful by how mourning can turn to wonder as I bask in the newfound connection we have as the give and take of our conversation becomes more volley than catch.

It's hard to put my finger on exactly what is changing, yet I feel the inexorable passage of time. I am quite honestly terrified at growing old, not for loss of beauty or independence, though I'm sure I'll mourn those, I shudder at losing this time. Losing this moment when I am Mom, magician, fixer of things and hurts, and teacher. I hope that I will always be those things on some level, but it will never again be this potent. I love solving the riddle of her tempermant, deciphering signals that lead me to making her happy, chasing away tears or diffusing a tantrum. I revel in the sensation of her small hand in mine, at once strong and fragile. I love riding out the desire to step in when she says she can do it. I ache when she moves past needing help, but then does something that so delights me in its demonstration of her finding her own way.

Tonight, brushing our teeth, she on a stool and me standing behind her, I watched her waving her tooth brush under the stream of water. She paused and then reached for the faucet, turning the hot water off and increasing the cold. She swiped her brush in the stream and lifted it to her mouth to drink. My jaw hung wide open as I watched her use the brush to catch more water to drink. Then she switched the temperature again to moisten a wash cloth. It seemed so incomprehensible that she would know to take these precautions, but she did. And she did so as if she'd been doing it all along, instead of doing it for the very first time right before my eyes.

Just the other day she replaced Mommy with Mama. I had thought that it was a one time thing as she tends to bounce back and forth with the ways she calls out for us.

Mama give Briar a fresh shirt to fix the water on my neck?

Oh Mama, thank you so very much.

The context of how she is using it feels more grown up, yet the musical way she says it seems to somehow bridge the span between the little Briar of the past 2 and a half years and the little girl that is bursting through. I am working very hard to keep the tears at bay with each milestone so that I can see clearly enough to celebrate the next achievement.

Don't worry, Mama. Don't worry.

Squeezing them in

A few more memories.
A few more moments.
A few more smiles with Grandma.

Avery, Grandma and Barnaby enjoying sunny morning, red chair time.

On the eve of goodbye

Grandma flies home tomorrow. It has been the sweetest of visits, and in much the same way memories have been created, a lump has taken residence in my throat. I cannot believe a week has passed. I cannot imagine the girls not having Grandma here to play with and kiss. I cannot imagine me not having Mom here to marvel at the pace of my life, the intensity of my girls and the accomplishments of my family. Great work has been done whilst we all had fun coloring and laughing. The girls will remember Grandma. Briar will be chattering on about Grandma this and Grandma that. Avery will light up all the brighter as I sing the songs she's listened to Grandma singing.

There's really not much more to say than -

I love you, Mama. I'm going to miss you.

-Mandarin

S'no Way

Here's our car. The 29 inches of snow on the ground fell in about 15 hours.



Here's our older daughter. She insisted on staying outside in the single digit temperatures for an excruciatingly long time.


Guess what stopped working at 3.

The furnace.

Guess how many furnace fixers I called.

6.

Guess how quickly Highland & Company (the folks who installed and service our furnace) called me back.

Oh that's right, the worthless bastards never called back.

Guess how many technicians were unavailbale to come?

The other 5 I called.

Yay. Happy fucking winter storm without heat.
Yay for having the furnace die while we have my mom in town.
Yay for having two children we can't keep warm.
Yay for Murphy's Law.

But the biggest YAYS go to Conkling Heating and Jack Hall Plumbing for doing their best to talk us through figuring out the problem... a snow drift 49" high covering the pvc tube for our "90%" furnace. Wish I could say I knew what that meant.

Narrowing the gap

Avery is rapidly gaining on Briar, kicks and jabs to the face not withstanding.
I cannot imagine what this would be like if these were boys.
video will be available within the hour...sorry.

Grandma is here!

She finally arrived, thought Briar. We'd been coaching her since Christmas, showing her pictures of her Yakima grandparents.

"That's Grandma. That's Papa." We'd say and then ask her to tell us who was in the pictures.

"Das'a Grandma and das'a Papa. Ooh, dere's Grandma. Looky dere, dere's a Papa."

In the end it was just Grandma who came, though I think Briar still thinks Abbie will be coming. Grandma and Abbie go hand in hand in Briar's mind after the September visit. As we waited Friday night while Sean drove to the airport she said,

"See Abbie. Abbie's coming."

I told her that she wasn't coming,but that we could call her.

"Abbie. Ahh-Beee!" She called in a shout.

"No, honey, call her on the phone."

"Ahh-Bee. Ah-Bee on da phone!"

When Grandma walked through the door Briar was waiting at my side with a beaming face. Avery was in my arms, looking from me to Grandma to Briar to Sean as if to say,

"Oooh, look at all my people. You are all so happy. Let's do this all the time."

It's been one big blur of kisses, arts and crafts and Grandma shrugs (Briar does something not totally acceptable and my mom looks at me and shrugs like,What, you think I'm, gonna discipline that? It's exactly what she came to do.)





Here's a little peak at Grandma and Briar painting. I seem to serve as some sort of mind numbing gas cloud hanging in the room. They both look ever so slightly sedated.

The Incredible Crawling Avery

I was home alone with Avery. She wouldn't sit still for a photo. I wanted a shot of her in the Ariel tent. I came away with something even better. Look at my little herculean crawler.









*Ok, so this video is dark. Try actually going to YouTube and watching it. It doesn't get a whole lot brighter, but you can hear her and if you need to, just close your eyes and imagine her pulling an Ariel tent. Work with me.
Need I remind you that I take sucking with a camera to new heights?

Ahem, Letter to the Eugene Grandparents

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,
Thank you so very much for the Valentine's Day package.
We loved ripping the tape and playing with the box.

I (Avery) loved eating the tissue paper.

I (Briar) really, really loved taking stuff out of the box.
Mommy let me (Briar) eat a piece of candy. It was good and it made my hands sticky but I cleaned them on Mom's pants.

I (Avery) was ready to play with the little people, but Briar wanted them along with everything else, so I ate some more tissue paper.

Mommy read the card you sent and made a sound, it sounded kind of like when the dog pees on the floor and Mommy gets mad. I think she said "Thank you."
We both love the teddy bear so very much.

I (Briar) have learned that pushing the red button makes the song start and stop over and over again. I love it so much. I love pushing the button. I love the song. Mommy said we were going to have to put the bear night night, but I started crying and she let me keep her. I love the things on her head that shake. I like to make the bear's mouth stay closed when the music goes. It makes a funny sound like the cat when I pull his tail.

Mommy and Daddy said they don't know how'll they'll ever repay you for this gift. They said maybe when we visit sometime I can bring my Dora Dance mat from Debbie and my singing caterpillar from Debbie and my talking frog from Debbie to your house and you can have special time with me.

Oops, Mommy and Daddy said first we are going to go visit Debbie withe bear you sent me.

We love you very much.
Briar and Avery
PS I gave Avery the little people.

Remains of the day

The other night Briar told me she was hungry just as we were heading up to bed. Grateful that we weren't already upstairs, I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "Why not?" We went into the kitchen for a late snack. Briar tread uncharacteristically softly, fearful that if she made a wrong move I would turn on my heel and forgo the snack and make a beeline for bed.

"Want some cheese?"

"Ho-k."

"A little apple, too?"

"Ho-k, Mama!"

I lifted her up and swung her up and into the butcher block island we have in the center of our cozy kitchen (realtorese for: cramped).

She sat, swinging her legs and beaming. She inhaled the food. I'm not sure if it was from hunger or again, a wish to prolong the detour from bedtime. I watched her as she lifted fingerfuls of shredded cheese to her mouth.
I saw a smudge of green paint on her hand. I remembered how I shut down the computer and set up tubs of paint at the dining room table. How we painted Belle, making her dress purple and green instead of yellow. She lifted a piece of apple to her mouth and I noticed a navy rubber band around her wrist. The echoes of her saying, "Mommy's got a pony tail. Briar's wearing mommy's ponytail like a bracelet" and the sensation of my hair falling against my cheek were as real as earlier in the day when she had undone my hair. She stretched her hand out, offering my bits of warm shredded cheese. The front of her shirt bore the remnants of our shared lunch of macaroni and cheese.
"Mommy's eating cheese." She said, her lips glistening with juice from the apple.
A streak of teal ink on her elbow from the doodling in my planner, a chocolate thumbprint on her jeans from the Hershey's Kiss she earned for being sweet to her sister, several stands of hair stuck together with princess glitter..

There on her little body were the memories of an entire day. A day that I chose to set aside my work to paint. A day that I recognized her effort to play nice. A day that I broke the rules because I listened. A day that I will most likely forget, but will become a mosaic in my larger memory of her childhood.

I hope that I can listen more. That I can break more rules.
Because there is no amount of work that could ever compare to a late night picnic of shredded cheese and sticky lips kisses with Briar.

Crouching Daughter, Hidden Laundry

Briar has always loved deconstructing my laundry work.



Avery has much more finesse in her manner of assisting.

Friends with Kids

We accepted an invitation to lunch at the home of a couple we know through work. He is a photographer and she is a print rep for an Italian paper company (the name of which escapes me). The invitation included the girls, so we packed them up and crossed our fingers that naptime would coincide with the drive, which we anticipated taking 35 minutes. We further hoped that it would be possible to visit without:

a) an explosive toddler tantrum
b) an explosive infant bowel movement
c) an explosive simultaneous occurrence of a and b

The drive, indeed 35 minutes, had us wending through classic Adirondack back roads. It was a ride that made the decision to buy a vehicle with a massive moon roof (which I still call a sun roof, much like I still call dvd's we rent videos) seem like one of the best things we've ever done. A clear blue sky above created a striking contrast to the ice and snow still clinging to the glass above. Potent beams of sunlight broke through the trees prompting Briar to call out, "Briar is wearin' her sunglasses." In classic road trip fashion, as soon as Briar gave up the fight and drifted off to sleep, Avery woke up. She provided a musical stream of babbles and coos as we looked out over the frozen Hudson and its icy meringue-like peaks.

As we pulled up to the red house, both girls were completely zonked out in that way that can only be done by small children in car seats.

"Oh dear. Do you think that can be good for their necks?"

I looked at our hosts, bright eyed and smiling on the front steps of their house, their lab, Forest sat tail wagging alongside our car. Their property was tucked in a majestic circle of elegant birch trees, lithe black and white dappled trunks curving seductively along a pristine hillside. The snow was untouched, brilliant and white, a fluffy sparkling quilt under the mid-day sun, the only sound was a mountain breeze passing through the limbs of the birches. I wondered how it would look when we left.

Would our hosts still be smiling? Would Christina's perfect blonde hair come undone? Would the heat of two children make her frizzy and wrinkled like me? Would her eyes glaze over as she remembered all the reasons she chose not to have kids? Would James be snarling and throwing back heavy drinks to calm his nerves? Would the snow become sullied and tired? Would the sweet blonde lab who greeted us retreat to a basement corner to glower at our intrusion? Would we break, stain or ruin anything? Would they ever invite us back?

As we stepped out of the car I realized I had not packed any Ziploc bags for poopy diapers. Super. That was sure to incite a parade of soupy, shitty diapers. God, did I bring enough wipes? Did I have a changing pad? No. Screw it, I can use my coat.

"You guys wanna come in or should we hang out here while the kids snooze?" James asked in his laid back way.

It was like 10 degrees and the breeze I mentioned earlier? That was for descriptive purposes. It was more like pre-storm gusts of arctic air creating a wind chill factor of well below zero. His offer went just past being hospitable to being insane, but I have known parents who would have said,

"Actually, that'd be perfect, thanks."

These are the parents who make people think that it is impossible for couples without kids to be friends with couples with kids. I was really hoping to discount that theory. The thought of waking Briar planted a little seed of doubt, but it was hurt me cold.

"Naw, let's go inside. We'll bring the girls."

So the four of us plus the two girls and the dog headed in. Briar stirred and allowed her blue sunglasses to slide from her forehead back down to her nose. Avery startled awake after a particularly nasty gust of wind snuck under the bonnet of her car seat, her nose crinkled, her eyes closed in an angry squint. Oh god, was she going to meltdown? James was saying hi to Briar who seemed to be retreating into a post nap shell of confused grumpiness. Great. I grabbed the diaper bag, covered Avery with my coat and snagged the bouquet of tulips and daisies that I had wrapped in blue tissue on the drive. As I handed them to Christina I thought, "These may be more of an apology than a thank you." As I crossed the threshold I braced myself for a home filled with incredible artifacts from their travels. A place only a fool would take a toddler and an infant.

I was pleasantly surprised (read: internally rocked to my knees with gratitude that it did not look like the girls would be able to wreak unfixable havoc.) We spent a very pleasant couple of hours eating and talking about everything from intellectual property law and politics to kids and cooking. I think, and I hope this isn't the oblivious my children are wonderful and endear themselves to everyone mom in me, that we all had a genuinely good time. Miraculously there were no dirty diapers, audible flatulence or tantrums. At all. And in fact, there was a very typical moment of toddler uncertainty/fear. We were on a tour of the house and upstairs there was a large white bear skin rug. The bear head attached to this rug was at the top of the stairs, so as you made your way up, if you were say 33" tall or there about, the head, with its eyes oddly close together, would be damn near kissing you. Briar was fine, though a little startled. It wasn't until we got to the next room and the much larger, darker bear skin rug. This face, well it was just too much for her. She took several steps backwards and said,

"Ok.That's ok. We can go in to the downstairs again now. Ok? Going now. Ok."

No one was offended.It was an easy to fix, everybody wins moment.

After a while we decided to go for a small hike. We bundled Briar up in her snow suit and hat, her blue sunglasses wrapped around the outside of her hat. Avery charmed in a head to toe fleece ensemble that made her look like a pastel platypus. Sean killed in a fierce green sweater, dynamite canvas pants, sunglasses and a Swix hat. Christina said,

"Amanda, are you going to be warm enough?"

"Sure. I'm great."

I looked down at myself. Super light washed Levis(and by 'super' I don't mean great or swell, I mean that the light wash of my jeans was fashionable sometime around 1989) a good 1.5" too short, a faded from too many washes red hooded sweatshirt from Old Navy, and a thin, brown fleece coat, despite having been purchased at EMS just a few months ago, looking pilly and worn. No hat, just the hoodie, without strings for cinching. Great, mom's gonna be just great. Dummy. The wind was already sneaking in the short legs of my jeans.

All that aside, both girls seemed giddy. I pulled Briar in a sled that James had retrieved from a shed full of toys that made Sean whimper enviously (an old Jeep, a boat, kayaks, a snow mobile and more). She held the sides and squealed with delight, Forest the lab running along nipping at the rope in an exuberant offer to take a turn pulling. Avery's eyes twinkled as she looked around from her lofty perch in the backpack on Sean's shoulders. The path had been made by a snowmobile, allowing us to walk without sinking into the half foot of fresh powder. We hiked happily commenting on the beauty of the terrain.

About 15 minutes into the hike Briar asked to walk. She tromped along in her snowsuit and boots, seeking unpacked snow. Sean, James and Avery pulled ahead. After another ten minutes and I lifted Briar in my arms while Christina took the sled. The path was no longer packed and the slope was getting significantly steeper and less groomed. I watched Sean move 90% of the branches to protect Avery's face, the other 10% just escaping his hand and dusting Avery with snow. My jeans seemed to be unraveling as it felt like wind was hitting bare skin from just below my navel to the tops of my boots. It hurt to breathe through my nose and my eyes were tearing.

I looked at Briar and the patches of dry skin that she's had on her face for a week were looking angry and almost purple. Avery was making the I'm about to start wailing mews. Sean heard this and got us turned around. If possible, the path we'd just traveled had become more windy, twisted and treacherous. Briar wanted to walk. I tried to smile as I held her hands as she gamely tried to make her way down the slope. Sean and James had shifted into high gear, as I could no longer see them. Briar stayed entertained by screaming for Forest to come back. I winced as I imagined Christina thinking,

"Get your brat to quit screaming at my dog."

Not because Christina is mean, but because the sound of Briar bellowing:

"Forest, c'mere. Forest come back right now. FOREST! FORE-REST! Come in here now Forest." was making my head throb.

"Are you sure you don't want mama to pull you in the sled?" I asked as she took another excruciatingly slow step while the wind nipped furiously at my burning legs and ass.

"No."

"You sure? It's fun?"

"No." And then she stood still. "Briar's walking in the shown."

"No, honey, you aren't walking in the snow, you are standing. Let's go."

"Mommy, Briar's walking in the shown in her shownsuit."

"Yup, you sure are. Let's go faster."

Christina handed Briar a stick.

"Here, a walking stick like the mountain guides use."

Briar took the stick, examined it and decided that by mountain guide, Christina meant artist, and she began drawing in the snow, or as you might have noticed, 'shown' as she calls snow. We watched. Me freezing, Christina amused, or at least I think that look was amusement.

After a few minutes she grew tired of drawing and asked me to carry the stick in my pocket. I used to be appalled when Sean would respond to something like this by discreetly hucking the stick in the bushes. I feared putting the stick in my jeans would just open my ass up to more cold air. In the bushes it went.

"Want to get in the sled now?" I asked hopefully.

"Ok, Mommy."

That was all I needed. I took the sled from Chistina, plopped Briar in it and sprinted down the hill. Every step sent shooting pains through my ankles and the coldon mylegs so intense that I checked to make sure I was still wearing pants. Yup, super light rinse high waters. I turned back every so often to make sure Briar was still in the sled. I could hear Avery crying up ahead. I was sprinting to get to warmth and to prevent Avery from completely melting down. At some point I had begun to wonder if our exposing them to the beauty of the Adirondacks in winter has passed into abusive negligence, angry red circles of dry skin burned Briar's cheeks and chin. Avery's face shone with dried snot and hot tears. James heroically tried to ignore the wailing coming from the backpack and spoke louder about what the path looked like in the spring.

Briar and I blew downthe hill past the three of them, the sled picking up serious speed and beginning to graze my heels. I side stepped and allowed Briar to pass me. Luckily this ends with us swooshing to a stop in front of the house, not in a snowy heap against a tree. I asked if she wanted to go in and she began to fall apart. STOP! Sean and I quickly swapped girls, so that I could take Avery into nurse and Briar could sled some more.

Eventually we all gathered in the house again. The girls played quietly on the floor. They shared toys, they made delightful little sounds. Briar let us knwo that she could see the moutains and that they were actually volcanos. Nobody pooped. Nobody had a tantrum. Nothing was broken. After brownies and a bit more conversation we began packing up to leave. We gathered our things, said thank yous and headed out.

James and Christina followed us out. Christina had a hat on, but I am pretty sure her hair still looked perfect. James had not had to resort to a stiff drink. Forest was sorry to see us leave. The snow around their house, rather than looking messy, looked as if it had been a placewhere people had fun, where memories were made. I waved to them as I told the girls how good they had been and how proud I was. Our hosts looked great. The perfect mix of happy from having a nice time and happy that we were leaving.

Score 1 for couples with kids hanging with a couple without kids.

Love Seat

Briar and Avery in the seat from Grandma this morning.

A sweet seat indeed.

My Place

The first moments of holding our girls in my arms were the best moments. I thought that heady rapture of being needed to live was the purest sensation of being a mom. I was wrong. The single greatest feeling is being the place and the person that your babies turn to when they are able to decide for themselves. Sean carried Briar downstairs this morning. He set her down at the foot of the stairs. Clutching her princess pillow she scanned the room.

Sun drenched reading chair.
Pinkprincess bench.
Computer.
Toys.
Dog.
Cat.



Me.

Biased

Yes, I know, your kid is the most beautiful kid in the world. I totally believe you. Unfortunately, I am going to have to ruin that for you* and introduce you to my daughter. No offense to your kid or anything, but come on, look at this child. She makes unicorns and angels jealous. You doubt me? Just look, she's pulling off white denim, both with the Care Bear Dr. Zhivago hat and without. She is simply too precious to bear.








*Don't take life too seriously. They're all beautiful. I'm just being a dork. Your child is gorgeous.

I'm Tired, T-I-D-E, Tired

Ok, any moms out there who's children have never slept:
Stop reading right now
Or if you do keep reading let me just beat you to the punch:
I am a whiny bitch.

Avery has been so incredible. Such a sleeper. Such an eater. Such a whiz.

But lately she has added a couple of feedings. Now don't get me wrong.I love her. I love feeding her. Nursing Avery is magnificent. There is none of the worry or fear that I had with Briar. I know what she needs, she knows how to get it and together we have found the positions that are best for us. Lately though, not so together on the times.

Avery goes down at 8pm. If she's not in bed by 8 she looks at us, shakes her head and gives a little "Tsk tsk tsk," pops her thumb in her mouth and promptly zonks out. I feed her again sometime between 10 and midnight depending upon when I get up to bed. Now we have a 1 am feeding which we do in her room. I'll give her that she's quick. I am back in bed in abot 15-20 minutes. Then she's up again at 3, but she never goes back down. I try to put her back in her crib and she makes very loud noises. I realize that she is soothing herself blah blah blah. The walls are too thing for self soothing. Tremors consume me as I wait for the tell tale sound of little miss grumpy upon waking stirring in the next room. Nope, can't do it. I scoop Avery in my arms and take her to our bedroom.

Yeah! Fun! Mom and Dad.
Whatcha doing daddy? Mmm, kiss. Love you dad. Milk mommy.
Slurp, slurp.
Daddy whatcha doin?
Mommy.
Wimper. Wimper.Howl.
MILK.
Slurp.Slurp.
Ba ba ba. Na na na. Uh zaw uh zaw. Uhhh zaaaaw.

Shh,honey.
Ba.
Shh.
BAAA.

Is she hungry?

I don't know. I don't think so.

Mmm-na mmmm-na. Ba taw.

Try feeding her.

Avery you want some...ouch. Don't bite mommy.

Well quit putting that in my mouth.

Sleep.

And then it's 5. More nursing. Chatting.

And then it's six. The babbling is such that Sean knows Briar will soon wake.

Want me to take her downstairs?

Oh my god I love you so much please will you take her down?

I don't mean to sound awful, but after 7 months of sleep, this last month and a half has been hell. It has,however, accomplished on pretty awesome thing: SuperDad at dawn.

I'd like to take a moment to publicly thank the SuperDad here. He is a-may-zing. He is never wrong. We have never been lost.