Forgive me my infatuation

I wake up each morning to a life I never imagined, even when I dared to dream for the perfect fairy tale - three daughters, each magnificent and dazzling in her own way, prancing, singing and questing at every turn. A loving husband who looks at me with a mixture of marvel and passion, his hands reaching for mine in the night, at the dinner table and on walks. A house brimming with the kind of electricity born from a life rich with love and memories.

Between morning cuddles, impromptu vocal performances and declarations of love as strong as in our earliest days of courtship, I am blissfully adrift, unable to focus on any one thing, rather alighting on one delicious experience after another.

My laptop sits, slightly dusty and strewn with burp cloths and Lowe's circulars, an old friend. I long to write, to capture the memories of each day in words that will soothe me as I sit waiting for the girls to return from track meets, dates, and overnights. Right now there isn't the time, the pull of little hands and sunny days are too strong.

I'll be back, I promise, but I've got hair to tousle, lips to kiss and shoulders to rub.

27 Days

27 days of learning that time is unforgiving. Waste a minute and it's gone. Fritter away an afternoon pissed off about this or that and all you've done is lost an afternoon. Last night I was watching the girls play as a slideshow of picture flowed on the monitor above their heads. Incredulity doesn't begin to scrape the surface of how I feel about Briar turning four this year. Four.

If four years can go by in the blink of an eye, then before I know it I'll be watching our daughters at 4, 6 and 8.




12, 14 and 16.

****

Gulp.

****

While my mom was visiting she looked at Avery, so sure and independent, and said, "That one, she's just on loan to you."



On loan, not too far from the truth when you think how soon it will be our job to stand back and allow her to forge her own path. Squeezing hands and biting back my own opinions because it will be her life. I have moments when I believe I'll be able to do it and others when I think 50 years wouldn't be enough time to do all that I want to as a mom. I am well aware that they'll need us beyond 18, but the boundaries change. The privilege of intervention and opinion becomes tenuous, a blend of respect and patience must be practiced. We each have a birthright that comes into play - life, our own life.

Learn.

Explore.

Screw-up.

Run home.

Leave.

Come back.

Or not.

****
We watched Juno the other night, seeing a 16 year old pregnant, no judgement, just the glaring reality that in about 10 years my own baby will be able to have a baby. My brain hurts, my heart aches and my breath sprints. How to keep up. How to make the most of every minute without falling prey to the allure of bitching and regretting.

The more I live, the more I learn, the more I realize I have no idea how I'll do it until I am there. If I do get confronted by the pregnant at 16 scenario I hope I can be as kick-ass an ally as Allison Janney in the ultrasound lab*.

****




*Under no circumstances (says the woman with one, two, three daughters) is the inclusion of that flip line to be considered any sort of invitation or foreshadowing of an ability to cope with a pregnant teen. Oy, three daughters...I was still a virgin at 16, that should count for something, right?

The Money Store

Briar was sitting in the back of the car as she explained with great solemnity to Avery -

"We cannot have the ice cream. We cannot have it because Mom has no money and Daddy has to be at his office making money. Only after we go to the money store can we be getting the ice cream. Ok? Alright? The money store then ice cream, got it?"

It got me thinking, I have some errands that need running.

Visit the Sleep Store.

Pop into the Self-grooming Supermarket.

Hit the Extra-hours-in-the-day Superstore.

Swing through the Second Shower Shop.

Go to the Patience Mart.

Then again, maybe I'll just hit the Money Store and pay someone else to do it all.

One more minute

One more minute

Oh, it was simply excruciating, and no, this isn't in reference to the girls asking for one more minute. The girls are too wise for that, Avery discovered some months ago that the secret is to ask for "tain mo' minutes," because that way, when mom says, "No, baby, I'm sorry. It's time for bed," you can say, "Nine minutes?" I have melted every time she has done it and now Briar has caught on to the tactic.

I was on the couch with Fin in the middle of the day. She was burrowed in my hoody, the skin of our bellies hot against each other, her silky head pressing irresistibly upon my mouth, napping. Really napping. I don't nap. Ever. My entire body was relaxed beneath the blanket Briar had spread over us. I'd managed to sleep-talk my way through a phone call from a friend/neighbor/client of Sean's about our Dyson --anything or anyone else and I'd have hung up, but spreading the Dyson gospel is pure joy.

Anyway, I knew I had more in me, that I could ride this nap much later into the afternoon, but a three and a half year old can only be so quiet for so long. I ached with gratitude that she so happily played at my feet. Her angelic behavior made it clear that she was equally grateful not to be napping. Until hunger set in.

"I'm hungry again. May I have an apple?" Briar asked from the end of the couch.

"Sure, sweetie. Can you get it out of the fridge yourself, Fin is still sleeping," I whispered, though Finley sleeps best when the house is shaking with activity and the walls are reverberating with screams and crashes.

Silence.

"They are in the drawer in the bottom of the fridge," I directed.

Three times she tried to open the door and three times it didn't bridge. Classic. The door that is forever popping open on me clamps shut like a steel trap when a hungry 3 year old approaches it.

"Just poke your hand in between the pieces, right by the scrunchy part. Don't use the handle," even as I said it I knew she wouldn't get it. Lately I find that my directions often confuse her more and she forgets things like, you know, what a window is.

"By the window," I say.

"Window?" she asks incredulously in front of a window bursting with blinding sunlight.

"By this window?" pointing at a bookshelf.

"No, honey, the window. The place you look to see if the squirrel is on the bird feeder."

"By this one window?" gesturing to the fireplace.

So as I heard her feet simply walk across the hardwoods of the kitchen and then fall silent as she walked across the carpet and to the other side of the house my heart broke. She wasn't going to interrupt my nap, wasn't going to eat, wasn't going to do anything but play quietly by herself. It was as effective as a cold shower. I was suddenly alert and fine with being up.

I scooped Finley in my arms and padded into the kitchen. We grabbed an apple and took it into Briar. She saw us and her face exploded into a Christmas morning size smile.

"An apple! You brought me an apple!"

My pigtails had slipped out and were poking the corners of my sandy eyes, my shirt was milk stained and misshapen, and a Finley still slept in my arms. Standing there as Briar devoured the apple I felt happier and more rested than I have in weeks. It was the perfect punctuation for an unexpected nap.

The Expense of Postpartum Joy

One of the traits I inherited from my Grandpa Davie is a zest for life, followed immediately by a sentimentality so strong that it can stop me in my tracks, weeping with homesickness, weeping with joy at having seen a beautiful thing, weeping just to weep.

Sunday was Mother's Day, and when asked what I wanted to do, sentimentality and joie de vivre took over. I wanted to watch sunlight braid itself into the golden curls on Briar's head, I wanted to watch Avery gallop, hips swiveling with each magnificent stride, I wanted to feel Fin on my chest, the gentle rumble of snoring and the kisses of newborn fingertips on my bare skin. I wanted to stand proudly with Sean watching our brood. And so I did. For six glorious hours we played at the park, picnicked beneath evergreens and then scaled the mossy trails of Buck Mountain.

It was just the kind of day a person could weep for having tasted.

Today I weep with fever and aches, my body upset with my heart for trodding so heavily toward joy that it trumped reason.

Off to a hot bath, but oh the sweet memories of the day. Maybe Grandpa was watching, weeping and sighing at the beauty of it all. I hope so.

Not so little things

For granola bars and hand written notes,
For compost piles and faerie blankets,

For riding the bus and my aunt went to Europe,
For pretty little blue bird and ting-a-ling-a-ling,

For Anne Murray in the living room late,
For number one with the bullet,

For painted nurseries and bran bullets,
For back splashes and enchanted granddaughters,

Happy Mother's Day.

How much would she fetch on Ebay?

Or maybe even Etsy, since technically I made her...

My kid turns crackers into liquid gold...





And here she is after eating the golden cracker...

"We call Grandma?"

"Did she leave?" Briar asked, her blue eyes shining with knowing. Grandma had carefully explained that she would be leaving, from the sun's first move toward the horizon, she began to tenderly plant the seeds.

"Grandma is going to be going on a plane, but we'll talk on the phone."

Her voice was light, her face cheery as she painted a picture of phone calls and memories. The girls nodded at the suggestion of practicing a phone call.

"Hello, Briar? Avery? It's Grandma."

"Hi Grandma."

"Hi Gramma."

The role playing only held their attention for so long, requiring Grandma to revisit the theme every so often to ensure that when she left in the pre-dawn hours, the empty bed the girls would wake up to wouldn't leave them distraught. Between apple slices and bedtime stories she would quietly and gently remind them, "So, tomorrow Grandma's going on a plane to her house."

"With Papa?" Avery asked.

"Yes."

"And Abbie?"

"Yup."

"And Tico and Maddie at your house?"

Smiling and teary, "Yes, that's right."

Avery smiled, Briar nodded. They were satisfied trusting the warmth of Grandma's voice, but my ears heard a different voice. I heard the longing behind the words, the fervent wishing that tomorrow wouldn't come, that she wouldn't find herself sitting on a plane somewhere over the northeast as her granddaughters woke to find her gone.

"She left? Gone?" They asked.

"Yes," I answered, the sting in my eyes and lump in my throat made my stomach lurch. Understanding that the unyielding pain of parenting comes back as a grandparent, twofold, aching for child and grandchild. I looked at my girls and imagined myself at that age, the magic of Grandma and Grandpa, the confusion of time and distance. The miles between us are not something I can easily remedy, but standing in the empty room, a stack of folded quilts in the corner and a cluster of discarded toys beside the sofa, I saw the concrete promise of the visit.

Grandma came to visit, spending each moment from the girls first bed-headed squeals, to the end of the day grimy-from-playing-hard little hands scrambling for one last snack and a goodnight kiss, showering the girls with attention. It was magically mundane with Grandma handling naps and baths, playtime and bed time.

She came for Finley's arrival and with her she delivered memories that will last a lifetime for our entire family. We miss you Grandma.

Dizzy

So, there is this...






Literally like holding sunshine and giggles in my arms. Pressing my face against her silky head, feeling her fingers on my skin, her heart beating against my chest as little toes burrow in my still soft belly, I ache with contentment, mystified that I should be so lucky, and then I see this...













And I think I might burst with the beauty of my world.

Off to weep a happy mess!

Whispers on my soul

Downy skin
Pursed lips
Glistening chin

Petal-soft hands
Strawberry-sweet mewing
Milk-drunk kisses

Twirling arms
Fluttering lids
Napping starts

Giggling sisters
Loud exclaims
Six little hands

Open mouth
Outstretched arms
Rhythmic breaths

All as one

Finley Frost

She came after the dawn of the first sunny day in weeks.



Mama worked hard.


There was meconium...


but it washed right off and sucked right out.


More sunshine in the way of Dr. Guido, who some call an Adirondack version of Dr. McDreamy.


Then she was in my arms...


And forever in my dreams.


Welcome home, Fin.