Tumble Dry

Tides

2009-07-13T15:23:00.003-04:00

It's been more than a year since I wrote about the heartache of life's demands. It's actually the heartache of my own desires, but that is so hard to admit, isn't it? Whether you are a mom or a wife, a civil servant or a student, to admit when you desire to have something or do something that has nothing to do with altruism or good will, but really just comes down to this is what I want.

Sean and I have gone round after round about time, whether it's time for ourselves to work on projects unencumbered or to simply be together. He can say it without guilt or hesitation, "I miss my wife" or "I want some non-kid time." I can barely utter those words for fear of some imaginary rod coming down and branding me an irresponsible mom.

I've been trying to do better at things, a hair appointment here and a date there. The introduction of toddler Tuesday has been lifesaving as it gives me a kind of license to revel without overtly demanding something. Overall I think it's good and that I have things figured out and then something happens.

It came like a shot of lightning through a clear sky.

September.

Kindergarten.

Weaning.

No more babies.

It's July and come fall I'll have one daughter in kindergarten, one daughter in preschool and another experimenting with sentences and pedals. My perfect place as the axis of their world is shifting and, in an act of futile desperation, I am seizing a last wisp of ruffled nightgown and baby tendril.

Today was a blur of green sparkles and Elmer's glue, pear-juice laced kisses and laughter. I sidled along casting dollhouse shadows with faeries and scarves. With any luck I'll turn these last hours of now into days and as we hurtle into the first autumn of school days, I'll have left a trail of seeds that will be perennials, bright and showy. Forever.

.

You'll Never Know

2009-07-09T16:53:00.003-04:00

We were swaying to the lullabye, our reflection keeping time in the hazy mirror. I watched us, her hand on my arm sliding to and fro, her face drawn in a lazy smile, an expression of utter contentment on both our faces. I imagined her standing beside me, long limbs and taut muscles electric with ability and a life thick with things that have nothing to do with me. I squeeze her as I crane my face into press against her cheek.

Remember this baby, hold this squeeze for later.

She smiles and points, "Bay-bee. Uh bay-bee a mama!" I grin and point back. I step closer to the mirror and sharpen our reflection, my attempt to fill more of this sliver in time. Minutes being choked by days that turn into night and then morning before I know it. Longer necks, brighter eyes and the cruel slash of a perfectly pronounced word, "Ummmm, juice."

I felt myself deny the laptop and the emails it held, deciding instead to define this afternoon as more memory than accomplishment. We danced there before the mirror for a while. My hands cupped her body, the entire length of my arms at work cradling her long torso and legs. Her belly pressed into mine as she cocked her head to look back and forth between reflection and real.

"It's me. I am right here and right there. Right here holding you."

She softly shuffled her feet and shimmied her body closer into my arms. Tinier and closer.

"I'm always going to be your mama, sweet Fin. And you know what? You know what my littlest you?"

She extended her neck and waited, a grin upon her face as I pointed to the mirror.

"You will always, always, always be my baby, even when you are the biggest of all."

We smiled at each other and ourselves and I tried to imagine how this memory would taste years and years later. Like the traces of sugar on a wrapper, I think I'll find sweetness and dust and the tiniest sensation that i beat the system and got a little more.

I waited a while longer before laying her in the crib, though her eyes were drowsy and she was ready to go. I traced the dimples on her elbows and touched my lips to hers until I felt her start to giggle. Then I put her tenderly into her crib, whispering how much I loved her because you never know when it will be the last time.

On second thought

2009-07-05T13:35:00.006-04:00

Found myself getting my overly-sensitive nose bent out of joint over things beyond my control. Again.

Does it amaze anyone else how we fall into self-defeating ruts, whether it's not working out, falling behind on chores or getting sucked into the vortex of giving a rip about who likes you and who takes you back to the meanies in fifth grade? I'm too old for this. I'm a parent, aren't we supposed to be beyond this people?

I have a handle on eating right, at least keeping complete pigstyness at bay and of practicing what I preach, but man alive the relationship dynamics get me.

Morose, blue, self-pitying and impotently pissed, that was me this morning. Gross.

Enter iPhoto, Fin and Sean.

Salvation.

So while I'd really prefer it weren't an issue, I'm going to ignore the clouds some people bring, and focus on the abundance of blue sky in my life.

.

You Meaning

2009-07-01T15:50:00.002-04:00

I find myself chronicling time from when Fin joined our family, really from the positive home pregnancy test. I suppose it has to do with that being the most recent milestone, but I imagine it being more because it was when the ribbon of our family met at each end. Our magnificent bow, complete with frills and knots and new whispers of color.

Lately our soundtrack, already pealing with laughter, exclaims and stampeding feet, has been peppered with a raspy new element.

I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said each hour brought new sounds, words. I've been listening, amazed by the explosiveness of it and finding myself more witness than participant. A few days ago I decided to engage, responding, sometimes with my best guess, other times with certainty thanks to dimpled elbows and pudgy fingers gesturing me along.

"You want some juice?"

"No."

"You want to read a book?"

"No!"

"Oh, Finley, you need me to change your diaper?"

"NO!"

Fin, our sweet family, exclamation point. I know these "no's" are yeses, said it with passion and twinkles, hands moving with Fosse-flair. And so I take the "no's" and treat each as yes, bringing drinks that were declined, reading stories that weren't requested.

But when I ask for kisses or swoop in for a cuddle I always find myself wrapped in yes. A cool, soft cheek against my own, a soft and steady pat upon my back, legs pressing at my side and the jut of a chin tapping repeatedly at my shoulder. A nodded yes.

My riddle solved.

I admit it, I watched

2009-06-22T21:59:00.003-04:00

I have never watched a full episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8, but tonight, the girls asleep and Sean at work, I watched. I kind of wish I hadn't. This parenting and marriage thing is not easy. I write about the beauty of my children and my life, and while I mean every word there is, of course a dark side. I have my eye-rolling moments or my wishing they would just for the love of all that is good go to bed moments.

None of us wants our foibles to be on display or to have someone weigh in on something based on their limited perspective. I've read the rants about the riches and perks, but at the end of the day it's still a marriage and kids. The amount of energy, commitment and perseverance needed is sobering.

Listening to their interviews I thought at one point as Jon talked about the divorce requiring communication and how it might help, "You bet it does dickhead, but so did marriage," and then I bit my tongue. Who the hell do I think I am to judge him. Sure he's on tv, sure he is annoyingly laidback and exudes a palpable air of "Whatever, my shit doesn't really stink," but he is also privy to so much that we don't know.

I want my marriage to work. I want not to screw things up for my girls, but there but for the grace of god I can see myself in this kind of failure. Kids are hard. Marriage is hard. Life is hard. It's also breathtakingly beautiful, but I don't believe there is a person out there who hasn't had one outweigh the other to the point that it sours you.

Tonight I am grateful that despite some times when it has seemed bleak and some nights when I thought I was truly not capable of making it through bedtime without screaming, my kids are sleeping and I miss my husband.

We have made it through another day. So tonight, after watching that show, I am reminded that it really is day by day and each one requires work, love and biting back things that you have no business saying.

Let's play nice and preserve the love that we can, eh?

You'll Forget

2009-06-12T21:42:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time I hated the input. I would tense each time I felt their eyes on me, anticipating the, "Oh, don't waste a minute," and "One day you won't be so excited," and on and on. My experience was sacred. my emotions my own, the first of their kind.

Five years later I understand my place a bit more. I know that while my feelings are sacred, there is a thread that runs through us all, an unstoppable, unavoidable, unforgiving truth. I know that the grizzled checker and the overly-perfumed, touchy-feely woman at the store both know my path.

It does go fast. Mercilessly so.

I am as aware of the inevitability of my aging and death, as I am of my children's growing up and moving on. I am sick with obsession and protest, running from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button all the while turning Darius Rucker on auto-repeat. I cannot make up my mind, and I suppose in some ways I am grateful for that. I think to accept the fleetingness of it all would be tragic, but so too would be the constant hand wringing.

I find myself each day having a new perspective on my performance—

I am failing, working too many hours and saying no to Play Doh.

I am awesome: organic food, bedtime stories and slow dancing with dad.

I yelled. I loathe myself.

I managed the stroller, scooter, bike and babies. Park, bath and cuddles.

Other times I am almost divided, wishing I could just work or just parent. Or, as embarrassed as I am to admit it, just laze about. I think this moment in time of being ashamed of professional aspirations and sheepish about stay-at-home envy has got to be the zenith of my discomfiture. Or maybe it's not.

Maybe what they say about the teen years is worse. The angst and constant battle of wills.

Or maybe it's the post teen years of perceived obsolescence.

What I know tonight is that despite how easy it is to forget things, I remember briar's first laugh on Christmas Eve.
I remember Avery touching me and saying, "You my Manda?"
And I am hearing Finley say as she pulls away from a third kiss, "Ayyy yawve ooo."

I am letting go of not signing up for dance class and for being late for check ups.

I am finding a way to tell Sean that I miss being a couple.

I beginning to understand how different and precious my relationships with each girl are.

And, I am passing through these days, each rife with their own bliss and agony, like an automobile on a coastal highway at daybreak, marveling at the beauty of the fog all the while hoping its unchangeable inconsistent ways don't trip me up.

If I were to die tomorrow, which I desperately hope I won't, but know that I could, I hope they know two things*: How very much I love them and how hard I tried not to screw up.

*When they are teenagers I am going to read this and pretend they said it.

Blam

2009-06-04T21:53:00.005-04:00

"I'd really like to go for a family walk," I whispered to Sean behind my hand as we finished dinner.

"Tonight?" he asked.

I nodded and he smiled. After we cleared plates and washed hands we headed out the front door. The girls were beside themselves. Briar clambered into the wagon next to Fin as Ave bee-bopped on the sidewalk saying between bouncing curls and loud giggles, "I'm going to do my super run."

We went much farther than we'd intended to go. Sean pulled the wagon with me running down the sidewalk with Ave, sometimes behind her, sometimes wickedly ahead of her. Briar hopped out for the last block and did her thing, running ahead as if she would never stop, confidence and peace thick in her wake. Fin literally sang, her face set in an unfettered state of bliss. It was as close to the perfection of summer nights at age 8, as anything I've felt in a long time.

"Will you water the flowers in that bed if I take the girls up?" He looked to where I was pointing and nodded, a little excited, I think, for the time alone. "Fin just told me, 'aw dun,' so that's good," he said as he passed her to me.

I was going to take the girls up to bed, but I saw the playroom strewn with toys, costumes and blankets. It seemed a perfect opportunity to wind down and accomplish something. "Let's go. Shoes off, in the cabinet. Then let's clean up the big room, ok girls?" They scampered off ahead of me and I smiled, proud of my little ringleted herd. "Avery, you're on trains. Put'em on the table. Briar, you pick up the costumes. Fin-diddle, you just get the babies, ok?"

They spread out across the room cleaning and playing in lazy loops like drunken bees. Finally the room was clean and the big girls headed to the door. Fin made one more pass to the far end of the room and disaster struck. I heard a clap and she crumpled, her hands moving lightning-fast to her face and then shrieks. Heartbreaking, ear piercing howls of pain and surprise. I ran to her as the girls stood rooted in place.

"What's wrong?" they murmured.

I scooped her in my arms and the blood came, huge spurts of blood. I couldn't tell where they were coming from as I cradled her in my arms, holding her face away from my body as I tried to gauge the severity. I was a hair's breadth from losing it as the blood came think and dark, spotting across my arm and soaking my chest.

The girls were spinning in circles until I barked, as much for myself as for them, "Stop it. Just move it, upstairs." I pressed wet paper towels against Fin's bottom lip as we moved upstairs. Once in the bathroom I began blotting with a cold wet towel, she was cut inside and out. After a minute the bleeding slowed down and I looked at her, "You want some milk, sweet girl?" She didn't give me her usual, "N'yeah!" instead just leaning into me.

I collapsed on a stool and nursed her while Avery rubbed my shoulder, her fingers tracing the dried blood, and Briar hummed and traced a hand along Fin's back. We stayed like that for quite some time, before I ushered the girls to their room so I could get Sean.

"Honey, I need your help." He looked at me, "Ok," and then I said, "I have Fin and she's bleeding, I need you to help me see how badly." He was calm and quick, guiding us under a light and checking her mouth. More blood than damage sent us upstairs to put her to bed. My guilt was thick as I explained that I hadn't taken the girls to bed. There was a look on his face, nothing he needed to say, or even would. We both know that you can do something 99 times, but there will be that one time that deviates do dramatically that you kick yourself.

We dressed the girls in their pjs, did the bedtime routine with an extra step of Motrin and Neosporin for Fin and kissed them goodnight. Fin turned gratefully to her bed and cuddled in to the corner. "You ok, mama?" he asked me. I nodded weakly.

Sean went downstairs and I went to change. I tiptoed down the hall. I peeled my shirt and bra off and grabbed a fresh tank top. I heard Finley begin to cry and headed into her.

"You ok? Mama's here," I shushed.

She wrapped her arms and legs around me and buried her face in my neck. I rocked side to side as she flipped her face from side to side. After a minute her head popped up and she looked at me. Her eyes scanned my face and then she leaned back. I said, "You ok?" and she sat up straight beaming at me and then leaned in and gave me a huge kiss. She leaned back, eyed my face again and made a contented trilling sound before kissing me again.

We swayed in the dark together, her hand pressing into my arms purposefully, "Don't leave yet."

Inside her arms I felt less guilt than I did peace. I hope she found more comfort than pain, my sweet little Fin.

"I'm not going anywhere, Fin."

Shhhhhhh

2009-06-01T22:24:00.004-04:00

"Is there a place to go?" I asked.

"Yup. The guy was really nice, said there was a little girls room upstairs." Sean said with his hand on the small of my back.

I stepped out of the car and said, "C'mon girls, let's go upstairs and go to the bathroom."

"Ok," they chirped in unison.

We tromped upstairs, stopping every step or two to reconfirm that we were going to the bathroom.

"That's right. We'll go right up to the bathroom and then hit the road again," I said ushering them up the carpeted stairs.

We walked single file down the hallways past a few doors.

"Mom, what's hit the road? Does it hurt?" Ave asked.

"No honey, it means go." I said.

"Hit means go?" she stopped.

"No, but go," I said chuckling. She snickered and scampered ahead. We got to the end of the hallway and then finally into the bathroom. Briar went first while Avery played with a squat farm sink at just her height. Briar launched herself off the toilet with a whisper-shout, "Your turn, Ave!" and nearly elbowing Briar off of the sink.

Avery sat and did her thing, cat one point shushing Briar. After she was done she went to the sink to wash her hands.

"Mom?" Ave asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes, sweetie."

"Mom, after I wash my hands can we see the little girl?" She asked hopefully.

"What little girl?" I asked.

"The little girl who lives here and uses that little sink. Can we see her?" She asked as I clumsily put together in my head that she was referring to the little girl of Sean's "little girls room," comment.

"No, we can't honey," I said as I dried her hands.

"Why, cause she's sleeping?" she asked looking up at me. Her eyes were so dark, so expectant that I lost myself in the moment of thinking of nothing but her face.

"Mom, it's ok. I'll hold Briar's hand and we'll walk without waking her up, ok?" She and Briar were already holding hands.

*******
It's these moments when I am able to occupy not just the space near her, but the trajectory of her thoughts, that I find myself being weak, and riding rather than steering. One day I'll need to explain, but not this day.

This day and the days ahead will embrace sleeping little girls, fairies in gardens and anything else that the three shades of blue in my daughters' eyes are able to see.

Whispers

2009-05-29T15:28:00.004-04:00

When I was a little girl I lived on Hickory Lane. There was a field near our house that I loved disappearing to. It was, to my young eyes, enormous, a wide expanse of promise filled brush. I would run out, far enough to feel deliciously free, but not so far that I couldn't get back home before whatever evil might be lurking in the shadows leapt out at me. I would spend hours fashioning homesteads, hunting magic creatures and hiding from passing cars.

Briar has found a field.

She just finished preschool, an event that drove home how fast she is growing and how despite her quest for independence, she is still a very, little girl. The last day of school was something I've not even tried to write about, the tears so forceful and the quake of her shoulders continuing well into the night. Her heartbreak took everyone by surprise and continues to laps at the edges of our days.

Reading a note from her teacher today, we were reduced to tears, "But why can't I see her anymore?" She asked.

"Honey, you can. You can visit," I explained, underlining the place on the card where her teacher had said as much.

"But why can't she be my teacher anymore?" Her eyes bore into me, reminding me of the first teacher I had, Miss. Thompson, a five year old girl's answer to a rock star.

"Well, once you start school, that's what happens. You have a new teacher each year." She looked at me, waiting to see if I meant it, when she saw that I wasn't going to say anymore her face crumpled.

"But I love her. I love her so much. She's. She's. She's my teacher," and the rest was muffled as she buried her face in my neck.

I swallowed hard and felt a flutter, this is just the first.

This fall she'll start kindergarten. She asks new questions each day,

"Will there be line leader jobs in kindergarten?"

"Will the teacher know my name?"

"D'ya think we'll learn the letters of the school?"

I answer as I can, occasionally choosing my responses in ways that I think will make her happier or prepare her for differences. The wound of not having communicated clearly enough that school was ending weighs on me.

The field I find her disappearing to is a place that suspends her between baby and child. I both understand and am exhausted by this place. She slips behind layers of fear and need, running to me, hiding behind my legs. I stroke and soothe, shush and encourage.

"Mama, carry me," she'll say in a whisper.

"Honey, I can't. I've got Fin," I'll say, or worse, "Honey, why are you asking me that? You are a big girl." I agonize over this, knowing that she'll never be smaller than she is today. She is a big girl, and yet she is my baby.

There are times as she traverses this field that she pushes me away. The first blush of embarrassment of me and for me. I hold her sinewy body in my arms and want her to stay, but she twitches, her neck craning literally and figuratively for something more. A pretty girl. A playground. A project, teacher, classmate or party.

I can feel her pulling away, but managing her own tether, something that keeps her tied to me, if only for a thin veil of protection from that which she is not quite sure of. I want to be here or there or wherever she needs me. I want to be ok as I hear the whispers of the girl ahead and as I hear the whispers of the girl who is here now, mama, will you cuddle with me?

I hope that I can understand the whispers between the rustles of school days and bedtime. I want to make sure she knows I am here, on the periphery of her field, always willing to pick her up or drop her off no matter how old she is.

I'm not beautiful

2009-05-27T22:02:00.002-04:00

Sean was working late and I had the girls in various stages of undress as we transitioned from reading to dancing. Ave was the first to get dressed, donning her pink ballerina costume with its bodice of dog-eared bows and quirky, stick-straight-up-instead-of-out-tutu. I was rushing to get Briar a fourth, fifth and six skirt to add to her faux hoop-skirtesque ensemble.

"Inowbooyflll," tickled at my ear.

"What?" I asked turning to see who and where it came from.

Ave was sitting with her knees tucked beneath her in the corner, her hair fell over her face as she looked up at me. "What did you say, sweets?" I asked.

"I'm not beautiful," she said, eyes sorrowful and piercing.

"You're what?" I said lowering myself to her level.

"I'm not beautiful," she said louder, clutching one bent knee in her arms as her chin rested on it.

"Excuse me? You aren't beautiful? I'm sorry, but you are the most beautiful middlest, Avery I have ever known." I said it with a playful, emphatic tone, but inside my chest felt as if it was pressing in on itself.

No, please no. Please don't let this be happening.

"No, I'm just not beautiful." Her eyes were free of tears, her mouth flirting with a smile, but the damage was done. She said something that shouldn't matter, shouldn't stop play and that simply wasn't true.

*****

I still have days when I put on a dress and I fear that my height or build will make someone question my femininity. It's ridiculous, but years of doubt and insecurities, genuine and posed, leave a mark. I am cautious not to say things in front of the girls, but they see beyond what we know. I am strong and proud, tall and sharp, but it is in my moments of slouching, my hesitations springing from doubt that call out to them.

She didn't say she wasn't smart, didn't say she wasn't strong, she chose beautiful. She wanted my attention, my concern. Have I done something to make her think that beauty is what I value most? Has someone else? Does it matter?

She is my strong, beautiful, hilarious, amazing Avery. Her hurt made me feel powerless and I fear it's but a fraction of what lies ahead. Now I have to try and find my way between "Yes, you are" and "You are so many things," making sure I get the balance right.

Photo Booth

2009-05-19T22:00:00.002-04:00

I have an addiction.

I won't be seeking treatment.

Mama, when I grow up...

2009-05-16T20:15:00.005-04:00

It's a little game we play, more of a way of life these days.

"Mama, when I grow up I want to have grown out bangs."

"Mama, when I grow up I wanna be a teacher."

The first was from Briar, the second from Avery. They are each progressing and questing at such a pace that their desires for the future change with each new experience. Last weekend we went to the wedding of a cousin. She was everything little girls would hope for in a bride; radiant, twinkly, delighted to kneel and talk to little girls, and resplendent in layers of beaded satin.

The ceremony was something that awed each of the girls, such pomp and circumstance with the bride's brothers in kilts, the bridesmaids in floor length blue gowns and the reception chock full of dancing, glass clinking and princes and princesses. The excitement of it all was reignited today after Ave's birthday party as Glens Falls High School students headed to prom poured out of a white stretch limo.

The girls ran down the street to watch the spectacle of boys with mohawks in tuxedos standing alongside girls in every type of ball gown imaginable, from a classic pink cotton candy layered tulle number to a blue leopard print cut-out number. I watched, my heart breaking a little as I imagined how soon I'd be standing on the other side of the sidewalk and envying the rock star-like allure the young dates had for the girls.

"Mama, what will I do in high school?" Briar asked as I tucked her in.

"Well, you'll take classes and learn about history and art, maybe play sports or act in plays." I mused aloud.

"And dances? Will I go to dances?" She asked hopefully.

"Of course you will. If you do well in school." I felt myself bristle at the joy dampering warning, but it didn't faze phase her.

"Mama, can you tell me where the princes are?" Briar asked at bedtime as I rocked Finley in my arms.

"The princes?" I asked a little surprised.

"Yes. I mean, where did Erin meet her prince?" She pressed.

"I think she met him at work, or maybe at school," I said.

"Well, how do you find your prince? Where does it happen?" she was sitting up, ready for the words that might light the way to where her prince was waiting.

"It's happens in different ways and in different places for everyone." I hedge sometimes, partly because I don't want the girls to think I place a huge amount of importance on whether or not they get married, partly because I don't want to set up some scenario that they may take as law.

"Mom?" This time it was Ave.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Mom, when I grow up I wanna be a wedding girl, ok?" She asked and declared in the way only a three year old can.

"Ok, you can be a wedding girl if that's what you want."

"And mom?" She was looking up at me, her dark blue eyes very serious and determined.

"Yes, honey?"

"Mom, I'm going to be a wedding girl," smiling and with a nod, "and I want dad to be my wedding guy."

********

Uh-bss, uh-bss, uh-bsst!

2009-05-10T10:12:00.005-04:00

Note pads gather dust, the camera sits more than it flashes and the dates on my blog entries grow further and further apart. I suppose the stereotypes about first, middle and last babies are true in some respects, but this morning as I swayed with Finley in my arms I felt a different truth.

I pressed my fingers into the dimples on her left elbow as she koala-beared on my chest, knees squeezing my sides, feet pushing against my back and fingers wrapped around my shoulders; a perfect embrace. She turned her face from one side to the other, burying her cheeks in my neck like a cool pillow in the middle of summer. Every so often she popped her head up and turned, checking her reflection in the mirror and kicking with delight.

Mama

She devours her time alone with me unapologetically and I can I see my own bliss reflected back in her eyes. This bond is different, it is not being painstakingly recorded or photographically captured in the same way that we did with Briar or with Avery. It is like a later love affair, after the capricious flings built on lust or convenience, beyond the step-by-step patterns of should-do's and ought-to's. It is the real thing.

This isn't to say that Briar and Avery weren't, these girls are the fruits of my greatest love. They are the results of the mistakes I made along the way. The wrong boys, the bad decisions, the heartache and the searching. They are the rewards for loving completely and without fear—the paradise I landed in after leaping.

Finley often pulls her head back, lifting her body off mine and craning back until her eyes are locked with mine. She waits, eyes wide and lips parted, before kicking her feet and exclaiming, "Uh bah mwaah!" and planting a massive, open mouth kiss on me. Her face launches into my neck again for a full body embrace and then she is back again.

She looks at me with great excitement and says, "Uh-bss, uh-bss, uh-bssah, uh-bssst!" I say it back and she nods and kicks with joyous satisfaction, affirmation. "Bssuh, bssuh, bssuh!" I lose myself in the shine of her lips as her tongue zips out to make the sounds. The pads of her fingers are the softest thing I've ever felt and I memorize the path they take as she pats my shoulders.

Avery and Briar circle as, pushing strollers, proffering baby dolls and jousting with Barbies. My life literally swirls around me from the moment I wake until my head finally touches the pillow at night. I find the rhythm of our days beginning to wear a perfectly smooth track along my core. It is challenging and exhausting, but the wake of this life, the rigors of caretaking and teaching, loving and disciplining are life-sustaining. The moment I begin to feel weary I see a new sparkle in the girls, a discovered ability or mastered skill and in each I can see myself, a legacy.

I don't know if the lapse in writing is allowing the girls to tell and me to live these most recent pages or if it is an unwillingness to pause for fear of missing something. Either way, despite knowing that I'll forget certain things, I am certain that this moment in time with Finley easily walking, Briar standing more often than not with her hands on her hips aching to be a big girl and Avery embodying all that is magic and impossible on the cusp of three, will travel with me until all that is left of me is my place in their hearts and memories as mom.

I will try to chronicle more so that they have it as I saw it to layer upon their own memories, but my first and most enduring promise is to live as fully within each moment with them as I can.

Briar.

Avery.

Finley.

Bri, Ave, Fin you are my exquisite everything.

Lullabye

2009-05-05T10:20:00.005-04:00

We were downstairs just after bedtime. I'd gone to take out my contacts and wash my face, meanwhile Avery had shuffled down the stairs and wiggled her way into Sean's arms. They looked equally complicit and content and so, as I heard Finley start to cry, I left them with a smile.

Closing the door softly behind me, I made my way upstairs, Finley's cries ratcheting up with each stride. Half way up the stairs I heard Briar begin to warble a tune of her own making:

Go to sleep, little Fin.
Go to sleep so nicely and sweet,
Little Fin, little Fin,
Sleep so you sleep,
Dream so you dream.

I stopped and listened. Her voice quivered a bit as she started each line, but then would grow stronger and more melodic as she moved to a higher note. I could hear her feet on the floor, imagined her dancing with a doll to entertain Fin. Briar is becoming more and more like me each day. Taking on responsibilities, stubbornly insisting that she do things on her own and care taking her sisters.

I find myself so torn by the way she tends to Finley without a second thought and the way in which Finley responds. She finds comfort in Briar, shades of what she does in me. I don't mean to put Briar in this position, don't want her to feel overburdened, yet I also don't want to deny her the gratification she must feel in having this ability.

I listened, waiting until I was sure Finley was asleep, and I called to Briar.

Briar? Briar.
Come here sweetie, come sit in mom's room.

She darted qucikly, her hands holding her nightgown down as if the fabric's swishing might wake Fin. I scooped her in my arms and carried her to my bed. We sat together, with her in arms, talking conspiratorially. I ran my fingers through her hair and listened as questions and new details of the school day bubbled from her perfect little lips.

When I'm a mommy will I drive to the hospital?
And when the baby is out of my belly will you still be my mom?
And then I was just pumping and knowing how to swing at school.
And then Daniel was talking to me about how he does his swinging.

I found myself overwhelmed by the absence of guilt as I just listened. These few stolen moments felt as momentous and precious as anything I can remember. We crawled under the covers and touched noses, enjoying the time. Sean and Avery cuddled below and Fin slept the kind of sleep that comes from sharing a room with sisters.

I'll remember this simple moment forever.

364

2009-04-29T14:29:00.004-04:00

Tomorrow is Finley's first birthday. One year old, I mean really, it shouldn't sneak up on you. I hear it time and again, "She's a year? So soon? Whew, that went fast." I find solace in knowing that it hasn't just been me, as if others being shocked means that I didn't check out and miss it. Yet I am stunned, how could I have let the first year of my last baby go so fast. How?

She is it. Three and done. No trying for a boy, no maybe just one more. She is it. Fin.

fin- (Latin: end, last, limit, boundary, border).
ad finem; ad fin. To the end. Ad finem fidelis. Faithful to the end. Ad finem spero. I hope to the last. ad finem ultimum. To the final end.

A few months ago we moved her crib and the big girl beds into our old room, so insistent was Fin that she be allowed to sleep with her gang. She's asleep in her crib right now, the dark curls of her ponytail poking through the rails. Her body is turned toward her sisters. Sunlight is streaming in her window, the broad swath of sunlight filling her bed like a blanket. I don't say this for literary effect, I say this because it doesn't surprise me that even the sun wants to be near her. Finley is infectious. You don't look at Finley so much as you experience her.

I remember fighting through the thick haze of last-minute drugs as they laid her in my arms. She was perfect, exactly the sort of perfect that makes the "last baby" decision right and absolutely wrong. Her fingers pressed against me, her feet digging into my body. I was so fiercely glad to have her outside of me where I could see her and smell her, but another part of me wanted her back inside of me. Not to be shared. Not to be lost. Not to ever stop being my baby.

Now, here I am watching the clock as the minutes of the last day of her first year whiz by. I am older and more obligated- preschool, kindergarten, work, life- and yet for all my worries, I have rediscovered so much. I have allowed myself to be a mom with a baby.

Just this morning holding a cell phone to her ear with one hand, she nestled against my body, her face buried decadently in my skin as she nursed and traced familiar circles on my side. I had stopped getting ready, dropped what I was doing at the computer and just sat. Her eyes locked with mine, the circles she traced pulsed firm then soft as her lids drooped. I smiled and she sighed. One.

She is one and, in my heart, we will always be one. I am relearning the excruciating balance of laying claim and letting go. The paths her sister's carved upon me in the years before her, have become as much her own as theirs. My Finley, my last baby who has often times felt like my first for all the magic, wonder and hope that have sprung.

I worship your fearlessness and your joy. I adore your curls and treasure your snarls. You are what each of us hoped for, what we needed, but far more importantly you are exactly you.

Happy Birthday Finley.

.

The Call You Dread

2009-04-22T12:31:00.003-04:00

I've made no secret about how hard being a working mom can be. It is hard, the not fitting in with stay-at-home moms, not feeling completely comfortable with working-outside-the-home-moms, but there is one thing that helps.

A great sitter/nanny.

We have a wonderful person who I know loves our girls and is supremely capable. That said, I still get a tiny bit sick of the phone rings or I get an email from her.

"Ohomygod, what's wrong? Are they ok? Did someone get hurt? ShouldIcomehomerightnow?"

Seriously, full blown panic.

She called today.

"Amanda, it's Erin for you."

Shit.

"Hello?" I asked with serious trepidation.

"Amanda? I just had to call, I just went upstairs to check on the girls..."

Abject terror.

"I didn't see Ave."

Horror!

"And then I found her in the crib."

Crippling relief.

"She was asleep with her arm around Fin."

Mind-blowing awareness of my blessings and satisfaction in knowing that having a 3rd daughter was the right thing to do.

Erin, thank you for loving our girls.

Here's One Reason

2009-04-20T16:03:00.003-04:00

It might have been for the way he courted me in equal parts swagger, creativity and dogged persistence.

It could have been the way he held doors, listened and hung in there.

It didn't hurt that he looked past my vices, the massive chip on my shoulder and my insistence that it wouldn't work.

Or that I knew he would be a wonderful father.

But seriously, one of the defining "I knew it" moments was when I listened to a recording of him singing, while flying 3,000 miles away from him.

It's not the same song, but it's him, always him. Go have a listen.

Not Quite

2009-04-16T15:42:00.002-04:00

Avery was sitting on the toilet taking her sweet time as I kept her company. Fin was clinging to my legs and swatting at all manner of chokables. Dinner was simmering, sputtering and overflowing on the stove. Briar called from the other room:

"Mom, I'm thirsty. Can you please get me juice?"

I called back in a tense voice, "Not now Briar, I am trying to do five things and I CANNOT handle anything else."

She didn't answer back. I exhaled as Avery laughed.

"No, silly, mama. You aren't doing five things, you're only doin' two."

And cue slumping shoulders and wry smile.

How many things are you doing?

Celestial Snapshots

2009-04-07T00:00:00.005-04:00

They surround me, wisps of gown tickling at my feet, tendrils of chestnut hair kissing my neck and the rhythms of their sleep lapping at my soul. Each morning brings another nuance, turns of phrase slipping away and bright, shiny new ways of declaring my obsolescence emerge. We move as one, a tangle of mom and girl, baby and child, needy and capable.

"You sure have your hands full," people chuckle, heads shaking as they watch me, arms straining and breath slightly labored. I smile and nod, but inside I know that the shortness of breath and sinewy arms aren't exhaustion, it's the holding on. Gasping for breath as I watch time speeding by, my arms working at superhuman levels to hold it back. Beating away the ticking in order to catch one more throaty exclaim of

Look at the up lines on the mountain hill.
Or Mama, you show me one more elephant butterfly hug 'fore you tuck me night night?.

They are only today my babies, tomorrow becoming one step closer to the women I'll admire. I greedily clutch these photos to my breast and breathe a ragged breath as I try to smile, and say in a steady voice, Yes, honey, I do see. You are very big."

I'd never want that*

2009-03-30T23:13:00.005-04:00

Finley continues to walk. She is almost running, luckily she circles back.
Briar and I went to her kindergarten screening today. She is a whiz, a charming, radiant whiz.
Avery is exploding. Language. Athletic prowess. Beauty. Staggering.

This morning, sitting at the office in a production meeting, I found myself looking around the table at the staff. A newly engaged 20-something, a 30-something mom to 2 under 2, a 40-something dad of two in elementary school, our partners, each a few years ahead of us in age and on the parenting ladder. It was all I could do not to cry. Blonde hair, red hair, olive skin, long lashes, tall, short, slight, athletic— all of us so very different, yet as I watched each set of lips move as people shared ideas, I felt a nearly immovable lump in my throat.

Babies every one. These adults I share an office with every day are someone's child. The first baby, or maybe the last. The only girl, the coveted boy. They had first days, first loves and first homes. Sitting before me, a reflection of what is to come. I cannot wrap my mind around how it can be that one day our girls will be gone, spinning on an axis that does not include me.

Listening and watching as I choked back a sob I couldn't have explained, I heard things that made me swoon. These sons and daughters are brilliant. Kind, intelligent, capable. Products of someone and yet wholly their own.

I am so proud and so very terrified, hoping that in this predestined game of chicken I can somehow make it to the end prepared for what is to be. My girls conquering.

* I began this post to share that Fin, despite edging ever closer to being a big girl, has returned to a sweet routine of nursing. If I didn't know better I'd think she was helping me, a gentle crutch to prop me up until I'm strong enough to hold myself as she flits away. I'd never want her to worry about me in that way, but it is so very tempting to slip into this, luxuriating in the glow of this time.

Confidential to Crystal: Was thinking of adding a Mama Sap of Terror type tag. xxoo

She'll be coming 'round*

2009-03-27T14:02:00.003-04:00

Three daughters in four years.

It wasn't easy, but we decided we were done. I don't think about it often, but every once in a while I do.

My period came. It will always come now.

She is nursing, but she is nursing less. When she is done, I will be too.

She is walking. My last baby is walking.

There is celebration and joy within these milestones, but as I have learned in these four years, with every soaring trip my heart makes as the girls triumph, a part of me becomes irreparably broken.

I want to stomp my feet and stop time, but there are kindergarten matriculation papers that make me giddy. First days of school and new experiences.

There is Avery's any-day-now first time going to be without diapers. Her excitement is contagious.

Just around the corner are first trips down the slide, learning to jump and skipping.

I am frozen in wanting and not wanting.

I am awed by how euphoric sorrow can be. I am consumed by the wonder of lives ending and beginning, overlapping and contradicting. I am, despite my fear, open to it all and ever so grateful to be in the middle of this delicious conflict.

*The title started as a reference to Fin, but by post's end, I think the she actually became about me. Baby steps, right?

Just Us

2009-03-21T10:52:00.003-04:00

The other day I declared that after work there would be no news or Facebook until bedtime. We were going to focus on the girls without the interruptions of work, chatting or anything else not strictly playing-together-on-the-floor related.

We closed the door and sat in the late afternoon sun that poured through the picture windows. The floor was a tapestry of magnetic doll arrangements, blocks, stuffed animals and books. Fin was standing at the play kitchen chucking plastic pots this way and that. Briar was sprawled on the couch with a V-tech laptop matching letters as she cradled a fiercely swaddled baby Snow White doll in her left arm. Ave was blinking with energy- her curls flipping back and forth as she repeatedly took stock of the room.

Mom?
Yup.

Dad?
Right d'ere.

Fin?
Cookin'!

Bri?
On'a 'puter.

Jerking back and forth, occasionally climbing on Sean, she seemed confused by how best to enjoy this slice of undiluted family time.

"Hey, Ave? Why don't you go get a puzzle? We can all do a puzzle together," I said.

"A puzzle? All of us? Sure, I can do it!" And she ran from the room calling out every third step, "Everybody don't move. I'll get a puzzle and bring it. Don't move!"

Sean and I laughed and waited for the thunderous roar as she rounded the corner from the carpeted living room to the kitchen's hardwood floors.

"Just wait a minute. I'm coming everybody!" When she came in the room, a small Disney puzzle tucked under her right arm like a football, she had the look of victory upon her face. Eyes dancing, mouth wide open in a smile and dimpled fingers thrusting the puzzle overhead like a trophy, "I got it, now let's do it."

I was shocked she'd picked princesses over the alphabet, map and barn puzzles. "Jasmine?" I asked. "Yup," she nodded her head and began prying open the box. We made quick work of setting the pieces out and arranging them face up in a rough circle. Briar slipped off the couch and joined us, with Fin fast behind her. What followed was a cross between puzzle making and sword fighting as we tried to keep Fin from eating the pieces, while refereeing the increasingly competitive older sisters.

After playing we made dinner and sat down to eat together. Each girl was on her best behavior, a reward for us having spent the time with them, no doubt. We followed up dinner with a giggle packed wrestling/dancing session and then headed up to bed. Since moving the girls into the same room, bedtime has become an event. Family toothbrushing, group pj selection, stories with turns on dad's back, kisses and lotion, cuddles from mom, special toys for Fin. It doesn't take any longer, but the intensity of their excitement and desire to be at the center can be volatile. On this night it was smooth.

Later, the girls all sleeping, Sean and I cuddled up on the couch. We floated between conversation and silence, a gentle, easy rhythm, the exertion of the workday and family play forgotten. My feet were up on the table when something caught my eye, an empty space. The shelf beneath the table holds two leather bins, the were gone. Looking further I was they were pulled out and on the floor just beyond the table. Odd.

Her eyes sparkled, and something passed across her face, a flash of emotion so bare it startled me. It was reverence and gratitude.

One of the bins had books, the other games and puzzles. The games were poking out, the two largest puzzles jammed together, stuck.

"Everybody don't move!"

I curled my knees and looked through the table, the bins are easily a foot tall and 2 feet long, far too large to be manageable for a toddler.

The small box was tucked under her arm.

My eyes burned as I realized the story behind the bins. Ave, willfull, stubborn and soberingly independent, had done this. I pictured her barely controlled sprint into the room, the pulling and twisting to get the bins out. The red Melissa & Doug boxes so firmly wedged, too tight for dimpled fingers. She hadn't come for help, hadn't said a word, so focused to be able to connect us in an activity.

"I got it!"

I imagined that after a moment of frustration she'd actually decided that Jasmine would make Briar happier, that the lighter pieces would be easier for Finley, that moving faster would keep her from losing our attention. The empty space let by the bins had faint lines of dusty, not so much as to suggest the puzzles are never played with, but enough to make the lump in my throat choke me. My Ave.

I buried my face in Sean's chest with a cry and murmured into his shirt, "Thank you. Thank you." He held me and nodded as I pointed to the empty space. I know we'll never be perfect, but I hope that we can keep the lines of dust faint.

Tiny Dancer

2009-03-15T22:57:00.002-04:00

I'd bought the tutu months before, long pink sleeves, layer upon layer of tulle with a bodice of tiny pink bows. When Briar saw the new pink tutu she nearly wept from the beauty of it.

"Honey, it's for Ave," I said gently.

"But mama, I love it. Did you get me a pink one?" She asked hopefully.

"No, sweetie. You have a pink tutu that fits you and a lot of other dress up things. Ave needed a new dancing outfit."

We went round and round, until Briar's face, drawn with longing finally, turned from the tutu. "Let's go dress up Ave, I can't wait to see you in it." Ave jumped up, "Ok, Bri, yet's go!" I smiled as they scampered off in a wave of pink excitement. Briar would end up waiting after all.

We were making dinner when I heard Briar scream. "Moooooooooooom! Mom! Mom! She's wearing it! Avery is wearing her pink ballerina thing that I have been wanting to see her in for this so many days." She sprinted toward us and then spun around abruptly to watch as Ave made her grand entrance.

Her hair was down, long dark curls bouncing on her shoulders, one tendril caught beneath the shoulder of her leotard. Her socks were pink, the toes a bit stretched out and the tops slouching at the bottom of her solid little legs. A bit of underwear poked out of the edge as she grinned at us and began to turn in circles.

"Oh, Ave! You look amazing," I said.

"So pretty, Ave," Sean oohed.

She looked at us very seriously and instructed, "Watch guys, watch, d'is is how ballerinas dance." She held her arms out at her side and tucked her fingers in toward her wrists as if she were trying to hold a ball in each hand without using her thumbs or bending her fingers.

We watched as she turned in circles, those hands never untucking and the tendril never slipping from its spot beneath the pale pink fabric. I felt the burn, that sharp sting in the nose just before the tears start. She kept turning, up down, up down, pressing on her toes. Fin watched too, her feet kicking with glee each time Ave's face turned toward us.

The tears were welling, threatening to unfurl in a way that would be impossible to hide. She stopped dancing and looked at us, her thick bangs clinging to her eyelashes as she waited. "I'm done dancing, now ya gotta clap." As we began to clap and call at "Bravo!" She bent at the waist to bow, with her hands still held in their awkward position, she threw her arms behind her back. After a moment she began dancing again, the hint of one cheek peeking out from behind the back of her tutu.

Her legs looked so tiny, large shadows of the legs we held in the delivery room. She began to move in wider circles and her form blurred, almost three today and yet somehow almost gone. A piercing, pirouetting dream. Her face grew serious as she began to spin faster, a mix of athleticism and toddler softness drew a choke. The startled intake of air as the tears refuse to be held back.

I felt the wrack of each sob as Ave danced and danced, the light coming through the window deepening as the sun passed over the mountain. I knew I would never forget the bittersweet perfection of watching Avery dance her way into forever through the wet tracks of tears on Sean's face.

Melting

2009-03-11T21:14:00.000-04:00

Sean had the car this morning and his day was stacked like a Dr. Seuss illustration— deadlines upon deadlines, projects intersecting projects.

"Want me to pick Briar up with the stroller? I asked. It was the right thing to do, but in all honesty I had no desire. I knew I'd be going unshowered in less than ideal weather conditions. Not going would almost certainly mean another night with him gone and both of us frazzled to nubbins. I cringed as I waited.

"Sure, that's great," he said not giving it second thought. I spent no time ruing having made the offer or resenting his decision. I spent a lot of time earlier in my life being upset about things, stewing. I have a better understanding now of when to let go, when to move on and focus on what is relevant or within my control.

He left for work and as I waved I felt Ave and FIn behind me, one look and I knew a nap was unlikely. We slogged through and eventually they fell asleep. To be precise they fell asleep at 10:40, Briar's pick up is 11:20, less than ideal. I worked until 5 after 11 and then roused the girls, freshened clothes and set them in the stroller.

We ran to Briar's school. My feet sloshed through the snow and slush as Avery called out, "Ya gotta not get me wet, mama. I'm going to Briar's classroom and I gotta not be wet." As the burning in my lungs grew, so did the smile on my face. Finley began to chirp, contented and excited yelps to which Ave offered a running commentary, "Fin's'a talking. She's so silly and happy going to Briar's school!"

Turning the last corner, the slate topped steeple piercing a billowy cloud beneath the almost-blue sky, tears sprang from the corners of my eyes. Weeks of frustration slipped away, as forgotten as the road behind me. My legs pumped and my arms flexed as I steered the wide stroller through the treacherous terrain. Cars whizzed past and the girls called out hellos.

I was almost late, sweaty and unshowered, but as the front wheel careened over the lip of pavement between street and parking lot, I felt accomplished. Three daughters, a husband, a life and a sprint. A sprint to school, a sprint to playing before school, to eating before leaving, to loving after hours, and to managing it all. I don't always hit it just right- Briar hits school with her hair barely brushed, Ave sometimes stays in pjs till noon and Fin plays with toilet paper, but today I did.

Today I ran for all I was worth, but the running and everything followed ended up being a beautiful thing, a testament to willingness. I am so grateful that I can stop to listen, jump to action and embrace the moment.

We walked home with cars whizzing by, classmates calling out, "Lucky!" and moms watching with unmasked envy, but most importantly, the four of us together and living inside the moment.

Every Little Bit

2009-03-04T09:06:00.002-05:00

I don't send those annoying chain-letteresque emails or participate in the forwards that carry subject lines like:
Fw: Fw: Fw: Fw: Fw: REad THIS ITS Histerically hylarious, REALLY!!!!! Nor do I tag people for those monotonous lists on Facebook. I am much more likely to send an email that has a few quick lines about being bad about staying in touch yadda yadda yadda.

Pardon me as I jump around here, the other night I was doing some research for a meeting with a client in the health care industry. I was in the midst of some search or another on Twitter and I found someone locally discussing a cancer diagnosis, Hepatoblastoma to be precise. I followed the link and to my horror found that it was a little girl.

Charlotte.

Charlotte is not yet two, but to read about her on the blog her parents have, a universal parenting truth is evident. Two years is nothing, days within a lifetime really, and yet, in those first years our lives are changed so profoundly, that we live a lifetime in each day. We watch breathlessly as personalities unfold, as each dawn brings a new shimmer to a smile. Their hair grows, their teeth march proudly into their smiles, goofy one minute, breathtaking the next. They make new sounds, respond to us differently and then one day they plant that first deliberate kiss on you and you feel as if you might burst from the perfection of it.

Our nights, once carefree and with limitless possibilities, become sprints to meals and bath time, stories and cuddles. We wonder where the time goes even as we shake our heads at the thought that we had ever experienced joy before being parents. We live our children, dedicated to them, rooted in them and, for some, defined by them.

To say that reading about a diagnosis like this knocks the wind out of me doesn't begin to describe it. I wrote to Charlotte's dad that night and asked if I could try to help. I asked for permission to link to their site in the hope of sending people their way. I don't know what you can do to help from where you are, but I'd imagine that visiting their site and reading Charlotte's story, maybe even leaving a comment would be worth something.

This sweet family is facing the battle of a lifetime and the thought of them doing it alone tortures me. Please go and help create a circle around them. Every little bit adds up to something very big.