Happy Easter!

I've loved a lot of holidays in my time--although never Halloween or Valentine's Day, to be honest--but I think Easter is edging out the rest. I love Easter. I love the springiness of it, the cute little animals and the pretty pastels and the promise of summer vegetables in my freshly planted garden. I love watching the kids hunt for eggs, the giddy smiles they get opening them up to see what they find (my poor kids, sadly, found lots of spare change which they had to count in an impromptu math lesson, although they will shortly turn said change in for an actual item of choice). I even left their Easter baskets outside the patio door, though we don't support the Easter Bunny and his other holiday cohorts. When pressed, though, I couldn't bear to spoil their bright little faces. "Maybe one of God's angels left you a present for Christ's rebirth." To which they responded, "Um, maybe it was the Easter Bunny." Hmm...

Which brings me to the best part about Easter: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Although there's much more hoopla surrounding Christmas, Easter is really the more meaningful holiday. It matters the He lived, of course, and it matters that He died, but without Easter--without overcoming death--His life would have been but a mark in the history books. But because of Easter, He tells us: "Fear not; I am the first and the last, and the Living one; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive for evermore, and I have the keys of death and of Hades." (Rev. 17b-18). What a concept! The first and last, the bookends of our lives, and He holds the keys of death. He has conquered it, paving the way for His followers.

I understand that not everyone relates to this notion. For them, Easter might be more about that Easter Bunny, or Cadbury Eggs, or those creepy neon peeps. But all of those, in some way, stem from this idea of rebirth, of the way spring reflects the resurrection of life. And as one who knows Christ, who knows the sacrifice that was made and the promise brought out of it, I end Easter feeling blessed, awed, and a little less fearful than before. It's as though I've been walking through the winter valley of shadows and He's opened the door to a whole new day.

Excuse me while I have some ice cream

Ditto this post. But we didn't even have to endure 55F and drizzle this year. Just a few days in the sixties. Life. Is. Good.

Soft, white, and loved all over

One of my tasks yesterday was to make a delivery to the local Goodwill. I had gone through the old clothes and toys to make room for the impending Christmas joy. If I try to do this while the kids are around, they suddenly decide they're interested in whatever I was just about to chuck. This interest lasts only as long as I'm loading up the donation. At that point, the toy is disregarded once more (this should come as a complete "duh"to anyone with children). I figured this was the perfect time.

Everything was going fine until I loaded up the grocery cart. You know, the big red plastic grocery cart that seemed like such a perfect purchase to go with their play kitchen? The one that hardly ever actually gets played with? Yeah, it's that crapshoot all over again. So I loaded it up and got about halfway to the donation site when I started to cry. That's right, I started to cry. Over a grocery cart. That the kids don't really play with. I called B and asked him if we were sure that we were ready to give up the cart. He said yes, that the kids hardly play with it anymore. I said are you sure? With tears. Because they still like to go grocery shopping, which consists of taking all the foodstuffs from my pantry and leaving them at various spots around the house, which is just as annoying as it sounds. Don't ask my why I was defending this practice, but it seemed at that moment most important that they be able to continue grocery shopping in peace. B, being the good and wise husband that he is, insisted that we were most definitely not ready. Are you sure? I asked (yes, again). Keep it for me, he told me. He's gracious too.

The truth is, I've also been working on scrapbooking this week, and the day before I'd found a picture of K. Little K. K back when she was still toddling around. She had her bear in the cart and was wearing her cute footie pjs and looking so little and precious and happy. But especially so little. I'm not ready to give that up yet either. About this I'm very sure, except that it's one thing I'll have to give up eventually, whether I like it or not.

We get to see the kids again today, and while I have to say that sleeping in, eating whenever, and scrapbooking/cleaning/writing at will are all fantastic, I'm dying for a hug. Kids have turned me into such a marshmallow, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Just (B)e

We're on day two without kids. My parents were kind enough to take the kids up to their house while B works a couple more days before the Thanksgiving break begins. According to the kids, getting to go to their grandparents house without their parents is the most wonderful thing in the world. I try to just appreciate the opportunity for their sake and ours, although it is a little tough to hear your own kids screaming that they want to go away WITHOUT YOU!!! (Yes, that's exactly how they say it. Both of them. In unison. Ahem.)

So we know that this is a special thing that not many parents get, and we often get questions about how we use that precious time. I'd like to say that we make the most of absolutely every second, but yesterday, there was a lot of window shopping, wandering, and aimless driving. B took a nap at a time other than nap time. I turned on television and let it bad programming run its course. We played Rock Band at dinnertime and had dinner at 8:30, right before going grocery shopping. Yes, we went grocery shopping at 9pm on a Saturday night. And yet, looking back, we may not have made the most of every second, but we certainly enjoyed the unfamiliar sense of freedom, the chance to relax just the two of us--even if we're doing two independent activities. I've got three more days to get things done, and only three more days to enjoy just B. There's got to be a balance in there somewhere.

Roll with it

Today is supermom day. I have those occasionally, when I just feel very in touch and in tune with my job. Homemade applesauce, homemade pudding. Breakfast of homemade biscuits. A full day with the kids at Legoland where we actually managed to eat a healthy lunch and ride most of the rides without tantrum. Let my kids explore on their own, accompanied them when they needed it. Bonded with a friend, finished my prep for Bible Study tonight. Served the pudding as afternoon snack, as only a super-supermom might treat, and got in some writing. Dishes await me while I fix chicken parmesan for dinner (B's favorite).

There are so many days I feel like a failure (like yesterday, for instance, when I lost it multiple times over battles that I shouldn't have been fighting in the first place) that it's a rare treat to feel in control. I just wonder what's different--is it me, or the kids, or the activities planned? Is the weather or our sleep or just some strange confluence of intangible magic? Can I buy that magic? Or what's more tempting: do I make that magic myself? Is it as unexplainable as I perceive, or do I just start on a roll and manage to keep the ball rolling on my own positive accord? Maybe it's supermom's superpower, which then begs the question: what exactly is my kryptonite, and how quickly can I get rid of it?

Gum-tastic

You mean you're not dying of curiosity to see how the little gum paste people came out? Well, you're gonna see it anyway. Because I didn't spend three solid days making them to have them forgotten that easily.

Remember, this was accomplished with only toothpicks, fingers, and a whole lot of gum-ption.

(From left to right: Baby, Wendy, Dora, K, Elmo, and Cat)

I think it turned out fantastic, and so did K. Who, by the way, does have a name that was once nicely pronounced on the cake. Turns out that I can also edit pictures, too. Imagine my shock! Not that revealing K's name would be disastrous, but talk about spoiling all my mysterious fun.

Happy Birthday, Baby K

Who is really, in all honesty, not much of a baby anymore, but a running, jumping, talking, sassing bundle of frenetic energy, sweet smiles, and (not-so-occasional) willful tantrums. But in my eyes, you are still my baby girl. I still remember your tiny fist wrapped instinctively around mine, the feel of your fuzzy head when I was finally allowed to touch you in the NICU, the heavy weight of your sleeping body on my shoulder.

I still get glimpses of this baby as you hold my hand, curl against me, or reach your arms up for a hug. I marvel at the way these details seem to have expanded and morphed into the toddler you have become. I wonder how they will expand and morph further as time passes, if I will always be able to imagine peeling back the layers to see the spot where we once began.

Happy birthday, K. I love you, as always, for everything you were, are, and ever will be.

Happy Birthday to Me

Today, I turned thirty. Oh yes, I'm only thirty. I get that a lot. I made very good use of my twenties.

I've had a lot of questions about turning thirty, and a bit of teasing too. You know, how it feels, how I feel, etc. Apparently I should feel some way or another, and I do, but it's not quite what people anticipate.

Last week, Easter Sunday, I was singing in the special church choir. The congregation was standing with us, singing along. My eyes fell on an older woman of whom I have grown very fond. I noticed that she was wearing a hearing aid, something she'd never had before. I wondered how she might have felt, and I hoped it was lucky, lucky to have lived to be old enough to need help hearing. Then my eyes shifted forward to a friend of mine. We have known each other since we were both young married women with no kids. We now both have two apiece, very close to the same age. She also has an inoperable brain tumor. I thought then, compared to the older woman, how sad that must be, knowing that you will never be old enough to need a hearing aid, let alone see your kids grown and married and bearing families of their own.

But then, really, as I looked at all the people standing together, I recognized that we are all standing on this earth, and that we will all fall someday. I assume that my friend will fall before me, but it's possible it will be the other way around. We will all fall. It's the one inevitable fact of life. And while I may think that the woman with the hearing aid is lucky to have stood so long, I think that we are all lucky to be standing at all. Life is really such an amazingly complex balance, so fragile, so fraught with peril and risk, that every day we wake to find ourselves still standing, we should consider ourselves triumphant! So to hit a milestone like thirty, to still be standing, is a victory. Bring on forty! Bring on fifty! Bring on one hundred and ten!

But you know, in 80 years. Because today, I'm happy being thirty.

Life Abundant, continued

I've been pondering the whole Life abundant notion this weekend, when God got fed up and helped me out. Okay, I'm sure He meant it nicely. But surprise of all surprises, M agreed to go to his Sunday School class this morning. By himself. For the whole time. Provided he got all of Mommy's car keys and his choice for lunch. AND K went into the nursery. By herself. And only cried a little. Apparently there was much to do with the babies that required her immediate non-crying attention. So B and I could enjoy the sermon in peace.

And then, not that I really should have been surprised by this point, the sermon continued in the book of Ecclesiastes, in which Solomon throws out his two cents on life's meaning. And what do you think it was? (I'm envisioning bored yawns by this point) Enjoy the moment! For in the end, we all come to the same fate (death, in case you're in some form of denial), and we all suffer the same unfair trials and tribulations and random chance moments while getting there. So all we can have is our life as it stands in this moment, and, if we have faith in God and goodness, hope for a better tomorrow.

That's where our pastor ended. But I still felt a little unfulfilled. Because to me, it's about what hope can inspire you to do in that moment. Hope to see your grandchildren grow up? That's smashing. Now get off your duff and exercise. Hope to make amends with your estranged friend? That's brilliant. Now pick up the phone and give them a call. Hope to be a better person? That's grand. Now be that person, today. (I bet by now we're hoping that I watch a little less British television. But don't worry. I've run out of corny British adjectives anyway)

When I think of having life abundantly, I imagine life as an orange I hold in my hand. I peel it apart, take a really awesome juicer, and just juice the heck out of the thing until all that's left is a hollowed out little peel. Then I take that peel and chew it whole. Okay, I'd actually put it down my garbage disposal so that everything smells nice and orangey, but it's the same point. I make sure that I squeeze everything little bit of good out of it. Because I've only got one orange today, and I can't save it for tomorrow either. Besides, there's another orange tomorrow. Or maybe there's not. And if not, wouldn't you like to know that you made the best use of your last orange?

The exact verse: "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might; for there is no activity or planning or knowledge or wisdom in [death] where you are going" (Ecc. 9:10).

So wherever you are and whatever you are doing, give it your all. Appreciate everything. Hope for things better. And make them happen, as best you can, today. This one shot, that's God's gift to you, and He gave it to you so that you would enjoy it as fully as possible. That's a little more what living a life abundant means to me.

The Time of our Lives

Ever since K was born, I have been truly enjoying every minute of our lives. Okay, not every minute, exactly, but the general moment in which we exist. I can actually remember her being four months and M being two and thinking that I would freeze them right then and there for the rest of our lives, I was so blissfully satisfied. And I still am. I love that I feel this way, because I know that I am concentrating on what we have, without looking forward or back too much, and getting the most out of it as a result.

But you know what sucks? It doesn't make time go any slower. No matter how much I can love this time, absolutely relishing in it like a hot pig in cold mud, it doesn't change the fact that each minute still passes away in sixty unforgiving seconds.

I was driving home with the kids, the car warm in the sun, after having a fun morning with friends and a picnic lunch with B. We pulled into the drive talking about our daily video and nap/rest time, and it struck me, rather sharply, that these days are numbered. M will be in preschool three days come fall, and then, one year later, he will be in kindergarten and K will be in preschool.

M and I have spent so much time together these past three and half years. We have discovered so many new things, including K, and the three of us have made so many great friends and happy memories. I feel lonely already to think of them in school, those days behind us, our lives no longer so flexible and free.

I know that I will have other fun things to look forward to, that each stage brings its own blessings to replace the passing of other joys. But it is sad, too, to realize that no matter how I can enjoy this time, I can never enjoy it enough.

Mamaphon-tastic

If you have a moment to spare, please check out Mamaphonic. Or, if you're really in a hurry, try here. Mamaphonic is a fabulous zine all on its own right, but I'm a tad more blushingly fond of it right now. And fond too my faithful writing mamas who gave me the little boosts I needed to get there and never took "I don't know" for the answer.

The Icing on the Cake

M and I took some special time together this weekend at Legoland. See, we all have passes to Legoland courtesy of B's grandmother, but it's not quite as fun for K, who is still too short to ride most of the rides. Which means we spend a lot of time watching M and listening to repeated me/mine commentary, as if we just weren't thinking and had forgotten all about putting her on the ride too. I'm glad to know the kids already doubt my competency that much.

We had a fantastic time, a very liberating time, a time when we could run and play and feel a little bit more free without that diaper bag and stroller and pesky younger sister. And I got to give him all that special attention that he doesn't remember having once before, but oh, how do I remember. He and I will always have a special bond, because I found motherhood a little bit like being pushed out on a tightrope in complete fireman gear. You think you will never make--this cannot be possible to manage--but you manage it anyway, because it's do or die. And we did, M and I together, from those first days in the hospital to the return to graduate school, through nursing woes and nursing wins, solid foods and sitting up and sleep training. It was us against that tightrope. He and I made it, together, because he was figuring it out, too, how to be in this new world, just the same as me.

Saturday was such a blissful reward for us. Not just because it was the first long chunk of time we'd spent alone since K's birth, but also because it seemed to mark all the successes we'd made. We were running together, riding big kid rides, sharing lunch and conversation like two old friends. Which we are, of course. I couldn't have made it without him. I have made it, in large part, because of him.

And still, every day, he's teaching me something new. Like when you want to get away without that darned stroller and you make a promise that if M gets really tired you will carry him, you should be prepared to be carrying said 31 pound boy around Legoland for a good portion of the day. See: something new. Two somethings, really, because the back ache came free of charge.

Excuse me while I open another window

Just when I'm tired of the dreary fog and fifty-degree days and patchy drizzle, here it is: the reason why I put up with traffic and expensive houses and tourists year round. Summer in January. Just a few days of a blissful warm dry breeze to remind me that it's worth it all year round. It carries on its breath the promise of a spring, summer, and fall up ahead just as delightfully temperate and cheerful.

Plus we have California burritos. Puh-lease. San Diego rocks.

Happy 2009!

New year, new colors, same vague feeling of dissatisfaction. But only with the colors. And the title. And the layout. Paltry things, all told.

On the up side, I'm happily welcoming the new year with a vigor I usually never experience. 2009! I have so much to look forward to that my little fingers twitter in anticipation: K potty training (and the corresponding smaller, cuter purse I've had my eye on), our ten year anniversary (and the corresponding, ever more fantastic than a cute purse trip to Belize), more play dates, more swimming, a four-year-old's birthday (!). Another defrosting spring and warm dry summer, another crisp fall to arrive when the change will once again be freshly exciting.

I believe I will make myself into a writer this year. I believe I will let go of the past, or at least a few troublesome pieces. I believe I will fail at parenting and forgive myself anyway. I believe I will mend existing relationships and tend budding new ones. I believe I will learn a million new things that I don't know now, yet always needed.

I'm also walking around with the sinking suspicion that each day will be my last, because honestly, isn't this what every endearing heroine says right before the piano falls smack on her head? But at least now you will all know I died happy! Painfully conscious of the irony, yes, but happy too!

Who needs nine months?

All it took was a couple days and a sewing machine. And a can-do-attitude like "I've just got to embroider her face" and "This looks like a dart". And low standards. Very low standards. Hey, I'm just teaching K that we're not all perfect, but lovable anyway. And she will love her. Oh yes, after all this, she will love her. See, it's all in the attitude.

Home is where the mop is

I just finished mopping the floors, at least the ones far enough away from the bedrooms. After two events in four days, they needed it. Badly. I spent the whole time thinking about my friends who have housekeepers. It's a scarily high number.

I've come close to getting a housekeeping a few times, even took down the number and nearly called. It would give me more time to write--maybe even make a buck or two--and more time to rest in the short periods that I have free. But the truth is, I like to be the one cleaning our house. Not that I like cleaning. I mean, I do like the end result of shiny floors and shelves put back in dusted order, but it's time consuming and tiring and endless. Ever so endless. But I like to do the cleaning. As I clean, I think of the feet that came across that floor: friends and their children happily running to the playroom, a holiday party with a house fully filled, Ivory dusted kids coming in from making their first little snowmen. I think about the cookies that made those crumbs, the hands that left those fingerprints. I realize how solid our home is: how the floor feels under my hands (scratched and dented as it might be), how tight the corners and doors, how much space is ours.

Cleaning makes me realize and appreciate what we have. I know there are lots of factors that play into people getting housekeepers, such as age and jobs and physical capabilities and time, but if I'm not doing it, someone else would be. They would still put out an insane amount of time and effort just to take care of of something for which I no longer made time. Only it'd just be a job for them. So at least when I clean, I come away remembering I have something, a whole microcosm of tangible and intangible memories, right here at my fingertips. Pass by the rug and remember sitting on it and entertaining M in an empty room as the floors were installed around us. Dust off the shelves to find myself staring at the old photo of B and I back when we were just kids ourselves. Clean out the playroom to find a leftover party treat. I know they're just things--trash, dirt, relics--but at the same time, they aren't just things. I love that I still remember, sometimes, that they are underneath. I'll live to regret this, I know, but I kind of hope that if it ever gets to be too much for me to handle myself, that I'll realize, maybe, that I didn't need quite so much in the first place.

Super Mega Ultra Fun Surprise Day

AKA Day Out With Thomas. If you're not familiar with it, Day Out With Thomas is a traveling program that visits railway stations with a real Thomas engine in tow. Kids can ride Thomas, watch Bob build Thomas an imaginary shed, play with tons of train related toys, and beg for presents in the gift shop. Believe it or not, the expectation of M and K's joy brought tears to my eyes as we parked. And yes, I'm more than a little embarrassed to admit it.

M and K did have fun. They ooh-ed and ah-ed at Thomas. K was so excited to be on a train that she nearly threw herself out the window. M had to climb aboard "Scoop" on three separate occasions. We had to beg M away from the toy train set before Mommy fainted from hunger and the gusty Santa Ana winds blew us all to oblivion. All very much the tear-bringing fun I expected (without all the actual tears).

At lunch, tired and dusty and thoroughly worn out, I asked M what was the best part of Super Mega Ultra Fun Surprise Day:

"Riding in Oma and Opa's car to lunch."

Not quite what I had in mind, so I asked again, specifying something actually at DOWT.

"Seeing Oma and Opa."

Again, not something to justify the hefty per-ticket price. This time I specified something at DOWT not having to do with Oma and Opa.

This took a little thought. Then, with glee: "Getting Dodger the Deliverer!"

Which we bought at the gift shop in extravagant addition to that ticket price. Along with Trix, whom everyone calls Trixie for some reason I'm yet to understand, and with which K entertained herself for the rest of the day. I suppose we could have just met Oma and Opa at a toy store and gotten away for a mere $13.00. But then what would I have cried about?

And I woke up at 5am

Having already: made homemade apple turnovers for breakfast, gotten M off to school, had a flu shot, gone to writing group, saved a gagging child while successfully dodging gag, picked up M, made M's favorite lunch, fed kids three oranges even though they both swear they don't like them, swept the floor, done the dishes, and VOTED... I'm calling nap time for a short bout of exercise and some Wii.

I know, you were all looking forward to more complaining about DLT. Well, it'll just have to wait. We all have to reward ourselves sometime.

The First Day

Today was M's first day at preschool. It's actually just the morning, two times a week, but when you've never left your kid in the care of anyone else (with the very rare exception of a relative or very close friend), it's a big deal.

Or maybe I just think it's a big deal. I see so much of myself in M--the shyness, the hesitation--that I sometimes superimpose my responses to situations over his own. I don't think that I push him in a certain direction, but I do know how I would respond and immediately work to counteract that, when in reality he might have a different response altogether.

This is why getting him a little time in someone else's care is a very good thing.

Still, you rehearse the big day over in your head, feeding in all the little horror stories you've heard along the way. And then you put on a brave face, take that little hand inside the big bad door, and steel yourself for the worst.

And, lo and behold, you are so very pleasantly surprised.

No tears on M's part. A little bit reserved, of course, but big boy took it all in stride (I can't say the same about Mom). When we picked him up, I prepared myself to console him, much as I'd been consoling myself the whole morning. Instead, there were bright smiles and big hugs.

"Did you have fun at preschool?" we asked cautiously.

You betcha. We heard about trucks and art and all the kids that M liked and how nice his teacher was.

"So you'd like you go back again on Thursday?" we said with a sigh of relief.

"No! I want to go back every day."

And the sadness remains, but oh how it's overshadowed by pride.

Tools of the Trade

Earplugs, stove, scale, spatula, shovel, crowbar, mallet, hatchet, bjorn, sling, diaper bag, swing, socket set, stepladder, saw, hacksaw, metal file, broom, dustpan, screwdriver, allen wrench, stroller, microwave, toaster oven, dishwasher, washing machine, dryer

That was my day, in order. Which leads me to the eleventh thing I love about my job: dull moments are hard to come by.