Post-Christmas Play

We bundled up and took the dogs and the girls to the park to work off the Christmas euphoria hangover. Auntie Abbie delighted Briar with her super fast swinging, Avery had Grandma pushing and Sean ran the dogs ragged throwing balls

Donna meets Martha

When you look this good in an apron, it seems to bode a certain level of inherent mastery in culinary and decorating endeavors. Or perhaps it will just be the secret weapon to fooling folks into not caring, how could a hostess that divine not be incredible?

Condo Yoga

I apologize for the lack of posting, the girls have achieved a level of activity that has them going, going, going and then BOOM collapsing and sleeping for hours at a time, which has me running breathless to their bedside to check for normal breathing. It's a shame that at this stage in the pregnancy there are so few yoga moves I can do...it looks so calming.

Away for the Holidays

We did it. We survived a cross country flight with two toddlers, a neurotic pregnant woman and a tense traveling husband/dad. Here, in all its photographic detail, the first 24 hours:

iPod, Stickers and mommy-in-the-middle.


Snow angels in Vegas.

What can I say, you can take the kids out of the Adirondacks,
but you can't take the Adirondacks out of the kids.

Inverse discipline with a side of reverse psy-I'm-begging-you-cology.

Thank god for boobs and earphones.

Catching up with sis.

Eating out with family aka playing
keep the knives, water and open flame out of toddlers' hands.

Being grateful not to be on a plane.

Getting to know the "wet" in Pacific Northwet.

Inimitable and irresistible Seattle.

Waking up in a new place, but feeling at home.

Blessings.

Belly? I'm looking at the mess!

I should have waited for Sean.





You wanted a belly update, instead you are getting shots of a foul, spattered-with-who-knows-what mirror, a messy laundry room and an alternately sheepish and dazed looking me. Oh, and I suppose if you look hard you might catch a glimpse of my 21 week old belly. Stay tuned for artful belly shots from the proud daddy-of-three-to-be.

Quiet. Busy. Complete.

The past week has been a whirlwind with changes afoot professionally, demolition a'plenty at home and the continued bliss filled chaos of life with two extraordinarily active and passionate little girls.

Little things get me, from Avery devouring experiences at such a pace that she literally goes until she drops..



To the eyes-wide-open, loving and trusting in each moment approach of Briar...



At times I simply cannot bear to look away for fear of missing something, anything...



So, I haven't...



It's been sheer joy.

Still no contacts, so I just sat closer

No surprise here, I never made it to Pearl for the contacts. Nor did I make it to the store for dishwasher detergent, stain remover, dog food, or juice.

Luckily I just used the wok, the cover of which, serves as a very effective shield for unwashed dishes in the sink, strategic dressing eliminated the need for liberal application of stain remover, the dog likes pizza, and, despite my thinking we were out of juice, just the other day I bought 6 jugs.

Somehow, through my increasing (how is that even possible) pregnancy induced absent-mindedness, I managed to remember the can of unfrozen juice concentrate I bought "just in case." After making that I opened the cabinet to find 5 very full jugs of much better than concentrate juice. We went from no juice to oh-my-god-will-you-please-drink-some-more-juice in a matter of minutes.

I can tell you are riveted by this post.

I wore my glasses today and it was through them, thanks to the magic of these two girls of mine, that I laughed the purest of laughs as we sat in the thick afternoon sunlight eating yogurt and making faces.







Briar of course refrained from the yogurt as mask activity, not wanting to sully her dress, and finding entirely too much delight in the egging on of her sister.



Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode where we find our heroine fashioning a meal from 9 spaghetti noodles, a jar of pickles and Apple Cheerios through still squinty, bloodshot eyes.

To do list

Pick-up contacts at Pearl

That was it. Looking back, it seems like that's all it ever is. Three pregnancies, each with increasingly dry eyes, thus rapidly ripped contacts. Panicked trips to the shop, "Can you provide me with a test pair while we wait for the order to arrive?" followed by test contacts, and then repeated messages at the house, "Ahh, Amanda? Your contacts are here, in fact they've been in for weeks. I hope you aren't still wearing those testers..."

It's embarrassing, so this time I swore I'd order them and pick them up quickly. Thing is, they never called, no reminders, other than my spidery red lines, ravaged left eyeball. Damnit.

I told Sean I was going to get them, I repeated the reminder, "Pick up contacts," with maddening frequency, wrote notes and planned a morning around the pick-up. I plotted how I would go about getting myself to that appropriate side of town at the right time without wasting too much time. I have an event the first weekend in February and I have been scouting decorations. I figured I could hit Target and scan the party section, pick up diapers, wipes and soap and then buzz across the street to the place I ordered my contacts.

I made it to Target, grabbed a basket and stood still as a statue at the entrance:

Why am I here?

It took about 90 seconds before the words "decorations" and "diapers" popped into my head.

"Phew, ok, let's do it."

I walked toward the diapers and was sidetracked by a display of boots. The girls need winter shoes and my luck will eventually give out and the real Adirondack winter will hit. I walked up and down the aisle fingering the different booties and galoshes.

"Is Briar an 8 or a 9?"

Again, I went absolutely still as I fought to let my brain have complete use of the resources at hand. No dice. I couldn't remember.

"Well, Avery is a 6.5." Then I remembered that Sean said the black shoes I bought her three weeks ago no longer fit.

"Damnit. Never mind." I took a few steps.

"Why am I here?" Three more steps took me to the the diaper aisle and it occurred to me that we were out. I grabbed diapers and continued down the aisle.

"Pick-up your contacts," I said to myself, noting the shop wouldn't open for another 30 minutes. I walked past the books, stopping to get a few for the air travel we have coming up and then moved past electronics.

"Oooh, batteries. I'll get the fire remote a new battery." I scanned the display and accepted that I was unsure about the size and didn't want to bring home yet another, "Not quite right" battery.

I rounded the corner, 2/3 of the way through the store.

"What am I looking for?" I looked around at the bike pumps, the dorm room stocking display and the pot holders. Nothing was calling to me. I stood there, stumped, until a woman grazed my side with a barely muted "You're in the way." Her cart was filled with tinsel and holiday inflatables.

"Decorations!" She turned and glared at me, the smiling carolers on her bedazzled sweater a striking contrast to her glower.

"Bitch," it was a thought, maybe hers, maybe mine.

I trolled the decoration aisle and found nothing so I made my way to the check out. I was distracted by a rack of dresses, the wails of Briar from the night before about a too small dress that she didn't want Avery to have.

"It's too small for you."

"But it's miiiiiiiiiiiiiine!"

"Ok, but honey, it doesn't fit you anymore."

"But it's miiiiiine, not A-reeeeeeee's!"

I picked out a dress for Briar and some shirts for Avery and took my basket to the check out. I looked longingly at the Starbucks counter, but let prudence rule as my morning cup at home had been sinfully strong. I inhaled deeply on my way out and enjoyed the mild buzz I could taste in the air.

The parking lot was treacherous and I put all my attention into not slipping. Once in the car I put my hands on the steering wheel, took a deep breath and said, "Contacts." I started the car, smiling as the seat warmer kicked in, and made my way out of the labrinthine parking lot. The traffic was insane and it seemed that the four radio stations we have programmed were all playing either the Natalie Cole and James Taylor rendition of Baby It's Cold Outside or that tearjerker song about the shoes. I flipped the switch and turned on my blinker.

I waited for a break in traffic and when it came hit the gas. Too much traffic and too much slush makes for dangerous conditions so I hugged the inside lane. About 2 miles later and four blocks from home I looked up and something caught my eye in the rearview mirror.

It was my left eye. My bloodshot, scary looking, new contact needing left eye.

"You're kidding!"

It was too late to turn back, no chance for a turn around until the street to our house.

"Seriously? I mean seriously, Amanda?"

So here I sit, 36 hours later, the shop is closed, my eye is raging and I know I'll forget to go tomorrow.

Sweets, dreamin'

Our sweets, dreaming, together. That's right, we've done it.

Two girls.
One room.
One bedtime.
Two nights running.

Now, I'd be lying if I didn't say there were a few episodes of hysterics last night, but all things considered (Read: Your many altruistic comments offering insight, empathy and condolences, as well as your own tales of shared bedrooms) it really wasn't all that painful for anyone.

Not that I am a proponent of bribing, though it has its places -

the check out at the grocery store
the home office during an important call
immediately following the dropping of an f-bomb or other unsuitable-for-use-by-a-toddler- type language
and when you have to change course, delaying a promise

Might I suggest for any of you parents considering a merging of rooms the purchase of the princess light at Lowe's, the privilege of turning it off will have them eating out of your hand. Admittedly this might be a tougher sell if the new co-habitants are boys, it worked royally well for our girls.

We came downstairs rather proud of ourselves and with cheshire cat grins plopped on the sofa to watch something on tv uninterrupted by staggered bedtimes. As luck would have it, there was NOTHING on tv. Sigh. Luckily we can hear the echo of Briar standing in the doorway of her room saying, "This is my room. And this is Avery's room, too."

A prime time indeed.

Where was I?

Sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor last night, as the girls played with big plastic colanders in the bathtub, I was hit with wave after wave of reality, its force as jarring as unexpected splashes of cool water. I am simply dizzied by the contradictory nature of the passage of time as a parent. How can it move so mercilessly fast and yet allow us these pockets of time in which moments last for hours, and the spirit of those moments nestles deep within to sustain us as time marches forward.

Their knobby knees were poking out of the water and their shiny wet hair clung to their necks and extended well beyond their shoulders, so long and unbaby-like. They flipped around, the water sloshing and their bodies slipping on the slick porcelain tub. I lurched to catch them, but their sinewy arms shot out, and they handily caught and righted themselves before I had a chance. I felt at once empty and proud.

I don't mean to dwell on how fleeting this stage is, and in a way, I suppose I am grateful that I struggle so to accept it. I just never knew how old three really was (or 18 months for that matter), I didn't understand how early the process of growing up began. No one told me how quickly life would go after I became a mom - wrinkles and dimples, big girl shoes and comfortable flats, top 40 music and home shows. Sometimes I just wish I could take three steps back, but then I look at all I am gaining: confidence, theirs and mine; wisdom, again, theirs and mine; and of course the deepening of love, for Sean, our girls and myself.

All that said, I still wonder how can Briar look so tiny one moment and so impossibly grown up the next? How did Avery shed all of her babyness save her belly without my noticing? How did my profile go from bumpish to zip codeish? And how did I ever stumble upon a guy like Sean who understands my every emotional hiccup and makes spilling 36 ounces of much needed coffee all over his office seem like an endearing thing?

A Perfect Fit

We crept up the stairs together, she and I. Her fingers laced through my hair as her cheek pressed against mine, "Me sleepy. Crib. Mama. Read." She laid her head on my shoulder, her cheek filling the hollow of my collar bone and the curve of her head slipping into my neck and matching its lines seamlessly. We slipped through the hallway, the morning light dusting over us, and then into her room.

Her body moved from mine, stretching for the narrow spines of her beloved books. "Cakey-Cakes. Babies." Her little fingers spread wide, then clasped emphatically as if trying to pull the books from the shelf and into her hands from across the room. "Ok, sweetie, ok." I didn't so much carry her as I did guide her questing form for the coveted keys to dreamland. Once they were in her hands she melted into me and our move from standing to cuddling was a familiar swoon.

I leaned into the chair, the reality of my growing belly making her roost slightly different with each passing day. She shifted to and fro, shook her head, and settled off to one side with her head resting on my chest. I lifted the book and she placed her hand on my wrist. That skin, her skin, and the familiar weight of her hand on me never fails to steal my breath, rocking me to my core. Each day she is bigger and more independent, but the gossamer line between womb and fetus is still visible to me, like ripples of a long since submerged skipping stone.

Before we've turned the last page of the book she is turning to me, her mouth and hands seeking me out as flowers to sunlight. "Mowk. Mowk, mama. Mowk." I am so grateful for this, knowing that soon she'll turn from my breast and my helping hands, running to adventure and freedom, leaving me standing, once indispensable and now an impediment. It will be a milestone of significant accomplishment, but success, I am learning, does not mean an absence of hurt in this journey of parenting.

As she nurses I study her face, the delicate smudges of violet beneath her eyes before sleep, the apples of her cheeks and their healthy glow remind me of sourdough fresh from the oven, and then her hair. That dark hair and its tireless curls, so buoyant and wild, a mirror image of her personality. Her eyes flutter closed, little dimples still winking at me from her cheeks as she suckles, and then she is still. We sit this way for a moment and then I stand. She stirs, moving her face from my breast to burrow beneath my chin.

Our reflection shines in the mirror and I am transfixed. She straddles my belly, her legs pull at my shirt and her hands press into my sides. Beneath her my belly peeks out, no longer hinting so much as declaring its purpose, the fullness almost a perch for her form and I feel a tap. Her sister is pressing against her, rising to the surface of my belly to join us in this dreamy moment as one. My face smiles back at me as if to say, "can you believe we did this?" and I begin to cry. Because I can believe it and am humbled by the blessing.