LOST A SOCK

Riding the storm out

 

You darkness, that I come from, 
I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world, 
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone, 
and then no one outside learns of you. 

But the darkness pulls in everything: 
shapes and fires, animals and myself 
how easily it gathers them, 
powers and people.

And it is possible a great energy is moving near me. 
I have faith in nights. 

―Rainer Maria Rilke

 

 

Something Like January

I hope that I remember this January of 2012, and its predecessor, December 2011, as That Time We Had An Unseasonably Warm and Tolerable Winter.  Kind of like the Chicago summer a couple years ago, when temps hovered in the low seventies instead of the upper eighties, with bright blue skies nearly the entire season, and my children wept from their souls about not being able to swim.  It was like living in Tahiti.  If Tahiti had more smog.  And Italian Beef sandwiches, dipped in juice.

What I am saying is, it hasn't snowed very much, and I believe today is the first day I've noticed the thermometer dip below ten degrees.  I feel so very alive, still, this Winter.

(Okay, so today we had a homeschool class at the Shedd Aquarium, and parked our car way back at Soldier Field and walked all the way from one to the other, and back, in the nine degree wind.  I am officially sporting my Winter in the Midwest Tan, which involves bright red frostbitten cheeks and chin.  Thank you, icy wind, for avoiding my still-pale, chalkboard sized forehead.  Nothing like keeping things interesting.  Ahem.) 

But last week we spent a day at the zoo, and it was perfect.

Perfect enough to get a really good look at the Winter color palette.

This is the Winter I figured out what was going on with our girl.  Sensory Processing Disorder-- Tactile Defensiveness, specifically.  An over-responsiveness of the protective responses of the nervous system. I have now read through no fewer than four thousand web pages recommended to me by Dr. Google, and the descriptions of other children struggling with these same issues are just uncanny.  I had no idea that other families were going through the same things, and I am both relieved and completely overwhelmed with all of this new information. Furthermore, with all of this reading comes new understandings about myself in relation-- my absolute inability to tolerate crumbs, chalk dust, newsprint, the fine dust left on skin by sand, anything sticky on any surface and most especially my hands-- all the damn hand washing, and my absurd aversions to toothpaste, hand lotion, sunscreen...

Apologizes sincerely to girl child, for handing down disorder undetected.

I thought these were...oddities?  Quirks?  Regardless, I have figured out how to navigate my days in spite of whatever all of that relates to, and Marin will, too.  I am anxious to meet with her occupational therapist again, to ask eleventy million more questions.  We're going to get this thing figured out.  

This Winter also gets to go down, so far, as The One We Did School Really Well.  Above, winter insect homes, as per the monthly outdoor Science class we attend.  Who knew?  I feel like I have learned so much, right along with my kids, and there have been a variety of topics that I was a bit unsure of as we got started (I am looking at you, Light and Heat) but we jumped in with both feet anyway, and have come away with great experiences.  

The two quiet hours we spend each morning now, while Marin is at her preschool, have truly revolutionized our homeschool process.  We've got better schedule structure, less distraction, and perfect reason to tackle the big stuff first, and save the story reading and art projects for the afternoon when we are all back home together. Jack's reading gets better each day, KJ has conquered ridiculously long division, and the history of North America is behind us.  The boys are currently attending a weekly Gym & Swim program for homeschoolers through the YMCA, Jack is taking a theater class and KJ a fun Science class (he dissected cow eyeballs tonight) and basketball begins in a few weeks. We pick up our chick eggs and incubator next month, already. 

This also gets to be the Fall and Winter that I loved these guys best of all.  These Canadian Geese with their smooth black heads and their rounded brown bodies, following the leader in v-formation in search of warmth and food.  I have been watching them for months, and stopping to listen to their honks as they sit along our lake on chilly nights.  

I love them every time I see them.  They're really incredible, aren't they?

These get to be the days I play my favorite music on repeat.  The time I rediscovered Jewel.  The weekend I purchased enough fabric to make a queen-sized quilt-- my first ever so large.  And the time I discovered Pinterest, for the first time.

Let us skip the polling for who hasn't slept in a week, with all of that pinning, m'kay?

The grey clouds up above have been toying with the notion of snow, now.  For Real snow, rather than the silly little dustings and meltings that have graced us occasionally.  We might just put our new snow blower to use, yet.  

I am brave.  I can take it.

(Future Self punches Overconfident Present Self in the kidneys, imaginably.)

Fixing It

One of the things I hadn't really brought up here in the last few months, and really for no other reason than I was simply working to figure things out and hadn't solidified my thoughts yet, was the concept of my daughter starting preschool.  KJ went to preschool for two years.  Jack went to preschool for two days.  Marin, I assumed, would begin preschool in late August of this year.  Homeschoolers or not, I really like formal preschool.  I like the early social interaction in a playfully educational setting, I like the projects and the stories, I like the general environment.  I was once a preschool teacher and it was a positively swell place to spend my days.  

As I have watched Marin emerge from her babyhood, there are a few things that stand out about her.  First, she is quite independent.  She knows what is going on around here all of the time, and she has the determination and confidence to jump right in when she thinks she can handle something.  She cooks meals with me, cleans up her own messes, and tells her two older brothers like it is.  It is really fun to watch her work at her own pace, as I welcome the ways in which she chooses to exert her independence, and also every way she is still a baby.  She is often so sweet, rubbing the palms of her little hands on my cheeks as she says she loves me, and dancing while Kevin plays the acoustic guitar on the edge of our bed.  All of these things make it a great time to be her mom, and these were also some of the reasons I thought she might benefit from starting preschool a little earlier than her brothers did.  She could have her own friends, then, instead of always being the littlest sister in the group of homeschoolers, and she could "do her work" as she always asked for when KJ and Jack sit down to do theirs.  I wanted to give her the opportunity to expand her little self in a larger setting, and as an added benefit, the boys and I would gain two quiet hours each morning in between drop-off and pick up where we could conquer the "tough" work of the day-- reading about the Renaissance or classifying living species into categories and sub-categories.  No more occupying her with Peppa Pig on tv or the box of dry beans and rice or play-doh, while I crammed in as much as I could with the boys while her attention was diverted.  We could each have something appropriate to put our energy into. 

We are in week three of preschool now, and back to homeschool after Christmas break.  Marin is taking her time to transition in, and her new teachers have been great about letting her do as much or as little as she is ready for.  I took my time during the late months of last year to find the best fit for her, and I kept coming back around to Montessori being it.  The self-guided pace is exactly the way we homeschool, and the atmosphere is structured, but not in a way that would squash personal development.  There are quite a few kids in class that are Mar's age and even younger, so I don't feel like there is any pressure for her to be more of a "school kid" than she is ready for.  She sings Wheels on the Bus, draws pictures, enjoys snacks.  So far, so good.

The other thing, about this particular moment we are in, seems to be all about eruption.  Not knowing exactly how to address it, where to file it, or how to put something like this out there delicately, up until now I have never discussed here, that my girl is struggling.  From the time she was about a year old and learned to do it, Marin has been tugging at her clothes and fighting the very idea of dressing in the first place, and most often spends her days mostly without them.  Early on I assumed this would be a passing phase, or even something funny she was just going through.  I just let her be as much as I could, and worked around the little quirks she seemed to have about gym shoes and socks, diapers and having anything done to her hair.  She melted down, almost always, when it was time to get dressed to leave the house, or get ready for bed.  It became stressful, and I tried everything I could think of to curb the meltdowns, just waiting for her to outgrow this silliness.  I praised her like crazy on rare occasions where we made it out of the house and to the car without a fight.  I distracted her.  I gave her choices, allowed her to wear what she wanted.  I got strict with her.  I got frustrated and yelled my head off sometimes because I felt I could not handle yet another meltdown.  

I tried preparing her to dress in the morning, or giving her time to ride the panic out, but I learned pretty quickly to wait, until almost the last minute before we were leaving somewhere, to dress my daughter.  From the minute she knows clothes are coming, she freaks out.  Things escalate very quickly, then, from anxiety to full-on temper tantrum.  I move from one article of clothing to the next as she kicks and screams-- yes, every time we leave the house, as many times a day as we leave the house, for almost two years now.  Our neighbors have watched me carry her to the car, red, flailing and screaming, more times than I care to think about.  The colder it is and the more clothing that is required, the worse it is.  Coats are near impossible, and zippers, hats and gloves out of the question.  Fixing her hair is hardly worth the battle, and thus her recent short haircut.  Even worse is putting the five point harness of her car seat on her, because she will carry the tantrum on in the car, for every car ride, for up to thirty or more minutes, depending on where we are going.  She simply cannot tolerate anything restrictive or setting up against her skin.  There is no distracting her, there is no reasoning with her, there is no punishment or reward that has worked to change this every-day scenario.  Every homeschool outing and every drive to church begins like this for us, as does every summer camp and preschool drop-off, and every playdate.  

Bedtime is just as bad, and sometimes worse because The Tired is involved.  Sleeping in pajamas has been a no-go for a very long time, and pull-ups the fight of a lifetime.  She doesn't tolerate blankets, and after spending so many months of fighting about keeping the nighttime pull-up on, we gave up.  She is on her third mattress, and there have been days and weeks we've even given up on the concept of sheets, if only to change and wash them every single day.  

I tried for so long to just handle it.  I so rarely even brought it up to people, for fear that I would make my poor girl look like a screaming lunatic.  By the time we arrive at our destination, generally, she knows that she will be free of her car seat buckles and able to at least remove her coat and on to the activity, and she gets some relief.  She is as sweet as can be, a truly adorable kid, when we are not in these moments.  At her two year pediatrician appointment, I brought the clothing thing up.  I still assumed she was being an obstinate toddler and would outgrow it, and our doctor thought the same.  By her three year visit late this summer I was tired, and I stressed to our pediatrician how difficult a situation this is, having our child constantly melting down about clothing and screaming for us to FIX IT and get it away from her skin.  The doctor suggested we have her fix it, only, and she would learn to deal with whatever she was going through.  It seemed to get worse instead of better after that, and one night I confided in two of my homeschool mom friends, completely opening up about how awful this has become, for all of us to live with this constant problem.  They suggested I find underwear without any sort of edging, and let her wear sweatpants every day if that was what she could tolerate, and for goodness sakes, call the doctor again.  They near simultaneously said it sounded like a sensory problem, something I had considered before, but had pushed away when our pediatrician suggested we ride it out.  

I felt so relieved.  I felt awful, too, like I was ratting my sweet little girl out, but my friends were so understanding and helpful.  Of course things like skirts with tights, gym shoes and braided hair had been out of the picture for so long I'd forgotten them, but I moved on to the most simple clothing I could find.  I have allowed her to choose her clothing every day since, even when it means mis-matching, even though it always means the same pair of shoes, one size too big so she will agree to socks.  I allow her to wear last year's play coat everywhere now, instead of the pretty new one I had bought for this year, because there is no elastic at the wrists of the play coat and that is one less thing to get worked up about.  We don't zip her coat.  Even now, in the winter, unless we are outside for an extended amount of time and I become willing to battle if we must.  We still deal with meltdowns, every day in the car and most nights at bedtime.

I did call our doctor back that week, and somehow ended up speaking with another doctor in the practice, who agreed that it sounded like something sensory was going on.  We received our referral and were placed on waiting lists at several different clinics for an evaluation.  Finally, after more than two months on waiting lists, we received a call from a clinic and on Monday, Marin had her evaluation.  And she does indeed suffer from Sensory Processing Disorder, where her brain is having difficulty regulating her sense of touch, creating inappropriate responses to perfectly normal things like clothing.

And there are ways to help her. 

To say that I feel that a weight has been lifted is an understatement-- even by the medical validation alone.  My beautiful blue-eyed, blond haired little girl is not badly behaved.  She has a real problem and she is going to get help.  Just a few days in, I am reading everything I can about SPD and pressure massage and serotonin release.  We've now had our first pow-wow with our new occupational therapist, and she has lots of ideas for how we can begin working to calm my daughter and teach her nervous system what is okay.  I continue to be frustrated in the car, this morning even, on our way to school.  The screaming and the squirming out of her buckles and removing her coat in the middle of January while I drive, causing me to pull over and re-buckle her... though forget it about the damn coat, at least until we arrive.  

Somehow we are really going to fix it.  I am so thankful for that.

New Year, Week One

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.

Happy 6th Birthday, Jack

And Happy New Year, as well.

Our guy is six!  This turned out to be the year of the birthday video, with its origin one afternoon this summer as the kids and I parked ourselves around our computer for more than an hour, watching early birthday compilations and short, random action clips from when they were eating mashed bananas and roller skating.  (Not at the same time, though that would have been impressive.)  They all wanted new videos for their birthdays, and I have now followed through for all three.  I love these for them, because I hope they are reminded that someone thinks that each of them, and their respective stories, are just great.  As the pictures roll through to music I get to say, "That's the afternoon we were driving, and you kept putting your little Tow Mater truck under your chin and calling, Mama, Wook! through the pacifier in your mouth.  Then if the truck would stay under your chin, you would laugh and laugh."  I love their stories, and am so grateful to be part of them.

Last night we spent the evening with my sister and sister-in-law, for the first time away from home with our kids on New Year's Eve, and Leslie was so great to make cupcakes for midnight, when we normally sing our first Happy Birthday to Jack.  She even made a special one with a big blue 6 standing up on it, on a pretty glass pedestal for the birthday boy.  I think he is beginning to realize, now that we have reached the big six (ha) just what a fun day he has to celebrate each year.

Happy Birthday Jack!  We love you!

2011 in the rearview

Initially I thought to comment, Well that went fast, when I realized it was time to recap the year that just started five minutes ago.  But then as the past year came into better focus, I knew that the quickness of its passage was less about its days and moments, and more about the fact that the years--they are really moving.  I love growing, I love getting older, I love my grey hairs and tiny little wrinkles left from smiling, I love change.  Bring it, 2012.

But first, for the short and sweet in the record book, allow me to recap 2011.

We began the year as we always do, on a ladder with paint brush in hand.  (Myself, that is. Not my kids.)  My kids were elbow deep in homeschool, and in a bin of dry rice and beans at the time, and we were eight months into our wait for our baby to be referred to us, from Africa.

This was a path that I somehow knew I would walk, at least in the years after I became a mom, though I never could have predicted our story thus far to present as it does in this moment.  While waiting for our referral, we began learning of so much corruption surrounding the situation in that particular country, and eventually we made what felt like the only ethical choice to make, given the circumstances, and we brought our paperwork back home.  I know with certainty that even now, had we stayed the course in spite of our concerns, we still would not have had our baby home today, and if we felt waist-deep in a terrible situation at the beginning of the year, without going into detail, we would have been up to our eyeballs by now.  Even our own agency, who we once had so much faith in, has not emerged with clean hands, and it leaves me feeling just sick for the babies and children who are involuntarily growing up in the center of this cold and dirty hurricane.  In this way the world appears uglier than ever to me, having joined the scene ready to help a child or children as we could, and then having witnessed such an unfolding.  It left me feeling hopeless for the kids at the center, and so very sorry for the well-intentioned adoptive and birth families caught in the swirling periphery. 

I am sorry to say that I came away from this once-exciting time to experience a grief I hadn't known before- a miscarriage of sorts, only for which there are no pre-determined parameters for how one should expect to feel after spending the better part of two years preparing for and dreaming about this very real baby that would join our family, only to walk away with empty arms.  Adoption is not just a thing that people decide to get into, but something we get into with our whole hearts and with our kids and families and friends and finances.  We create space in our homes and excitedly count down until this little person who already feels like one of us, comes along to finally be one of us.  The process, then, of giving away the toys I had saved, the blankets and clothing I had collected and telling each and every person of our turn of events left me mournful and exhausted.  The winter went long, and it felt dark and sometimes lonely.

I journaled a lot through that time, and searched to find the silver lining day after day, because it was the best of my options.  And I opened myself up to the possibility that I could somehow come out of this experience with greater breadth, and build something from all the little pieces.

By the grace of God, I met a friend of a friend very soon after that, who somehow got me instantly, right where I was, and sat with me in the space where I chose to work through our adoption into its roots.  My sadness for everything that had ever failed was palpable, then.  I saw all of that emotion and heartache, some of which I had carried with me since I was my own little kid, and I picked it apart and allowed it to become something new when it was ready.  I had grown into a better mother for all I had learned, and a better self for what I now understood.  The process, the preparation, the loss and the disaster we witnessed was what we simply had to endure for all that could come out of it and still is yet to come.  

And just like that, Spring arrived.

We were okay. We were all okay.  We were built for these sorts of deep life lessons-- a whole Master's Degree, really, on what fear and disappointment and love are all about.  How thankful I am to have come through all of this with a heart open to possibility, though it was no picnic at the time.

It was Mother's Day before I knew it and I was the mom of three amazing little kids, and we spent the morning on a hike, and laying in green grass, absorbing the sunshine.  I will never forget that Sunday morning, because I think it was one of the most perfect, ever, in my book.  I hired our wonderful babysitter for a few hours a week, beginning last Spring, to give me the occasional break that I didn't know I could (should!) grant myself and my kids. I became more familiar with poetry and bounced along on positive, super-fun music.  We had kitchen dance parties in the afternoon and at night, just the kids and I, or the kids and I and Kevin and Sant and Leslie-- all through the house with the music blasting.   

I threw caution to the wind and painted on all sorts of canvases, and put hardwood floors in our house and painted a few walls more.

We saw art.  We made art.

We plastered art all over our walls, and we didn't apologize for the mess.

We hiked,

and we drove,

and we celebrated.  

I felt that I should meet my inner perfectionist, somewhere in all that, and shake her up a little bit.  The world was not perfect, and I was not perfect.  The world was ugly and messy and dissapointing, and I needed to stare into all of that to understand that it was somehow part of something beautiful.  And so with each opportunity, to this very moment, I am asking myself what I can do with the beautiful messiness, and who will still love and accept me should they walk right into it with me.

And the answer, of course, is this little, solid group of friends and family whom I have intentionally placed around myself, like a group of fluffy pillows to pad my falls.  I am blessed.  Not lucky, as I tossed out there in my last post.  I believe, actually, in neither luck, nor coincidence, nor accidents.  I am here and happy and more whole than ever because I chose to experience awe and gratitude, again and again, for all of the blessings that come my way.  I am following my intuition as best I can, always chasing truth and what is real, and facing the hard work as it shows up, so that I can continue growing into the best version of myself-- all of those failings, and all of that messiness included.  There is more work to be done.

I added to my inky collection last summer, the word that hums through the undertones of my life, and five little birds in flight, for the five of us- Kevin and the kids and I, making this journey together.

We traveled a good deal this year, down to Indianapolis to spend some days with these little buddies of ours while their Mama delivered their new baby, 

and with these buddies of ours (also speaking of new, third babies) to Wisconsin Dells for a fun vacation.

We did the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee this year with family, 

in a mountainside cabin with a view and a settling energy I will never forget,

and we found ourselves floating down a river in bright yellow innertubes.

Kevin and I took a trip to Vegas for our eleventh wedding anniversary, 

and we experienced Utah and Arizona, where we hiked through quiet and still, rocky caverns.

I collected twenty-three pages of favorite quotes this year,

and finally figured out a layout and an atmosphere that is comfortable to me, here.

We saw the Dalai Lama speak in person over the summer, and I attended a fantastic monthly Buddhist meditation class.  Each Kevin and I did something we said we would never do again, and spent the last six months settling into churches we both love, each of us supporting the other with where we need to be.  We've gotten involved with a monthly soup kitchen, and we've met more new friends who have turned out to be icing on the cake.

We've created bonds with our homeschool buddies and taken lots of day-trips.  I bought an iPhone, I conquered every version of Angry Birds, I took the kids to see lots of plays and musicals this year.   

Kevin and I saw U2, which was hands-down, the best concert ever (even if I failed to bring my real camera).

I read this year.  I read and read and read and read, 

and it was one journey inward (and backwards and forwards) after the next.

We said good-bye to friends, both very real friends and quasi-real,

and we watched quietly the sun set,

the silkworm dangle,

and the Autumn breeze blow.

We hosted the holidays again,

and counted ourselves so blessed for full tables and full bellies.

We enjoyed the glow, 

remain present,

and bring nothing but hope, bravery, possibility and love to the year ahead.

Christmas 2011

Lucky girl.

Christmasing

Winter Solstice

Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.  -Rabindranath Tagore

As I mentioned last month, this is not my favorite time of year.  I miss the light, miss the sunshine, miss the leaves on the trees, miss the easy opportunity to spend days outside.  The days are more often than not, gray, and night sets in very early.  Today, the Winter Solstice, is the longest darkness of them all.

Instead of dragging my feet into November, however, all the way through February or March, I decided that this year I would create something good with these days.  Just as my family bounces along with Springtime breezes and blooms, spends long Summer days out in the hot sunshine, and then breathes in the delicious Fall, I am completely dedicated to going where this season calls us as well.  Inside.  We are inside our house, inside our car, inside museums and places to play-- as it feels too cold to be out, as the darkness arrives in the afternoon.  

Most importantly, I accept the opportunity to sit quietly inside myself, experiencing the cold and the darkness in a visceral way-- exploring my deepest capacities and honoring my greatest potential.  Holding them in my hands, and building something beautiful.  And after today, trusting that the light will return, slowly, after all of this darkness.

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.  -T. S. Eliot

While waiting for Santa...

And also waiting for snow...

Some of us fondly remembering those post-Christmas days we've spent on sunny, sandy Florida beaches...

We build legos,

check out local lights,

drink coffee,

get goofy.

Create snowball art!

Which logically involves Storm Troopers in the snow.

Deer watching.

Deer adoring.  They are so gentle and serene.

Playing excitedly in the half inch of snow that stuck around for three hours one morning.  

We are kids sure that this magical time will last forever, and grown-ups remembering what it was like to experience this time of year as wide-eyed kids.  A time that passed so quickly.

Our church Nativity play, at which Mary showed off her striped knee-highs, and took off with a shepherd just after the birth of her tiny soft-plastic baby.  Thankfully, Joseph was willing to hold down the fort manger, and happily accepted gifts on behalf of the newborn king.

More holiday art,

and belly buttons!

Having fun with gift wrapping,

and happily strolling to our mailbox each afternoon to open cards from friends we love.

New year vision-boarding,

favorite bracelet creating,

and adoring the early afternoon sunshine, while it lasts.

I hope you are breathing in the one-of-a-kind Christmas glow, as well.

Semi-annual Somewhat-messed up Completely-accurate and terrible Christmas poem, from our family to yours

I really want to blog again but don’t know where to start.

We’ve hung the garland, trimmed the tree and made some Santa art.

I’m lying really, it was glitter trees and windows with bright lights,

But if I don’t say something here, it could be six more nights.

That’s Christmas-- no. Oh nevermind.  That day is drawing near.

Our car’s broke down, the gifts half wrapped, kick Santa in his… ear.

Why so violent?  Why so mean?  What did that round man do?

Took credit for all good presents now, and ate our cookies, too.

Fold laundry, Donder, change bed sheets Rudolph, is what that man should say,

For we have three young children here who busy me each day.

I like them so, I buy them gifts and take them lots of places.

We pick up donuts, sing Christmas carols and smile our happy faces.

Then we get home, it’s late and then the bath time is a must,

But if you know about little boys, they’re sure that they might rust.

Resist the bath, resist the bed, leave legos on the floor.

Why doesn’t Santa ever step on them, and expletive out the door!?

It’s late and it’s dark and I did not see that sharp remaining block,

I stepped on it, collapsed and cursed, I’m bleeding through my sock.

Oh shit, I say, I’ve got things to do that involve a lot of walking,

My foot is throbbing, I’m overtired and sick of all this talking. 

On Dasher, On Dancer, now Prancer in line behind our sweet little Comet,

Let’s stay away from the public this week so we don’t get the flu and vomit.

It’s going around, I’ve heard moms say, and doesn’t sound like fun,

Kids soil each surface and miss the pot and make me want to run.

Run, I said, not Runs, that’s different, though it accompanies too.

I have three kids so no surprise my poem just turned to poo.

Oh that was gross, I’m sorry friends, do say that you’ll forgive.

Let’s talk about happy things again, like Christmas dinner and gin.

Gin doesn’t rhyme and neither does vodka but it might be what I’m drinking,

If I don’t score more time this week, it’s the only way, I’m thinking.

Nativity play and Christmas break from homeschool are just fine,

Pajama day and craft away and memories that shine.

I hope they know when it’s all done I created this for them,

So when they grow up they’ll do the same and gift me a big gem.

A ruby maybe, or sapphire or diamond or giant loaf of bread.

What? I ask. All one in the same! Do not a sad tear shed!

I’m tired now, for real now, and I have to end this, friends.

Merry Christmas to you, I’ll be back real soon to show you how it ends.

I love you, good night, no I can’t stop, my gosh I’m just like the kids,

I need more water, I have to pee, my bed is full of squids.

Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight, goodnight, I’ll see you all tomorrow.

Or Thursday or Friday or Saturday, in happiness and sorrow.

Merry Christmas to all, I heard him say, the bulky man in fur,

Bring happiness and peace, dear Santa, of these I dream for sure.

All that is possible

You are what you learn.  If all you know is how to be a gang member, that’s what you’ll be, at least until you learn something else. If you go to law school, you’ll see the world as a competition.  If you study engineering, you’ll start to see the world as a complicated machine that needs tweaking.  A person changes at a fundamental level as he or she merges with a particular field of knowledge.  If you don’t like who you are, you have the option of learning until you become someone else.  There’s almost nothing you can’t learn your way out of. Life is like a jail with an unlocked, heavy door. You’re free the minute you realize the door will open if you simply lean into it.

Images by Molly Ray, words by Scott Adams, Spider Ballet by A. Brave Spider.

Recently...

People who take their own Christmas card photographs are crazy.

Completely.

Totally.

I have done this on and off since these boys were babies.  Not last year, yes the year before, yes some others before that.  Almost always I am fully exhausted by the end of our session and weeping a thousand bitter tears for babies vomiting mid-shot (true story) and why they cannot just sit still and smile, just for five minutes.  

I have been told that everything gets easier as we depart from the baby stage, and I have called every person who has imparted that wisdom upon me a stinking fool liar because it does not become easier, only different.  

Christmas photos, thankfully, are somewhat easier.  

So that's something.

Mostly something.

Sometimes we get nutty.

Super nutty.

And also theatrical.

Super theatrical.

Um.  Forget everything I said up there.  This is no easy task.  

Shout the words stinky fart.  That'll get them laughing.  

...if not wrinkling their noses and excitedly waving hands near their faces.

Then I can pull something off.

Way back when we were childless and sleeping Saturdays until 10am, I never really thought about what my kids would look like.  There was really no way of knowing who, or how many, or what their personalities would be like. At least, I guess I assumed that they would be very similar to Kevin and I, and each other.

This assumption was completely incorrect.

Each of my kids are competely different from each other, and deep and intelligent and observant.

And hilarious.

Yes, that.

Lose the glasses, add the scarf.  A miracle of God, truly, that this child is clothed at all.  She does not live like this.  Hence, the brand new short haircut.  More to come on all of this, later.

Also to come, the possibility of a post filled with Christmas pictures from the beginning of this blog.  Set to Kenny Roger's Through the Years.  Because I know Miranda Priestly up there (The Devil Wears Prada, and you're welcome) totally threw up in one of my kitchen floor shoots, and pitched a mad fit another year.  

At least this year was smooth.  Mostly.

I totally promised them ice cream.  I won't lie.

Merry Christmas!