Happy Birthday Little Luca!

Luca is one today. Hard to believe that a year ago, today, I felt those tell tale signs of labor as I was out walking with Mia. A year ago, today, this little tiny boy joined our family.

I can remember that day so vividly. I felt that first pang of impending labor in front of a neighbor's house on Leyton Street. I told Mia that we should head back home. She was carrying a little bucket of rocks that she had collected along the way. She trailed behind me, stopping every once in a while to pick something up. I told her that Luca was coming. Soon.

The whole experience was very fast. We parked. I had a baby. V held my hand. Then, he kissed my forehead and whispered that he needed to go move the car from the two hour parking spot we had hastily pulled into. Not bad, I remember thinking. I just had a baby, from contractions on the street to the point that they placed this tiny little creature into my arms, in the amount of time it would take to watch a feature film.

Just today, in a little box in Luca's room, I stumbled across the sweet striped hat that all new babies are issued at the hospital. I smelled it, wondering if it had retained that teeny tiny scent. There is a magic to those newborn days, a special something that I can't quite put my finger on. It's almost as if you're suspended from reality for a spell. You're nestled into this cocoon of soft blankets and little cooing sounds.

While I have such a special place in my heart for those first months with a new life, this stage is remarkable too. Luca isn't the quiet wide eyed infant from a year ago. He mimics Bijou's barking, and feeds himself. He claps when something is exciting, and screams when something is just out of reach. He is turning into a boy, rather than a baby. But that feeling I get when he crawls over and collapses into me while he's playing is comparable to that feeling from a year ago, when the doctor first placed him on my chest. That surge of unconditional love rises up each time he leans into me.

While I felt a pang of sadness as I fingered his little hospital hat, I liked looking up and seeing his toothy grin. I like knowing that he's on his way.

To where, only he really knows.

Happy birthday Luca!

Backyardigans

Seeing this just brings me right back to my childhood. That 70s shag haircut. The dandelion necklace. Sitting atop a soccer ball in the hot sun in a suburban back yard.

Deja vu.

We moved from a town home with no yard so this whole notion of having an outdoor space has kind of revolutionized our existence. Mia, Luca, and I hung out in the grass most of the day. I laid in the sun and closed my eyes as the two of them moved all around the yard, coming back to me like puppies for a nuzzle every now and again.

We made big plans for our little garden area and started by picking the dandelions out of the patch of grass that will soon grow some veggies and flowers. I taught Mia how to string them together to make a necklace.

Today was a nice reminder about how simple life really can be.

Shoes and Make Up

Mia and I went to buy new shoes the other day. It's kind of our thing. Every season, or when her foot decides to grow (again), we head to Nordstrom, our favorite shoe haunt, and shop. I believe in good footwear. I feel no guilt at all for spending a bit more on comfortable shoes. Mia chose sparkly mary janes, purple Keens, and cool "park shoes", as Mia calls them. When Mia was twirling around in her pink sparkle shoes, the sales girl whispered, "This comes with a cell phone and make up." I wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of incentive to buy the shoes. Even Mia looked confused. "Why do I get a prize for buying shoes Mom?" she asked. But, confusion aside, she is delighted with the makeup and has been spreading it on, liberally, every few hours.

Here she is, post shoe shopping, in full make up.

Look Alikes?

I think Luca looks a lot like V. Here are the two side by side.

It's strange to think V was once a boy, and that Luca will be a man someday.

Baby in a cabinet

Why buy new toys when they are just as happy with an empty cabinet?

Mia and Luca shut the door on each other and then scream at the offender for leaving them in a dark cabinet by themselves. Luca has even shut the cabinet and then leaned on it while Mia pounds from the inside. He thinks this is hilarious. Mia does not.

I've been wanting to write about important things but I just can't. My mind is so diluted with stupid thoughts about appliances (what color? stainless even though it leaves hideous prints? Black? White?), and lighting (why oh why is there track lighting in this living room?). All in all, we're adjusting and excited for the days when this truly feels like home.

New

We're getting settled into our new house and it's a bit of everything. A mix of emotions. A mix of sheets and towels, and everyday flatware with a few "fancy" vases. I opened one box and it contained a meat tenderizer, a box of tampons, and some winter sweaters. Because that makes perfect sense.

A lot wasn't making sense that last day of packing, which was yesterday. Our closing was delayed but our movers were still loading up our boxes with fervor. ("How am I supposed to make it to my next closing, on our new house, if I can't close on my current house????" I wailed into the phone to my ever patient realtor. "This truly sucks" was her not so reassuring response. I was stuffing and taping still as the movers were carrying away the boxes from my hands to load the truck. I'll spare you the stupid details (of which were the direct result of an incompetent lender on our buyers side) but it was a CRAZY day in real estate. So much so that bottles of wine were opened as we all signed those final papers at the silly ceremonial meeting (aka - the closing).

But, we're here, and that's the important part, right? It was overwhelming walking into a new house. Boxes were everywhere and I felt a lump in my throat. I looked at V and half whimpered, "Did we make a mistake?" I thought of our lovely old home - the creamy yellow walls - the huge window by the kitchen table. "No" he said. "Change just takes time.

I slept fitfully. I was worried about the kids. What if something was in this suburban air that was somehow toxic? What if they woke up scared? What if they think we made a mistake?

Seems I was wrong about all of those middle of the night fears. The kids slept beautifully and woke up happy and ready to continue their lives in a new home. That comforted me; the whole notion that I'm not ending anything. I'm simply continuing it.....my life....in a new home.

I took that positive attitude and attacked the unpacking business like I was being paid to do so. The kitchen is done thanks to my mom, who truly is a master at organizing spaces logically. She scanned my work when she arrived and rolled her sleeves up. I stepped aside and watched how it's really done. Now, my kitchen sits sparkly with only the hum of the dishwasher in the background.

Just before dinner the doorbell rang and it was our next door neighbors. They had hot cinnamon rolls and introduced their three year old daughter Sarah (she and Mia took off to play with some toys) and their 11 mos. old baby girl. It was a sweet moment that reminded me we didn't make a mistake in moving. We just made a change.

This will all take time to get used to but I like noticing the consistencies in my life even when change is kicking dust up so high that it's hard to see. I'm still the same ol' me. I just have underwear scattered everywhere upstairs and must go tackle the bedroom before I fall asleep.

If you're in the midst of a change, a big one or a little one, focus on the constants to help you feel grounded. No matter where you are, you're still you.

Girl with a tutu and a Roadster bike

Mia has wanted to be a mommy for a while. She wants to have a lot of babies, or so she tells me, and she wants to feed them and bathe them everyday.

Then, she began telling me she wanted to be a doctor AND a mommy.

"You'd be a great doctor and a great mommy" I casually told her.

She reminded me again yesterday that she wanted to do both....be a doctor and a mommy. But this time, the thought crossed her mind that she was choosing two professions, and not just one. "Can I be a doctor AND a mommy?" she asked?

"Mmmmhhmmmm," I again said casually. "I'm a teacher and a mommy."

And so it begins. One little girls foray into the tricky waters of being a modern woman.

A Poem

I've written about my Angel before. He's one of my students, and, admittedly, my favorite. Not just my favorite this year. Or even last year. But he is the one who has stolen my heart. He is my forever favorite. I already know that about him.

His English improves everyday and he has quickly turned into just another second grade boy in my room, dancing from his seat to the sharpener and making odd animal noises on his way back. (Boys. I'm learning now with Luca that they are indeed a breed of their own.)

He always sits by my feet during whole group. He'll pet my leather boots on cold days, or trace the veins on the tops of my feet when I'm wearing flats on warm days. He does it unknowingly, just a subtle little movement as he listens intently to my words.

When I swing open my classroom door at 7:40 a.m., and say hi to all of them lined up outside, red faced and teeth chattering, he hugs me tight, looping his arms around my waist. "Hello Mrs. P" he says. "Good morning Angel" I always say.

I knew his story was a dark one. A painful one. I knew he ended up in this country late fall without either parent, one murdered and one too pregnant to make the trip, but the details given to me by others were weak and inconsistent. And Angel couldn't tell me when we first met because he didn't know a word of English. Nor had our profound trust been built. I knew enough not to ask him. I wanted our relationship to be a safe place free from judgement. Slowly, we became friends. I, the teacher, and he, the student. Or so I thought.

We began a unit in writing on poetry. I love poetry and always see truths coming to light when kids begin to explore the power of words. We sat together at the front of the room and I told the kids to think of something sad. "Cup your hands together and look inside. What do you see?" The goal was for the kids to attach an object, something tangible, to an emotion.

Naturally, Angel saw his darkest hour resting in his palm. His murdered father sat neatly in his cupped hands. "My dad" he said when I asked him what he was looking at in between his thumbs.

His poem was short, and composed quickly. "We went to a party. We went into the basement. My sister watched my dad die."

He brought it up to me, proud of his work. I could tell in his smile. I think he saw the look on my face when he showed it to me and realized that his words weren't ordinary.

They were extraordinary.

"This is real poetry. You have made me feel so much in just three lines. I feel very sad now." I put the notebook down, with his neat handwriting standing at attention by my side. "Do you want to talk to me Angel?" I said something about my own dad dying. I felt my voice tightening and I looked quickly out at the sea of kids working at their seats. Angel scooted closer to me, and began doing what we all do when we know the floodgate is going to open. He began looking around quickly - looking for an out maybe - a way to stop the feelings that were bubbling up. He inched ever so closely and reached his arms up toward me. It was instinct just to swoop him into a big hug and he sobbed onto my shoulder. His little buzz cut rubbed against my cheek and I just said, "It's going to be o.k. You're o.k." Repeatedly.

He had told me the truth. I don't really know what happened to his father, and the story I had initially been told by others was inaccurate. But, still, he confided in me in those three lines. I knew all I needed to know and that was enough.

I was so proud of him in that moment that I could have burst. I was also tortured by a sadness that I haven't felt in a long time. And to complicate the feelings even more, I just felt intense love for this boy who isn't my own. That's life, and it wouldn't be worth living if any of those emotions were missing.

That day, as I was driving home, I thought about what poetry is, what it does for us. It provides us with a voice, and a way of expressing ourselves free from rigid rules and structure. I thought of Angel being here, unable to share his deep pain with anyone. Unable to tell me what he so desperately needed to tell me, which was that he was sad. Very very sad. He didn't know the words in English and there was no format for him to use.

So I'm reminded, that indeed I'm not the teacher, but the student too. This time being taught by a little boy. A lesson in resilience. A lesson in being truthful in your writing. A lesson in taking a chance and being heard.

Compelling Stories

There are a few people who I've read about in recent years that have stayed with me. Just people, like you and me. Not celebrities or politicians. Not athletes. People. Normal people who have suffered or endured.

Remember the Kim family? They were stranded in the Oregon wilderness on their way home from a Thanksgiving holiday in Seattle. They were driving back to San Francisco and they took a wrong turn and ended up 15 miles from where they needed to be, in heavy heavy snow. Their daughters, a 4 year old and a 7 mos. old, were with them. They got stuck and ended up having to burn their tires to keep warm after they ran out of gas. The mother nursed both girls to keep them alive. They survived on some snacks, jars of baby food, and bottled water. The father left the car after almost a week of being stranded to find help. His body was found a few days after the wife and girls were eventually rescued.

Huge news. I'm sure you read about them.

I think about them. This family. With kids close in ages to my own. I think about what they said to one another as they watched their breath beginning to hang in front of them, knowing that there wasn't anything that they could do. I think about how they appeased two hungry and cold little ones. I wonder what she thought as he shut the door after promising to be back for them. I wonder if she fell asleep that first night alone in the car, when he never returned. This family still breaks my heart.

I think about another family too. I read an article in the New Yorker awhile ago about a man who was married with kids. He was abusive to his wife. Verbally and physically. He was uneducated, and under skilled. He was an addict, an alcoholic. His daughters? They were his pride and joy. I think he was all of 23, maybe 24 years old. His house burned down after a vicious fire ripped through the cheap wood frame. His little baby girls were killed in the fire. Experts were called in and examined the scene and blame was placed on him. There was a motive, they claimed, in that he was angry, for being such a rotten mess. There was evidence, they claimed, of how he managed to lit his small children on fire and escape unscathed. He maintained his innocence, vehemently.

He was found guilty. Charged with murder. Sentenced to death.

On the eve of his execution he told his mother he had a confession to make. He told her that he had lied. He explained that in his story to investigators he said that he was out front when the house exploded into flames. He told the investigators that he reentered the house and tried to reach his girls, crawling on the floor and feeling along the walls through dense smoke. He cried to his mother the night before he died and said that he had been out front, that was true, but that he just couldn't enter the burning house. He sat helplessly out front as his daughters burned to death. The flames were too hot to walk through, and deep shame enveloped him because he always thought he could bare that kind of heat for the two human beings he loved the most. And he couldn't.

He was put to death the next day, still holding strong to his innocence but relieved that he had told his mother the truth about not having been able to help. New evidence now suggests his story had been accurate, and that he was not involved in the crime.

I think about this man. A boy really. Put to death for a crime he most likely didn't commit. I think about the guilt he carried for not being able to enter a burning building because that's what fathers are supposed to do.

I see that man in Oregon - slamming that car door shut and matching his wife's fingers on the pane of glass. Their hands reflecting one another, until finally he taps the glass and says, "See you soon" and only her hand remains on the window as he heads into the drifting snow. I see that young father standing on a poorly made front porch, panicked at the sound of fire literally tearing the house at its seams. No glass to touch. No little hands to reflect.

I find the stories of normal people so compelling. The rich emotion and depth in being average is something I long to explore. We're so diluted with movies and media that the very drama of our everyday lives goes unnoticed. Unseen. These tragic stories of normalcy, of men failing in ways, but also enduring. Neither story ends with a happy ending necessarily, but it's an ending. And that's all we're really promised, isn't it?

Sweet Luca

Luca hugs now. And kisses too. He has always nuzzled, but now when I ask for a hug he buries his head into the space between my shoulder and my neck and wiggles around. That feeling never gets old - getting a hug from your child.

Bangs

Someone needs her haircut. Poor Bij can't see. I told V that our to do list this week needs to include a grooming appt. and picking up a new hubcap for one of our cars so we don't look questionable when we move into our neighborhood.

We'll look respectable for the first day at least.

Eight days and counting until we jump ship here. Must go pack.

Easter

There is something about Easter that I really like. The colors. The idea of kids running through grass looking for eggs tucked behind bushes and trees. Easter dresses. Deviled eggs.

We had brunch at my mom's and in true EMP fashion, she outdid herself. Everything was so lovingly planned. Small surprises for the kids, great food, etc. Owen and Lyla planned an easter egg hunt in the open area behind my mom's house and watching the kids run around together reminded me of what's truly important.

Sweet dreams on this Easter night.

(Thinking of you RMP....you would have worn your blue sports coat, and a tie. You are always deeply missed.)

Moving!

Luca is on the move. If I don't return your phone call, it's because I'm busy acting as a Sherpa for an almost one year old. I dutifully follow behind him removing small objects from his path and covering sharp edges with my hands. He is walking now using the help of anything in his way. At one point, he skittered across the floor on a six pack of small seltzer bottles. I like his resourcefulness.

I love this video of him after lunch one afternoon. He's in his diaper because all meals end with a stripping of the clothes. I love Mia sweetly asking if he wants to play ballerina or princess downstairs. (He plays the part of one of the dwarfs usually and Mia is Snow White. Of course.)

Home

I kind of fell into oblivion the past few weeks and am now resurfacing. V and I usually operate like a well oiled machine; we have our routine so down pat that our days blend seamlessly into nights and we drift off into deep slumbers when our heads hit the pillows. A big hairy poodle, two active small kids, and two jobs don't really seem to phase us. We both manage time to work out, get household stuff accomplished, and even squeeze in an 'I love you' on most days.

Then, we sold our house and bought a new one.

All hell broke loose around here.

It has basically felt as if we're living in a snow globe, and a giant toddler is twisting and turning our small existences in his meaty gummy hands. Our once synchronized routines were given the shake down, and the only thing that remained of stability was the mere memory of it all. Faxing papers, signing documents, going through two inspections, (and awaiting reports from two appraisals), meeting with contractors and repair men, and being in almost daily contact with our realtor and lender pushed me over the edge and left me free falling.

During this crazy time period, Mia cut off her hair and blossomed into the most confident little thing you've ever seen. And Luca is fast on her heels. The boy is a taurus, like his mama. He knows what he wants and he wanted it yesterday. Thank you very much. He moves so quickly and so much that it's tough to keep up sometimes.

I think we're getting our groove back though and it feels oh so good. V and I went to dinner last night with good friends and had a great time just relaxing and putting all talk of paperwork and to do lists behind us(thanks A and A for a fantastic meal!). This morning I took the kids to our favorite farm museum and we had a picnic in the park. The sun was shining and I actually laid on a blanket and watched Mia and Luca scoot all around in the safety of the big green field. As I stretched out and watched them both, I realized that I had been reunited with my long lost routine. Right there in the park, I found that kernel of truth that makes me tick - stability.

I'm back folks. I'm back.