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Oh, Baby . . .

Ruby has three modes now.  When she's not a regular old toddler, she is either crawling into my lap to pretend to be a baby (money quote: "I, baby.") or pretending to be a parent of someone or something else.  She tries to pick up the Dolce, our patient cat, who has grown the long, silent stare of a death row inmate.  Ruby brings me my shoes, tries to wipe her own poop at diaper changes and talks on the broken iPod like a, well, a lot like me.  I never realized how much J and I utter the phrase "here you go," until both Ruby and her brother started saying "hee gogo" every time they handed us something, or, giggles, when we handed something to them.

Recently, she also tried to take over the mothering duties for little Goo, our seven month-old friend, and would have surely taken him home had he not been sitting in the lap of his lovely nanny.  Ruby displayed jaw-dropping patience wrapped in bald adoration as Goo batted her face and pulled her hair.  She giggled when he drooled on her hand and jerked his arm away.  She lingered with him for almost ten minutes (an eternity in toddler time), until Goo's nanny finally had to end the fantasy so she could feed him. 

Now, this is all fun and cute, but I can't help but brace for the day, sure to come within the year, when I see her look at her tummy and say, "God, am I bloated."

How Kids Save the World, Every Day

Shortly after we woke up this morning, as we always do, we pulled the New York Times from outside the door, and I tried to scan the front page for a few moments before one or the other of the kids pulled me away.  This morning Bennett sat on my lap at the table while I looked over the day's headlines. 

This picture ran at the top of the front section today:

When I looked at it, I wondered what this little boy had seen over the last several days in Gaza.  I wonder how he feels to be leaving, what he's looking at, how his mouth is set beneath his hands and what happened in the seconds after this shot was taken.  I wonder how he'll remember this last week when he is an old man.

Bennett was interested in this photo.  He sat on my lap quietly, and after a few moments, he placed his small hand over the child's hand in the left side of the frame, as if it were a kid on the other side of a window.  Bennett's hand is similar in size to the unidentified child's, who is probably leaving the violence in Gaza with the boy at the center of the shot. 

I don't know what Bennett was wondering about when he laid his hand on the outstretched palm in this picture, but I do know what it said to me.  It said we are all humans here, sharing the same planet.  And when we are small, we don't understand how we are supposed to be different.  We only know about this common bond that makes us all the same.   

Then tonight, Ruby was having trouble getting to sleep.  So like I often do, I sat by her crib with my hand on her back until she fell asleep.  At one point, when she'd been lying quietly for several minutes and I thought she was all done, she turned over and wriggled her hand out of the blanket, taking mine.  The darkness and quiet gave way to just feel her tiny, airy soft, agile hand as she laid her palm flat against mine. 

Rare as unicorns are the moments in my life when I can say that my breath has been taken away.  This was one of them; for a moment, I forgot to breathe.  She patted my hand gently, threaded her filigree fingers with mine, cupped both her warm little hands in my big one.  And then she slowly fell asleep.

I hope in this next year and every year after that I will have the patience and wisdom to listen in those fleeting moments when my children and others are reaching out to teach me life's quiet lessons.  They are some of the most powerful I will ever learn.

My New Year's Resolution

I'm thinking that it will be "to be more mercenary."  I'll keep you posted.

This picture doesn't have anything to do with it.  I just got a new iPhone.  This was my first picture.

Life, In Moments, Again

Last night, I was in the kitchen fixing dinner for the kids (peas, pasta, salmon, very kid).  It was already dark outside.  As I worked, I listened to the voices from the living room.  My mom was reading Andy Warhol's Book of Colors to the kids, in much the same voice I do:  "six, pink, COWS! . . . a SCHOOL, of blue, green, FISH!"  And it reminded me how much the colors blue and green, especially as water images, occupied my imagination while I was pregnant. 

Let me just say:  it was cool, but it was also weird.  If I were six years old, I might say they were a tie for my "favorite" colors, but that wouldn't quite do it.  Because they flowed in my mind's eye when my real eyes closed, pretty much always.  And you may not believe in this stuff, but I tend to think there must be something to it:  Ruby and Bennett were supposed to be born April 19th, which would make them Aries (which is a fire sign), but they were born instead on March 10th, which makes them Pisces.  Which is a water sign. 

And that's one thing that occurred to me as I was stirring the peas.

The other thing is how lucky I am to have my mother for a mom.  I was near tears when I called her Friday morning, and though she had plans to be at Penn State with my father for the weekend, she basically told me she'd be right here.  Which she was.  Well, after getting stuck in traffic for a while. 

Did I mention I was lucky?

She's like that.  The story goes that when J called their house to tell them I was well into labor, that J heard her shout "I'm on my way!" and before the phone clattered to the floor she was almost out the door.  It was only when my dad pointed out that since they lived two states away, she'd need a few changes of clothes, and say, some car keys, that she came back. 

Now, I swear this movie isn't representational of my life, nor is it one of my favorites, particularly, even though I am about to bring it up for the second time in a week.  But my mom has always reminded me of M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias (the one played by Sally Field, who reminds me of my mom, period) at these times of need.  In this, I am her little Shelby, and she is going to get. that. orange. juice. down. my. gullet. so. help. her. God!

And I for one, am forever grateful. 

For more on this topic, see today's lookback post, below (which includes the first recorded baby schedule/Trainspotting reference). 

They Wore Ties

I'm sitting on the sofa, alone in the apartment on election morning.  I have at least a half dozen 'better' things to be doing, but instead I'm on my computer, reading accounts of the massive turnout for the presidential election, and I'm crying.  It reminds me of the way I felt on September 11th, for some reason.  I think it's because I'm crying for my country, and once again, I'm taken aback at how deeply runs the emotion.  Only this time, what I'm feeling isn't just sadness, though I grieve for all the losses we've suffered in the last eight years.  There's also a sense of relief, that this last, ugliest chapter of national divide is over, and pride, in the people who believe so strongly in our country that they are willing to spend up to eight hours in line to cast their vote. 

What started me off were these two accounts of voting, from Andrew Sullivan.   

File Under: Dear Family, Far Too Far Away, Part 2

Hey Grandma and Grandpa M,

No worries on the timing front, as you can see.  Time is flying, and we're trying to cherish every moment as much as we can as well.  I found it a little bit of a challenge to cherish Saturday night, though.  Bennett had his first stomach virus (he's always been more susceptible to stomach issues) and he vomited copiously all night; if he had two sips of water it came back up.  The worst/most comical part was that he would invariably reach out for mama when it was happening, so I ended up soaked to the skin in the smelly, chunky-then-watery deluge of his throw up a couple times.  He had two baths and several wipedowns and clothing changes as did I, though I managed to get by with just one full-length shower. 









It was, um, revolting, but I couldn't push him away in those moments . . . he was so bereft and didn't understand what was happening.  How to describe the feeling of a newbie parent, when there's noone else around to verify that this is the way it's supposed to play out?  It just really goes against every instinct I have to open my arms and embrace someone to me who is imminently going to power puke all over me.  I don't have a personal reference point for this.  The closest I ever got was to hold my friends' hair when they ventured a few tequila shots out of their territory in college. 





Our girl is great, no barfing for her, though she has a cold and the same night Benny was barfing she was making death rattle sounds as she slept.  Her favorite word is "happy."  His is "clean." Gotta love 'em.

xo

W

Just Toss It

Last night, I sat on the floor looking for one of the 42 books the kids usually pull out and ask us to read the first three words of before bed.  This is what they do:  go to the shelf, where there are 80 or so age-appropriate selections on topics such as hippos, bedtime, "their" letters, numbers and colors, picnics, the word "please," and you get the idea.  They pull one out and set it on the knee of Jason or me, who have been sitting patiently, cross-legged, waiting for their selection.  Once they've placed the book on our knee, they stand back up and turn around, studying their feet the whole time with the deliberateness of an amateur disco-dancer trying to remember exactly how many steps in this part of the Hustle.  Once they've reached tush side to Mama or Daddy, they plop in our lap and sit, contentedly, for approximately the first 2 and a half lines of whatever book they've chosen before they're off to the bookshelf again to find the tome THEY REALLY WANTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.  Repeat some nights until parental weariness of the exercise ends it.  Last night, though, it was me looking.  "Jason, where's Elmo Loves You?"

Bennett loves Elmo Loves You, though I think it's cos I read the whole book in the Elmo voice, which thanks to a girly vocal range, I can kind of mimic.   

Jason:  "I threw it away." 

Willa:  "DAMMIT, Jason!  Bennett LOVES Elmo Loves You!!  I can't believe you threw it away!!!!  GOD!"

Can you tell I was really fed up here?

Jason:  "I didn't, I was just kidding." 

Now you may notice here that nowhere above did I express any particular amount of disbelief or inquiry into WHY he might have thrown it away.  And that is because Jason throws EVERYTHING away.  He has thrown away every set of instructions and warranty information accompanying our purchases, from the home office printer/fax/scanner, the sofa, the iPod, our camera, the food processor.  He threw away our CURTAINS one day because they came out of the dryer wrinkled.  I kid you not.  He regularly throws away the liner to the shower curtain, and in fact, keeps a stock of new ones in the bathroom closet.  He just likes them fresh, even if they're clean.  If I didn't make us take the time to go donate clothes the kids have outgrown, I'm pretty sure he'd put them in the trash.  Such is the intensity of his compulsion to get. rid. of. stuff. On the one hand, it makes him a perfect Manhattanite.  But I think he's going to have to come around.  Apparently hanging on to stuff is the new thing; it's the blowback to consumerism run amok borne of a housing/credit/stock market crisis that is supposedly going to trickle down to the shower curtain industry.  I, for one, am looking forward to it.

File Under: Dear Family, Far Too Far Away

Checking In
1 message

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from:  willa@mail.com	Tue, Oct 7, 2008 at 11:51 AM
to: grandma and grandpa m
Howdy! Just wanted to drop a line to say hello and see how you're doing.  We're all quite good, all teething considered.  Ruby broke FOUR molars at the same time over the last two weeks, and for about 10 days straight, she was up every night for at least an hour and a half.  She's done, thankfully, but now her brother is at it.  Ah, twins!  They are otherwise awesome.  Magical and maddening at this age. They garble out new words every day, and demonstrate their love and appreciation for us in increasingly adorable ways.  They give hugs, and kisses (on the cheek and blown, both).  Bennett blows kisses to everyone.  People on the elevator and cashiers -- everyone.  And they come running when we walk in the door!  Wow!  Of course, they also demonstrate their preferences, needs and demands in increasingly passionate ways, which is always a challenge to manage!  On our walls are beginning to appear their exuberant works, in crayon (the washable kind; these are the humble mercies of a capitalist economy).  Just try taking those colorful little suckers out of their hands.  When you take from both of them at once, it's like the Wailing Wall. Our weather has gone to fall, officially.  It's beautiful here during this time.  The kids are going as Thing 1 and Thing 2 for Halloween.  We'll send pics, of course! Much love, Willa

Unintentionally Ironic Webshot of the Day

What happens when the world is moving faster than the world wide web . . .

Wot?

It's official: they're talking.  And I know some people think that this is really where the trouble begins, but I couldn't be happier.  Really.  Today we heard "cwackuhw" ("cracker") again and again (the moment
they had fewer than one mini peaunt butter cracker sandwich in their mouths and each hand) and I melted each time (not like peanut butter exactly, more like a first time mom). We've heard "bath," "water" and "fortitude" (not really), but in my proudest moment, I did hear "please."  No lie. 

The fundamentals of our children's etiquette are strong. 

Okay, I will grant you that it was just a mimicking of sounds that I demanded in ransom for Ruby's milk, but it was there. 

"PEES, Miwk!!!!!!" 

And it kinda made my day, because I think the thing that matters most after whether my kids will be homicidal maniacs or young earth creationists is whether they will say please and thank you to waiters.  And me. 

Although the difference between the two is really splitting hairs about now.