In case things ever seem too serene:
Last night, post workout, DH and I were both in the pre-dinner hunger coma stage of things, trying to pull together tacos, while Bean was insisting on coloring and baking the Shrinki-Dinks (aren't they toxic or something?) he received in the mail from an aunt for his birthday, and Sprout was walking in circles (yes he's WALKING!!) wailing pathetically. He's cutting a new tooth, just in time for his birthday and he's a snot river and his usually happy-go-lucky personality has been somewhat diluted as a result.
So anyway, you can picture the scene right? Well. Then picture this: Me pouring Sprout a sippy cup of milk and in the split second (everything happens in those split seconds!) I turned to reach for the top, he reached up to his high chair tray and grabbed the full cup and proceeded to gasp and gulp and sob--but not tip the cup upright again--as he poured the entire contents onto his shocked little face. (I'm not used to him walking yet--and didn't even know he could REACH his high chair tray. Oh dear.)
I just stood there not sure if I should begin wailing myself, or laugh (I chose the latter.) He had milk in his ears, people. In his eyelashes, down his shirt. You'd think it had been an entire gallon--the way the floor was covered.
So anyway, I know I sometimes get kind of serious and poetic here and I wanted to make sure no one's getting any ideas that it's totally zen and serene here all the time. Because it is so not. (As I write, Sprout has pulled a basket of toys onto his head. NOTE TO SELF: Stop putting things on shelves to get them out of his reach!)
And also: please, please go take a peak at A Field Guide To Now and back this project! I get between 5-10,000 unique visits here a month--which means if you, brilliant, awesome readers would each go and back $1 the funding goal would be reached. It's all-or-nothing funding--which is a cool concept, but totally nerve-wracking at this point as I watch the number of days count down. (I want this more than anything.)
+++ PS: it's Sprout's birthday tomorrow. Can you believe that? A ONE year old. Sigh...
More than this
The world is white this morning: the sky, the trees, the ground. The pair of crows in the dying maple are cinder stark. The contrast is so abrupt, I almost want to cry. This is what waking up tired feels like now: I am overcome by everything. By the sooty feathers of crows as they lift, circle, fly of cawing. By the way everything starts up again each morning. The washing machine is on the spin cycle. The woodstove is hot with embers. Sprout is fussing in his crib, just frequently enough to let me know he is still awake, between longer stretches of quiet where I forget for a moment where I am, who I am, and feel the way tiredness lifts me outside myself again and then yanks me back, as though today my arms and legs are really the finely wrought pieces of a elaborate marionette doll with someone unskilled and abrupt pulling at the strings.
This is the way the day begins. This is the first day I have to myself in the cycle of the week. The first three are crowded now with work and meeting deadlines, and I always feel a little in shambles by Thursday, here, but not entirely, somehow trailing myself.
5 years.
Five years ago tonight I'd just given birth, and I had no idea, no idea at all, how my life would be changed by the tiny baby with his big eyes looking up at me from a nest of warm cotton cloths on my chest.
All day I kept thinking about it his birth: how I labored for 2 hours; how I was walking through hard contractions on the back deck when the sun rose; how I remember seeing the way the buds on the lilac tree were fat, and how the air smelled like the beginning of spring; how I transferred to the hospital after about 18 hours leaving behind all expectations about home birth or what his birth would be like at all. When I recall either of my son's births, my memory slips into this place that exists somehow out of body; beyond the periphery of pain or thought; to where things are blurred and thundering with the pulse of the moment, but somehow are dislocated, out of time. And so I blinked, and here he is. Five.
This boy with his sandy blond hair and huge green eyes and his thousand questions every single moment of every single day is 5. It's such a heady, stupefying, astounding thing to have a kid and watch him grow up--and writing that I can see how it comes across as the most pathetic of cliches. But really: to watch your child grow up marks time's passing in this utterly absolute way. Five years looks like this.
He's intense, this boy I have. He didn't sleep through the night for the first three years of his life. He's allergic to dust and pollen and grass, and tugs on his shirts and pokes his brother. He is a knower. A thinker. A goofball. (Poop jokes are suddenly hysterical. WHY do boys find bathroom humor so funny? Why?)
He draws pictures of houses and vehicles and robots with wiring intact for doorbells and forklifts and motors. He plans how he'll build things in his head. He talks about math without knowing abstractly that he is. The way numbers relate makes sense intuitively to him. He's non-stop and funny and annoying. He is particular and bright and determined. He doesn't like the spotlight, the center of attention, but he loves to shine and be the best. A birthday questionnaire: Favorite color: green, pink, blue Food: pizza pasta and roll-ups (burritos) from school. I also like granola. Write that please. Favorite fruits: mangoes, and only on occasion I like ants on a log. Dessert: ice cream, peanut butter cookies, chocolate cake, pie and all good stuff. Toy: my Plasma car, my desk, my scissors What you want to be when you grow up: I want to be an astronaut and an airplane driver and I want to build robots that actually work and I want to tell people how to get the titanic up from the bottom of the ocean and I want to be a computer maker. That’s it. Sprout will be the same as me. Favorite thing about Daddy is: that he does stuff with me on my circuit board Favorite thing about Mommy: that we can snuggle and you let me draw on your phone sometimes Favorite thing about your brother: he's a jelly tub. Favorite animal: seal and octopus; NOT dogs. I also like fish and sharks. Favorite time of day: Morning, afternoon, and night. Night is my not good time. Favorite candy: licorice and chocolate. Ice cream bars. Popsicles. Favorite clothing: I don’t know. I really like my red shirt with a pocket up top and my overalls and my goose tag (lapel pin of a loon.) Favorite games: Circuit board. Sledding. Soccer outside. Favorite music: violin and guitar. Stuff you don’t like: The bottoms of asparagus. Taking naps. Tomato. I like broccoli now. What do you wonder about: I wonder about being in college What makes you sad: I’m only sad when I’m hurt.
Today on the way home from school we stopped for a raspberry danish and when he took his first bite the yummy raspberry jelly was a surprise and he said, "Oh mommy, when I bit into this I was just so delighted!"
My boy, through and through. I love him so.
+++ He's also one of the reasons I'm going for this.
Love & LAUNCH!
I did it. Days of mapping out details and collecting information and editing video clips (whoa, no small thing!) and finally, here it is. A Field Guide To Now. It kind of feels like giving birth. A lot like it in fact: the risk, the unknown, the realization that it's all beyond my control even though I'm going to give it every single thing I've got.
It's the first time I've ever taken a leap like this. Plunged with a fluttering heart towards a dream.
Please support this.*
+++ And also: I have two birthday boys this week! Bean's birthday is the 16th and Sprouts four days after. This is the week that has changed my life, twice, momentously. It felt so utterly right to launch this project today. (Still. I'm nervous.)
xoxo!
*Things are tenuous financially, and this would make a huge difference. Please Share this project with everyone you know.
Timing is everything, as usual.
ARGH!
So I left my laptop power cord at work this afternoon which means that my laptop has run out of battery juice and I'm left stranded in an all-PC household unable to finish the video component of the Kickstarter project I so very much wanted to launch tonight. I work almost 45 minutes away from where I live, so there wasn't really an option of clocking an additional 90 minutes (which ironically is about all the "free" time I have anyway)... and I called a friend who lives just a few minutes away but his Mac is older than my little Airbook and our power cables don't speak the same language. So alas, it will have to wait, and I'm going to have to settle for doing some non-screen time things including a run on the treadmill tonight, and revising the paper draft of the first three chapters of my novel that should have been sent to my mentor for revision two weeks ago. A tip I learned doing Nanowrimo this winter: email yourself a copy of your entire manuscript every so often. Or get a Dropbox account (aren't they cool? I don't have one yet, but am tempted, esp. after tonight!
That said, I'm going to clunk away on DH's keyboard for a few more minutes (it seems so HUGE compared to my laptop. I have no idea where to put my fingers. Kinesthetic memory is so interesting...) and share some things that have caught my eye lately.
First off, if you live in New England, I just discovered the best (almost local) tomatoes (second only to true back yard garden tomatoes in the summer!) They taste like actual tomatoes with that lovely biting, viney fragrance. Which is a dream in the middle of winter here... And because I'm pretty committed to local & non-GMO food, I emailed them to see how they grow their tomatoes, and got a prompt (and very awesome) next day email from Tim Cunniff:
"We do not use ANY GMO seeds, they are all done through traditional hybrid methods, cross breeding various varieties. We use an integrated Pest Management system that replicates a balance between beneficial insects like lady bugs and wasps to control white fly population."
Also agricultural: I just finished this book about a year in the life of this farm, and I loved how honest and detailed and raw the description was. I came away from it inspired to really put in a garden this year. And to figure out composting.
And now all kinds of random: Gorgeous photographs. An interesting take on digital media and all things literary and current. This whimsical and mysterious take on reviving paper mail. This way of thinking about the future...And this series about how to write a novel.
Off to do that now.
PS--I loved your links & replies from yesterday.
Good things.
Sprout took his first steps on my birthday! He's been venturing out into the wide expanse of floor ever since and it melts me every single time I plunk him down on his little feet and he makes his way towards me hesitantly, grinning ear to ear. I wish you could all meet this kid. I am so smitten with him. I know that's all I ever say about him--but it's so true. He's so easy going and funny and laid back. When he makes it all the way to me he throws his arms around my neck and practically gnaws my cheeks off with drooly kisses and seriously: MELT.
Also: in the middle of making carrot muffins yesterday afternoon as a snow whirled past the windows the phone rang and it was the Red Hen Press calling! To tell me I won the June 09 Short Fiction Contest judged by Judith Freeman . AWESOME.
And: I am thisclose to launching my KICKSTARTER project. It's so exciting. I'm up to the gills in creativity, which makes me very happy indeed. My only barrier: TIME. I'm hoping I'll have it up tomorrow. Stay tuned.
+ + + Tomorrow I want to share a bunch of links with you of beautiful blogs and good things I've been eating & reading and enjoying for the past couple of days... And I'd love to hear about your favorites right now: what magazine do you love to read? What do you love to have for breakfast? What is one thing you're going to do this week that you're a little scared of doing? (That's right. Commit to that last one.)
xoxo!
Birthday retrospective
In the fields, ice glitters like fish scales snared in the stubble of corn. The river flooded its banks last week. A January thaw, and now the outlying fields are a morass of ice and sloughed off hunks of snow, stained black with silt and mud. The ground heaves. The ice breaks, and pitches up vertically among the mowed stalks. The winter light plays across it; unexpected iridescence.
In the summer corn grew tall here, and driving slowly with the windows down you could smell it: sweet and starchy; each ear growing fat in the secret shade of leaves and silky tassels. The river was brown and slow. The sun high; the heat supple.
Now the wind bites at my cheeks, and I bring steaming buckets of fresh water to the coop where the hens peck about listlessly among the litter. Spilled water on my jeans hardens to ice. Snow is in the forecast again. A sundog dogs the sun.
In the house, the air is floral and fragrant with scent of cooking fruit: pear-apple sauce. The stove is fat with embers. The cat is lazy. The to-do list is a hundred miles long.
I wanted to launch my project over at Kickstarter on my birthday—but a storm the night before brought down a huge tree on our road (a pine with a glorious crown of roots almost two yards across--up-ended unceremoniously, smashing smack into our phone and internet line) reminding me how small we always are in the scope of things. And also: my inlaws drove off our ice-slick driveway and then managed to get our truck stuck too (trying to get their car out!) wheel-well deep in mud and melting snow... so the morning of my birthday DH and I spent a fun (really, it was!) hour winching vehicles out of mud. I love that we work so well as a team.
So here it is Thursday and on the windowsill are a dozen scarlet tulips from my guy, each one the fierce color of my heart. When the sun breaks through the clouds, they almost make me catch my breath. Each petal illumined, gorgeous, risqué, and utterly out of place against the backdrop of naked poplars and maples: a tableau of gray on gray against the cloud strewn winter sky.
First: a birthday list.
Second: I’m going to launch my project this weekend hopefully.
It’s going to be fantastic. With your help, that is. Truly: the only reason I would have ever dreamed this up is because of YOU.
Third: a birthday wish. I'm declaring my own personal Delurking Day. Say hi. Share: who you are, how long you’ve been reading, and one of your favorite moments in your day.
xoxoxo!
Going for it.
An Invitation A box of postcards. A handful of moments. A Field Guide For Now.
Part prose. Part mixed media collage. Part survival guide. Part adventure guide. Altogether: an exploration of the moments in life when everything happens and nothing does. Right now. Because these small, mundane, repetitive moments of laundry and dishes and leaving and arriving can also become the bread that that feeds our dreams and make us whole.
Launching on Kickstarter tomorrow.
+++ Thoughts? +++ (I am so giddy and nervous and excited about this--can't you tell? Also, you're support means everything to me on this one. So many of you have nudged me about making some kind of book, and while the novel is in progress, THIS is something that you will be able to hold in your hands.)
What if there is no emergency?
From The Sound of Paper by Julia Cameron
... "Most of us live with a continual sense of emergency. We have a fear that we are too late and not enough to wrestle a happy destiny from the hands of the gods. What if there is no emergency? What if there is no need to wrestle? What if our only need is receptivity and a gentle openness to guidance? What if, like the Arabian horses grazing outside my window, we are simply able to trust.
When we trust ourselves, we become both more humble and more daring. When we trust ourselves, we move surely. There is no unnecessary strain in our grasp as we reach out to meet life. There is no snatching at people and events, trying to force them to give us what we think we want. We become what we are meant to be. It is that simple. We become what we are, and we do it by being who we are, not who we strive to be.
We are right-sized. We are who and what we are meant to be. All that we need, all that we require, is coming toward us. We need only meet life, not combat it. We need only encounter each day's questions, not raise a fist at the heavens over the question of tomorrow." ...
(Thank you Cheryl for sending this to me.)
Also: I have a project I cannot wait to tell you about. I'm not quite ready to yet, but it is the most exciting, most daring, most bold thing I can imagine and it makes me giddy. It's all about reaching out and taking hold of this moment. This one right now. It's going to be awesome.
Hindsight and then some
Where have I been? To be honest, I’ve been busy taking myself too seriously, with an enormous cold sore on my lip, that’s where I’ve been. I’ve discovered that I’m quite prone to becoming rather preoccupied with the outcome of my life and days. It’s foolishly easy to sit in the dark in a rocking chair with my baby attached to my breast, wondering, is this the sum of now? Is this what I intended when I was twenty-one, more sleek, more plump, more inflamed with ideals?
The truth is also that the cold sore on my lip caused quite a rash of vanity. I didn’t want to go out of the house, stupid as it is. I could feel it prickling up on my face last Friday night, the irritation starting at the thin pale line between pink and cheek. It bristled, as cold sores are wont to do, into an enormous festering thing and quickly I felt felled by my lot. Seriously. All week I’ve had this thing on my face and I had to go about my life driving Bean to and from school, attending meetings, meeting deadlines. A friend said, unthinking, “Oh my god what happened to you?” and I wanted at once to weep with self pity and also to laugh hysterically because dear lord, it’s just a fucking cold sore and I should get over myself. I almost have.
And also: how seriously we take ourselves in our small lives. And still there is a wild striped stampede in my heart rocketing towards whatever is still out there to be mine.
Even in the dark I feel it as I am rocking my second baby, my last one, who is nursing with gusto, his little hands moving about, clutching at my skin, my shirt, my hair, my lips. There is something utterly elemental and mammalian about these moments that we share. He’s drinking me in, his hands memorizing my soul, my teeth, the slack skin at the backs of my elbows, my hair which has grown long now, down below shoulders. I need to remember to sink into this, to let go, to let things be more. The imperfect has never been something I sought after; now it is always mine. Each day bridled with the bittersweet of knowing all that my heart knows.
Life is the wild startling flight of chickadees, the softness of my boy’s cheeks, the salty smell of my husband’s skin against my lips, the dishes in the sink, bread dough soft and punchy in a bowl rising by the wood stove, icicles, each one sharp and glittering, dripping as the temperature warms. And life is also knowing that I have this while someone else is hungry; and also that I long for things I do not have; and also that each day is short, too short, and sleep still consist of fragments torn from the blurry cloth of night.
Someone said in the comments awhile back that I don’t seem to be happy, and when I read this I was struck by how narrow the perimeter of that word is. Happy. It feels neither big enough, or small enough to contain all that is in my heart.
Still, its true that it’s been one of those weeks, and in fact it’s been one of those years—and by that I mean that I’ve been preoccupied a great deal here with the day to day, and also with a pervasive feeling of not getting as far as I need to with my life; not doing as much as I should or whatever. The thing I kind of keep forgetting and then bumping into again and again is the fact that I had a baby this year, and really, that is a big fucking deal even though its something that happens all the time to nearly every woman, and most of them are not nearly as lucky as I am with their lot, if you think of all the women in Iraq or in the Indian slums or in China or Sudan. Having a baby is derailing in the best and worst ways. It splinters your heart and your objectives. It makes you become, and also destroys small (and possibly shallow) parts of who you once were. (Who was I at twenty-one anyway? What did I want?)
How we measure our lives is so strangely, imperfectly, foolishly, relative. My life this year has seemed particularly small to me some days, and sometimes I want to sob because of its smallness. On these days my dreams become thunderous and sharp against my ribs inside my heart. But who am I, really, to feel anything beyond the gift of this life? So I have a fucking cold sore and spent a year raising young boys under significant financial stress. So. Fucking. What. It all seems small when you think of Haiti. Or Afghanistan. Or what life must look like behind the crazy political and literal barbed wire curtain of North Korea.
So that’s where I’ve been: feeling kind of sorry for myself because I’m turning thirty-two in another week and I’m not sure about the whole success bit—what it means, or if I’ve achieved it, or if it even matters.
I know I get caught up in this a lot—even with just simply posting here. I trick myself into this mindset that I always have to write something relevant, and this year has been one of many quiet moments and a lot of angst about making ends meet, and so without meaning to I’ve stopped noticing the small things, stopped writing about how the world makes me feel full to the brim with it’s beauty, always, nearly every day.
This makes me sad: I’ve recorded less about Sprout by a long shot than I did about Bean, and I wish that it weren’t the case since I’ve loved his babyhood so entirely—even more, in a way than I did Bean’s because it wasn’t fraught with the same angst about each phase of babyhood. I want to get back to writing down the simple things because for one, my short-term memory is shot, and also, because it locates me in my life in a simple and wholesome way that I love. Writing down the day is like finding myself on a You Are Here map, even if the map is small and crumpled and only consists of a few shaky lines delineating the floor plan of my kitchen.
When the decade started I was twenty-one and eager and I didn’t actually put much thought towards concrete goals. What did I expect? If I were really honest, I’d have to say that I didn’t have a fucking clue what I to expect from my twenties. And in the end, maybe it doesn’t matter much at all, because as Kurt Vonnegut says, “Be patient. Your future will soon come to you and lie down at your feet like a dog who knows and loves you no matter what you are.”
And also, even if I did have expectations, they wouldn’t have included heartbreak or shock (expectations never do account for such things.)
I couldn’t have imagined how aching and pell-mell and urgent my twenties would be. How life would hit hard and fast, with loss and surprise, each event following closely upon the heels of the last. I became a teacher. My father died (as I sat with him.) I had a baby boy (unplanned.) I got married. I helped to gut and rebuild a house in a unfamiliar city in an unfamiliar state. I was in a school related shooting. I began working with an author I admire immensely. I was nominated for a pushcart prize. I was accepted to graduate school twice and derailed both times because of topsy-turvy life events. I had another baby boy (unplanned.) I quit teaching. I couldn’t have put my finger on any of it, really, which leaves me reeling. Bracing. Shit. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and be forty-two and what will I be saying then?
Now I feel wide-eyed and tenuous. This is my life. These moments, fragrant and tender with my baby’s soft head against my breast. He slips into sleep, and I look into the dark towards the pale outline of the window where snow falls outside.
+++ PS: I'm having fun painting the zebras. (This painting is for sale, by the way...) PPS: What did you expect? How has your life measured up?
Catching up:
Doing: Whoa, it’s been one heck of a couple of weeks with both kiddos underfoot. Lots of sledding and cookie baking and general revelry. Not enough writing though. Or painting. Or time without the ruckus, giddy, non-stop noise making of two small boys.
Speaking of: Sprout is standing and almost walking. He's thisclose. He's hilarious. He plays hide and seek. He initiates chase games around the house and crawls pell-mell at top speed, then bursts into adorable peels of laughter. I tried to teach him to paint a few days ago--because I did with Bean at around this age, and it was an utter disaster. He ATE the brushes and got so frustrated when I'd take them out of his hand and try to turn them around so the bristles went on the paper. So not his thing.
Bean on the other hand is totally into drawing. He makes airplanes and houses with doorbells wired in to the walls. Tonight he drew a picture of our cat stalking mice. Each mouse had a lovely, loopy, curly tail. I can't really believe that he is almost five and suddenly all cool and adorable: a big+little mashup. Yesterday he said, "When I'm big I'm gonna build robots. I'm going to design one to be a remote control that I control--and then another robot that the first robot controls." He's like that. Totally coming up with the coolest things ever. An engineer in the making.
Reading: it's been haphazard at best this week. Mostly about the end of the world as we know it. Which really is rather unsettling . Though not entirely hopeless. I'm already thinking of what my garden will look like this spring.
Wishing for: a few solid hunks of time I can call MY OWN to get things crossed off the to-do list and sink back into writing and creating and feeling like myself again. Eating: I've perfected pizza dough and a really great bread recipe. I'll share both, but not tonight. Somehow it's bedtime already. Where did the day go?
+++ Wondering tonight: what do you worry about? What are your greatest fears--the big, worst-case-scenario ones...and the little ones that nag and gnaw?
Hibernating.
I'll be back soon. I have so many stories to share.... Just trying to get back in the routine of things... (First day back to school for Bean was yesterday.)
+++ What are you doing, reading, wishing for, and eating this week?
2010
I like the way the world looks now: tender, undercover, monochrome. I like the way this month starts off in sleep: the longest nights, the shortest days. I like the way we hurtle down hillsides on sleds; the way driving home from a New Year’s Day party with friends we saw five trees illuminated by the light of a car dealership, each branch crowded with the black silhouettes of sleeping crows.
I like how anything can happen before it does, now, at the beginning of a new year; and also looking back, considering the pulse and tremolo of the year gone by.
I like how it’s always possible to feel at the cusp of something grand at the start of a new year. Like there’s a chance for anything to happen, and everywhere all over the world people are throwing themselves towards their lives with renewed gusto.
People are picking words, and I like that. Looking back, I’d like to say that last year’s word was cocoon, because it was a dreamy, blurry, nestled year of slow motion, present tense stumbling; of new baby love and making ends meet. It was a domestic year. A quiet year. A year of sustaining; of inward growing. Now I'm ready for real action.
I want accomplishment and tangible returns. I want the satisfaction of crossing things off my list. Some years I've had heady, dreamy goals. This year it’s all about the down-to-earth and practical. It’s about getting things done. Enough of next year and sometime and when the time is right.
It’s the beginning of a decade. Time to get things started off on the right foot.
Non-negotiable: Financial stability, daily joy, and finishing my novel manuscript. The rest I'll put up on this year's list at the end of the month.
What is non-negotiable for you this year?
all I have
Tonight the air was still, snow fell, the fire burned, and I felt utterly small and stupid in the narrow little cocoon of my life. Tonight the sum of all my efforts thus far are two boys who wont shut up and a husband who has his own issues and a job I don’t (mostly) know how to do. The novel waits. The dreams wait. And already, I am half way through my life. This breaks my heart.
And then.
I go out with leftover noodles for the chickens. The air is biting, and the fresh snow clings to my boots. When I push open the coop door the light is on. The chickens are all on their roosts, bodies pressed together for warmth. I dump the pasta and watch. One by one they fly down. Awkwardly. Heavily. They thud to floor until they're all there and in a moment all the noodles are gone and they busy themselves drinking and idly scratching. The rooster, ever randy, seizes the opportunity, and the docile hens buckle beneath his weight. Everything simply is. The night. The cold. This small insignificant act of procreation. All of it.
One by one they return to roost. Each flying up to the lower roost first, then the higher one. They find their spot, hunker down, preen, tuck their heads beneath their wings. Gradually each chicken finds her place, and the rooster too. Finally they’re all there, on the roost, and suddenly in the cold quiet air I can hear them breathing.
Softly, rhythmically. Unexpected.
Inhale, exhale. I find my own breath rising up in a cloud on the cold air; synchronizing as I sit in the corner, and for a moment I am away from the noise of my boys, my house, the constant forceful repetition of the same small daily tasks. I wait, listening to them breathe until I can return to my life.
Then I do.
This is all I have.
More Snapshots
"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."--Annie Dillard
Maple sugar on the first snow of the season...
TEETH!
Our advent wreath with a little twirly mobile from Germany (a childhood tradition.)
Our first gingerbread house attempt this year. Bean cut out the templates and the dough. And mixed everything.
Bean was hilarious to watch decorating these. He was so careful with the icing... then DUMPED the sprinkles on.
Lots of snowflakes have been cut this year...Bean made this one entirely himself.
Bundled up. Getting ready to do our annual holiday photo...
PS: I'm sort of sick and am hating the general anxiety of Sunday night. There is always a to-do list bigger than my brain waiting for Monday. What's on your to-do list this week?
Boys & simple delights
I always pictured this, and yet I could never have imagined how it really is: life with boys. My house is always a ruckus. Things are always flung, spun, twirled, jabbed. Sticks are essential. So are rocks. Forts are made everywhere. The couch is a launch pad. Trees are dangled from. Boxes are magic. They become boats and cars and rocket ships; they are played in and fought over and sawed into with serrated knives.
Each morning I wake up to the full catastrophe delight of little boy energy. Inevitably I get a finger in an eyeball, or an elbow to the ribcage. “Mommy! MOMMY LOOOK!” But by the time I do, Bean has already dragged a giggling Sprout out of my room, down the hall and into his bedroom, where I can hear thumping and banging and more laughter.
Bean is growing tall. He grew 3/4ths of an inch in the past month! Sprout is standing on his own, cruising everywhere, cutting teeth. He is hilarious. He does things purposefully just to make us laugh. He loves to bang on things: pots, cupboards, boxes. He loves music. He loves his big brother, and he beams whenever Bean enters the room. But he’s also a tattle tale—already. He makes this particular fussy sound whenever Bean takes something from him, or even just gets close enough that he might take something from him. He is absolutely, one-hundred-percent a Mama’s boy.
My sweet second son. We’re so smitten for each other, and truthfully, every single day I still kind of wish he’d stay small for a lot longer. I love to snuggle with him. I love the sleepy moments just before I tuck him into his bed at night. I love when he first sees me after I’ve been gone for the morning. I love how he gets such a kick out of everything: standing, eating, sticking his hands in the dirt.
That said, I’m much less of a wimp with him. I want him to sleep through the night now. He’s huge (really: as in, 18-24 month clothing is snug on him. SNUG.) and he has no reason to wake up four times just to tap into a boob for five minutes, although I can’t blame him for trying. It must be nice, little man. Sorry to cut you off. So last night there was more fussing and less sleep as he adjusts to going back to sleep himself. He was indignant at first, but a trooper, and figured out how to find his pacifier & snuggle in and go back to sleep after a couple minutes of fussing. And already it was easier than the night before. By the end of the week I think we’ll be where I want us to be (as in, one or both of us will be getting five or six hours of sleep at a go!)
Aside from the whole sleep deprivation bit, which gets old, I admit, I’ve been having so much fun this month with my boys. All three of them. And even though money is tighter than it’s ever been, it is quite possible that I’m enjoying the holiday season more than I have in years past because it’s been all us, as a unit. Without the pressure to buy things—the holidays become all about shared activity, small rituals, adventures, crafts, and food.
We’ve already made a batch of gingerbread cookie dough; strung oodles of lights; and cut more than our share of snowflakes. Bean loves to do paper crafts. He memorizes the folds easily and delights with cutting each snowflake and then opening it up—each one a glorious surprise of symmetry and pattern. Sprout watches, delighted, trying to eat every paper scrap that falls to the floor.
Each morning we all look forward to the excitement of Bean scurrying out to see what the advent fairy has tucked into a little box for him: a tiny slinky, some balloons, a golden chocolate coin, a small crystal, silly putty, umbrella straws. It’s a lesson for all of us to remember: how much delight comes not from the actual gift, but from the suspense and mystery of each small box. It’s all about the ritual, the gesture of fun, and the small delightful moment of surprise. What are some things you do as a family together this time of year?
Tangent-worthy snapshots:
We made cinnamon rolls this morning: Bean measuring the flour out, his eyebrows getting dusted as the mixer kicked into high gear; going to gather eggs first. (We have an interesting flock this year: Aracunas, New Hampshir Reds, Cuckoo Marans, Barred Rocks and a Buff Orpington rooster.) While the dough rose in my favorite vintage Pyrex bowl, we started hanging lights: big fat colored ones, like I remember from being a kid.
Back inside it was all about tinker toys and cinnamon & brown sugar filling (with walnuts too) and leftovers for lunch. Hard cider. Turkey + cranberry sauce + coleslaw on raisin bread. (Of note: DH butchered our turkey this year himself. A Heritage breed, raised by a friend of ours.)
Later: A fire in the wood stove. Inclement weather, but the best kind. Going to get the mail wearing rain boot. Sprout trying to stand all on his own (and cutting two top teeth.) Then making pasta from scratch: the dough gorgeously golden with fresh eggs. Linguine never tasted better: served with Parmesan, sausages and swiss chard sauteed with garlic.
Finally, in the quiet of a post bedtime house: the crackle of logs burning in the stove, getting words down on the page uninterrupted. A glass of red wine. The cat curled at my ankles. Looking forward the inevitable sweetness of bed: the curve of his back, warm, and muscled against me in the dark.