Spider Monkey

Mia (on the right) climbing her way to the top.  "I didn't just do it once Mom.  THREE times.  All the way to the top.  I rang the bell.  I'm really good." 

Farm Kids



We went to our favorite farm with our pretend little sister, Ms. M.  The sky was bright blue and a slight breeze was making the tall blades of grass dance.  I looked over at Amy and said, "I feel this same way when I see Bijou out running, any animal really.  When I see kids outside, squinting up at each other to laugh, I feel like everything is right with the world."  That we've all actually unearthed our purpose.  Our potential.  Who knew you'd find so many truths tucked away on an itty bitty farm. 

Mia said to me, "Mom, if you married Amy (Baby M's mom), then you two would raise three kids together."  This comment made me smile.  My hope to raise kids with no gender barriers might just be coming true.  I reminded Mia that Amy and I are raising our kids together in a different kind of way.  As the picture above illustrates, our kids will always be a part of our friendship.  And for that I'm grateful. 

Daddy/Mia ski date

Mia and V had a ski date this week together.  I packed them both "junk food" lunches and sent them on their way.  With their bags packed with cheetohs, those pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a few cookies, they set off for a day in the sun and snow. 

When they got home, I helped to unload pockets and put things away.  I found this video shot by V and my heart swelled with gratitude.  For V.  For this state.  For quick ski dates.  And for two kids who seem to enjoy the simple things as much as we do. 

(Mia just lost her front tooth this week.  She looks like such a big kid to me now!)

Biking a la Garage Style

Remember having your parents back the cars out of the garage so you could roller skate or bike?  Yeah.  We did that today.  (Please note the goggles.  Luca hasn't taken them off since he started swim lessons on Tuesday.  I had to pry them off today as he was biking because so much condensation had built up inside the lens that he kept saying, "I can't see!")

Snapshots of an afternoon

Egg Hunt



The neighborhood Easter egg hunt started off on a good note.  Gorgeous sunny day.  Lawn full of eggs.  It all felt a bit reminiscent of The Hunger Games for me, with small children standing off to the side, waiting for the signal to sound that alerted them to begin the hunt.  Let the games begin.  May the odds be forever in your favor.  Luca was off to a terrible start.  The loud sound blared and mayhem pursued.  My poor kid dropped his basket and started bawling.  We found him wandering the lawn, almost swallowed by over zealous parents and competitive toddlers.  Better luck next year tiny man. 

The scene from the 4 to 5 year old section.  Naturally, the kids can handle this on their own. 

Now check out the scene for the under 3 years old set.  It looks like some kind of lawn for wayward parents, all poised with camera lenses aimed at confused looking kids.  And our dashing boy.  Crying.  Wondering what kind of pastel colored event this was.  I felt a bit ashamed.  I never even muttered a word to Luca about how these hunts actually work.  I thought it was like sleeping.  Or eating.  I thought you were born being pre programed with the knowledge and skill to navigate a crazy suburban Easter egg hunt.  My bad little dude. 

The egg hunt ended and that's when the fear of screaming kids subsided and sadness truly set in.  Luca realized that all those eggs out there that he had ignored while looking around in tears actually had prizes in them.  Mia lovingly shared.  But, in this photo, Luca is whispering his tiny angst into doggy. 

Getting happier.  Now that he's beginning to understand that Mia hoarded a whole bunch of eggs, enough for a little brother who didn't gather any. 

Still a bit happier.  Things are looking up. 

Game on.  He then asked if he could go out and hunt for his own eggs.  It's over son, I had to say.  Next year, I assured him.  Watch out neighbors.  We've got a year to train. 

The visiting firemen were the biggest hit with Luca.  He actually got to sit in their truck and pretend to drive.  It doesn't get much cooler when you're two. 

Documenting Change

My dad had this great book - a journal.  I'm sure I've written about it here on this blog.  He would write down funny things we kids said and did throughout the years.  On some occassions, he would allow us to jot something down.  Maybe when we learned to write our first name.  Or when we learned to write it in cursive.  Each entry is neatly dated.  There are entries about me saying "pasghetti" and "Moskweeto".  Entries about firsts.  Maybe even some entries about failures too.  Quotes that inspired him.  Lyrics to songs that moved him.  Poems.  The journal was his blog.  His leather bound hand written blog. 

I think about that journal when I remind myself to jot down things the kids are saying or doing.  It isn't just for my sake, but more for theirs.  I used to love reading my dad's journal and I always felt really really special - that some entries were about me.  Just little ol' me. 

Last night laying in bed Mia asked if Papa knew he was going to die.  She phrased it so interestingly though.  We talked about the fact that he was in the hospital, just before his death.  "Was he smart about it?"  she asked.  I paused, processing her question.  "You mean, did he know he was facing death?  That he was going to die?"  She looked at me and said, "Yeah Mom.  That's exactly what I just said.  Was he smart about it?"  I was torn about how to feel - totally entranced by her language choice or a bit heartbroken to explain that yes, indeed, Papa knew he was going to die.  Our conversation wound around in beautiful circes from there.  She asking me if it hurt and if he was scared.  Me asking her if she understood or was uncomfortable.  Ever the emotional warrior, she declared, "No, I'm not scared." 

All the little things kids say add up.  I've been listening intently lately, reminding myself to add to my little journal here.  I want to remember that right now Luca asks Mia, "You love me?" several times a day. She always answers, "Yes Luca.  I do."  I want to remember this stage of Luca's - defining emotions, or trying to at least. Luca tells me I've hurt his feelings and I tell him that asking him not to do something, like stabbing a fork into the leather ottoman, really isn't hurting his feelings, rather a request - he says, "Well you hurt something in me" as he cries his frustration into my arm. This swirl of emotions, this confusing mix of feelings, will be shortlived.  Soon he'll be expressing himself differently.  But I want to remember this.  I want to remember Mia running into my room after bed the other night and saying, "I'm so sorry Mom but I do have a quick question.  Do you think it's fair that the girl bees do all of the work while the boy bees just sit around and eat?"  I stared at her incredulous and said, "That sounds pretty unfair hon."  "That's what I thought too" she said, relieved.

Write this down, I thought. 

Write it.  Remember it. 

Time is precious and there isn't very much of it these days but I'll try to jot down these beautiful testaments to growth, these small nuggets of self.  Myself.  Themselves.  It's fun to be able to look back and think, "My how I've grown."

Twofer

Milestones

I think there are certain moments in one's life which are safe to call milestones.  I hesitate to draw too much attention to the big stuff because it's often in the small stuff that true magic rests.  While my "I do" to V in response to the priest's "Do you promise?" was huge, a milestone, it was another moment that occurred years earlier that started it all.  The night V and I met he began a story only to be cut short by the end of the night.  He turned - to me - and said, "I'll tell you later.  I'll finish the story."  And intuitively I knew that this meeting was destiny.  That somehow we'd have more than enough time to relish in all of the details of that particular story.  A lifetime actually. 

And the story continues to unfold.  Day after day.  Small moment after small moment. 

So maybe standing up to pee isn't such a big deal anymore for some of you.  But for this one tiny person, it meant that he had reached someplace.  I hugged him and told him I was proud.  I wiped the pee from the side of the toilet and quietly accepted that this routine would now be mine for years to come.  I thought about what it means to get to where you've always wanted to be.  Sometimes if feels utterly amazing.  Sometimes a bit disappointing.  Sometimes it feels like it always has, and still other times it feels the way it always should have.  But each time a goal is achieved, there is that balancing point where you have to reconcile the old you with the new one. 

I see that in Luca, that reconciliation process.  As he sheds his two year old skin and gets ready to wear a new year, THREE, I see him trying new things all the while actively deciding which facets of his older self, his "baby" self, to keep.  And lucky for me, snuggling up next to me at night as we read is something he has decided he's simply not ready to grow out of. 

Growing

This kid is totally potty trained.  Articulate.  Funny.  And a whole host of other things that little babies just aren't.  I was at Whole Foods the other day and he darted from my side.  I found him near the produce aisle asking an employee where the bathrooms were.  Because he had to go.  He glanced my way, like I was some neighborhood kid tagging along.  "Come on Mom.  You can come too."  So I followed him dutifully and wondered when this all happened.  When my small boy grew into a taller boy who can brush his own teeth and choose his own socks.  I remind myself that I'm still very much needed though, and not just because the toothpaste always ends up all over the bathroom counter and the socks rarely match.  I'm needed to be a part of his cheering squad when all of these hurdles are jumped.  I'm needed to listen attentively when he says, "Wait a saykant...." when something seems confusing or funny, out of place.  I'm needed to read the first parts of his pattern books so he can happily recite the last few words of each line.  I'm needed to pick up the legos that get crammed under the couch in particularly rough lego sessions.  In short, there is always a place for a mom in a child's life.  Even when that child grows up and moves on.  Luca, if you're reading this for some reason and you're on your own someplace, all grown up,  call me.  While I promise not to come over to spray that hair that always sticks up in the back, I know we still need each other in some way.  Your sissie too.  I find such comfort in that thought.

Bring it

I don't want to say February is worthless because that sounds so extreme.  I mean, I guess it does have some redeeming qualities.  There's Valentine's Day.  That's kind of fun and festive feeling....all 14 hours of the awake time of it.  But the rest of the month is tough I find.  It's the anniversary of RMP's death.  I hate to rule out a month because of that but it does kind of put a damper on all 28/29 days.  It's cold too.  And that ice patch that has been at the base of my driveway is still there - thick and glacier like.  I also think the neighbor's cat chose this month to start pooping in our backyard and the remnants get frozen in the snow.  The reason I think this?  Because Bijou likes to hang around outside for long periods of time and then come inside to sit by me - reeking of cat shit.  So there's that too. 

All of my girlfriends have called at various times this month and begun their conversations with these words..."I mean, what's wrong with me???  Am I depressed?  Am I just tired?  Bored?  Overworked?  Underworked?  What is it?"  It dawned on me one day.  I just pieced it together.  Call it deja vu or just some kind of intuition that kicked in after 35 years.  "It's FEBRUARY!" I began to reply.  I explained that it isn't them.  Or their smallish problems.  It's this month and these conversations roll around every single February.  I think I need to start recording them so I can play them back to prove that this month is, indeed, a hard one. 

It's March 1st today.  The shortest month of the year, which feels the longest, is officially behind us.  Now don't get me wrong.  We don't wear black around here and cover our windows for 28 days (29 this year....happy leap year!).  There is just a quiet understanding that our winter routines are getting stale.  Our sweaters that were new in October are starting to pill. That hole left by my dad's death five years ago is a bit raw and tender.  All signs that we're ready for spring. 

Mia set up a beautiful tea party for us the other day, using her new tea set.  She pulled a glass vase out and filled it with some silk flowers.  She invited stuffed animals and even summoned me, like I imagine the queen is summoned for her tea.  Madame, your tea is served. The sun streamed through the window and it was such a good moment.  Just another reminder that even in the depths of winter there are the faint tinkling sounds of change. 

We are so spoiled here in mild Colorado so to complain about winter feels absurd....wrong even.  We have had a handful of beautiful days this month, pretty enough to begin to melt that dreaded ice patch.  Just last week, as I was getting the mail, I heard a gurgling sound.  I looked down and saw a small river of water smack underneath my glacier. 

It's happening, I thought.  I looked to the sky and smiled. 

Warmer days are ahead.  Bring on spring.