Mia Frances

I took a camera class today and was feeling confident on the drive home. Until I reached the house and tried to explain to V what it was, exactly, that I had learned.

"There is this button that you push twice and then you're supposed to be able to do something quite cool. I can't remember what button it is and I don't remember the effect that you're trying to achieve when you push it. And I don't remember what any of these letters on the side of the camera mean either."

"So the class was a success?" V asked.

Bare with me as I attempt to get better with this thing. I'm hell bent on at least figuring out the basics. I did retain one thing....and that's the fact that I need some different (read: expensive) lenses to accomplish the gorgeous photography I'm trying to emulate. That's not going to happen for awhile so I'll have to get good with what I've got.

Luca's Day

Luca Lane got tubes in his ears this morning. After a succession of ear infections, we decided to go ahead with the procedure in hopes that the revolving door to the doctor's office would finally be closed.

He and I woke up early and went down to the hospital. I would catch his eye in the rear view mirror, and he would smile at me. He hummed Old McDonald in the backseat - calling out "eeeeoooooo" for the EIEIO part.

As he and I were sitting in pre-op, Luca in his purple hospital shirt with rockets and blue booties, we looked through stickers and books. He called out "Hi" to everyone and wiggled his tan legs over my knees. I stroked his shock of blond hair and fingered his tiny toes as they dangled.

He was away from me for all of nine minutes. Really. They took him from me and began surgery within moments. They called me just as soon as they were done and I met him, just coming out of his anesthesia, in recovery.

He screamed and reached for me. Or so I like to think. I was holding his beloved "Bluey" (a.k.a. "Ga!!!!"), and he very well could have been reaching for him. The nurses had put a sticker on his favorite stuffed companion and when Luca saw this, in his delirious state, he just sobbed. I removed the sticker and Luca buried his face into Bluey and clung on for dear life.

We were home by 10:00 a.m. believe it or not and the day went on without a hitch. We took the kids out to dinner tonight and for ice cream and Luca indulged in his first cone. They ran ahead of us, ice cream dripping everywhere, and I felt entirely grateful to have been given another day with this tiny boy. My experience with "routine procedures" has often been that they are not "routine" - more like these life altering moments that end with some medical professional awkwardly uttering the word "sorry" as I'm left with the aching throb of loss. I couldn't fall asleep last night as every possible scenario played in my mind. In slow motion. I knew in my head that this surgery would be a piece of cake. But my heart took some convincing.

When I saw Luca in post-op, reaching for me - when I saw him smiling in the backyard hugging Bluey - when I saw him licking his cone from the bottom as the ice cream tipped from the top - I knew that today was a freebie. A day that had been given to me - to Luca - for no apparent reason other than luck.

While it may just feel like an ordinary Tuesday to you, it feels pretty extraordinary to me.

Sometimes life just feels this good

Secret Garden

We went to the Botanic Gardens this afternoon on a whim. I think we were sick of each other and needed something to do to remind ourselves that there is a great big blooming world out there. We needed a place to duck and hide behind bushes with obscure names and flowers dripping with exotic appeal.

Some of us swam in the stream in the children's garden without bothering to wear any clothes (because someone's mom didn't pack anything extra to wear in case a stream happened to be available.)

Some of us are like ninja swimming warriors who happen to stash swimsuits into mom's bag without mom even knowing it. "Mom, I have my swimsuit right here! Let me just get changed really quickly" she said as I saw a bare bum disappear into the bowels of my day bag.

That certain swimsuit stasher couldn't have been happier to take a dip on a 90 plus degree day.

They excavated hidden treasures in a cool (as in neat....) sand pit before stripping down to cool off. They were able to pet animal pelts that were strewn on the sunlit paths, laid there by garden staffers to give the kids a chance to feel real animal fur. Try explaining that to the smartest three year old in town. Luca simply looked confused, and almost sad, calling out "Ga!!!!" (his endearing name for all animals.)

Bones were found and studied. Even a bear skull was examined. Again, my activists struggled at the concept of keeping a skull.

We had stare offs. Most of them were all in good fun, with the proper scientific tools, like the binoculars. Some of them were won by myself, after I starred them into silence when they repeatedly tore the beautiful petals from the lush gardens we saw later in the afternoon.

We realized out in the sun drenched children's area that we really do have fun together. All we needed was a date out of the routine to reignite the flame. We laughed and got all red cheeked as we contemplated a dinner break in the main garden. We ate french fries and paninis and some of us continued to run and play, while I sat and watched them tag each other on small magical little flower lined paths.

The F Word

I've been known to drop it. The F word. Sometimes, if I've had a bit too much to drink, I'll say it repeatedly, peppering my conversation with the controversial spicy word that immediately makes some people uncomfortable. Usually (thankfully) I'm amidst my closest friends who are imbibing along with me and no feathers are ruffled at all. In fact, their tales are also laced with a bit of profanity. A bit tasteless, I guess. Seemingly low class, maybe. But my best friends and I have this way of letting our hair down and digging into topics with no censors involved. We swear. We laugh. We sigh. We say things we regret. And we vow to meet up again just as soon as we can.

Now, I do have this bizarre talent. I can stop myself. I don't have to say it. It's not like this weird compulsion. I have never slipped in front of kids (to be honest, mine included). I've also never faltered in mixed company. If I don't you well, you might not know that I could take on any sailor in a spitting or swearing contest. I'm quite good at seeming rather put together - someone far too good with words to resort to using such a profane one. (But, let it be known, I do.)

The other night. I dropped an F bomb. And not the kind that I usually do. Not the word that rhymes with duck.

FAILURE.

I said it! I did! In mixed company even! I said the word FAILURE and I meant it.

And the reaction I got was one that I would liken to a crazed lunatic screaming the real F bomb (that one that rhymes with duck) at the top of her lungs during a funeral.

You might need some context here. A group of us were discussing expectations and how we manage them, live up to them, set them, and accept them.

I mentioned that one thing I like to tell people (new mothers and new brides namely) is that the more comfortable we all get with people not meeting our expectations, the happier we'll all be. I said, verbatim, "Let it be known that everyone will fail you at one point or another. Your children. Your spouse. Your friends (even your best ones). Your co-workers. Your parents. When someone doesn't meet your expectations. They fail to meet them. For that very brief moment, with whatever the situation may be, you were failed."

I think I heard crickets chirping. It was awkward and I shifted wondering if I was the only one. Could it be? Could everyone else's expectations be set in such a way that they are always met? Am I the only one that feels FAILED at times?

Then, I realized, the objection was just to the actual word. Failure. It was too strong. Too negative. It implied the exact opposite of success and God forbid we mention that yucky alternative to being perfect. So, I did what I do best, and I began repeating the word (I think I even slammed my fist on the table at one point) and tried to declare, passionately, that the word - and the act of failing or being failed - is a part of life. Get used to it.

I have thought about this a lot the past few weeks and still am proud of my word choice. I stand by the notion that we all fumble and falter. We frail creatures FAIL - daily - and it's something that we have tried - unsuccessfully - to remove from not only our vernacular, but our lives.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts."

So I will go about my days, failing and truimphantly recovering, and refusing to give up on this one particular F word. It's a good one, one we need to embrace and accept.

What a difference a year makes

We've got this school thing nailed. Mia's first FIRST day of preschool was last year (see top photo). I remember how excited she was....the backpack, the lunch box....all of it. And then how quiet she was when we walked into the classroom. She was brave, waving to me from the large classroom window. I fell apart in the car - hoping that they would love her like I do, that they would nurture her spirit and encourage her unique voice.

This year was a different story. This year she acted kind of like a senior in high school....cruising in a bit late, waving hello to everyone, calling out "Hi friend. Good to see you!" I forgot to take my morning picture of her so I caught her mid Popsicle when she returned back home.

What a difference a year makes. As we laid out her outfit last night (a vintage Meggie Padden) I didn't feel the slightest bit torn about sending her out to conquer her preschool dreams. I have full confidence in the kid that she has become. Funny how I went from weeping in my car in hopes that others would see what I saw to feeling so totally sure that SHE sees what I see. And that's the most important to me. Years of life experience under my belt have taught me that other's perceptions don't really matter. At the end of the day, we're faced in the quiet of our rooms with how we view ourselves.

And this girl isn't lacking in confidence.

My bro and his family

I shot some family pictures for A and M and had a blast. I'm no Rachel but these shots turned out really well! Of course, I don't know how to do any of the fancy editing. And don't let my brother fool you into believing that he is a "guy's guy"....with all of his knowlede about sports and fixing things. He had more ideas for this photo shoot than I did! He's a true artist, wrapped into the exterior of a manly man. I love you Paddens!

Here's to books that make your heart soar

The promise of fountains

These fountains are right next to the store where I do the grocery shopping. As I push the kids through the aisles in the cart, I'm promising cool water and barefeet the whole time. What will I promise this winter? Maybe I can start a committee to open a small skating rink.

God and facial hair

The kids and I hit the Children's Museum late this afternoon and then the outdoor play area over looking Elitches. It was one of those days - kind of dreamy....sweet and swirling with possibility. We laid in the grass and watched the roller coasters and bungee jumpers screaming and clanking through their Friday evening. Luca sat on my stomach, as I was stretched out with my shoes off and signed "more! more! more!" every time he saw a new cart load of people being tugged up the tracks of the ride. Mia danced around and befriended two little girls from out of town. She came running back to where we were sitting in the grass with her new friends trailing behind her. "We don't want any boys to play with us today but I told them that Luca doesn't count. Right Mom?" I knew the no boy talk was not coming from Mia. We don't speak the no boy language here. The two girls looked older and I had to smile at how uncomfortable Mia was with the whole notion of leaving someone out. Of leaving her beloved Luca out.

We left and went to Protos for pizza - beating all the crowds because when you are three and one, dinner time is what I used to call a late lunch before I had kids. We ordered cheese pizza, wine (for those of us that were legal at the table) and a pint of gelato for good measure. It's tough to beat V's company, but these two were delightful Friday night dates.

Mia sat on her knees on her chair and pulled her lips around the straw in her lemonade - the glass so big it seemed to dwarf her.

"Mom?"
"Does God have a mustache?"

And it was at that very moment that I wished life had a pause button. There was this great breeze blowing through the restaurant and the kids' hair was moving this way and that. The music was loud enough, but not too loud, the way I like it, and my kids were happy.

"God doesn't have facial hair. I don't think."

I tried to explain that a higher power is just a culmination of energy. No gender. No body. No mustache. I told her that no one really knows the answer to these questions. That's what makes the questions so good. Juicy. Great conversation.

We got home late and the kids ate gelato in the backyard and slammed the screen door repeatedly. Note to self: figure out a way to clean the screen because small sticky prints are all over it.

And now, all is quiet, and I'm left thinking....

Does God have facial hair?

Because I fancy myself a photographer

Ring Around the Rosie

Mia and one of her besties were playing the other day....full costumes, fancy tiaras, dress up shoes...the works. Luca stumbled upon them and peeked into their world of wonder. I followed closely behind him as he pushed upon his own door to find the girls giggling in his room. I hesitated. Do I insist that they let him join? Or do I pull him away, giving them more of their own royal time together.

I didn't say anything....both girls called him over and began playing with him. Ring Around the Rosie. They then dressed him in headbands and a necklace. Atta girls.

F.I.S.H.

This is the shopping list Mia helped me write. I asked her what we needed and she told me eggs and milk. I told her how to spell the words and she carefully made the letters. She carried the list through the store and kept referencing it to make sure we got what we needed.

I made Mahi Mahi tonight for dinner. Something seemed to click inside of Mia and she asked, with a sudden and urgent need for me to answer, "Mom, is the fish dead?"

"Well, it's clearly not alive."

I thought by avoided the most direct answer (yes, deader than a doornail) and taking on the tactic of commenting on what the fish ISN'T rather than what the fish IS, I could divert her attention enough to get her to swallow what was on her plate.

No such luck. She declared that "I don't eat dead fish" and picked carefully at her beans (I would be delighted if I raised vegetarian kids and we could go vegan as a family).

She watched me eat and interrupted every bite with questions such as these....

"Do dead fish go to heaven?" "Why are you eating dead fish?" "What other dead things do you like to eat?"

At the end of the meal, I too felt all kinds of pangs of sadness for the dead creature that we just topped with lime sour cream and shredded cabbage.

I asked V when the disconnect happens. When do we, as people, just totally forget that we are, indeed, eating living things who have died. I don't want to scare my kids, or force them into dietary practices that go against what they may need, but I also want them to be well aware of where their food comes from. I scraped our plates as I was cleaning and made a silent promise to that dead fish that I wouldn't forget the food chain. I promised that fish that I would teach my kids compassion for all living things.

(I'm convinced those tacos would be just as good without the fish anyway.)

Bathing Beauties

We went up to visit Rach and had a ball. The girls swam and shared (or apologized for not sharing) and Luca tore around the area in search of things to poke and prod. It was so fun to see the kids romping together while Rach and I sweat after them. She and I have such a history, and seeing our little ones play together is like a little gift.

I returned to teaching yesterday. The first day went over without a hitch and dare I say I'm back in the swing of things? We are still poolside in the afternoons so it doesn't quite feel like a new school year yet. When the air turns cool and I pull the sweaters out, it'll feel official.

For now, long live bikinis and otter pops.

Mia and Brynn eating Otter Pops at the pool

The girls post swim

Lounging poolside