happiness is...

Something prompted me to free this dusty postcard from its magnets today, this postcard that has long been tucked into a corner on the side of the refrigerator between pictures of babes and artwork and who knows what else. When I turned it over, it made me smile all over.

When Frances was three, she had already loved Pete Seeger's music for a long time. She became a fan as a baby, calling out for her favorites from the backseat of the car over and over again. Track #24 on a certain CD collection...what was it again? I've Been Working on the Railroad. Yes. So many times. We heard it hundreds of times, easily. All before her first birthday.

So when she discovered at the age of three (how, I'm not sure) that Pete would be celebrating his 90th birthday, she determined to send him a card. It was delightful. And the most amazing thing? He wrote back! More amazing still, he wrote back months later, which makes a person suppose Pete Seeger slowly and faithfully goes through all his fan mail. And when a three year old sends him a birthday card, he responds.

I've been a bit weighed down lately by all the quotidian stuff of life that can get heavy sometimes: a cold that lingers endlessly, financial aid applications, gray hairs, ornery children, laundry that won't fold and put itself away. Rainy days. Nothing too awful, just a sense of heaviness.

But something about re-discovering that postcard lifted my spirits, and then the snowball just kept rolling, and so many things came into focus before my eyes today and suffused me with a sense of - for lack of a better word - happiness. Here's my little list of the moments that brought me back to myself.

Today, happiness was...

...hearing Frances earnestly pronounce that the book she is reading is the best book ever - three separate times, about three separate titles, within a couple of hours.

...watching Gabriel dive wholeheartedly into Mike's arms to say goodnight, seeing them in profile, nose-to-nose, lit by a bedside lamp, in a cocoon of security and love.

...doing what I love, at both my jobs, and in Spanish no less!

...smelling white bean and kale soup (maybe slightly less mousey than carrot soup?) simmering on the stove, which proved to be a simple yet satisfying meal. (So easy too: I had white beans I'd soaked and cooked the day before. I sauteed onions, garlic, and carrot in olive oil for a bit, then added vegetable broth and simmered, added 2 - 3 cups cooked white beans, simmered some more, and pureed. Then stirred in a bunch of kale sliced into thin ribbons at the end. Top with tons of parmesan and some black pepper. Perfect for a house full of sickies).

...reading an email from a friend with a 15 week old which consisted mainly in suggestions for a baby registry, all of them very astute, practical, and ultimately grounding. Yes, we will need a lot of baby wipes. Yes, three jars of Aquaphor would be better than one! Oh my. This baby will come, and she will stay.

...listening to Frances practice the piano. Then listening to Mike playing scales. Then watching Gabriel dance passionately to his own music before bedtime.

p.s. Just in case any of you were wondering what sort of postcard Pete Seeger likes to send, there you have it! There are so many, many things on my before-the-baby-comes to do list, but now I have mentally placed - at the very top of it - framing this family artifact.

money talks

Ah, carrot soup! Fitting fare for a destitute family of church mice, don't you think? Either that, or it's the terribly predictable Wednesday night choice of this demographically dull yoga-practicing, New Yorker-reading, Downton Abbey-watching mother and longtime Smitten Kitchen devotee (it's one of her latest recipes - the lemon tahini dollop is what grabbed me).

This morning on the way to school Frances observed that everyone she knows has gone on a ski vacation with his or her family this winter. Why don't we ever go skiing? Gabriel piped up, adding "or snowboarding at least??" This came just a couple of days after Frances asked me on our walk if she would ever have a horse, like some of her friends do. Or a gold bracelet with her horse's name engraved on it, like one friend in particular. No Frances, I don't think you will have a horse.

And this morning, I was a bit ragged around the edges with a cold and the residual effects of a madder-than-usual dash out the door, and I told Frances that many of her friends at school have a lot more money than we do, and not everyone goes on ski vacations every winter. In fact, hardly anyone does. It just seems like a lot of people do because you go to a fancy private school!

Oh, I do believe I became high and mighty, and lectured in a rather unhelpful way about how we are blessed with far more than most human beings on the planet, and how her school is great for SO many reasons but one of them is not teaching children firsthand about who all the different kinds of people are that live in our community. How could ski vacations and horse ownership be my second grader's peer group norm???

At one point she said pointedly and with a daring frown, "So I guess we're poor then." Buttons effectively pushed, thank you. I came right back swinging, about how we have so many riches in our lives (you may gag now): love, friends, family, plenty to eat (potfuls of carrot soup!), etc. "Oh, so we get to have breakfast and take walks together? Great, Mama." (Insert eye roll).

Really?? I loved my yogurt and fruit and granola this morning! I love our walks! But sure, yes - and this I did not say aloud - a ski vacation would be nice too.

The truth is, I imagine, not so much that she is comparing her possessions to those of her friends at school but rather that she is picking up on the provider anxiety that comes with new babies around here, the small panic that rippled through her parents when we discovered our second car required more work than it is worth the day after we bought a minivan, the little groans that come with certain bills. She seems worried, in a global, inchoate sense, that there won't be enough. And can you imagine? Shaking her by the shoulders and insisting through gritted teeth that we are rich in love and that's enough!! does not seem to be reassuring her.

Back when I worked on Fresh Air, Terry used to note how curious it was that people were happy to answer questions about failed marriages, past abuse, and drug addiction yet became offended if asked about their money. I can only begin to understand why I became so agitated this morning when Frances suggested we were poor and said she wished we had more money. All kinds of unsettled questions and worries - the dark, murky bottoms of which I cannot see from here - got stirred up in me.

Could it all have had anything to do with the call that I received an hour later, saying that Frances felt sick and needed to go home? She was suspiciously chipper when I picked her up in the lower school office. Maybe she needed reassurance of another sort (not the shoulder-shaking kind).

Oh Frances. There will always be enough.

favorites

Here are a couple of my favorite moments from this holidays-to-real life transitional week, during which Frances hasn't yet gone back to school, Gabriel returned to school on Wednesday, I returned to work on Thursday, and Mike is preparing to return to teaching on Monday:

Frances and I dropped Gabriel off at preschool on Wednesday morning and headed across the street to a cafe, where we bought special drinks, squeezed into a big, cushy chair, and finished reading the thrilling tale of The Mysterious Benedict Society to the very end. It took over an hour. Then we went for a cold, sunny walk in Eastport and mulled all the shocking revelations from the many finales over and over, until it was time to pick up Gabriel. Perfect, perfect morning.

Today I woke up and snuck downstairs to do a prenatal yoga video before the kids were up. Of course, that lasted about five minutes, at which point I heard them pounding their way downstairs. Gabriel rolled out a mat next to mine and did some of his own outrageous asanas, then fell quiet and watched the teacher on the screen for a while. Suddenly he said, in his best valley girl voice, Oh. My. God. Look at her butt. It is so big. (You may recognize that line from the intro to Sir Mix-A-Lot's timeless classic...he watched Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake perform it - admirably - as part of their History of Rap series and thought that particular song was the funniest thing he'd ever heard).

It has been a blessedly gentle re-entry! And I am glad for it, since we are all in various stages of a persistent cold, and I do feel like clinging to all the time together we've had. Part of me is unwilling to go back to regular life, with its routines that take us in four different directions. Once we take the plunge on Monday and start kicking it will be fine and even good, but for now I am hesitating on the pebbly shore, reluctantly considering the chilly water.

Indulge my senseless clinging, would you? Here are some more favorite moments from the past two weeks...

work for the new year

So today, after ignoring the enormous pile of wood chips in our side yard that has been looking at me expectantly for the past two weeks (since I was the one who talked to the tree guys working at our neighbors' house and explicitly invited the chips to come and stay), I decided it was time to break out the shovel and wheelbarrow and get to work. Gabriel joined me and despite the fact that I am feeling rather heavy with child these days, at first it was all kind of great. We plugged on merrily, slow and steady, me with my big belly channeling the spirit of Ma Ingalls, or one of those domestic homesteading paragons we've all encountered on the internet, or maybe just the older Lancaster County farm women who seem to glow with strength and stamina whenever I see them at their market stands on visits. Surely they have all shoveled their share of third trimester wood chips?

Gabriel developed his own technique, sometimes digging deep holes in the pile with long sticks, sometimes hurling rocks at the pile, and eventually using a lacrosse stick to load up his wheelbarrow.

And then, about half an hour later ... my arms and back began to ache. The enormity of the job began to discourage. And Gabriel, who had wandered into other parts of the yard, suggested a story inside would be more fun. Yet I persisted, for a few more loads at least. And then went out later in the day to shovel some more. The pile compelled me.

This holiday break has been so lovely, filled to the brim with family and friends (pictures soon to come), and the last few days have focused on the wood chip-like work that we have been waiting til now to do, before this baby girl comes to join us in two short months. Ikea furniture assembly! Hand-me-down sorting and organization! Even the enormous pot of minestrone I made for friends last night that had me chopping kale and potatoes into tiny pieces for what seemed like hours. It has all required a slower pace, a refusal to multi-task, a giving over to the sometimes tedious, sometimes soothing nature of work with our hands.  

It's been restorative. We've been working on it all together. Gabriel goes back to school tomorrow, I go back to work the next day, and everything will slide into a much faster, frenetic pace before I know it. So right now I am soaking in - as best I can - the stillness, the starkness of backyard birds on bare branches, the lingering hugs, the slow mornings in pajamas. The extraordinary pleasure of being our family of four, before we grow and change once again!

Happy, happy new year to all of you. May 2013 be filled with peace, health, and joy in your homes and in your communities. I do think it's going to be a good year.