Eleventh

Tags

Boys, Eleven

Dear William,

When you were a baby, I dreamed what it was going to be like to be the mother of a little boy.

It is different.  It is mostly even better than what I dreamed.  But there are days…

Some days I wonder what happened to me.  I wonder how I became this person that I am…this mother that is not even close to perfect.   In my dreams, I was always perfect.

Being your mom is also louder than it was in my dreams.  I never dreamed the loud part.

I never dreamed about how magical you would be, either.  It is curious, being the mother of a boy like you, and knowing that you can be covered in dirt, blood and sweat and at the same time be so beautiful and so charming and so utterly perfect.

It catches me at odd moments, how stunning I find you to be.  Just a whiff of your hair, or a glance at you, the sun catching on your shoulders.  The softness in your eyes, the line of your neck, your pink cheeks and your eyelashes.  Or your voice — your scratchy, tired voice.  You have no idea how I look at you with this bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow.  Joy that you are mine; sorrow at how quickly the time is passing.

Some days, with both horror and absolute unfettered joy I observe you.  Like when you drink from a hose, or wipe your mud-caked hands on your clothes.  Or when you eat with the same hands that you have used to dig for worms or catch frogs.  So gross.  So perfectly, beautifully gross.

You do that to me, little Bill.  You make me all messed up inside.

You confuse me, you anger me, you make my heart burn with pride.  You make me laugh, you make me content and thankful, you make me cry.  You make me worry.  You stir something in me with those dirty little hands and muddy feet of yours.  You bring war to me, and then 30 minutes later you surrender with a handwritten apology letter.  I cannot stay mad at you for long.

You are strength and weakness.  You are longing, and you are contentment.  You are drive and determination and triumph, and yet, you are listlessness.  You are intensity.  You are lack of focus.  You are disagreeable, and then pleasing only moments later.  You are a puzzle that I am still trying to figure out.

However confused I may be by you, one thing is certain…I love you fiercely, William.  With all my heart, from the very first moment I saw you, until the end of my days, I will love you.

Happy eleventh birthday,

Mommy

Resolutions

Tags

Dogs, New Years Resolutions

I have never been one to make resolutions.  I can’t keep them.  It seems silly to go through the motions, every year, knowing full well that they mean nothing to me, and so I don’t.

I did, however, make some resolutions for Poppy, because she is in serious need of reform.

1.  Resist the temptation to bark at every last squirrel in the forest.

2.  Stop eating legos.

3.  Refrain from licking nether regions in public.

4.  Stop tinkling on blankie.

5.  Fix breath problem.

Numbers 1, 3 and 5 present a serious challenge, and it is clear from days 1, 2 and 3 of this new year that she is going to struggle.  But, once she masters these resolutions, she will absolutely, totally be the perfect dog.

One thing is certain…she has totally mastered the art of puppy dog eyes.

Happy new year!

Enero y Ricardo

A little girl visited our house this afternoon.  The first thing she did when she walked into our house was tattle on the boys.  She didn’t say hello, or hi, or anything other than “The boys called me “r*tarded.”  

Then I got a hot flash, because I felt like I needed to take action, and I strongly dislike taking action and yelling at children that are not my own.  I really really strongly dislike it.  But then I thought, I’ll just go out there and tell them to knock it off in so many words.  Which I did.  In my crazy huge pink slippers and my knit hat and scarf that I wear to keep me warm in the house because I don’t want to turn the heat up. I walked out there in all my glory and told those boys that they were not going to be able to come over anymore if they couldn’t be nice.  They kind of stared at me like I was an idiot, and I figured it was just because I actually looked like an idiot this time what with the slippers and the woolies and all.  

Then I went back inside.  A few minutes later, William came in and I told him that I didn’t EVER want to hear him call anyone r*tarded, EVER.    

And he said “What?  I didn’t call anyone that.”

And I said  ”I know it was J who said it, but I don’t ever want to hear that come out of your mouth, do you hear me mister?”

William:  What?  No!  He called her Ricardo! 

Me:  What?  Why?  That doesn’t make any sense.

William:  Oh, well, because we said “here comes Enero y Ricardo.”  

Me:  Who are Enero and Ricardo?  

William:  Oh.  No one.  It’s just funny.  

Me.  I don’t get it.  

William.  Oh.  Well, we were just having fun.

Me:  I don’t get it.  

William:  Okay, well, I’m going outside now.  

Me:  Okay, you be nice.  

William:  Okay Mom, I love you!

Then I went upstairs to tell the girl that tattled on the boys that she was wrong, and that they did not, in fact, call her any other name other than Ricardo.  Or it could have been Enero.  And she and Kate gave me the same look the boys gave me — the one where I look like an idiot — and I told them that next time I’m totally keeping out of it and they can fight their own battles.  Which they thought was very mean of me.   

Enero y Ricardo.  

I still don’t get it.  

But it makes me smile.  

Little Red Haired Boy

Tags

birthday, memories, motherhood, nine

December 19, 2012

Dear Henry,

There are so many things I could say about you…your kindness, friendliness, and confidence.  Your adorable nose, or your freckles, or your eyes.  Or your hair, and how when it flips a certain way it takes my breath away, and I swear you could be an angel.  But what is in my heart tonight is how you are growing up, and how I seemed to turn around for just one second, and there you are, a strong, sweaty, somewhat smelly boy — not my chubby, soft little baby.

I remember when you were little — how I would lie down with you until you fell asleep.  I can still see your silhouette in the moonlight…that big round belly under fleece snowman jammies, soft red curls and button nose.  I miss those nights.  I miss being there with you as you drifted off.  I miss your little, round cherubic self.  But then, children must grow up.

I guess that is the burden I bear…I cling desperately to those memories of little you.  And you, in typical childhood fashion, race as fast as you can to leave them behind.  In my mind I scramble to remember things, to remember what your hair felt like, or how you smelled, or how it felt when you snuggled into my neck, or what your tiny voice sounded like.  And when I reach that memory, my heart hurts.  The beating of my heart hurts.  For you have outgrown the memory, but I haven’t.  And I suppose it is natural that someday you will outgrow me…but I will never outgrow you.

So many memories of you, Henry.  So many beautiful memories.

So many more to come.

Happy birthday baby boy,

-Mama

Dreams of a Girl

Tags

birthday, dreams, little girls

My beautiful girl,

One Autumn twelve years ago, I remember rocking you to sleep.  In the background played Silent Night and as we rocked, bundled under a knit woolen blanket, I watched the twinkling and flashing of Christmas lights outside.  I was so in love with you, Kate.

What I would give for one more night like that.  To hold you in my arms, soak in your warmth and wonder about you…about how wonderful and smart and sweet and pretty and gentle you might be someday.

And yet my dreams of what you would be were never quite as beautiful as you are.  I never could imagine what it would feel like to walk beside you, your small hand in mine as we picked flowers together, or gathered shells on the beach.  What it would feel like when you looked up at me, to show me what little treasure you had found.  Never in a million years could I imagine the way my soul would feel when you race by me on your horse, the sun on your face and your flaxen hair flowing behind you.

I never knew what it would feel like to watch you make music, your thin fingers draped across the strings and your brow slightly furrowed as your eyes focus on the notes.  I never knew how the joy in my heart would pour out in tears as I watched you sing the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.

When you smile, your face glows.  When you laugh, your eyes twinkle.  And my heart sings.

At night when we are curled up under blankets reading books together, I feel the most content; maybe because that’s the way it used to be, back then twelve years ago.  We are warm together, while outside a cold wind blows.

You are my dream come true.

Now, you have dreams of your own.  I think your dreams are just as beautiful as you are.

With all my heart and soul, I love you Kathryn Sunshine.

Castles in the Air

Tags

chasing dreams, football

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be.  Now put the foundations under them.” — Henry David Thoreau

Your first game.  Your first touchdown.

When you were little, and broken, when even your smile was misshapen, I wondered if there would ever be a day like this one.

Back then, I held you.  I hoped for you.  I dreamed for you.

And now, watching it all unfold before me, it is hard to put into words what that feels like.

I am watching your dreams come true.

Long ago, you built your castles in the air, William.  And now you have begun to build the foundations which must hold them up.  Don’t give up.  Don’t ever, ever give up.

Bad dog.

Tags

bad dog, hearing aids

I’m pretty sure I heard her laughing while we searched for the hearing aid…

It’s a good thing she’s cute.

Pretending

Tags

firecrackers, labradors, pretend play

Ella’s new favorite phrase:  “how should I know?” 

Me:  Ella, where are your sandals? 

Ella:  How should I know?

Me:  Really Ella? 

Ella:  What?  How should I know where they are?

Boy she is full of it, let me tell you. 

David says she gets it from me.  He says I say that all the time.  I don’t think so, but whatever.

Me:  Which one of you guys forgot to flush the potty? 

Ella:  How should I know?

Me:  Hey Ella?  Which one of you guys wants to get their mouth washed out with some soap?

Ella:  How should I know? 

I kid.  I made that last one up.

She is a firecracker. 

Also, she is really, really good at pretend play. 

I am not. 

Ella:  Hey mom, can you pretend that I’m a dog, and do labradors like water?

Me:  Yes.

Ella:  Then can you pretend that I’m a labrador and that I like water?

Me:  Yes.

Ella:  And also, I like cats and I save cats.

Ella:  And my name is Lavender.

Me:  Okay Lavender.

Ella:  Arf arf arf.  Hey Mom, when I say “arf arf arf,” that means I love you, okay?

Me:  Okay.

Ella:  Arf arf arf.

Me:  I love you too, Ella.

Ella:  No, Mom, my name is Lavender.

Me:  Oh my goodness, you can talk!  I have a talking dog!

Ella:  No, Mom.  This is a time out. 

Me:  There are time-outs?  You didn’t say “time out.”

Ella:  Time-in.  Arf arf arf. 

Me:  I love you too, Lavender.

Ella:  Time out.  And Mom?  Can you pretend that you’re going to buy me for $5 from the store?  Time in.

Then there is the sound of a dog panting, only it is Ella.  I mean Lavender.

And this goes on for a few minutes, until she licks me or something.

Just wondering…at what age does the pretend play kind of come to a close?

For one week…

Tags

summer, the beach

We spent last week in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.

It was a vacation that we needed, more than in other years I think.  We needed to get out of the house, and away from everything.  We needed to forget about all of the stuff that has been going on.  And for the first time that I can remember since my childhood, I found it hard to come home.  There didn’t seem to be much to come home to, as everything I needed was with me, and everything at home just reminded me of, well, the stuff I was trying to get away from. 

So for one week, we forgot.  We woke up with no agenda, nothing to be done, nothing necessary. 

Our house sat literally 10 feet from the beach.  I would get up and quietly dress and take Poppy for a walk on the beach.  (Poppy, by the way, spent a good deal of time avoiding the water.  She was not interested — not in the least.)  So while we walked – I by the water searching for shells, and she up on the beach at a distance she considered to be safe from the waves – we enjoyed the quiet of the beach.  She barked at people passing by, and ran away (as far away as she could get) as the waves approached her, and she sniffed the crab holes. 

And then, when our walk was over, she sat with me on the screened in porch, overlooking the beach, and barked and howled everytime someone new came by.  I drank coffee.  I drank it until I didn’t want anymore.  I watched people walking by, pelicans diving, and I marvelled at the waves…the rhythmic waves…how they crash, over and over and over again, and how the sun dances upon the water.  And I wondered if someday, someday maybe years from now, if maybe The Man and I will have a beach house.  Maybe some day when we are in the twilight of our life, when the hard work is done, maybe we will be able to sit and drink coffee every morning to the sound of the waves and the sunshine on our faces.  One can dream, anyway.

And as I sat there dreaming, little faces would appear with sleep still washing over them.  Little faces, with pink cheeks and freckles and tangled up hair.  And they would sit down beside me in their jammies with their plates full of bacon and eggs that their daddy made.  I wished silently that our days at home could feel like this, and I promised to try.  I promised to try not to care so much about time, and schedules and cleanliness.  I promised that this summer would be more about fun.   

This week we ate outside on red-painted picnic tables covered in layers of salt, and decorated with piles of sandy shells…the treasure of little fingers.  I love their shells the most — more than the ones I have chosen.  Theirs are slivers and chunks and broken pieces of every color.  There are spirals, and stripes and mottled surfaces.  What I see when I look at them are the voices, the fingers, the sparkling eyes that found them.  And they remind me that it is the simple things that are the most beautiful.     

Every night, The Man and I would sit on the small deck and cook on the grill.  We would drink a glass of wine and watch the waves.  We had a charcoal grill, so there was plenty of time to talk and to be together, in quiet, while the coals heated up.  That was good (except for the one time that Kate came out and told us that Ella had doodled all over –and I mean ALL OVER — the white bureaus in black sharpie.  Just FYI — it takes a good 6-7 coats of paint to cover up black sharpie.) 

We exhausted ourselves with laughter and sunshine.  We built sand castles and dug giant holes.  We played in the waves.  We went to bed late with bellies full of steak, shrimp, watermelon, corn on the cob and s’mores.  We went out for ice cream.  We fed the seagulls, and watched the dolphins.  We caught crabs and watched them bury themselves in the sand. We rested with our faces to the sun, with the ocean breeze ruffling our hair, and the rushing sound of the sea and the laughter of children in our ears. 

Of course, there was the occasional whining about sandy pants and such, but it was the best vacation I can ever remember having.

Butterflies

Tags

butterflies

For her birthday, Mem and Gramp bought her some caterpillars.  We watched them eat and grow and eventually become butterflies.

After a couple of days of feeding them and watching them, it was time to let them go.  Ella was excited.

And then she realized they were not coming back.

She got to hold just one of them before it fluttered away.  This one had a wing that did not unfold properly.  So we held it for a few moments, and then set it gently on the daisies.

We watched it for a few minutes more.

I suppose she was hoping that I would change my mind about keeping the precious thing.

Sometimes, we want something so badly, but it isn’t what’s best.  Sometimes we have to do something we don’t want to do, because it’s what is best for someone else.

She nodded her head in agreement.  It is a hard lesson to learn.

I know it hurt her soft little heart to let it go because as she stood up, her chin quivered and her voice broke as she asked why we couldn’t keep just this one.

They don’t live very long at all.  Yes, we could keep this one in it’s small habitat.  We could say that it’s just a butterfly.  Or we could give it it’s freedom.  And for a few short weeks, her butterfly could float on the breeze and dance on flowertops and hide from summer storms.  It could spread it’s wings to the warmth of the sun, and grace us with it’s beauty as it flutters past us.

And one day, as she sees a butterfly flutter past her, she will watch it, and wonder if it was once hers.

It is a hard lesson, but with it comes a beautiful gift that makes the heart sing.