Revelations

I'm alone in the house for the first time in quite a while. I feel like kind of a fraud. What am I doing alone? (My husband brought the girls out for to breakfast at the diner, for some daddy-daughter time) Why am I not cleaning? (Which is the first, and usually only thing that I do when no one needs my attention). What am I going to do with myself? I keep thinking about when I read, "Eat, Pray, Love," and was stunned at the concept of "dolce far niente," aka the art of doing nothing, and enjoying it. I'm Italian, after all, shouldn't I be able to grasp the act of mindfully relaxing?

Of course, I'm going to do a little cleaning first. I just have to. It's half compulsion (if I don't do it, it's going to bug me) and half pragmatics (if I do it now, it won't be waiting for me later, and I can enjoy the girls when they get home). I promise myself I'll clean for less than 30 minutes, and I turn on the ipod first so that I can rationalize that I'm listening to my own music and therefore having downtime. And besides, I actually like to clean, so it's not like I'm resenting it.

Next, I have to figure out what to do with myself. It's not that I don't have anything to do; it's what to do first. Catch up on putting pictures in albums, or sorting through folders of photos on my computer? Not in the mood. Clean out my side of the closet? Ha. This is supposed to be relaxing, after all. What are my hobbies? Okay, let's see. Photography, reading, crocheting (not that I've crocheted in, oh, five years?), biking, hiking, running, cooking, writing. Oh, got it. My recipe binder. I have a binder, I've been adding to it for years, and it's full of every recipe I've ever pulled out of a magazine, copied down from a friend, etc. I'm constantly sticking pages into the front pocket, making mental notes to add it to next week's menu, but once enough pages are sitting there, it's chaos. With my binder, comes its companion-- a yellow speckled composition notebook, in which I keep lists of meals I've made, what we've liked, and what I plan to make next. I wrestle in my mind for a moment. Does meal-planning and looking at recipes count as relaxing? This is still family care, so maybe I should do something else, like take a bath with scads of candles around.

Then I tell myself to hush up... and decide it's much better to do what I actually like to do, than what some calagon commercial tells me I'm supposed to do. I whip out my binder, three-hole puncher, and sheet protectors (I'm such a food nerd) and settle on the couch with a cup of tea (now that feels required) and some Ben Folds Five playing on the ipod. And I sift. And marvel. And dream. Dream of my one-day cafe, and which recipes I'll serve there. Dream of having the time to actually try all these recipes. Dream of the lazy summer gatherings we'll have, at which I'll get to make each-and-every-thing that looks mouth-watering and tantalizing.

It's quiet in my brain, as I've finally stopped convincing myself that this is a valid activity, and am actually enjoying it instead. And then the revelations begin. I think about how wonderful alone time is, and how I (and so many mothers) never feel entitled to it. I think about the basics that I require in order to feel sane and capable, and decide that they're precious little (healthy kids, a happy spouse, a swept floor, an empty sink, and a clutter-free dining room table) compared to what we think we need (insert mental image of latest Pottery Barn catalog here). I think about being carefree and laid-back, which are my two goals; too-often prevented by my two realities, rushed and sometimes overwhelmed/grumpy.

I decide that I'll encourage more of this alone time (after all, my husband is always wanting to take the girls out) and see where it brings me. More refreshed, perhaps. More energetic, hopefully. More spontaneous, well, let's not get carried away. And even if I only agree to this because I think it'll make me a better mother and wife, maybe a little something will benefit me, just me, in the process. I'll tuck that into my subconscious, but just don't let my conscious know.

first official day of the school year

5 am: wake to toddler who insists on cluster nursing through the night. must night-wean asap.

6 am: wake to first-grader who squeals, "I'm going to first grade today!!!"

6:45 am: feed girls breakfast- wheat chex, organic milk, grapes, chunks of cheddar cheese. hopefully the breakfast of champions.

7 am: watch girls shout "goodbye, daddy!" and cover him with kisses as he leaves for work.

7:04 am: corral girls into tub, scrub them until shiny.

8 am: dress girls, give Madeline, "teeny, tiny, thin braids" on either sides of her temple. assure her for the 100th time that yes, I will be at the bus stop this afternoon to get her; in fact, I will even be there early. PROMISE. double check that lunch, snack, and water bottle are in her backpack.

8:20 am: usher girls outside and snap 30 pictures of them in virtually the same pose, just to make sure the perfect shot is achieved.

8:55 am: put lovely firstborn daughter on bus, but not before hugging her tight, and assuring her that the day will go well. sigh.

8:56 am: walk to playground with lovely second born daughter, and give her some one-on-one time.

9:20 am: off to grocery shop. with just one child, it feels empty. turn the shopping into a lesson... "How many cantaloupes are we buying? What color is the pepper?" notice grandpa-like man smiling at said questions, and pat self on back for sneaking in a little learning.

10 am: arrive at playdate. spend next two hours giggling while watching two curly-haired girls negotiate being two, as they share popcorn and raw broccoli. enjoy company of down-to-earth friend and her new baby boy.

noon: little one's naptime. relish in the cuddling of little one as she drifts off to sleep.

12:30-2:20 pm: prep dinner, unpack groceries, and straight up house. didn't I just clean it last night?

2:30 pm: a late lunch for little one, followed by puzzles and playing with wooden letters. loving her little voice and tiny fingers as she fits together puzzle pieces and shouts proudly, "I did it!!"

3:20 pm: husband appears, home from work. play an educational game online with little one, and off to get big sister off the bus.

4 pm: (well, 4:29, as the bus is 29 minutes late, but who's counting?) big sister arrives, all hugs, smiles, and, "I can't wait to go back tomorrow! I made so many new friends and I love my teacher!" WHEW. play outside w/neighborhood kids; usher own kids inside for dinner.

5 pm: dinner.

5:48 pm: scrub off the floor: an entire plate of sticky watermelon juice, a large cup of water, and whatever other pieces of dinner that were not eaten by my eats-like-a-bird little daughter.

6 pm: upstairs for bedtime routine. pajamas, teeth, and books, in that order. meanwhile, husband's cast of four adults begin to arrive, and they head outside to rehearse a fairly-loud play in the backyard. neighbors must wonder about us.

7 pm: strong arm girls into bed. of course, not before they gleefully shout, "goodnight Daddy! we love you!!" out their bedroom window, supplying chuckles to Daddy and his cast. as usual, girls then stall bedtime, asking to go, "bedtime pee-pee," begging for another sip of water, and urgently revealing "secrets" which they forgot to share during the day. as always, I indulge them, secretly knowing that the reason I put them into bed at 7 is b/c I know they won't be done with this dance until 7:30.

7:40 pm: it it silent upstairs. re-neaten the house (didn't I just do this a few hours ago?). wash lunchboxes and water bottles, repack fresh lunches for tomorrow, and feeling generous, even pack one for hubby. marvel at my creativity to include every food group (and wonder how long I can keep up enthusiasm for the task). wash pots and pans, reload dishwasher, and put everything into place. consult compiled list of meals, and decide on dinner for tomorrow.

9 pm: steal a few minutes online before heading back upstairs to fill out gigantic pile of "homework" that teacher sent home for parents to complete. emergency contact info and family history. fun fun. and so the day comes to a close. I think I'm gonna need a cape. as will every other mother of a school-aged child this year. happy school year to all.

"When you're a girl, your dreams come true..."

This has definitely been the summer of leaps and bounds. At the end of the kindergarten school year, Madeline was reading (tentatively), swimming (while tightly holding onto a pool noodle), and riding her bike (with training wheels). Just a few months later, she is reading (confidently), swimming (back and forth and back and forth, in the eight feet deep water, while singing at the top of her lungs), and riding her bike (sans training wheels, and quite proudly). Tonight she is having a friend sleep over for the first time, and it feels like tomorrow she'll be packing for college. It amazes me to see her grow so quickly, and in so many areas. This afternoon gave me such a chuckle. She is an amazing free spirit. Normally we swim in the four foot water, and she practices swimming but is always aware of whether or not she can touch the bottom. This afternoon, as she watched me cross into the deep end, she blurted out, "I want to come with you!" We brought a noodle along "just in case," but it was quickly forgotten. The cutest part-- as she flitted around in the water, daringly dashing from here to there, she began to sing. Loudly. Unabashedly. "When you're a girl, your dreams come true. Your dreams come true. Your dreams come true. When you're a girl, your dreams come true..." I had to laugh as she swam around, unaware of who was listening, who she was swimming by, or who was smiling as she swam, floated, and sang; blissfully happy and without a care in the world. I love it.

My little Margo has also changed so much. She is quite the chatterbox, the boss, and the cuddler. In her best moments, she is goofy, grinning, and loving. In her darker moments, she is Ms. Terrible-Two. Ms. Tantrum. Ms. My-Way-or-the-Highway. Madeline wasn't quite this routine in her wishes, or dramatic in her reactions, so it has taken some getting used to. I know we have another strong personality in the making (shocking, I know). She is also the little monkey-see, monkey-do. Her older sister is her mentor, and at times it seems like everything Margo does is something she saw Madeline do. It's pretty funny, like today at the orchard when they were each singing "Donuts, donuts, last time we ate donuts" even though I'm pretty sure Margo doesn't remember that day. Regardless, it's adorable, and I enjoy watching her personality continue to develop. This fall will be a new challenge for us, as Madeline has full day school, and I look forward to settling into a new routine and seeing who she'll be next.

The summer has flown by, and I've practically forced it to slow down at this point. We've been filling our days with day trips, yet also trying to set aside time to stop and smell the roses. I feel like it's finally summer; ironically, as it is the first week of August. We've been to the Zoo, the Mansion, the Pool, the Orchard, the Picnic; and soon, the Drive-In, and Backyard Camping Night in our friends' yard. The memories have been made and I can't wait for whatever remains in store. And for now, I'm off to sit on the deck on a cool night, and enjoy the sounds of silence (and chirping crickets). Happy summer!

Five and Two... Eyes of Blue

Yes, I know that's not exactly how the song goes... but it does describe our situation here. Unbelievably, I'm about to be the mother of a five year old and a two year old. It hit me today that in just a week, Margo will be two. Still, as I look at her wild, crazy curls and her crinkly blue eyes, she looks like a stranger to me. She has changed so much in these two years that every time I get used to who she is, she's someone else again. There are times of the day when I spend every second with the girls, and after hours of books, projects, and playing, we're united not just by glue and sparkles, or the fort of dolls around us, but by the most awesome bond I could ever imagine. Strangely, though, I slip away to empty the dishwasher or put in a load of laundry, and return to find two different children. Many times a day I stare at Madeline's shiny hair, her great big smile, and can't believe she's mine, and that she's the same child I once cradled in just one arm. She's a mix of humor and furor, laughing and crying, dependent on the moment. For the most part, she and her sister are the best of friends, and she loves to tell Margo, "You're my best friend, little girlie!" Madeline will build the tallest block tower, only to yell out, "Come knock it over, Marg!!!" Yet seconds later, will again build the tallest block tower, only to yell, "Why did you knock that over?!?" Ah, sisters. Quite similarly, one moment Margo is sharing every doll with her sister, and a moment later, crying, "Mine!" and grabbing things for dear life.

In other words, the normal progression of sisterhood. I love to watch it, in fact I get giddy when I see them playing school; Madeline dressing Margo in ridiculous get-ups and tucking a backpack onto her shoulders; Margo slipping into fancy shoes just to be like her sister. Those stolen moments, when I am watching with no one knowing, are the best. It's rare to get a photo of this; Madeline's beacon ears recognize the sound of the camera turning on, and she can disappear faster than you can say, "Snuffaluffagus;" so I've learned to just savor it, take a mental picture, and be sure to share it with my husband later.

Now that Margo is getting older, we're really starting to do "family" things more than ever. Which is, of course, the moment I've been waiting for. Playing with a toddler while an infant snoozed was no fun, but playing with both girls together is delightful. Both love to help me cook, which is great fun (and a messy disaster, but so worth it). Family movies on the couch (in the bed) are even better, because we can finally start sharing with them all the things we enjoyed growing up. We're starting to play games together, although Margo still prefers to collect the game pieces rather than put them in their rightful places on the board. Such is life. I really look forward to outdoor activities with them. We brought them both biking with us this summer, which was the most fun I've had, not counting the fact that Margo despised the pull-along seat and sobbed uncontrollably for just shy of two hours. But Madeline loved riding tandem with Terry, and since biking was our activity pre-kids, we hope to resume that again. Hiking has gone well, and soon Margo will be old enough to trot along rather than ride piggyback; and of course, beach combing was to-die-for. I'd move us to the beach in less than a heartbeat if I could... but that's another story for another day.

All fun aside, having a two-year-old is a dangerous endeavor. For me, another six months past Madeline's second birthday, the sleepy-I-can't-believe-we-did-this fog lifted, and I started to dream of something... someone... little. Up until Madeline was two, I was deadset against having a second. It was hard enough with one, I maintained, why push it. But as the months past, we moved her to own bed, and she became a little more independent. We started to discuss the benefits of her having a sibling, and whether or not we could endure "the beginning" again. Survey said yes, survey said no, and finally, we said, "What the heck," and took the plunge. Nine months later, as my ears closed in on me three nights after Margo's birth, I vowed not to do it again. Dividing myself in two is hard enough, and I'm wise enough to know I won't be able to divide into thirds. I haven't changed my mind, and I don't plan on changing it, but I do recognize the dangers of the present. With a school-aged child and a toddler running around, there's no one left who fits between my shoulder and my elbow. No teeny-tiny body in my arms, no one who fits (well, no one under 22 pounds) in a front carrier, and no one to rock through the dark hours of the night. And I'm good with that (after all, I don't think blogger.com would let me change the title of this blog to "And then there were five") but that doesn't mean I don't still wonder just who else would be out there. Would it be a boy this time? Or another little girl? I'll never know, and although I'd rather not, it still doesn't mean I don't miss those early days of holding the tiniest person on my shoulder and breathing in that sweet smell.

Fortunately, I have two cuddlers on my hands. And they still smell pretty darned good. :)