'Round the block

You are not allowed to park your car on the street overnight where we live. I paid $40 worth of overnight parking violations the other day, plus 7 bucks for the convenience of doing it online. Made a promise to myself that I wouldn't go to bed with the car on the street. The car was on the street tonight, shiny and white beneath the woodpecker's hideaway out front. As Sean began locking up I offered to move the car, he accepted, which was lousy as I hadn't wanted to move the car. Sigh. Slipping upstairs to bed before I had a chance to pout, he left me with no choice but to move the car or incur another citation. I strongly suspect a neighbor is ratting on us so better not to risk it.

I grabbed my keys from the sideboard, assured the dog I would return, and walked to the car in my socks. I was in the driver's seat, buckled in and with the door locked in one swift move. I find these trips to the car like going into the basement, in all likelihood it's totally safe, no ogres or hoodlums, and yet my heart still races, my legs still tremble. I turned the key in the ignition and the car was filled with music.

And before you knew me I'd traveled 'round the world
And I slept in castles
And fell in love
Because I was taught to dream

It's a favorite of Briar's and I had been playing it as I unloaded the groceries earlier, the girls waiting in their car seats. Briar sang along at the top of her lungs about a line and a half behind the song. Avery kept her eyes trained on Briar, kicking her feet and bobbing her head as if removing water from her ear. The sounds of them delighting in the song came back to me as I sat in the car beneath the tree on our dark, quiet street.

I put the car into gear and started down the street. My heart swelled at how close the girls felt, despite both having long since fallen asleep upstairs in their rooms. Turning the corner at the end of our street, I started to come around the block. Sometimes we walk to the park this way, it's the point at which Briar realizes slides are not far off. Avery, ever susceptible to Briar's moods, pops with joy, feet kicking, hands waving and of course, little red lips rat-tat-tatting in sharp exclamations of delight.

Cause I believe in fairytales
And dreamer's dreams
Like bedsheet sails
And I believe in Peter Pan
And miracles, anything I can to get by
And fireflies

I make another wide turn and think of my family. The light on the street is perfect, porches and driveways bathed in a silver glow, and lawns that beg for bare feet and cartwheels. We had taken a walk on this street tonight, Avery in the Baby Bjorn and Briar alternately on my shoulders and walking beside me. We walked 6 blocks stopping to touch each fydrant. We also paused and knelt for fences, grass and mountainous sidewalk cracks. The empty sidewalks and street looked back at me, as if resting before tomorrow brought more moms and daughters seeing the sights. I smiled thinking of us as a part of this street's history, walking and exploring its ins and out.

Now before I grew up I saw you on a cloud
And I could bless myself in your name
And pat you on your wings
And before I grew up I heard you whisper so loud
Well life is hard and so is love
Child, believe in all these things

Another right, and then the last into our driveway. Home. I stopped the car and parked. From this angle the house looked dark. I stepped out of the car and walked to the end of our driveway, the same silvery light shone down on our sidewalk. I stopped, looked around, looked down, remembered the song and the girls, and took my socks off. Standing with my feet bare on the concrete, I chuckled. It felt good, this cool, coarse surface beneath my feet. I took a few tentative steps, and then more confidently, I walked toward the corner. The upstairs light went on, Sean washing up. I kept watching the house, through Briar's window I could see the blue glow of her fish light, and in Avery's the new air conditioner Sean installed while I walked the girls.

Without music I heard their voices. Man. Babe. Mama. Mommy. Maw-Me. Manda Bear. I saw tapestries blowing in the sun on the porch and Sean carrying Briar on his back, Avery patting the cat and wiping hair from her eyes. I looked at the sidewalk and saw my shadow, strong, and on this night, surprisingly beautiful. I looked at the lines of my body on the ground against the outline of our house and felt at peace. This life of sidewalk chalk and belly button talk is magical indeed. One short spin around the block was just the reminder I needed.

Before you met me I was a fairy princess
I caught frogs and called them prince
And made myself a queen
And before you knew me I'd traveled 'round the world
And I slept in castles
And fell in love
Because I was taught to dream

A lifetime

Bedtime tonight was unusually tender, perhaps it was the exhaustion and gratitude of another day of front porch fort play near mom and post work day frolicking at the park with mom and dad. After a shared dinner of cold sandwiches and laughter we made our way upstairs for a bath and then bed. The girls played and complied as we rinsed half the backyard from their scalps and between their toes, careful as we went over their matching tailbone bug bites. After very little play they both asked to get out.

The postbath ritual has become a game of hide and seek in Avery's room, which entails Briar scurrying onto the bed and covering most of her dewy little body with a towel. Avery squeals, Briar squeals, and my heart tears. This time is so dear, from the intoxicating scent of clean skin and the flirtatious skipping of ringlets on neckline, to the arresting vulnerability of bedtime eyes. I struggle with cutting it short, with saying that it is indeed bedtime. Avery helps me, so in tune is she with her own clock. The stroke of eight thirty is her cut off, little hands reach for pink ears, twisting as if to turn herself to sleep.

Tonight, after lowering Avery, already asleep with hair still damp, onto a freshly made bed, I tiptoed to Briar's room. The hum of Avery's fan behind me soothed more in idea than actual breeze. The narrow hallway was stuffy, the heat from the day clinging to the walls and nipping at the skin on my neck. Briar waited, clad in mismatched pajamas of her choosing, a long sleeved pink camo top and bright striped full length leggings on bottom. I felt prickly twinges along my entire torso, sweat popping, at the sight of so much clothing and knowing she would insist on the fleece princess blanket to boot.

"Mommy give me little bit a tiny bit of lotion on my back. Just a little bit a tiny? And water. I need water."

"Ok, honey."

I massage the lotion into her back, gentle bumps of spine press against my palm, piercing me with their reminder of her fragility. I lean into her, pressing my face into the curls on her head. She stirs beneath me and beside me, her hand reaches behind and covers mine.

"I love you, honey."

It is her voice, not mine.

"I love you too," I manage to breathe.

"Little bit a tiny, mama?"

"Of course, honey. Mama loves rubbing your back."

"Sit in the chair? Will you sit in the chair after the lotion?"

"You bet."

"Thank you mama. I'n lovin' you soo much."

I cannot bear it. In these moments I feel such a primal need to be here. To never leave. I want to take residence in this time when I am able to give them what they need. Able to protect them and love them. I want to promise these girls that I will always be here, will always sit in the chair, always be willing to give just a little bit of tiny bit more. I don't say that though. I say that I will always be loving them. I fear letting them down in life and in death.

I am trying to balance my appetite for more with the responsibility I know I have to provide structure. Most nights I do ok, others, like last night, I don't do quite as well. Sean found me asleep in Briar's bed, my arms wrapped around her, an hour after bedtime. She had asked to cuddle and no didn't feel like an acceptable answer. It was the sweetest sleep I've had in months. Not a habit to get into, but ccertainly not harmful in the big picture, one little bit of extra bedtime time.

Tonight she went to bed with little fanfare. Lotion, water, a hug, two kisses and one more hug. I crept down the stairs and paused at the bottom, waiting for a cry. She was silent, asleep before I made it down. I sighed thinking how I would have liked to have gone back up.

And now, typing by the light of the monitor I cannot help but wonder how one lifetime will ever be enough. I ache for tomorrow when I'll hold them again, my ears already yearning to hear their voices and a smile on my lips at the thought of what they might do and that whatever it is, I'll be seeing it as their mom.

Miskerchief

Our sitter had her baby one week ago today. It was the eve of my second biggest event of the year at work. We just needed to get through last Tuesday and it would be smooth sailing. I was half way to my event when Sean called, "Ok, so I have to tell you something. Promise not to freak out." Luckily, I don't go in for the pre-event flip out. It's just too much of an impediment to get ruffled and hysterical, better to bear down and get through it. Plenty of time for hand wringing and oh-poor-meing afterword, but by that time what's the point?

"Sure, what's up?"

"Jen had the baby last night."

"Oh! Oh. Oooh!"

"There both fine. It's ok."

"Ok. Oh!"

"And I'll be fine with the girls."

My passion for all things baby and pregnancy related completely eclipsed any worry I might have had- deadlines, meetings, etc.

"What's his name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"All I did was find out that he was born and that he weighed 7 and change."

I drove to my golf tournament unconcerned about anything but finding out the baby's name. It wasn't until about noon that it occurred to me that I had no child care and no immediate remedy. Explaining a putt for $10,000 cash challenge to golfer after golfer I tried to think of what to say to my boss. As the sun began to set it became clear that I had two options:

Work from home and watch the girls, or take vacation and watch the girls.

Two of my greatest motivators are guilt and feedback. Working from home involves very little unsolicited feedback and significant guilt for having the luxury of having my girls with me. My boss agreed to let me work from home for the two weeks that the sitter is taking off. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I worked harder and more efficiently than ever before. I also had some of the sweetest time of my life with the girls.




Being a working mom is literally the hardest thing I have ever done. Today I am grateful that tomorrow I'll be working from home with my girls.

Whirring by moonlight

Summer came to town and we were all caught with our drawers down, or with our comforters up, rather.

"The sign by the bank read 86 degrees," Sean said with awe as he sat down on the front steps. He had shucked his work clothes in exchange for shorts and a tank top. The beer in his hand glistened, slick as it was with plump droplets of sweat.

"The first 86 of the season always feels more like 100," I said trying not to sound whiny, my skin prickly as the familiar all over sweat of muggy east coast summers took root in every one of my 70 inches. The cat wound his body around my ankle and the only thing standing between my foot and a firm kick to his hindquarters was heat induced lethargy. Fine gray cat hair clung to my leg, curling against my sweat. I'll get you in the fall I thought with a halfhearted sigh as I leaned back in the grass, wishing I were by the lake, or better yet, in the lake.

"Think we could set the air conditioners up tonight?" This was unfair, since we both knew that it would be Sean hossing the unwieldy units into the windows, cursing as the cords came up short, stopping inches shy of the outlets. Drenched with sweat and no doubt sporting bloody knuckles, he would most surely be alone while I orchestrated a series of minute and forty five second activities, each creating a greater ruckus than the last ensuring that any calls for help from upstairs fell on deaf ears.

"Maybe."

All thoughts of air conditioners and anything more exerting than sweating were forgotten as we slipped into the stupor of the thick, stewy afternoon heat. The girls sat in a makeshift pool playing with the whirligigs dropping from the trees. The cat, having found my legs unsuitable for his needs, was sprawled on the sidewalk, looking remarkably like a flying squirrel who had made his last flight. The dog was panting from her self-dug trench in what had once been a mediocre flower bed, bits of limp hosta poking out from beneath her jet black flank.

Nightfall brought no relief from the heat. We both knew the upstairs of the house would be nearly unbearable.

"I'll go put the air conditioners in," Sean said with resignation.

"You want help?"

"No," he said emphatically. "You just keep those girls occupied." And he was gone, the sound of his footsteps were quickly eclipsed by the shrieks for music and forts. Books. Crawling. Peanut butter. Juice. I gave one longing glance at the door hoping that my night would end with cool sleep in clean sheets beside a peaceful Sean, but knowing our track record with seemingly easy projects in this house suggested otherwise.

I tried not to worry about the sounds that followed. Thunderous shudders rocked the ceiling over the computer, Sean unleashed primal grunts, but to his credit did nothing to expand the colorful vocabulary Briar has picked up through our home improvement odyssey. After a while I was so engrossed with the girls I forgot about the air conditioners.

"We're set." He was soaked, but I saw no blood and his mood was calm. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I said a silent prayer of thanks.

"Hey girls, say thank you daddy. We're going up to bed and he made it so it won't be hot." They raced for the stairs and began a mad dash-crawl to be the first up to the bathroom. I walked behind, a hand hovering behind each diapered backside, the air cooling as we went higher and higher. Standing in the hallway as the girls scampered after their toothbrushes I smiled. I relish this simplicity, this fulfillment of satisfying a need, providing for my family. And specifically doing it with Sean.

Later, when the girls were asleep, cool in their beds, Briar's fancifully adorned with faerie sheets, Avery's with classic blue gingham I watched them. Briar was turned, parallel with her pillows, a thumb tucked in the waistband of her diapers and a halo of curls framing her face, her sock clad feet poised for the next quarter turn she'd make, like the hands on a clock in the great big bed of hers.

I crept down the hall to Avery in her dark room. I strained to hear her breathe from the threshold of her door, when I heard nothing I stepped closer. Still nothing. I felt a stir of panic. She's not breathing, I can't hear her. I reached my hand in the crib and touched her back. Breathe! Why aren't you breathing? Why can't I hear you? I felt her move beneath my hand, but I still heard nothing. My mind raced, and then I stopped. My eye caught the moonlight streaming through the tree outside the room, a dappled pattern danced on the floor in rhythm with the hum. The hum! The whirring of the air conditioners filled the upstairs, the cool air riding on waves of sound. Again I felt her little body move, and as I looked into the crib, Avery sighed contentedly, loud enough to be heard by my ears.

My silly, worrying ears.

Secret Santas and Memes

I haven't worked at a lot of places that have participated in the Secret Santa phenomenon. The few times that I have been assigned a person for whom I am to be a Secret Santa I have both loved and hated the experience. Memes are getting to be a bit like that. It's great to be a part of something and they create a connectivity in the blogging community that can be incredibly rewarding. Yet the chances of really having a mutually satisfying exchange are slim, though nowhere near as disappointing as receiving a colonial themed tart warmer with dinged tarts in exchange for a crisp gift certificate to Williams Sonoma.

Mammacheryl from Red Pens & Diapers tagged me for the "8 Random Facts" meme. As with each tag, I find myself walking ever so slightly on air. I think the inclusion taps into the fifth grade Amanda who was picked by the boys to play on their team, but by the girls was never picked, just picked on.

So, while I sometimes worry that perhaps the people popping over here to Tumble Dry are not keen on reading the 15 things I most enjoy watching on tv or the 23 reasons I believe Cool Whip is a food group, I do the memes. I believe in this blogging community and I relish my place in it.

Besides, if you don't want to read it, you can go check something else out, like say, the blog of a new friend of our family. Perhaps you've heard of him, he's Jon of Jon's Animals fame. He has included me on his site, so, if you feel like skipping 8 random facts about me, go see what Jon has to say.

Now on to the meme:

1. I can drink a 24 ounce bottle of water, sports drink or other uncarbonated beverage without taking a breath. And not only can I do it, I frequently do it. I love drinking, not sipping, but really just lifting a bottle or glass and downing it. I take great pride in the fact that Avery and Briar both take after me in this area.
Please can I have a drink of water? usually translates to
Daddy can you hold the water bottle while I suck it down until the bottle crackles and caves in on itself?

2. I love to vacuum.

3. I loathe babytalk in adults.

4. I love touching moss.

5. I would sign a bill outlawing perfume in the workplace.

6. I have on more than one occasion wanted to slap a checker and a bagger while standing in the check out at the grocery store. I would have done it very hard, too.

7. I believe that removing food from the drain in the sink may be the single most revolting task imaginable, and this is coming from someone who has helped a dog pass a shocking length of holiday ribbon.

8. I think it is acceptable to hang up the phone if someone calling you starts with, "Who's this?"

That concludes today's edition of Random Facts About Amanda. Hope you've enjoyed it. If you want a tag, shoot me an email at briars_mama at yahoo dot com and I'll officially tag you.

So Big

Avery is growing up.

It's just that simple. She stopped drinking the milk I gave the sitter months ago. Eschewing the bottle and demanding graduation to a sippy cup. She says, "No mommy," with jarring clarity. She also approaches and bestows energetic and deeply meaningful, open-mouth kisses as the spirit moves her. She is utterly captivating and in each moment she breaks my heart.

My heart, a muscle and, simply, my core. Sean has explained to me as we work out, that in order to build muscle you have to tear it. Lifting heavier weights, performing more reps, until you reach failure. You simply cannot lift anymore as your muscles collapse. Broken. Returning bigger and stronger. Avery is on pace to cultivate in me one massively strong and beautifully developed heart.

I celebrate this passage, but have had moments of mourning the baby she was. Serene, content and loving. And more than anything, so very present. I'm not sure how else to explain it. Perhaps it was her birth weight of nearly 10 pounds, but from those first moments of guiding her rosy lips to my breast, she has been irrefutably present. She has watched us and participated from her earliest days, learning very early on what she needed to do to engage Briar. She identified and accepted the skittishness Briar had in those threatening first months of having a new baby in the house. I would venture to say that her desire to bond with Briar superseded many of the traditional demands of babies, allowing her to slip into the wary heart of her older sister.

Today, more than a year since we brought our not so little baby home, she is a dancing, chattering, twinkly person. She thrills, confounds and challenges Briar every day. We never imagined that in growing our family we would so magnificently grow our hearts.



Oh Avery, we love you more each day.

Pardon the dust

What can I say, we've been elbow deep in potting soil and blog guts. See, I don't know if I've mentioned it (snort) but I have this dazzlingly talented husband. He and I have been working away at freshening up my beloved Tumble Dry. I hope to have the changes up and working by the weekend. So between tweaking mastheads and fine tuning ads, I've neglected blogging.



I have so much to tell you. Avery is counting. Seriously, she's counting. I was putting away groceries this morning after a pre-dawn, yes, pre-dawn, trip to the store, and as I put the milk in the fridge Avery said,

"Waahn."

And then as I put the OJ in she said,

"Dooo."

One, two. Waahn, doo. Oh my!

Did I mention Briar is now insisting on reading her books to us at night? I realize that she is really repeating by rote, but there are the little, blink and you'll miss them inimitable switcharoos of a toddler:

"How will I ever sleep in this bed?"

"However I will sleep in this bed?"

And others that escape me right now.

That's another thing, the whisper light grasp I have on memories. So many wonderful things happen each day, milestones or just touches, that by the new dawn have slipped away.




I'll be back again soon, sharing how with each day I learn how exquisite the ache of loving these two incredible girls can be.

Not Yet

You are a little over a year old. You can't know how that knocks the wind out of me. Yesterday you were in my belly kicking your sister while I read her stories. I loved you for those kicks, for the spirit you were declaring before we ever heard your voice. After the house would slip into an evening slumber I'd caress you, gentle circles on my tummy and whispered promises to love you. Forever.

A year has passed, and oh how I've loved you, from dark, silky tendrils catching in eyelashes to those dimpled little paddle feet poking out. Each night I've come to you, on some you've been waiting, others I've gently gathered you in my arms and held you to me. You've always settled into me, belly against mine, with your pillowy cheek pressed against the underside of my breast, cheek and breast fitting as if two pieces, that had before been one.

Three days into your second year and I am not ready. I've seen how swiftly the time goes. I want more of you. More moments spent nursing you to a dreamy trance, watching your eyes mist over with knowing safety in my arms. One more week of sunny afternoons alone with you. One more little bit of having you hold on to me. I want to turn the clock back enough to catch up to you.

Still it goes. And so do you. Steps are not far off, and beyond that, sentences, forks and 2. I can't imagine looking at you today, just past a year, that you'll ever really be two. Will your throaty voice mutate into that shrill, powerful screech? Will you tell me "excuse me, that's mine!" and "Stop talkin' about it, just stop!"?

You're so close already. I can see your power and I know your will. You were on tiptoe the other day, reaching for something not meant for you, stashed out of a little sister's reach and I touched your leg, felt the calf muscle beneath your perfect skin. You teetered and wobbled, but never gave up. Each day you reach higher, tremble less.

Tonight I put you to bed amidst a wall shaking, ear drum piercing tantrum in the next room. Tortured wails and shuddering foot stomps peppered between screams and coughing. One quick check on your sister and you calmed. You understand these episodes more than your Dad and I, you don't worry that they won't pass, instead just tilting your head and refocusing on the moment. Your moment.

I gently squeezed you tonight and pressed my face against yours. I asked if you were ready for me to put your in your bed. I waited for you to slowly lift your head and turn to your bed, but you hesitated. Your body did not move, pressed against mine, your little hand reached for my shoulder as you buried your face in my neck and let me know, Not yet.


Tonight I am worshiping not yet.

The Three of You

I like to check my email in the morning. I'm one of those people who gleefully approaches the mailbox and inbox as if there will be some wonderful surprise, somewhere between Publisher's Clearing House good and a 1/2 price car wash coupon good. When I checked this morning it was with a distracted mind as I was much too challenged for hoping in earnest. Engaged in the full contact, high aerobic activity that is feeding Avery a banana, while attempting to drink my coffee before it either slushed out or became so cold that I would have to abandon it, I hoped for nothing more than to check for new messages.

The program opened as I managed the odd sip, Avery stamping shiny, sticky banana marrow along the bust line of my navy cable knit top.

3 messages: The Lottery Board out of Burma, The Children's Place out of Saratoga Springs, and Lara out of Cali.

Delete, delete, grin. Lara is always good for an uplifting word. She once told me she thought my family was so adorable she wanted to tuck us all in a little snow globe. That killed me, sounded like my sister, Abbie. For the first 6 months of Briar's life she declared Briar cuter than a lion cub, which, if you didn't know, is apparently one of the cutest types of cubs. Anywhere.

Lara's email was simple, but its impact on me profound. She wanted to share a picture with me and would I email her so she could send it to me. I replied and hoped she would write soon, thinking it was deliciously nestled between PCH and a car wash. I thought it would be a funny or endearing portrait of motherhood.

I have a pic I want to show you.



...it reminded me of you and your girls.

15 or 16 hours ago I began my day with that image and Lara's sentiment on my mind. Now, alone downstairs with my girls asleep in their rooms, Briar no doubt twisted and in danger of falling out of her bed, Avery with her perfect little not yet walking bottom saluting the ceiling, I am looking at the photo again. It seems so improbable that a woman living in California would happen upon three pink roses and see me with my girls. It's even more of a stretch that she would snap the shot and send it to me. But she did.

Thank you Lara, for lifting the veil of my own disappointment in the
things I sometimes do wrong. Seeing this image and your words behind it, gives me the most amazing lift.

My Happy Day

Add to the list of things I don't dive into with the fervor of some moms: first birthdays. It seems so silly to create posed vignettes of celebration. I think second birthdays, and a child's ability to enjoy them are much more appropriate for a big fuss. However, as is wont to happen in this grand trip called parenting I had what I knew turned on its ear last night by a toddler and a 1 year old. Turns out with two, the first birthday is a true celebration, fraught though it may be with heart breaking envy and hurt.

Singing.



Playing.


Feasting.


And, of course, belly button play.


Happy Birthday Averrific. A Happy Day for all of us.

You're my Avetastic

1 year. 365 good night kisses, with thousands more for good measure. And yet, just one year.

Was there really a time before you? We four fit so perfectly it feels as though we must have come into this world together.

You, sweet Avery, came with gusto. You were strong in my belly and you were strong on your way out. Your journey to our arms was fierce, with the two of us working together, while your dad cheered us on. I think you're a little like me with your strength. You are so able to do things yourself. Sometimes at night you actually look at me with the sweetest I love you as you roll away and make me understand you need to go to sleep. You communicate what you want and what you need, you shower us with love and keep an eye out to make sure we are having as much fun as you are. But I've learned that you also want help and need attention. For every I can do it myself you have a I want to be a tiny baby in your arms. I admire your strength and am grateful for your need.

I hope you won't be afraid of needing or wanting. I want you to know that it's ok. I hope that you'll always feel safe enough to ask for help, whether it's from me or your dad, or from a person you date. You're worth it and I have a pretty good hunch that people who meet you will want to help you if you'll let them. Don't be mad about your strength, it's a wonderful thing.

Those beautiful arms of yours will help you embrace life and all it has to offer you, your strong legs will carry you anywhere you need to go and your powerful spirit will see you through the toughest times. And if your own strength ever fails you, you'll have me, your mama ready to do anything she can for her amazing Avery.

I love you, Ave.

Pretty Frocks and Herding Flocks

I'm a tomboy mom. Matching socks to skirts, headbands to shirts, and making sure everything is in order just isn't me. I remember the oohs and ahs when we shared that we were pregnant with Briar. The word girl would barely be out of my mouth before women would squeal about a daughter.
Oh the dresses! The hats, the dolls! Years and years to come of pink this, pink that girlie, girlie, girlie. Pant, pant, pant. And then the inevitable I always wanted a girl, longed for one in fact.
I'm not trying to make light of unrealized dreams, I just never gave the gender much thought beyond suspecting that my mom was right, I'd be a mother of boys.

Ha! Here I am with two girls. And while I have never really gotten on board with the super frilly, dress 'em up and show 'em off pageantry that being a mother of girls can become, I have bought dresses and skirts. When I manage to put something other than jeans and a tshirt on Briar she literally preens in front of the mirror. Avery doesn't care much one way or the other, though lately she has been a bit fussy about longer skirts or dresses as they seriously impede crawling. The thing of it is, the times I remember are so few and far between that most of theses dresses get about 3 wearings in before they've been outgrown.

I try to compensate in other ways, like buying awesome jeans. Ok, I'm kind of kidding there. I mean that while I may fall short in the perfect outfits, I do pretty well in the perfect experiences. Whether we are taking a walk and stopping along the way to run our fingers along moss covered rocks or traipsing on people's lawns to get to the stone goose statue in a garden to plant a big wet one on its bill, we have a good time. This weekend we went to Jon's farm again.

The drive out to Jon's is beautiful and filled with mounting anticipation, and then silence. As Briar chatters about seeing Jon's animals and making sure they're ok, Avery kicks and squawks with delight. About 15 minutes before we arrive she passes out, the sweet sputters of infant snores lap along the inside of the car like a lazy afternoon tide. Moments late Briar wages a simply for show fight against sleep, by the 3 minutes to jon house mark she is out.

Saturday we made an effort to keep Briar awake. She had been looking froward to the visit for a week, Avery had been saying: daw-kee, daw-kee around the clock. We were all so very excited. We pulled into the driveway and by the time we opened the doors in back, both girls were clamoring to get out. We grinned at each other over the car as we each took a girl out. Our eyes clearly saying that this was the right thing to do, the right way to spend a Saturday. And indeed it was.








We spent several glorious hours out on the farm. Avery communed with the donkeys and dogs. Briar danced along the periphery of the flock in the meadow. Both girls got good and dirty. Sheeps trumped sequins. I know that there is a place for dresses and sparkles, but Saturday, down on the farm the girls made memories that will shine in their souls for the rest of time.

Real Moms Have Libraries in Their Souls

Beginning in the moment that we first hold our children in our arms we learn to imprint each moment. Firsts, seconds, unbelievables, and unforgettables.

A glimpse of the first tooth.
The whisper kiss of the first da da.
Tender bare feet taking wobbly steps.
Streaks of forbidden sweets from chin to hairline.
The whoosh of the sitter's door closing on the first day back to work.
A trail of toilet paper three rooms long and then,"It just happen, mama."
"Honey, you did the right thing," through screamed time out protests.
A proffered bit of granola bar, soft and glistening with saliva.
A sleeping face bathed in moonlight on Christmas Eve.
Ringlets bouncing on a dewy neck after bath time.
"Mama can I do it?"

Chasing bubbles, feeding ducks and kissing shadows.




Posted for the Real Mom Truths contest. The winner will receive this amazing 4G iPod Nano and Chocolate gift set, plus a link to their post on True Mom Confessions on Mother's Day.

The rules: Complete the statement "Real moms ..." along with an original photo.

What's a mama?

My sweet, sweet girls.
You want to know what makes me a mama? What makes me your mama? Climb up here and let me hold you while I tell you how I got to be your mom. First I'm going to whisper a secret:

I've always been your mom.

Even before you were growing inside of my belly, I was your mama. I started getting ready for you when I was a little girl. I practiced playing in the dirt and finding faeries in the garden so I could show you how to do it. I learned about swinging on the bars and skipping rocks in rivers so we'd have fun things to do. I figured out how to do cartwheels and blow spit bubbles. I promised myself that I would always stay a little girl so that I wouldn't forget how to have fun.

Later, when I got a little older and got to go to school, I studied very hard so that I could teach you and answer your questions. I made mistakes and sometimes got in trouble. I played sports and discovered that I hate soccer. It's ok if you like soccer, because when I looked for your daddy, I made sure I found someone who could fill in my holes. Daddy loves soccer and tomatoes. He doesn't mind touching bugs and he can sing. Yes, I know I can sing too, but one day you'll learn that there are different kinds of singing. When we get to that point we'll start talking, maybe singing a little less.

After school I did lots of things. I met famous people, I went to faraway places. I made more mistakes and had different jobs. All of the things were one big road leading me to you. Now, with the two of you in my lap, my favorite thing in the world is being your mom. I try very hard to be the best that I can, and sometimes when I'm not doing a great job you remind me. Like when you tell me, "Mommy, we don't say damnit." You both are so very smart that you teach me every day about what being a mom should.

Being your mama is very easy because I love you more than anyone else in the world, I always have, and I always will.



This post is a part of the Mother’s Day Blast at the Parent Bloggers Network, which was inspired by LightIris founder and dad Kevin who has been wearing a Preggo Suit all month long.
Go check out how to participate.

Anatomy of a Flower

"Mama, mama it's a two-yips. It's a red two-yips."

"That's right, baby. It's a tulip, a red tulip."



"Mama, the two-yip, the two-yips is poopin' in dere. It's a poopin two-yips."

Tantrums and Daydreams

Humbled. And perhaps, red faced. These are the only ways to describe how I am feeling as we hurtle headfirst into the choppy waters of 2 and a half. I am spellbound by Briar's explosion of language acquisition
(Oh the stress of minding my 'shits' and 'damnits')
the death defying acts asserting her autonomy
("I. Can. Get. It." she grunts and growls as she scales a chair and then bookshelf to reach the coveted empty water bottle.)
and utterly heartbroken and aghast at the sudden and unprovoked
("I have to be alone" or "No, mom. I have to go away.")

How do you respond? Rationally I am all too aware of how critical it is that we lower the boom as her behavior escalates. I cannot forgive a fistful of dirt thrown, with startling accuracy, into my face on the heels of an admonition for throwing dirt at her sister.

When she not only wrenches the ride-on truck from her sister's arms, but actually rides on and over her sister, there must be a consequence. Yet as I stand, exasperated and truly angry, I am torn. There is such remorse (sometimes) and such pain in her eyes. I wonder if maybe she already knows, if it's really necessary to send her to the exile of the stairs, or worse still, her room. Then I remember the stories of people who have not followed through, who have raised children who simply do not recognize weight of their actions.

Your children need parents, not friends.

That hurts. It hurts just as much as the realization that it ain't going to be perfect. We can make all the promises in the world, vow never to do this or to do that, but the reality is, we will err. Pre-kids, and even early days with Briar, my pat line was, "I won't do or say anything I wouldn't want repeated as a story later in life." Right, sure was easy back there on that high horse, eh Amanda?

Last night we were on a walk. It was a lovely night, both girls were in high spirits and I felt like supermom with Avery on my chest in the Baby Bjorn and Briar walking beside me while holding my hand. We'd been going for about 20 minutes and Briar had started to wander, dropping my hand every now and again. We crossed a street and I led her to an expanse of grass, "Walk right here, honey. Mama doesn't want you in the street." Before I knew it she had scampered down the slope and hopped into the street. I grabbed her hand and exclaimed something frantically. I immediately saw myself through the eyes of the-not-yet-a-mom Amanda and boy was she a judgemental shrew.

I can't believe she is screaming at her kid like that! And her hand, does she have to grab it like that? That poor kid! I would never talk to my child like that. And just look at the way the baby on her chest got yanked as she grabbed the little kid. What a mean, mean woman. That's not the kind of mom I am going to be.

Now in some ways, not-yet-a-mom Amanda was right. I did sound mean, and I did speak harshly and grab forcefully, but this was my child. It's her life. I need to impart the danger present in wandering into the street. Granted, it would be great to have her understand this all before we get into the street, before we are shattering the calm of a peaceful neighborhood with shrieks about safety. This is not the kind of mom I want to be either, but it's what I have to be. It's being a mom, not a friend. And I can honestly say to those not-yet-moms out there that it stinks.

And they probably don't want to hear this, or don't believe it applies to them, because of course, they aren't going to be the kind of mom I am, but maybe they'll listen. The next time you are at the grocery store, the park, or maybe just on your front porch and you see or hear a parent being harsh with their child, just take a minute. Before you slay them with an icy look or make a loud aside deriding their parenting skills, consider for a moment what they are doing. Is it bitching at a kid for wanting something or is it warning a child that they could get hurt? Chances are they are suffering as much if not more than the child.

I wish I could go back and cut those parents some slack. Hell, I wish I could cut myself some slack because today I am still suffering from having snapped at Briar, whether it was what I was supposed to do as a good parent or not. Truth is, I really wish I could just be her friend, but I love her too much for that.

We bought a house!

I have no idea what possessed us to do it. My god, a house. Like we don't have enough to manage with a dog, a cat, 2 pigs, a cow, a goat ---sorry, that's Duck on a Bike. We have a dog, a cat, 2 girls, a yard, a business, full time jobs, and gigs on the side.

The house we live in now is well over 100 years old. The walls need painting, the carpet needs washing, the yard needs tending and the bathrooms, well they need a total overhaul. Sean spent the better part of last weekend building stairs for the porches. Soon he'll be passing the hours of this weekend continuing the project.

Another house. Good grief. I always wrinkled my nose at the people who did this, buying a second home la dee da. I have to say though, despite my reservations of maintaining another house, it really is cute. I always wanted an eat in kitchen. And real working shutters. It has a window that lets you work in the kitchen and talk to someone on the porch, just like the house I grew up in.

I feel weird telling people about it, but the thing is we were able to afford it. And the girls love it. It's a real investment in them, in their happiness and in their futures. So, a few extra curtains here, some chairs there, and voila, second home owners.


Check it out:









We'll leave a light on for you.

Dancing in the meadow

Jon, Izzy and Rose working the sheep in the meadow,




while Sean chases a yellow-hooded, marauding toddler.

Sheep says ba-ha-ha

That's how Briar says "baa," makes it sound like sheep are wily and smug.

Not Jon's sheep. Jon's sheep, Jon's animals, are a storybook come to life.

This storybook is bound in deep red,



textured throughout with earthen hues,



and a cast of characters so whimsical and curious,



you'll look up and find that the sun,



so bright and high above when you began,



has slipped seductively behind the hills



and the crisp breath of night is nipping at your bare arms.


Reluctantly you must set the book aside until the next time.

Baa ha ha and Baaa these are the things we live for now.

Crazy for Hip Mamas

Happy hip mama day to ya. I am over at Crazy Hip Blog Mamas today with a post called I Always Knew. I'd love it if you'd head over there for a look.

I'll be back tomorrow with more tales from the farm.

Little bit of the devil in me

The other day I was sitting out front. The girls were toddling around the porch- precariously scaling the steps, perilously walking the outer perimeter, dancing upon the slender arms of the bench that sits on the dramatically sloped decking and sticking whatever random rusty, dusty and questionable looking things they found on the ground into their delicate little mouths. What was I doing you ask?

Why I was chronicling the whole thing through my beloved digital camera of course. (Did I mention they were barefoot?) Two photos emerged from the flurry of front porch play that made my heart skip a beat.



It's so easy to get wrapped up in the rules of parenting: the need to's and the have to's and the everyone thinks we ought to's. These photos cut through all of that and remind me of the aren't we so blessed to's.



We have two beautiful children. Two girls, each stunning in their own right. Wise. Funny. Strong. Daring. Loving. Magical. And I understand every day that they have always been my destiny, my family that was waiting for me.

My harbor and my paradise.

A magnificent mom whose blog I read with great delight, seems to be fighting a baby tug. I wanted to share with her that while it ain't easy, things that are worth it rarely are. So as surely as Bubbles LaRue can shimmy, you can love two.

And love, you most certainly will sweet mama.