the writing life

We are still muddling through a mala racha, as the people I met in Spain so many years ago would say. I have a little mantra I've been silently repeating to myself: this too shall pass, this too shall pass. Either that, or I suggest out loud - through clenched teeth, while steams steadily escapes from my ears - that my daughter remain silent for 3 minutes, starting right now, I will time you, no not another word, no words at all, just quiet, Frances did you forget already? It's only been 30 seconds, please, just try this for me, 3 minutes of SILENCE.

But as many of you know, silence is near impossible for a girl who has had words continually rushing through her body, mind, and soul since babyhood, a girl whose universe is all about language. So ordering silence is hardly effective; it just ramps up the anxiety (but a mama can dream).

safe and sound

So I was going to tell you about a rocky few days of life with my children, the nadir of which was a cake walk gone very, very wrong. (Imagine me hoisting my six year old daughter toddler-style, sobbing and screaming, out of a tightly-packed circle of children hoping for cake, followed a few feet behind by my stumbling, crying, bewildered four year old son who only knew there was no chance of cake whatsoever where I was taking his sister but could not bear to remain in the circle by himself...and how I almost barked over my unhinged child's shoulder at the mother who, looking a bit desperate to quiet the screams, offered a consolation cake to Frances: NO! NO CAKE!).

Yes. Well. That was pretty bad. I was also going to tell you how I am attributing days (or weeks) like this to simple brain-branching, neural overload, the inevitable ravages of inhabiting a growing body and mind. The good thing about this is that one has only to adopt a this-too-shall-pass attitude towards the whole thing, and pray for patience and fortitude til the storm passes.

But then this morning I was sitting in church and watching a young teenager snuggle into her papa's shoulder, admiring their easy intimacy, how they inclined their heads and whispered into each others' ears. It brought back memories of sitting with my own father in just that way, along with an attendant wave of feelings: safety, security, warmth, the peace of being encircled and contained by the boundless love of a parent.

day in the life

 6:30 am Good morning! It is spring, the sun is shining, and the children and Mike are already bustling downstairs. I am groggy, replete with pollen-induced ickiness from the chest up, and distracted, still thinking about an excellent, late-night (for this mama), wine-soaked conversation with a friend and colleague the night before.

8 am After a last minute scramble for shoes and chase with a hair brush, we are off to drop Frances at school. Gabriel is devastated when I tell him he cannot take his new robotic bug in to show her teacher. Frances clings to me at the door, just for fun. Goodbye, have a good day!

9 am I oversee Gabriel's dutiful picture-drawing (there are many people who have lavished him with birthday treasures who are in need of proper thank yous) while I call his teacher to see if he can drop in on after-school enrichment this afternoon. Turns out there is no enrichment on Thursdays. I call a mama friend who sometimes babysits. Her son had a 103 degree fever last night. Hmm. I call his best friend's mama, who graciously agrees to take him on a play date. Hooray! I can make the Eastport Girls Club meeting I forgot to arrange child care for after all.

boy with hose

Parents, have you had The Conversation about boys and girls? The one that begins, "They really are so different." You have it on the playground or at school pick up time, standing back and watching the children play. You wind up talking with another parent you may or may not know very well about how before kids, you thought boys and girls were socialized to like trucks and dolls, but now you know better. They just come out that way.

I've had the conversation. And it's true, I've been astounded by the differences in my children (as compared with each other and with other children of the opposite sex) in terms of what they find compelling from a surprisingly young age. My baby boy's first song was an ode to balls; my baby girl would pour over family photo albums and memorize each name and face.

survival of the charmingest, or how I managed not to strangle anyone today

If you can't quite make it out, Frances's "compound word creation" for this assignment was chalkfoot. As in: there was a girl named Cherry who had a chalkfoot and when she walked she left a trail of chalk behind.

Cherry Chalkfoot, leaving her bright blue trail behind her everywhere she goes. The image made me smile, disarming me at just the moment that my blood was beginning to boil and send steam seeping from my ears. Oh, my children! When they pick and bait at each other in a compulsive way, unable to let the bickering cycle cease, they drive me batty.

This seems to be the fallout from Frances's exclusive trip to her Grammy and Poppy's house: heightened sibling jealously and competition. Gabriel found it unbearable that she got to go and he didn't; Frances found it unbearable that we did anything fun at all while she was gone. Whenever one reports a small pleasure from earlier in the week, the other begins to moan in agony. I outlawed the word "fair" long ago, but nevertheless I have heard it whined and groaned and wailed countless times over the past day. You went out for bagels?!? Mama! That's not fair!!

all things go

Last night I realized that Gabriel's spring break extended into today, which meant I would not be working in the morning and he would not be returning to his regular routine after all. It also meant that we felt a bit abandoned and straggling, as if we'd stayed at a party way past its natural conclusion. The food, drink, guests and good feelings were already memories; what were we still doing there?

All three grandparents visited over the weekend, during which we celebrated Gabriel's birthday, my mother's birthday, and Easter. There was lots of good eating and drinking, playing outside together, snuggling over stories, visiting with neighbors, digging in the dirt, and - oh yes - sweets galore. This morning Mike's parents packed Frances up in their car and headed back to their house, where she'll have some special time with them over her spring break. Then Mike went to work. Gabriel and I sat in the empty house and sized one another up with crestfallen looks on our faces. Just you, then?

At first my boy whined and complained about the lack of special stuff to do. I was less than sympathetic (I felt the same!). He eventually rallied and played with his new sports equipment, until the second ball in two days fell into the black hole under our deck, lost forever. The wet sheets whipped my face rudely as I wrestled them into submission with clothespin on the line. I ate too many Easter cookies after lunch. Oh, the afternoon stretched so bleakly before us!

Until we decided to take the brand new kite to St. John's. And explore the boathouse (why haven't we before??) and sprawl lazily on the pier, telling each other boat stories. And run across the green lawn, buffeted this way and that in the springtime elements, sunswept and windswept and much, much better.

what we're making

This preschool spring break thing has me in a quiet tizzy, silently enumerating all the things I have yet to do in preparation for a weekend that features not one but two family birthdays (Gabriel and Gramma), Easter, and all three grandparents visiting. A plethora of riches! Yet this hostess is distracted by a persistent awareness of unlaundered sheets, unfinished gifts, and unshopped-for special meals. Not to mention the work I have not been doing!

However. It has been gorgeous out, and I have been doing quite a lot. It just all tends towards fun-and-pretty rather than practical-and-orderly. Here's our latest making and doing list:

1. Gardening! As the newly minted Gardener-in-Chief (a job long held by my more knowledgeable and experienced husband) I have been busy making this makeshift chicken wire fence, planting seeds, preparing beds, building teepees. In this precious, relatively bug-free season, it is all pleasure.

that kind of day

It was bright, blue, and breezy; I spent an hour in the crisp sunshine chatting with a friend and lazily watching our kids tempt disaster by playing with long sticks and heavy rocks after school; I cut a large yellow bowl-full of sorrel from the garden and made a green soup for dinner. There's more: Frances did her homework and gave herself a bath without complaints, a mama friend took Gabriel on a trip to a nearby wildlife refuge this morning so I could work, I made it to the gym, we left the windows and doors open all afternoon, we danced to some old favorites before dinner and read an old favorite that both kids eagerly wanted to hear before bed. 

But none of those things can sufficiently account for it. This day is more than the sum of its parts! It's that sort of day. No fireworks, no parties - just solidly, humbly, and brilliantly terrific. The buzz and brightness of spring infiltrated me completely today, and I don't think I was the only one.