I'm glad I spent it with you

Saturday morning arrived, the end of three straight weeks of me and the kids, together, alone.  (I'm exaggerating, my husband was home for mother's day and even slept here for two of those weeks).  I woke up with a near-to-raging case of mastitis and took the kids to a kite flying playdate.  Mr. G decided to work at home in case I got much sicker.  Then, when he realized he absolutely had to go into the office, we did something unprecedented: we went with him.

Spending an hour and a half in the car with two kids on a beautiful sunny day seemed like a horrible idea, hanging around the office with nothing to do was even worse (especially when the baby decided to pass the time by spitting up all over my head). And, now that I think of it, going on a day trip with a bad infection and no health insurance was probably pretty stupid.  But as the afternoon wore on, it became increasingly clear to me that time together as a family was exactly what we needed, anyway we could get it.  We were hot and bored and frustrated and very, very happy.

Then the work day was over and we spent a couple of hours at beautiful Owen Beach in Point Defiance Park.  For the first time in way too long we were a family having fun together.  It sounds simple but you wouldn't believe how thirsty I was for this.  We had dinner at a Chipotle in a strip mall in Federal Way, the very last place you'd ever expect to find me, where the baby gnawed on a lemon wedge while the rest of us scarfed beans, rice and some sort of questionable chicken.  It was out of the house and out of the city and for just a few hours we were a regular family doing regular things.  And it was perfect.

Everyday is like Sunday

It's a beautiful day on the lake, with sunshine, ducklings and the sound of sailboats jibbing at the end of our dock.  A rare moment of calm while the kids take their dad grocery shopping.

Mostly this doesn't feel like the calm refuge I'd like a home to be.  Mostly the baby crawls around the house destroying everything in his path and I wring my hands and lament over how I didn't sign up to parent these children alone.  We're having a bit of a work-life balance crisis around here.  Perhaps this is the curse that comes with having a job you love.

Right now is perfect though.  The floor strewn with Cheerios, refugee books stacked on the table, lilacs in a glass pitcher.  A sharp contrast to this morning when I stood in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by the contents of every single drawer, cupboard, and bookshelf the baby can reach, and realized that the birthday party started fifteen minutes ago (a moment topped only by the experience of finally making it to the party only to find I was in the wrong place).

But life goes on and there was leftover cake and everyone understands when you have those kinds of days.  Just wishing everyday wasn't that kind of day.

Spring

The baby sleeps.  Not in his own bed of course (which is filled and emptied of laundry like a tide pool), but in ours.  Cuddled under the dirty sheets, dreaming for an indeterminate time.  I listen for his cries over the white noise of waves, dreading the thump of his sleepy head meeting the floor.

The living room has been cleared of sharp grown-up things but instead of looking playful I fear that we've moved and I have yet to be informed.  Baby is a much more adventurous soul than his older sister and had begun to climb onto window sills and over the backs of chairs.

Preschool plods along with its banks of paper punctuated by straws and rubber bands.  Summer is out there, just beyond the long reach of our fingers.  Beyond that, the unthinkable. 

[Kindergarten.]

Supreme ________

Thanks to one of my volunteer positions, I have the incredible good fortune to be involved in a case that is going to be heard by the Supreme Court. Today I had my first conference call with the attorneys who are writing the brief. Each one was bright, articulate, personable and of course a former Supreme Court clerk. I was sitting in my Prius outside the circus school, praying fervently that the baby would not wake up screaming. Keenly aware of my un-Supreme status yet thrilled to be along for the ride.

Happy Happy Happy

We had another fantastic (if incredibly loud and chaotic) Seder last night and this morning we are lounging around the house waiting for the neighbor's Easter party to begin.

Personally, I'm celebrating that I went to sleep next to my husband both nights this weekend and both mornings he was still there when I woke up. A little slice of heaven.

winner winner

I went in for acupuncture yesterday, my first visit since I went to nudge the baby out, and was told I should be eating meat twice a day. Twice a day! This is a lot of meat for someone who was a lifelong vegetarian until just a few years ago. But I'm going to make an effort because when Kate tells me I need to "build my blood" I'm horribly skeptical but I go with it. I never thought being stuck all over with pins would be a good idea either but now I'd do it all day if I could. So, in honor of my new goal, here is the link to Spicy Chicken and Sweet Potato Stew. It's still on the stove but is tasting pretty yummy thus far. Mr. G pinky swore he would be home to eat it before he went back to work for the night. I'm not sure exactly what the rules are for pinky swearing over instant messaging but I'm hoping there aren't any hidden loopholes.

More of the same change

Mr. G has now held three different jobs in less than a year and a half (on purpose; unfortunately it's just the nature of his business). While I am grateful to be married to someone who is so infinitely employable, I'm quickly becoming a failed expert at sorting out things like health and dental insurance. Little G and I both had dentist appointments this week that turned out not to be covered by our current plan. whoops. But this type of thing is water under the bridge compared to my general feelings about change. Staying calm in the face of personal uncertainty is exhausting for me, which is not to say I can't do it but I'm much happier when I can plan. Clearly the universe is insisting that I learn how to roll with the punches in this lifetime.

This morning I'm having a little down time after a straight twenty-four hours alone with the kiddos. Theoretically this shouldn't be such a big deal but the baby has asserted himself as my constant companion, nursing every one to two hours during the night and climbing my leg every minute he is not held during the day. The upside is that I am in the unique position of being accompanied everywhere by my own personal elf. The downside is crippling exhaustion.

5.5

Writers, as I learned recently from Hemingway via Woody Allen, are supposed to make observations. But when something is right up close to you, say in your lap or standing on your hand, it can be difficult to observe with objectivity. As I often tell Little G, if you want me to look at it you're going to have to stand back a bit. (That's right before I say, "Please move back," and then "BACK. OFF!!"). This is the thing with her these days, she is so absorbed in being five that she doesn't hear 85% of what I tell her and of the 15% she does hear she only listens a third of the time. You don't have to be a numbers person to understand that this could drive a person batshit crazy in a matter of hours.

If I was a better parent I'd probably be devouring books on five-year-olds in order to understand every delicate nuance of her psyche but who has time for that with an eight-month-old tearing after you on all fours trying to pull down your pants and milk you with his little fists. What I have come to understand from the few things I have read is that, at five, children have a deep need to please their parents. I see this in her and I try so hard to indulge it but it's extremely difficult to do when she's singing We are Young at the top of her lungs totally off key and with the wrong lyrics for, and I'm not exaggerating, the five thousandth time that day. Or maybe we're having a conversation like this:

Me: We're going to the library this morning to pick up some books I have on hold for you.
Her: Can you choose where you pick up books when you put them on hold?
Me: Yep, and I chose Capitol Hill (our library branch where we've gone almost every week since she was a baby) so we're going up there as soon as you get dressed.

Thirty minutes later in the car on the way to the library . . .
Her: Did you choose Capitol Hill when you put the books on hold?
Me: Yes.
Her: Where are we going?

This sort of thing would be hard for me to deal with on a regular day but when I haven't slept more than three hours at a time since June, it's virtually impossible not to jump out of the moving car/stab out my ear drums with a pen. I know objective observation would be really helpful in these situations but these skills are lost to me in such moments.

On a good day though, I nod enthusiastically the first time she describes, in mind-numbing detail, the way they touch their toes at school when they sing Miss Mary Mack. She's sharing important information with you, I tell myself (objectively!), she needs you to engage and approve. And I do, the first time. The second time I manage to nod and be silent because, while I'm not feeling super observant in this moment, I remember that if I don't have anything nice to say I shouldn't say anything at all. But by the third time something uncoils inside me and I lose my cool. I say something not very nice like, I KNOW, you've told me that THREE TIMES ALREADY!

And then I feel awful because I want her to tell me things and I want her to understand that I care about her life. Plus she's an amazing kid who does stuff like clean up the house and make me a snack while a take a nap with the baby. So in the moments when I manage to get some perspective I invent things like our joint art book, in which we create drawings and collages together. I buy us theater tickets to Annie, Jr., I take her out for french macaroons, I ask her to share her dreams with me over soy hot chocolate with extra whip.

What else can I do? She's five and I'm me. And hopefully one of us will grow out of it.

Sick Baby

Is there anything quite as pathetic as a congested infant? The poor little guy is confused and completely distraught over his inability to breath through his nose. I keep telling him that it won't be like this forever but I'm not sure I'm getting through.

Speaking of Crafts

Did I tell you about the time I tried to take Little G to a bead store last week and nearly had a nervous breakdown? I promised her we could do a special project for one of her best friends who is moving away at the end of the month. Why do I do things like that?

Long story short, we were there for what I think was an hour and half but felt like the better part of a week and by the end of it the sales lady intervened, told me exactly how I was going to do the project and then took Little G around the store and they picked out all the beads. The woman was a machine. I asked her if she would come home with us and organize the rest of my life but she laughed it off like I was kidding. Then she told me that they didn't usually size and cut wire for customer's projects but for me she was making an exception. It's possible that she just didn't want to see me back in her store and, sweet as she was, the feeling is mutual.