The Lai Five

In Character

2011-12-27T21:19:00.000-08:00

Manny, Glory and Elena spend copious amounts of time in character. This often involves costume pieces and quick changes. The story is usually centered around who's the baby or fighting the bad guys.

Tonight, while Sam and I were in the middle of our snuggle rotation (each child gets each parent two times), I asked the kids if they wanted to pray. They were enthusiastic, so I asked what they were thankful for.

Manny's standard answer is "everything and everybody!"

The girls rattled off names of friends and I added family, food, shelter, etc. Then I said a short, simple prayer for those in need (which is all of us), but this particular prayer was centered around people not having their physical needs met.

Glory piped in, "Pray for the kids who don't have homes or food."

I was snuggling Elena and she screeched in my ear something I couldn't make out. After she said it six times, in the same cartoonishly shrieky voice, I figured out she was saying, "OR TOYS!"

So we prayed for the kids who have no homes, no food and no toys.

Then Elena started shrieking again, and after a deciphering process, it was confirmed she was demanding we pray for the kids who have no homes, no food, no toys, and no....

Costumes.

Manny thought this was silly. I also found it silly, and absolutely wonderful at the same time.

Three words I never wanted to hear...

2011-12-21T22:00:00.000-08:00

These pictures were taken at St. Anne's School playground near our house. The two extra darling children are 5 year old twin brothers, James and Gavin. They are hanging out on top of the high monkey bars while Josh, the twins' dad, makes them crazy and hysterical with his never-ending variations of "I'm gonna get you" moves. Manny's giggle is one of infectious delight and Josh pulls it out of him every time. And for that, all five kids locked Josh up in prison under the tunnel slide forever. Who knows? He could still be there now. Eating all those invisible poison hot dogs and occasionally stepping on those invisible buttons that shoot bad stuff up at your face.

Today, the kids and I had all kinds of adventures that will have to remain undocumentable so that Christmas gifts can be wrapped, but the three words I never wanted to hear, in a public restroom, as I was feeling quite self-satisfied that all the kids were in stalls with shut doors taking care of their own business, came from Glory as she meandered toward the sink with dripping hands.

I wiped Lena!

If you are ever having a self-satisfied moment as a parent, you can guarantee something interesting is about to happen. It's like the red flag.

A new tradition

2011-12-15T22:36:00.000-08:00

We walked up the street to Once Upon a Time, our local toy store, so the kids could each pick a toy to donate to the New Horizons Christmas party. It was really fun and they were very sweet about the whole process, including personally going home empty-handed.

That night, we drove down to New Horizons and Sam and the girls ran in to make the delivery. Since we were parked in the same spot as we were when one of my favorite moments of 2011 happened, I will take this opportunity to record it.

Early one Friday morning, the kids and I drove down Queen Anne Hill to Belltown to make our baked goods delivery at New Horizons for their outreach program. The drive is only about one song long and the song this time around was Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls.

The lyrics are very dramatic- here is a sample-

And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
'Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

Back when this song was new, I loved it. It always made me very emotional, which I liked in a self-punitive sort of way. So I was more than a little amused when I looked in the rearview mirror and Manny was holding Glory's hand in the air, pumping it up and down, with his eyes closed.

We pulled up in front of New Horizons, but I felt sheepish about turning off the music when he was so obviously moved, so I got out of the car, payed for our parking and then sat back down to hear the last few seconds of the song.

When it was over, I felt like something needed to be said to affirm Manny's huge emotional response to the song, you know, so he wouldn't feel awkward. Actually, maybe it was so I wouldn't feel awkward.

"That's an old song by The Goo Goo Dolls and I really like it," I said.

"I like it too," Manny said.

Glory ripped her hand back and snapped, "I don't! I only like old songs about Jesus!"

We have only heard that song one time since that day and I was sad that Manny didn't have a similar response. I guess it's true that sometimes all you can taste is the moment 'cause sooner or later it's over. I'm glad I didn't miss that one.

Are robots real?

2011-12-12T20:34:00.000-08:00

For the record, Manny is dressed as baby Indiana Jones.

The kids went to preschool today and I spent a few minutes of that time pushing my friend's twins around the neighborhood so those rascally babies would go to sleep . Her babies were born in July, just like Glory and Elena, so it takes me back to their first Christmas. That was right around the time when my mornings included getting the kids ready to go outside, which required a tremendous amount of will and about a full hour of work, what with diaper changers and feedings and redressing Manny who had managed to undress himself while I dressed someone else, to walk to Caffe Fiore so that I could make a scene pushing my double jogging stroller through the narrow door, pick up a latte and a biscotti, turn right around and come home in time to cry at least partially through the day's episode of Mister Roger's Neighborhood. What can I say? He liked me just the way I was and he could change his own sweater and put on his own shoes.

My friend was having a hard day because her babies did not sleep in the night and they were not sleeping in the day. Having babies will do that to you and having twins will do that to you and then kick you in the gut while poking you in the eye. I hope tomorrow is a better day for her.

On the way home from preschool, we stopped for a man to use the crosswalk. Elena decided he was a plumber. I went on and on about all the different things he could be. Maybe a plumber, but maybe a waiter, maybe a doctor, maybe a musician.

"No, he looks like the plumber," she said.

I remembered the kids had been at a Green Canopy house when a plumber, who looked nothing like this man, was there to work on the sewer line.

"The one that's getting married?" Manny asked. "The one that's going to be a daddy?"

Everyone murmured their agreement.

"WOW! He's going to be a plumber and a daddy!" Elena exclaimed.

"He's going to rock the world!" Manny shouted.

Later, I invited the kids to do my new workout DVD. We went through a scary period where they were all lifting the hand weights above their heads and dropping them on the floor before I convinced them hand weights are for grown ups and that they needed to select some toys that would do the job. Manny did the entire DVD pumping a full-size rainbow wooden xylophone.

The workout is 24 minutes long and awesome. Like all good workouts, if I stick with it, I might make it back into that expensive pair of jeans I bought last year a few days after we all had the stomach flu. For the record, never buy fitted clothes a few days after your whole family has the stomach flu. You are flattering yourself! You will never wear those jeans again! Unless, of course, you buy this amazing DVD and do it alongside your children who hop up and down the whole workout in their underwear.

(If you see me wearing new jeans, but I never sit down, you know I did the DVD enough times to affix the button, but not enough times to bend my legs.)

In the middle of the leg lunges while doing bicep curls (brilliant move!), Elena asked me from the elliptical trainer, "How did Jesus make me a baby?"

"Not now! Can't talk!" I cried, trying not to fall over.

"How did Jesus make me a baby?" she persisted.

I ignored her.

"I want Jesus to be in my tummy!" Elena declared.

Before I could respond to that, Manny said, between reps with the xylophone, "When you grow up, you can get a baby in your tummy and name him Jesus."

That satisfied Elena, but almost ruined the rest of my workout. It is very hard to stay upright doing lunges when you are trying not to laugh hysterically.

At bedtime, the kids all took a link off of their Christmas paper chain they made at school today. The note on their paper chain had a little poem that suggested the link be removed after saying prayers. That's a good idea, I thought. Let's try to pray. Praying often goes sideways and results in a cacophony of arguments that is not conducive to a sleepy atmosphere, but it's Advent, and we had just read that poem on the paper chain, so I decided to give it a go.

I asked Glory if she wanted to thank God for anything or ask God for help with anything.

"I want God to help with the bad guy," she said.

I asked Elena if she wanted to thank God or ask God for help.

"I want God to shoot all the people with an arrow. No. A sword! And cut them in half! And then the robots will eat them!! Daddy, are robots real?" Then she lifted her nightgown over her head. "Tickle ME!" she demanded.

I didn't bother asking Manny what he had to contribute.

Now they are asleep and I can't remember the last time I went to the bathroom. Sometimes the next steps in life are so clear.

Sunday Snapshots

2011-12-11T20:15:00.001-08:00

These pictures are a couple months old, taken in Kathleen's backyard.

I have three story snapshot moments today. This morning, Manny rode his scooter with me following along behind. I loved watching his little body do all these beautifully coordinated movements to get from our house all the way to the coffee shop. His scooter crashed out from under him three times, but he didn't lose his balance and stayed upright the whole time, which made him proud.

Alicia was the barista this morning. Manny has been seeing her for three years and she is his first crush. When he was tiny, he said about Alicia, "She's beautiful" with awe in his voice. After Alicia rang me up, she greeted Manny and, as fast as Batman speeds to the rescue when the Bat Signal is lit, Manny dove under the cream and sugar bar and hid his face in his hands. She continued to try and engage him in conversation, but while Manny can be charming, he is not suave. He never did manage to come out until I convinced him to go home, and like a shot, he was back on his scooter.

At bedtime, I was on the edge. I had already given a ridiculous and needy version of the "at least you can show me a little respect you three preschoolers" lecture while they were getting in the bath after a day full of whining, demands, and shouting at me when I didn't act on their whining and demands fast enough.

When we got to the toothbrushing/flossing part of the evening, I took a deep breath and asked for patience, knowing I would have to make the "aaaahhh" noise for about 10 minutes straight to get the job done. By the time I was finishing the last round of flossing on Manny, Glory snagged another piece of floss and began to floss my teeth and her toes at the same time. I know it sounds complicated. It was. But it was also an act of incredible dexterity and I was impressed.

"Did they teach you that in dental school?" I asked.

"YEAH," Glory exclaimed enthusiastically and went on to weave the long piece of floss through her toes before she popped the whole thing in her mouth.

Later, while I was reading an advent reflection, she came up behind me and wrapped the floss around my neck like she was going to strangle me, just like the mob boss did to his top man in the Johnny Depp movie I watched last night. I think she was just trying to find my teeth.

My hair is still very heavy and oily after Elena whacked me with the comb and hairbrush (I mean, styled my hair) for a half an hour yesterday. Right before I put her to bed, I saw the little brush and asked her what all the bits of white stuff was between the bristles.

"Lip Balm!" she said happily, as lip balm is so, so good for your hair.

That explained a lot. About my hair and about why my tube of Burt's Bees looks so sad. I think I will be shampooing repeatedly in the morning.

A Day to Play

2011-12-09T10:51:00.000-08:00

Elena

Glory

We arrived at University Village late. It does not seem to matter what time I begin to get us ready to go somewhere. We all expand to fill the extra minutes so that I consistently have the same reaction when I turn the key in the ignition and the digital digits swell from vague to firm. I could blame it on Manny insisting on putting his pants on his head and his sweater on his legs, or on Glory needing her blanket in the car, or on Elena falling off the dining room chair again, as though gravity is something that cannot be resisted. I could. But I think it has more to do with my inability to anticipate the unexpected. Is change possible or do we just think it is while we're busy making the same mistake we've made a thousand times before, only to be surprised by the familiar outcome?

We were 10 minutes late to Kids Club so the girls could have their hair cleaned up. When their hair becomes so unruly that they look like no one pays attention to them, I know it is time to go to the salon. Glory got a braid and pink sparkles dusted across the top of her head. I tried not to care about all the chemical fragrance she was inhaling and paid attention instead to what a lovely little girl she is. Her passion right now is to put as many clips into her hair as she can manage. She even sleeps with them snapped all around her head. It’s like she’s in training for sleeping in plastic curlers so her hair is always perfectly coiffed for an era already gone.

Once Glory’s head was shimmering, Elena quickly got over her fear of having her bangs trimmed. She flung herself into the red fire engine chair and pawed through the tub of beheaded and defrocked Polly Pocket dolls, as though it was a treasure chest. She chose blue sparkles and all the kids got a Dum Dum lollipop and a balloon.

I took them out to a sit down lunch at Boom Noodle. I intended it to be something festive, something fun, something out of the ordinary and a way to avoid wiping up food from the floor for a few hours. (Yeah, right. Like I was going to wipe up the floor.) What I didn’t expect was how profound the experience would feel.

Manny said, “We’ve been here before.”

No, we hadn’t. But after a few minutes of watching them negotiate the wooden kids chopsticks and enjoying the atmosphere, I realized we had been there before, when it was a different building and a different restaurant. I thought of Manny and Sam and I at the booth eating hamburgers and fries and trying to engage him in the food and the coloring long enough to finish our meal. I thought of the two little babies I was carrying around with me. We had been here, but not here. Look how it’s changed. Look how we’ve changed. So many places feel that way to a degree. We’ve been here before, but not here, because look how we’ve changed.

Elena, Glory and Manny diligently used their kids’ chopsticks and nobody disappeared under the table or wandered to another part of the restaurant. Not even once. It all made me feel deeply connected to the memories of my mom taking me on urban adventures and how special it felt to have treats together. Suddenly my life felt so brief and fast and I was practically tingly with understanding of the wonder of each blessed moment.

As we walked to the bathroom, I wondered, how old am I? It feels so foggy now, there’s so much I can’t remember and the train I'm on feels like it’s speeding from stop to stop. I hope that I am able to hold some of this, even when I can’t hardly remember a single thing I was taught in college. My emotional high continued on through chaotic peeing, wiping and hand washing, only to be abruptly shot down when Manny turned off the bathroom lights, leaving a poor, unsuspecting woman in a pitch black stall.

We missed Manny’s swimming lesson because we tromped across the village to pick out a gift for my mom, losing two balloons to Anthropologie's gorgeous vaulted ceilings. The girls' cries carried them to the wishing fountain where Manny flung his penny and loudly proclaimed that he wished Dad didn’t have to work so much. That’s the second time he’s used a penny to wish for that. It is the collective wish of our family and it was positively epic to have him speak it over the rushing waters of the fountain.

The kids played at Pottery Barn Kids for ages with brown mustaches from the Fran’s Hot Chocolate we shared. I was surprised over and over with how special it all felt. I should have cared, at least a little bit, that Manny missed swimming, but I was just so glad to watch them play and I was so pleased that we could walk away with nothing except Manny’s rapidly deflating balloon and a gift for Grandma Jan and there were no complaints. Only fun.

About 20 feet away from the car, Manny announced he was out of gas and he turned into a piece of overcooked pasta. I almost forgot the delight of the day in those 20 feet when it felt as though no amount of coaxing would promote movement. When he finally slid into his seat, he told me he needed to go potty. I took my chances and we drove up Montlake past the very sick and disenfranchised looking man we saw the last time we were coming home from University Village.

Glory and Elena chatted happily about how dirty he looked and how they believe Daddy is building a house for this man and how in the meantime, we can bring him home to our house. I was pleased that their reaction was one of compassion and hospitality. I talk to them a lot about justice. But I didn't know what to tell them about that man and why we were leaving him far behind us as we drove through Fremont and up Queen Anne hill.

The kids were tired by the time we got them into bed and as I snuggled Glory, I could hear her begin to suck her thumb in the rhythm that indicates she is moments away from drifting into a deep sleep. Elena, on the other side, was busy sucking the french fry salt from dinner off of every single finger and then licked her palms like they were giant lollipops. Manny fake coughed until I agreed to give him a cough drop.

I skipped down the stairs to attend to my sink of dishes and tableful of half broken Christmas ornaments from last year's daily tree demolision, my heart full of gratitude for the present moment, with a pause to sigh, peel a french fry off the bottom of my foot, toss it in the compost and try to ease back into the gratitude for a rich and wonderful day.

This is for you Mom

2011-05-16T20:29:00.001-07:00

My mom told me last night that she checks this blog every day. That made me feel really sad for her. For how much time she's wasted and the general malaise she must feel day after day after day these last 5 months (to the day!) when she has discovered nothing new to read about her grandchildren.

I don't know why exactly I have not written down a single story for you Mom. It has been an interesting season of life, as you well know. And when things get too complicated for me, I tend to go into my shell, aka my kitchen, and enjoy other people's stories instead. For example, seven seasons of The Office, nearly all watched while washing dishes and folding laundry.

But tonight, Sam is gone, it is drizzly and gray outside and I am a rich person because I have a crackling roasting chicken in my oven and sprouted wheat bread dough rising next to the heat of it all and I feel like I can gather myself enough to write down the funny thing Manny said so that I can save you the trouble Mom.

Manny has said lots of funny things these last 5 months, but this is the only one I can remember now.

Manny and Sam took a shower together.
Manny began a conversation about the features they share that are not shared by the other members of our household.
Over time, the conversation moved to Manny's testicles, which he proclaimed contained all the pee.
Sam taught Manny the word sperm, to which Manny replied-

Yeah! The daddy makes the spum, the mama makes the egg and together they make a baby! That's good teamwork!

And here's what I would offer up in reply to that-

It's nothing compared to the teamwork that goes on after the baby's born!

Well, time to attend to the bread.

Hope it made you smile the second time around Mom.

Happy Birthday Grandpa Hal

2010-12-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

Most of you who read this blog knew Hal Tyler personally. But for those of you that didn't, he was one hell of a guy. Which is why I try to reference him as frequently as possible. One thing I love to remember about Grandpa is that he was a hand holder.

I don't know when he became that way. I can't imagine that when my aunt brought home her first boyfriend, Grandpa Hal held the boyfriend's hand while he gave him a tour of the house, but at some point, Hal Tyler became a hand holder. It was an extension of his care and love for people, a way of communicating things he probably didn't say much, like, "I see you. You matter. You are lovable." He was such a servant-hearted person, always willing to help and quick with a joke. When my sister and I were kids, we played pictionary and OH, did he draw Dolly Parton. Quick with a joke and fast with a pencil too.

Grandpa passed away 3 1/2 years ago. Soon after that, I had two dreams about him. In the first, I actually don't recall if he was there or not. I guess that's why you should write dreams down when they happen! I just remember that upon entering his garden he kept at the home he and Grandma lived in for 45 years, I knew it was now my job to tend that garden.

While I do think it would make him smile if I learned how to grow heavenly raspberries like he did, what that dream meant was that he planted many seeds in my life. Generosity, faithfulness, humility, an appreciation for animals and the earth, laughter, a love of nuts (which took me almost 3 decades to cultivate) and a respect for human life not in any way general, but in a very specific love the person standing right in front of me sort of way.

In the second dream, we were in a room with Grandma and Grandpa was lying in a bed in his hospital gown. He rose up. Then we were in a multitude of people singing, like in church, and he was dancing joyfully in his hospital gown, which, for the record, is NOT something he would have done on this side of heaven. It was pretty glorious.

After he died, I told Grandma I wanted to go to a brunch buffet every year on his birthday because Grandpa loved to eat, and when called upon, like my husband, could put away a healthy sum of food. But a brunch buffet with Glory, Elena and Manny sounds a bit horrifying at this point. So I haven't really held to my intention, but today I decided I could at least muster a trip to a the bakery.

While we were getting ready to leave, I happened upon all the kids in Manny's room rubbing organic shortening all over their faces, hair and clothes. Part of Manny's eczema treatment is skin care and a tub of shortening is economical and I don't care if he puts it in his mouth, which is a BIG plus around here. I instructed them to rub it in, confiscated the shortening and plunged forward, knowing that if we didn't exit as quickly as possible, we might never make it. Everyone would have to pee again, someone would inevitably inflict or receive an owie, the kids would get too hungry to go eat, or more likely, I would just lose all the fight in me.

I commanded that they all go down to the mudroom half-dressed, with a pile of clothes and socks in the crook of my arm. When they were dressed and ready to depart, their hair plastered to their faces with shortening, I felt a twinge of regret at their appearance. When you regularly have people comment, "Oh, your children like to dress themselves too," but in fact, you are the one that dressed them, it is an indication of two things. One. You don't ever do enough laundry and in the right combinations. Which is a perpetuating problem because then the mix-matched things are always washed together. And two. The poorly developed fashion sense you have is being displayed on three small, unsuspecting people who have a fistful of shortening in their hair.

It's just really, really sad.

You know, if you're not rooted in the true meanings of life and stuff.

But come on! Turquoise socks with harvest orange pants and a gray and pink jacket, finished off by a very dirty pair of Keen sandals. Yikes!

On the way, I told the kids how whenever Grandpa took me out to eat, he always said, "Make sure you get something good." And, in that spirit, when Elena didn't like what she had, I bought her what Manny had. I didn't anticipate, however, that she would then want a third thing, so while I tried to insert more lovely things about Grandpa Hal into my monologue, Elena was a broken record about one of the muffins in view, which she probably wouldn't have liked either.

Later this afternoon, we were getting ready to go to Sam's holiday happy hour at G2B. I dressed the girls in the darling Christmas dresses my mom made and attempted to put their hair in pigtails. My fashion ineptitudes show up in my hair design too, sadly, but something had to be done with their hair so that an unsuspecting G2B investor didn't slip and fall while brushing by them. Manny was effusive with his compliments telling Elena she was so beautiful (all true) and when I sat on the bed with my nicer pair of jeans in hand, Manny said to me, "You're so cute." Then he took a closer look and exclaimed, "WHAT'S THAT?", in reference to my leg hair, which in my defense, for the season, isn't terribly unkempt, but it was enough to put a cork in the bubbly champagne of compliments.

We went to the party, which was on top of G2B's offices, on a deck overlooking Lake Union. It was lovely and cold. Manny was distracted for a while by the view and by the hot dogs on the grill. When offered one by Sam, he ate it faster than a dog in the prime of his life. It was awesome. This is a feat only accomplishable by someone who regularly practices food stuffing. When we broke the news that one hot dog was the limit, it wasn't long before Manny came up to me, hugged my legs and said, "Take me inside. Feed me. Make me feel better again."

When we got home, I rushed them through a post-hot dog dinner and convinced them to take off their clothes with promises of more shortening. After they got slicked up, Manny and Elena went to roll around on the girls' beds and there was more penis talk. Because the things you can say about penises really are endless.

Elena was a captivated audience and when Manny shouted, "WHO WANTS TO PINCH MY PENIS?" she replied with gusto, "I DO!"

I gave the kids their fish oil supplement with a drop of Vitamin D. It tastes like lemon starburst and they love it. Whenever I give Glory a spoonful, she licks it clean and hands it back to me saying, "I'm better now!"

That's how I felt whenever I had the good fortune to be with my grandpa. Whenever we parted company, I could have made the same exclamation. "I'm better now!"

Maybe I'll try to talk to the children more about Grandpa Hal tomorrow. I am reminded today that attempts at conversation about anything beyond food, sharing and potty behavior must be forcibly inserted when there are three people who are constantly rotating and overlapping their thoughts and requests. Today we ventured into human reproduction and the death and resurrection of Jesus. I think the whole time I was talking about those things, the children were demanding more food, which may be why it's important to open the lines of communication about faith and sex early. It gives you plenty of time to refine your talking points.

And when words are too troublesome or simply not necessary, it's good to shut your mouth, smile, look someone in the eye and hold their hand for a just moment or a good long while.

Thanks for teaching me that Harold.

Would this work better with an attachment?

2010-12-13T21:05:00.000-08:00

I have a long post brewing in me, but since it has taken me over 2 hours to get the kids to sleep coming off an already tough day, I think it's time to do the dishes and consider exercising, but have a bowl of cereal and watch 30 Rock on Netflix instead.

But I had to write, at least briefly, because after spending the day worrying about Elena being sick and an afternoon of meltdowns (all three kids, me and a scary incident with the Christmas lights, an outlet and a metal disk that is now charred and misshapen), Manny said something that made me laugh out loud and that took some doing.

Trying to get Elena ready for bed, she suddenly looked panicked and said she needed to go potty. I was still worried about her potential stomach problems and rushed her to the bathroom, stripping her while we moved. Once she was sitting I crouched down right in front of her to provide all the moral support required for someone who doesn't feel well and is new to a life free of daytime diapers. I wasn't even fully aware of Manny right next to me, who was pacing the rim of the bathtub in his Batman pajama shirt and absolutely nothing else.

Elena peed.

Manny stopped, cocked his head and exclaimed, "I don't know why you don't use a penis," as though a penis was like a vacuum attachment that has fallen behind the messy shelves in our family room closet. "You just use your bottom," he concluded.

Elena didn't even dignify his comments with a non-verbal response. I, on the other hand, was doubled-over the toliet, but not for the traditional reason.

Thank God for Manny and for laughter and for Tina Fey streaming on my computer in my dirty, soon to be transformed, kitchen.

(And for my Dad, who visited this morning and barely made it out unscathed. Glory and Manny think he is a jungle gym. I felt simultaneously sorry for you Dad and happy, that for a few hours, it was you and not me. Painful love they give at times. Sweet, but ouch.)

Dear Manny, who is now 4

2010-11-17T21:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Manny,

It is so hard to believe that you are 4 now. I have only been away from you for one day of your whole life. It was Sunday, July 6, 2008, the day after your sisters were born. Daddy came home to put you to bed that night, but of course, I stayed at the hospital with Glory and Elena. Other than that, we have spent your life together. And yet, I cannot quantify you, I cannot encapsulate all that you have been or are- your light is so bright and the pulse of your life is so fierce and ecstatic that I cannot contain it, even in my own memory or thoughts. I sit with a string of memories and feelings that have brought us to this point where you are 4, sleeping upstairs under your pink blanket that you successfully stole from Glory and the penguin blanket that Grandma Barb and Grandpa Hal gave me when I was 10 years old.

You sleep with your face about as close to your nightlight as it will go. Dad and I suspect that sometimes the light wakes you up. And when you do wake up, you want to hear music. This has been an aggravation because all of your CDs skip, due to being carried around by chubby fingers and being spun on the concrete floor as though there is a turntable and you and your sisters are the dee-jays. Finally, last night, I made you a new CD, with a few of your favorite tracks and a few of mine. When you woke up in the night last night, you screamed. You were mad as hell. Where were your CDs? And what was this crap I had left in their place? But, when I finally got you to quiet and listen to what I had to say, we solved the problem and I left you with the CD playing. When you came into my bed this morning, you said with the sweetest smile on your face, "You put the "I love you" song on that CD." I wasn't sure what you meant, but later it was confirmed that you were talking about "I'm so glad I'm here" by Elizabeth Mitchell. We left our copy in the hotel CD player in Las Vegas and even before that, we hadn't listened to it much. So, I was surprised you remembered it and that you named it so perfectly. It is the "I love you" song. It's the song that reminds me that I am so glad I'm here every day. Joy brought me here. Love brought me here. I'm so glad I'm here every day. I have had that phrase written on the white board I bought to encourage you not to freak out every time I turn off the TV. But you cannot read. So you didn't know that. But ever since I saw a child next door at the daycare screaming endlessly for someone to love him, to cherish him and to comfort him, I have had that written on my heart and on the board. So, it made me joyful when you said that.

Two nights ago, Dad was at his board meeting for New Horizons and I got to put you to bed after Glory and Elena went to sleep. When we had read "The Button" and "The Story" from "Frog and Toad are Friends", I turned out the light, and as your music played, I stood over you and said to you the blessing you have heard countless times.

The Lord bless you and keep you Emanuel Clark. The Lord make his face to shine on you and be gracious to you. The Lord look upon you, Emanuel Clark, with favor and give you peace. In the name of the Father, Jesus the son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Let it be so!

But this time I said it like a benediction. Like one of those fantastic benedictions that only come once every few years and somebody says something like the end of the book of Jude-

And now to him who is able to prevent you from falling and to present you before his glory, without fault, and with great joy, and to the only God, our savior, be all majesty and power through Jesus Christ our Lord, forever and ever, Amen!

So somebody says that, but it sounds different this time, and something inside me quakes because I know, in that moment, that I am loved and wonderfully made and life is so much more precious and beautiful than I usually treat it. So I said your blessing like that. Like it really matters. Because it does.

And you got the biggest grin on your face, and in the glow of your nightlight, I could see your eyes sparkling. Really, I could. And you said to me, "Thank you so much for saying that! That makes me really happy!"

So what I want you to know about Manny at 4 is that you make me really happy. Thank you so much for saying that. And thank you so much that you sneak in a snuggle whenever you are able. If I sit down, you are immediately looking for love, regardless of how impatient I have been or if the girls are crawling all over me too. And thank you for your endless stream of knock-knock jokes, why don't you marry it jokes and now why did the chicken cross the road jokes. You keep me laughing and when I said to your sisters tonight, "I love Manny's laugh," they both beamed and said, "I love Manny's laugh too!" Except Glory, who almost exclusively refers to you now as Manny Clark Lai, as though it were one word.

There is so much more I could say about you, but I have to do the dishes. And Daddy has to keep typing his reports, which makes me feel like at least one of us should go to bed. Just in case you wake up and need some music.

You are music in motion Emanuel Clark.

Yours Truly,

Mom

A one liner to remember

2010-10-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

Last night I was snuggling Manny and I said, with great emphasis, "Manny, I like you."

There was a pause and then Manny replied, "I like...Batman."

An Old Joke is Always New to Somebody

2010-10-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

At dinner, Sam asked Manny if he loved cheese. Manny said yes. Sam said, "Then why don't you marry it?" and went over the top with a goofy laugh so that Manny would know what he was supposed to do next.

Manny totally ran with it. Everything Sam asked him about, Manny loved. And when Sam would say, "Then why don't you marry it?", Manny would erupt in gales of laughter.

"Again! Again!"

At this point, I was sort of regretting the whole thing and said, "Why doesn't Daddy tell you another joke?"

So Sam said, "Knock, knock."

Manny said, "Who's there?"

Sam said, "Orange."

Manny said, "No! The other joke!"

Eventually, Manny swapped roles with Sam. He started with a strong offering.

"Do you love playdoh?"

Sam said, "I love playdoh."

"Then why don't you marry it!!!!" (Screeching laughter!! This is the best joke ever!!)

"Do you love soup?" (We were eating soup.)

More punchline. More screeching laughter.

"Do you love applesauce?"

More. More! This just kept getting better and better in Manny's estimation.

There were too many questions to count, at which point, I could tell Sam was quite sorry he had ever introduced Manny to this ancient joke that human beings have been telling each other ever since there was some concept of legalized, committed relationship between two people.

So, to mix it up a bit, when Manny asked Sam for the second time, "Do you like Wall-E?" (as in the Pixar robot character), Sam said, "Oh, you're not going to get me this time!"

Manny burst into screaming sobs. He could not be consoled and all that we could make out was, "I WANTED YOU TO MARRY WALL-E!!"

We couldn't help it. For the first time, I laughed at my child until I shed tears. I was not laughing with him. I was laughing at him.

At bedtime, I asked Manny what he was thankful for. Silence. I said, "I'm thankful for you. Who are you thankful for?" Pause. "Dinosaurs," he said. Pause. Pause. "I'm thankful for the dinosaurs who aren't here anymore."

When I prayed, I said, "Thank you for Manny, for Daddy, for Glory and Elena, for Rona and for all of our friends and family. Manny said, "Don't forget the dinosaurs who aren't here anymore." "And for the dinosaurs who aren't here anymore," I promptly repeated.

Sam came in to say good night. I asked him to turn off the light, and in the bright hue of Manny's night light that he insists on having plugged in right next to the head of his bed, he asked Sam, "Do you like Mama?"

"I love Mama," Sam said.

"THEN why don't you MARRY HER?"

"I did!" Sam said.

Manny smiled.

Then Sam and I went back to our bedroom, totally exhausted. Sam had to go back to work for the entire evening so we laid down on the bed for a quick hug, right on top of Manny's new birthday rocket ship from Rona.

The deep, bellowing voice said, "3, 2, 1, BLAST OFF!" Then lots of sounds of blasting engines.

Sam tried to muffle it, but Manny came prancing down the hallway as though he had been paged.

So the second time, we put Manny AND the rocket to bed. Haven't heard a peep since. Which is good, because I'm guessing the jokes will resume first thing in the morning.

As You Wish

2010-10-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

A few things have changed in the last month. For one, Manny is not going to preschool anymore.

Some things haven't changed. Our bathroom sinks are still clogged and my ironing is still piled on the ancient ironing board next to our bed, which I accidentally bumped the other day and saw it is leaving rust marks on the floor, it has been there so long. And we are all still fighting remnants of colds we caught in the beginning of September.

Manny's was a double ear infection and it caused him to miss day 2, 3 and 4 of preschool. Actually, on day 4 I tried to take him, but when it was time to get dressed, he had a meltdown and then I had a big meltdown. It was my way of demonstrating to the children that they do not have the corner on expressing their dissatisfaction and despair over the smallest details.

You won't wear the clothes I picked out for you? I'll show you crying and screaming! I've been at it for 32 years! Stand back and admire my range! I can hit the low moan notes and the high-pitched wailing whines all in the time it takes you to outline the next item of your never-ending list of demands!

This was a really bad move on my part. And perhaps one that could not have been prevented. I was coming off of a sleepless night and Glory was wailing with fever and I really needed someone to pass the parenting baton to, but my giant stuffed raccoon from childhood who sits on the ridiculous toy washing machine that nobody plays with does not have thumbs, or even fingers for that matter and he kept dropping it. Silly raccoon.

So I took Manny to school and he stood in his classroom and cried. Cried the sad cries of a child who fears his mother is beyond help and is still wearing what looks like, but is not, some semblance of her pajamas in the hallway. The girls were buckled into their carseats in the van, but I had legitimate fear that Elena was going to crawl out and release the parking brake or shove a stray raisin up her nose and choke, so I really couldn't stand there and allow Manny or myself to suffer for too long. So I scooped him up and we never managed to get him to go again.

So now we are free of obligations, except to go to our dance class on Tuesday mornings. My friend Amy and I are taking all three kids to the Creative Dance Center where the kids warm up by climbing on my back at the same time and continuing the long-standing argument I like to call "My Mama!" But after they warm up, they have a grand time playing the musical instruments and finding their own creative way through the obstacle course and running under the magic parachute. At the end, they all gather around Anna the radiant teacher and she stamps their hands, their feet and their tummies. Manny never got a stamp on his tummy at preschool and it makes him really happy.

So this is the year of exploration.

Really, every year is. But it makes me feel good to spin it that way. When this whole preschool problem presented itself, it made me realize that all the children will go to school next year and so it will go until they are adults and I am almost 50. Gasp! So this is a special time and I am trying to be as engaged, loving and fun as I can be.

The week I took Manny out of preschool, I took the kids to Big Howe, the playground closest to our house, which I have avoided since the girls got really mobile because there are too many places the kids could hurt themselves and they all needed my close attention. Now, it's okay. Still a couple things to look out for, but much, much better.

The sun was shining and the warmth was radiating through our long-sleeved shirts. The kids were sharing in the sandbox and I was still reveling in the fact that we walked there without the assistance of our double stroller or baby carrier. I felt so light.

And then I noticed that Elena was rolling down the grassy hill behind me. Her delight was infectious, and suddenly, all my kids and a handful of others were rolling down the grassy hill. It wasn't smooth rolling. It was more like "AS....YOU....WIIIIISH!!" bumpy, messy, grunting rolling from The Princess Bride and my joy was only slightly diminished by my fear that they would roll over dog poop, develop a rash from the grass or get a bug lodged in their ear canal.

The other day Manny said to me emphatically, "The sky is blue and I want to watch a show." I love his ability to be direct without apology while still making space to revel in the natural beauty around and above us. As I seek to live into the opportunity for joy and discovery that is my every day, I will try to do the same, even if the only one listening is Racky the Raccoon. At least Racky doesn't have an opinion about my selection of socks when it's time to load into the car.

Manny

2010-10-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

To Sam while bathing with his sisters.

Manny (earnestly): Dad, why did God give me two sisters instead of just one?

Sam: Because God loves you so much.

To me, while snuggling in bed during naptime.

Manny: Mama, you have gentle eyes.

To our friend John after I realized Glory was touching John's puppy's penis.

Manny: I have a penis too! I'll show you!

Our days are full. Full of what you would expect and full of unexpected sweetness.

The nuggets

2010-09-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

This whole day was a really good blog post if I had the temerity to write it. Perhaps another day. But I was about to head to bed and realized the person I would be cheating is myself if I didn't write down at least these two nuggets. Because they were pretty good.

This morning, I was not able to convince Manny to go to school and it was a really sad scene. Once he was relieved of the pressure of going, I absorbed that pressure and had no idea what to do next. So I went to the grocery store. But, that too, was a sad scene. First, it was sad because I bought three wheat-free treats from the bakery for our snack and they all sucked. I felt momentarily proud of how superior my home baking is until I realized that not only did these snacks suck, but they also eroded into cascading crumbs on the table, the chairs, the floor, and then oops, I spilled Glory's water. And then oops, I spilled Elena's water. And then somehow Elena managed to coat her entire body in crumbs. I ended up scrubbing her with the "sanitized" table wiping towel I borrowed from the bakery checker. Gross? A little.

We went to do our shopping but no one could agree how we should travel. There are two types of carts. One that was preferable to Glory and one that was preferable to Manny. Elena didn't have a say because she was sanitized and strapped to my chest. No one would budge so I dragged them all screaming back to the car and somehow managed to get them strapped in by probably making promises I didn't keep. I can't remember now. What I said or if I kept them.

Anyway, I felt a surge of relief driving out of the parking lot. I had no groceries. But I was headed home, I had a latte in my fridge and no one was screaming at me. I missed my turn onto Gilman because I was still trying to recover from what had just happened and as I planned to get off at Dravus, I noticed through the rearview mirror that Elena had slid out of her shoulder straps AGAIN. I stopped as quickly as I could on a gravel strip alongside a storage facility, turned on the hazards and confronted Elena with the reality we were all facing.

Put your straps back on or we can never go home.

Now, I did this last week on the way to the bread shop. We had to pull over at a rundown apartment building and I was really dramatic, telling her that we would have to live in our car in this apartment parking lot if she didn't put her straps on. She was unphased, but Manny was sobbing by the end of my monologue because he was afraid he was going to spend the rest of his childhood strapped to his car seat far, far, far from home (in Wallingford).

So, this time I got her to put her straps on a lot faster and as we drove away, I heard Manny sigh happily and say, "I really didn't want to live there."

Tonight I made pizza. I have had many unsuccessful pizza attempts lately, usually centered around my inability to slide this great new spelt crust off of my pizza peel onto the pizza stone. What happens then is I get unreasonably upset and try to make a calzone out of my spoiled pizza, which doesn't really work either and the resulting mess is so ugly that the kids have to eat dinner with their eyes closed.

Enter parchment paper.

Even with this magical tool, my first pizza attempt tonight failed because my fancy fresh mozzarella was sour.

The second half of the dough turned out well with the cheap Trader Joe's cheese. It wasn't amazing looking, but it was headed in the right direction. When I put the pizza peel with the finished, bubbly pie on the counter, Manny began to exclaim, "It's a circle! It's a circle! Hooray for Mama! It's a circle! Everybody breakdance for Mama! It's a circle!"

They ate every last bite, eyes wide open. Of course, there was none left for Sam and I, but that's the thing about being parents. You almost don't even care. Until it's two hours later and you've finally cleaned up from their dinner and you still haven't eaten dinner.

But what does that matter when somebody celebrates your culinary victory by breakdancing in their underwear?

You almost don't even care.

I better get something to eat.

Most popular activities at our house

2010-09-25T21:29:00.000-07:00

Growling like a lion, which often turns into growling matches, shrieks and cries of "Scared!"
Superheroes. Particularly Super Ass Man.

"Looking at spiders", which means screaming at them and inevitably removing one or all of their legs, if those poor little suckers are lucky.

Alternately filling me with deep joy and then, five minutes later, driving me to the brink of madness. Exaggeration? Not really.

Pictures, Part Three: Manny's first day of school!

2010-09-12T20:11:00.001-07:00

On our way to Little Red Wagon Preschool. Fire truck lunch box is new.
If this isn't the beginning of a musical number, I don't know what is.

Manny, Miss Catherine (love her!) and Charlie, our best buddy.

When Sam asked Manny on Friday evening if he liked Miss Catherine and Mr. Jay, his new teachers, he said, with his face all wrinkled up, "ummmm.....hmmmm......ehhhh.....not so much." "Why not?" Sam asked. Manny replied, "I really need to go do my taxes now."

I think he likes them. It's just hard for him to express his delight under a microscope. We understand that.

Pictures, Part Two: Kinnear Park, Queen Anne

2010-09-12T20:07:00.001-07:00

Manny the climber.
Me and Elena.
Glory Jane.

Pictures, Part One: San Diego

2010-09-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Elena and her cousin, Josh who is now 2!
Manny and his beloved playmate and cousin Ellie.
Elena (left) and Glory.

Parent Night

2010-09-08T20:58:00.000-07:00

Thank you Sarah B.W., Sarah S., Carmen, Mom, Kathleen and Melisa for all reaching out to me. I really appreciate the love, support and Melisa's story she emailed me about a pooptastrophe that was off the charts. I laughed out loud and I don't normally laugh out loud at poop stories. Groan, yes, but laugh out loud? Never. Until now.

Last Sunday, I was talking to an old friend at church I hadn't seen in years. She told me she's a twin and that her mom found out she was having twins when she went in to have her tubes tied. How do you like that one? That also made me laugh out loud.

Boy. People have such crazy experiences. Shame on me for ever assuming someone isn't that interesting. All you have to do is ask and the stories that follow....wow.

I went to parent night at Manny's preschool tonight. I read last night that people with Blood Type O (me) require vigorous exercise so I spent 15 vigorous minutes watching Family Guy on the elliptical trainer before I ran up to preschool. I knew, living where I do, that I would be the most underdressed person there and it was true. Nobody looked at me funny, but my dated workout clothes added to my overall sense that I was way too young to be in that room. People in Seattle tend to have kids older, so maybe that's part of it. But, if I'm honest, I fit right in, only not as well dressed. And that was so weird. I suppose it's a universal experience. All people must feel this way at one time or another, right? Recently I surprise myself at how much amusement I get from watching this sitcom online called "The Middle", which is about family life from the parent's perspective. When did I start finding this stuff so funny? The Mother's Day episode where the husband tells the wife at 6:30am that he's going to go watch ESPN so she can spend the day with her whining, complaining, fighting three children, because it's "her day" had me rolling in my laundry pile. Seriously. The transition from being the kid to being the one laughing at the crazy stuff kids say and do is like practically non-existent.

No nap again today. I drove across town at the right time of day and still no nap. The only one who looked like they might doze off was Manny and he's not supposed to fall asleep! I am working hard on acceptance. I think I have gone through the other stages of grief. I don't remember what they all are, but the denial and anger are easily documentable.

I already miss my times when the girls would nap and Manny and I would play high school boyfriend and girlfriend. (He doesn't know that's how I think of it. He doesn't know what high school is.) But that's what it reminded me of. Him in his underwear (this is where it is not like high school Mom) cuddling with me, stroking my hair, loudly sucking his fingers (also not like high school). OKAY. I guess upon examination this comparison doesn't really hold up. It's just that Manny is so snuggly and so cute like a very small Sam, though I think their ears are the same size. The girls are going to LOVE him. Especially now that he's given up eating the hair once he's attentively stroked it.

I got so tired around 2pm that I herded the kids into my bedroom and initiated a game of "cave" where we all laid on the bed and I had to hold up my arms and legs to create the cave with the duvet while Manny repeatedly told me to hide from the pink cat monster and Elena, in turn, would demand that I not hide. It was a really exhausting way to rest. This time ended with probably thirty minutes where either Glory or Elena had their head shoved all the way up my shirt and through the neck hole, sometimes talking about nipples and where they might be. They don't seem to accept my standard answer of, "they're in the same place they were last time." This particular shirt looks like it has been eaten by a small animal so I allowed the game to persist. It also was buying me a few more moments of stillness. Then Glory started to lick my neck. When she got out of my shirt and Elena crawled through the neckhole, Glory started to lick Elena's hair and then my hair. I couldn't decide whether I thought this was hilarious or whether Glory was the pink cat monster, so I said what I always say when I need to get out of a situation with the children.

"I need to go potty," I said.

They totally get this and almost always back off, as if to say, "Sure, yeah, you bet, I've been there. You go right ahead."

It might have been Elena who ate the holes into my shirt because nearly every children's book in our house has some piece of it eaten off. The day we left for San Diego in August, she tried to eat an entire dinner napkin right in front of my face- stuffed the whole thing in like a chipmunk- and then later that night, she ate airport toliet paper straight from the stall. This child. And if you ask her to stop doing it, she cheerfully replies, "No fanks!" She's going to be a hard one to say no to for those who are easily charmed.

At some point I had to come downstairs and try to make some dinner. The kids were playing so well together in Manny's room until I heard him shout, "Don't touch my taxes either!" Sam and I finally did our taxes last weekend and Manny's really into it now.

So Elena came downstairs and Manny and Glory had a special time together pulling all the sheets off our bed and setting up camp on the deck, which reminds me I was going to wash all of that and now it's too late. Hmmmm.....anyway, I was happy for them because Manny and Glory don't usually hang out just the two of them. Every time I heard her cry, I rushed upstairs. She was in the middle of the bed, sucking her thumb and clutching her blankie while Manny jumped around to a U2 compliation, occasionally landing on her, causing her to cry. I heard him sweetly reply, more than once, "Don't be afraid. It's Bono singing!"

Elena pulled out about fifteen feet of toliet paper before we all came downstairs. Manny was trying to salvage it and roll it back, but he must have gotten frustrated because the next thing I knew he was carrying an enormous wad of TP down the stairs. He handed it to me and I sighed, but I have to tell you, an enormous wad of TP on your kitchen counter really comes in handy. I have used it countless times to dry this, wipe up that, snuggle a little bit when I need a soft touch. I'm thinking about just having a wad of TP there all the time, at least until Elena gets taller and starts nibbling pieces of it for "snacks" in-between snacks. Oh well. It's got to be easier on her digestive track than the huge chunk of the book of Revelation she ate from my Bible.

Oh, and I told Manny's new preschool teacher and assistant teacher about Super Ass Man and they couldn't stop laughing about it. We agree this is not a school game, but it made me like them a lot! I encouraged he will be in good hands.

Touching Base

2010-09-07T18:24:00.001-07:00

Who am I touching base with? Whoever may still read this after a four month hiatus and, I guess, in a way, my future self who will not remember what happened in this very intense period of my life. My future self will read the last few posts from May and try desperately to remember what I was thinking and what went on in these blank months. So, future self, here is what I would say.

Twins and a slightly older child are really, really, really hard. If you look back and say--ehh, it wasn't that big of a deal, you are lying to yourself. And I am not a fan of live and forget- you know, the kind of older person who claims their children never did anything wrong OR, worse, that they never did anything wrong. If I say my children were perfect, I have lost the flavor of this time. The sugar is their sweetness, the spice is the boundaries they push and I hope I never forget because the stories contain the essences of who Manny, Glory and Elena are.

And that is why it has bothered me that I have stopped writing on this blog. The stories slip away from me before the day is done. This is my only record. My only way of remembering. Particularly because I don't take any photos either. Add that to the long list of things I should be doing, like brushing my children's teeth in the morning and laundering Manny's underwear so he doesn't have to go commando to preschool on Friday.

I stopped writing because I was struggling with circumstances, but mostly with myself and people who love me a lot were expressing concern for my well-being and it made me want to never share anything with anybody again, at least through this venue. But the big, big downside of all that is that not only do I forget the stories, but there are some of you who would hardly know the children at all, if it were not for this little bit of illustration on my part.

So I am sharing today in the belief that when I share, I celebrate more and curse less. So if I say anything that makes you concerned for my well-being, I would ask that you please not tell me about it. Tell God if you're that concerned and you do that sort of thing, but spare me that kind of love because I can't bear it.

This morning, Elena ate a few bites of "oh-me-all" and then looked like she poured the rest on the floor and rolled around in it for a while until it sufficiently stuck. I was appalled as I saw her walking through the kitchen. It was as if her pants were polka-dotted with gummy oats. I exclaimed something nasal and annoyingly maternal and Manny genuinely uttered, "I think it's beautiful."

It is so common for the children to be dressed and then undressed in a matter of minutes. Soon after the daily oatmeal explosion, Elena went into the bathroom to wash her hands and immediately had water up to her elbows. There went the long-sleeved shirt. So now she was naked again except for her saggy diaper which had about a fifteen-minute lifespan left. So Glory thought she should take off all her clothes and then decided the diaper was too oppressive too. As soon as she was naked, it occurred to her it was the perfect moment to sit on the potty. I love watching her climb up onto the potty insert on the big toliet. It reminds me a little of the lady in Godzilla stuck at the top of the Empire State Building, only there's no monster and the lady is not afraid. She's exceptionally brave and demanding when it comes to the tissue. "Self!" she cries.

The kids asked me if they could turn on Earth, a gorgeous documentary about ecosystems across the globe. I was going to do the dishes, but every ten seconds, one of the girls would rush out and say, "Scared! Bears!" So I let them eat carrot cake and watch the bears with me from their little table in the family room while Manny assured them the bears were stuck in the tv. By the time that experiment was over, I was wishing the bears would emerge from the screen and vacuum up the thousand crumbs of varying sizes and shapes (depending upon whether or not they had been mushed) that were scattered all over the table, chairs, floor, and yes, Elena's new pants.

I pulled out the vacuum, in lieu of the bears, and then decided to be industrious and tidy the bookshelves, knocking an expensive and utterly delicious jar of raspberry jam from my favorite farmer's market berry grower 6 feet down onto the concrete floor. The jam blobbed onto the carpet.

"Stay back!" I shouted repeatedly, as I cleaned up the entire mess. It's like a dog that hasn't been well trained. You have to say "STAY" every two seconds as long as you want the dog to stay. If I ever stopped telling the kids to stay back, they would descend on me and the glassy mess like it never occurred to them not to.

By the time this was all done, it was only 10:30 and I was ready for bed. As were the girls. I have been having a very difficult time getting them to nap and have tried every strategy I can think of, with the exception of locking one of them in the dog crate, which Kathleen, only half-jokingly, suggested. If it wasn't so dirty and underneath so many heaps of stuff in the garage, I might just try it. Aslan liked it after all and the girls liked Aslan, so the power of association would tell me that the girls would like the crate!

(Long pause for trip to the library and now it is too late to write much more. The dishes are piled high and the laundry even higher.)

So, in closing, as I was trying to make dinner while preventing the kids from eating playdough, especially Manny who has a growing wheat sensitivity, I set a tea towel on fire and threw a dinner plate across the room, sending shards in a ten foot stream. Glory tried to make me feel better by eating a truly astonishing amount of rice pasta tossed in broccoli pesto. At shower time, her belly looked particularly huge, and yet still so small. It was packed with pasta and pesto and waffle with blueberry sauce which took Sam a good five minutes to scrub out of all the kids fingers and toes and backs of knees and elbows. By the end of the waffle dessert, the kids were body-painting with the blueberry sauce. Sam was holding his face in horror and I was trying not to laugh hysterically since I was a little loopy from the whole broken glass/giant Costco microfiber towel on fire incidents.

I rushed the girls to sleep, since they didn't nap. They wanted to laugh before they fell asleep so I had to wag my hair in their face like a dog tail until they got a good laugh going. They're an easy crowd most of the time. Then I asked which music box they wanted to hear. Grandma Barb gave each of them a music box last year. "Horse," they said. So I turned that one on and the girl one too because they only like to listen to them simultaneously, though they are not the same song. So it sounds a little busy and discordant, but cheerful and persistent, kind of like me.

As I walked out, relieved that they hadn't called me back for three more drinks of water or countless full body hugs, I heard Sam coaching Manny through his poops for the day. "There's another one!" I heard him exclaim. Another poop, another day, full of beauty, humor, brokenness and a whole lot of "Mama! Watch this!"

Watch this!

I'm about to do the dishes.

Bet you didn't see that one comin'.

Love Letters, Part Two

2010-05-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

I thought it was time to write little love letters to the kids again, because everything else I have to write is a bit sad because I'm a bit sad and despite my best efforts to pull it together, I think I'm going to need a lot more sleep and a lot more chocolate, and let's be honest, a lot more time, to take the next few months step by step with grace and humor. The girls will be two in thirty-six days and I'm just worn out. I have an amazing husband, a downstairs Mary Poppins who doubles as one of my best friends, family who loves me and friends who are the same as family who loves me. I have everything a person could ever ask for and yet, I am still mired in the human condition and I have limits, unreasonable expectations, a dirty shower, a healthy dose of ingratitude...basically, a whole lot of junk to hold up in the light. And it's been getting the better of me.

It doesn't help that the days have gotten harder and longer with Elena and Glory spreading their wings and seizing their freedoms and each other's necks long after their traditional bedtime. And it doesn't help that Sam is tired too. But I think all it does is reveal the weak spots that were there anyway. The stuff that can't be ignored.

I was listening to another Tim Keller sermon podcast this week and he was quoting a C.S. Lewis passage about, amongst other things, perspective. Lewis talks about how many things that are ugly in us get worse, slowly over time, if left to grow without precise diagnosis, recognition and treatment. And how if you are only to live eighty years, maybe that's not such a big deal. How bad can those ugly things really get in such a short period of time? But if eternity is true and we go on and on and the choices we make now continue to form who we are then, then we become more and more of our grumbles until there is no more left of the true us at all. On the contrary, if we keep fighting to move toward love, then how much grander will it be when there are less grumbles and so much more love?

This week when I have had countless moments of wishing that I would get struck by lightning so I could stop wrestling with myself, I have been reminded of that talk. There is no shortcut, no easy out. This stuff in me I find so unpleasant, it requires my consent and participation to root it out so that love can fill it up. All of this from financial questions and toddler defiance! It's a good thing I am getting really good at whipping up hearty, wholesome, delicately crumbed 9-inch coffecakes so that I have something to nibble on while I wrestle. My life is so romantic, even in the struggle!

So, assuming that I am not at all alone in my human condition, I wish you luck as you move forward. Sam had me listen to an inspiring Van Jones talk about the critical importance of the energy efficiency movement, and his closing remarks were, "When it gets hard to love, love harder."

Dear Manny,

This week when I picked you up from preschool, we were driving the two minutes home and I asked you what you did at school. You replied, "I can't tell you." "Why?" I asked. "I'm too busy," you said.

I love how you find a way to talk about the giant robot Omnidroid from "The Incredibles" every day, even though you only saw it on screen once, well over a year ago. You would think the Omnidroid lived in your closet. When I asked you the other night if you like to feel scared of the Omnidroid, you said, "Yes!" Now your sisters, whenever they hear the word Omnidroid, they say, "Scared!" and they seem to mean it, at least Glory does. The Omnidroid has become the boogey man at our house and when I try to explain that the Omnidroid only lives in stories, like Curious George, this does not deter your insistence in any way.

I love how you are learning to thoroughly wash your hands, though not necessarily at the right times. I love how you can make a whooping good time of absolutely anything. You find the fun within yourself. You don't have a favorite toy. I asked you yesterday what your favorite toy is and you said your fire truck. You have had your fire truck parked inside the giant baby gate around the elliptical trainer for at least the last month. Your play comes from the inside out and I am exicted for all the ways you are learning to create and, despite myself, I love the way you beat the hell out of your drums that you are also slowly deconstructing because I believe that you are going to learn how to take stuff apart and build it back up in a way that expresses your inventiveness and creativity.

I love how when I bake something good, you stuff your mouth so full that other parents look on in horror and disgust, half worried you are going to choke and half shocked that Glory is mimicking you in every way. I take it as a high compliment, especially when there are grated carrots involved.

And I love how you still have an incredibly high need for snuggles and that I still fit the bill.

Dear Glory,

I love how you still feel so tiny when I hold you. You are the size of a a one-year old with the dexterity of a three-year old. I have never seen someone so fascinated by shoes and I love to watch you struggle to pull the back of your pants up over your pull-up diaper. How delighted will you be when you are freed from the bulk of absorbency and all that covers your bottom is a thin piece of pink, lace-trimmed cotton if they even make panties small enough for your itty-bitty cheeks.

I love how every time you see newborn Miles Love you have to get as close to his face as you are allowed, all the while pointing and shrieking in pure happiness, "Baby! Baby!" I love how every time Sam comes home, you shout "Daddy!" and run for the door. I love that as soon as I finish each line of the three verses of "Away in the Manger" you and Elena proclaim "Again!" I love that when you sit at the piano, you seem geniunely interested in the sounds you make and that what comes out is thoughtful and pretty, even in its disorganization.

Dear Elena,

The other day you hit me, which is not unusual these days. And when I picked you up and asked you to say sorry, you did, but you said it in such a flippant, unspecific way that I asked you to look me in the eye and say sorry. So you pressed your face to my face, our eyes matched and said as genuinely as I've ever heard it said, "Sorry." I will miss your literalism as you figure out the nuances of all the things I tell you.

I love how when you try, you can now eat without wearing half your meal. I love how much you love your bookies, which range from empty notebooks to C.S. Lewis' "Miracles" which you plucked off the shelf the other day and carried under your arm all the way to preschool and to the coffee shop and then to the adirondack chair outside where you proceeded to throw up because I gave you Tylenol and then bribed you with a gummy vitamin all on an empty stomach. I love how after you threw up, you insisted on finishing the squash bread we bought with Grandma Barb's muffin money, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I resisted, but you insisted and I never saw it again, so you were right. I love how much you love to draw pictures and how you are so much slower to start eating the crayons than your sister.

Tricking Yourself

2010-05-26T22:16:00.000-07:00

Most days, I wake up with, amongst other things, a renewed sense of purpose and a desire to pursue with energy and specificity the things I am passionate about outside of my children. And every day, after they go to bed, I do the dishes and maybe read a little, very occasionally shave my legs (need to increase the frequency of this practice), and almost never write. But I keep tricking myself that I will. There's something about this process that seems absurd, like, give it up already! Just stop thinking about that entirely until the next face of life that will provide more personal time! (Wishful thinking.) But there is something about this cycle of hope and disappointment, reordering and releasing, reevaluating and doubt that is so key to the human process. I need to hang on, to pursue this view of myself, even at the risk of appearing ridiculous, because the struggle, though it may not produce much to share, seems necessary somehow.

I saw a play last night at Intiman called The Thin Place- totally worth checking out if you're in town. It's a one-man piece and one character the actor portrays relates his story of being confined in a dark 3ft x 6ft cell for 18 months in communist southeast Asia. Manny was climbing all over my neck today trying to choreograph his first circus act as we were looking at pictures of acrobats and I felt like I was going to lash out from the feeling of being confined and trapped by that. I can't imagine. And yet, in the midst of my incredible creature comforts, I feel like I am going to go at least a lot bit insane every day at naptime and bedtime.

I gave up on the girls' diapers and the onesies and the tape that the girls kept ripping off their bodies and using to self inflict welts. They now wear pull-ups exclusively and if they poop on the floor, they poop on the floor. And they do poop on the floor. But we're learning and I have this feeling that this phase we've entered, this place in between toddler and little girl is going to be long and awkward. It's just started so much sooner than I expected.

We also ditched the cribs before someone dove onto the concrete floor. Now, every night, Elena turns into a vampire after we close the door and we have to go in two, three, four times and work through Glory's frantic screams after Elena bites her.

I realize I am too tired and not good humored enough at the moment to continue/edit/make any sense of this post, so here's the update on Super Ass Man instead.

He was around in force last week, but seems to have gone on vacation. Perhaps Manny is now too busy being a circus animal trainer to attend to his Super Ass Man duties, which include, but are not limited to, filling the crap flour sifter I bought from Target full of dead leaves. Super Ass Man wears tiny bibs with the bib on the back, the smallest cape known to man, as Rona pointed out. Super Ass Man also covers his ass with a turquoise tutu my mom made for the girls for Christmas. He keeps trying to recruit Elena as his sidekick, but she's not going for it. When he brought her the hot pink tutu for her costume and she refused, I suggested he try finding a different costume piece. He came back into the room wearing my filthy blue oven mitts on his feet. Super Ass Man has Power Boots, apparently.

In a completely unrelated story, last night I made these crusty white beans and kale and waffles for dessert, per Manny's request. He didn't want the beans and was real rude about it. I gave him the choice- at least try the dinner or just retire for the evening and then left him alone to think about it. He ate his whole plate of dinner, plus a huge amount of waffle and licked every bit of syrup off his plate.

When we got him into the bathtub, Sam took a moment to tell Manny how proud he was. How he knew that was a tough moment, but Manny had made some really positive choices and that he was becoming such a big boy. Manny's face lit up. He was really soaking up his dad's praise. And that's when Elena took the funnel, which doubles as a king's crown for the kingdom of Manny's room, and slapped it over Manny's penis and scrotum. End of sacred father/son moment.

The biggest laugh of late was on Saturday afternoon. Manny and Elena were sitting in the stroller and Glory was in the backpack on Sam's back. We were walking to meet the Loves at the playground and making a stop at the library on the way. Sam pulled out his phone to text the Loves and told me about how much crap his co-workers give him about his basic, old, unsexy, inefficient phone. I was feeling surly, so I whispered, "that's when you text 'eat shit' to them". This is not a phrase I normally employ. Sam said, "Um, that was totally clear, what you just said." I said, "No, it wasn't! You would have no idea what I said unless you knew exactly what I was talking about."

Right on cue, Glory threw both her arms in the air and exclaimed, "EAT SHIT!"

Sam and I laughed our heads off, but Glory never said it again. She shows restraint. She doesn't milk things. Just paints with bold strokes and enjoys the reaction, knowing it could never be as good the second time around. I really appreciate that about her, especially since that would have been quite embarrassing at the crowded playground.

Street Bean

2010-05-07T22:09:00.001-07:00

Every other Friday, I get to bake for New Horizons. After we make our delivery, it has become my tradition with the kids to cross the street and spend some time at the giant rustic table at Street Bean Espresso, a fabulous coffee shop that exists to build community in Belltown and provide meaningful employment experience for street-involved youth. I love going there, I love that my kids ask to go there and I love to mix with the extended New Horizons community that flows in and out of there. Last time we went, our entire coffee hour was one joyous reunion for me.

Today was brilliant. The barista made us each the perfect drink and none of them went down anybody's shirt. I crouched, in a ready and waiting position, at the end of the giant table in case anyone should need me to catch them or their cup. Just above the table is a giant piece of artwork that says "I Love You". That sounds sappy, but the piece is really cool. It was a great moment. Manny was in his pajamas, now streaked with chocolate syrup and the girls were scattering gluten-free muffin everywhere like fairy dust.

When we got back to the van, I let the kids play inside while I stood on the sidewalk and took in the cool breeze, still finishing my coffee. I was rudely interrupted by Glory. She sat in the driver's seat, beating her head against the steering wheel like she was a skipping CD. Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk went the horn. I opened the door and tried (also repeatedly) to explain to her that when we honk the horn, people think we need help. And we don't need help. This, I now realize, was a lie. The rest of the day I felt like going down to the garage and laying on the horn until someone realized I needed help and came to my rescue. But I didn't because I was too busy rediapering. Thank you for the duct tape suggestion Sarah.

I ended up calling the Belltown playtime because both girls pooped and because Glory would not stop honking the horn. When we pulled into the garage and I unbuckled everyone, I reminded them we needed to go inside to the change the girls' diapers. That's when Manny exclaimed, "I'm Super Ass Man! I'm here to take care of the poops!" He paused long enough for me to confirm his superhero name, which took me by surprise. Then, he added with gusto, "I'm really brave! I'm Super Man Ass!"

The rest of the day, I did not hear another word about Super Ass Man or Super Man Ass, but there were endless requests to hear about Peter Parker/Spiderman who is apparently 3 and attends preschool. Also, he has two sisters named Dick.

The kid is a natural storyteller and he has a knack for naming things, especially himself. I'm still laughing about it.

Diaper Days

2010-05-06T19:21:00.000-07:00

Manny at Golden Gardens.
The kids watching the parking lot. Glory center and Elena right.
Snacktime.
Glory's favorite way to eat. Standing UP!

I have not posted anything in almost two weeks for the following reasons.

1. My netbook is not working and I find the idea of writing something on paper unfathomable. I think with my fingers and the sound of smacking keys. The louder the smack, the better.

2. Glory and Elena will not stop taking their diapers off.

The girls did not nap today. I gave them ample opportunity and only interrupted four times to put their diapers back on and give them an age-appropriate lecture on the merits of not peeing on your bed.

Incidentally, I am starting to wonder what the ethics are around not washing your child's sheets every time they pee on them. Manny is sleeping in his pajamas and no underwear tonight because I do laundry every day, but he has no clean underwear. This is because most loads are sheets and mattress pads and blankies and often pillows. Maybe I should have all three children sleep on the same bed so I could at least consolidate the items that are possible targets.

I gave up all attempts at a nap by 2:30, encouraging myself with the romantic notion of all the kids being in bed by 6:30.

Sam and I tried our best. He came home a few minutes early, we didn't let the girls have seconds on applesauce, we cut the bath short, I didn't brush the girls' hair for the 75th day in a row and there was no funny business in the bedtime routine.

Didn't matter.

The girls bounced around in their beds, shrieking like a couple of monkeys. I knew that meant Glory was totally naked. So far Elena has kept her clothes on at night, but on Monday night, Glory began to cry at 11:30. I went in there and was shocked to pick up this itsy-bitsy popsicle baby who had been sleeping in a puddle of her own pee since 7:00. Since then, she has taken her clothes off every night. Possible discomfort does not dissuade her.

So I rush upstairs, try to express my disapproval upon seeing the wad of pajamas/diaper on the ground and redress Glory, insisting upon her agreement that she will not remove her clothes and diaper again. After much prompting, she mimics, "Yes, Mama," and I feel better for about one minute until I hear them jumping and shrieking again.

I wait until it's quiet (it's 7:15 now, by the way) and creep upstairs so as not to disturb Manny, who is laying in his bed loudly proclaiming, "I can't sleep! I can't stand it!"

"I can't stand it" is his new phrase of choice, inspired by Charlie Brown and so fitting for Manny. Since the girls were born, Manny has had multiple moments every day where he has told me, "I can't stand it!", except until now it has been expressed through screams and tackling babies. Which, I guess is still happening, only now he has something to say while he's pushing them down.

I open the door as quietly as I can and take in the two sleeping angels. Elena is in her new spot in the corner. We moved her crib last night after she climbed into Glory's crib during "naptime" (naked) and beat the crap out of Glory (also naked). There is something really sad about a naked baby getting whaled on by her naked twin who can boast a 3 pound lead, a size bigger feet and twice the size thighs to power those big stomping feet. I still wonder if Glory is so teeny because I carried Manny on her side several hours a day during my pregnancy. Maybe she just didn't have any room to grow.

I am also wondering if my cell phone is giving me cancer. There is an awful lot to wonder about in this world. I would try to quiet my mind, but I can't get the baseball number from "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown" to stop playing on repeat. When I am really tired, there is always a soundtrack in my mind and it is usually something annoying.

When Manny was first born, I didn't sleep more than a couple hours for the first three days. Right before he was born, I transferred a bunch of music to my iPod, including selections from a live Ani DiFranco double disc set. For those first three "blissful" days of motherhood, I couldn't get Ani's voice out of my head singing, "I got to cover my butt because I covet another man's butt" and then a couple mangled lines of nonsense- I couldn't get it out of my head and I didn't even know the words! Oh, the torture! Thank God I never have to be a first time mother again!

So, back in the girls' room. Elena is sleeping and so is Glory, with her hands behind her head like a teenage boy in a hammock drying off from a dip in the river and her legs splayed like a frog, and, of course, not a stitch of clothing on her. So I dressed a naked sleeping (wet) baby for the first time. It was actually really precious and I hope I never have to do it again AND I am fully expecting to do it again tomorrow night.

By the time I finished dressing Glory, Manny had given up the fight and submitted to sleep. I think he was extra tired because he woke up early this morning to play the electric guitar on his belly button. That can really take it out of a person. In fact, I would not recommend it before your morning coffee, and depending on the state of your belly button, I would not recommend it at all.

Personally, I will be sticking with air guitar.

Poop Happens

2010-04-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, during snack, Manny pooped in his underwear. That's all he was wearing, which is the normal part. The poop part was, thankfully, abnormal. What was so amusing was that it took him by such surprise. How do you not see something like that coming? This is what I have always wondered about people whose butt crack (is there a polite term for this?) is visible. I think, do they not know? How could they not know? And yet, there it is.

This is what has turned me into a lifelong checker. Some people are always smacking their pockets to check for keys, wallet, or in my case before having kids who eat it, lip balm. But I am a perpetual "is anything showing" checker, which becomes a more intensive process when you are constantly crouching down in public places to gather up the thousand and one crumbs that came from your child's singular muffin or the smashed O's all around a table. An "O" looks so benign on the floor, almost decorative, a little piece of cereal that slipped through someone's fingers. But smash it? It just looks like crap.

So I whisked Manny away from his chocolate soy milk and into the bathroom to try and sort things out, so to speak. He went on to have a leisurely stay on the potty and Glory left her snack to come check things out. She could not get enough of the show and was standing as close as possible to the toilet. Manny said, "Don't eat it. It's poop." Glory continued to be mezmorized. Manny went on to add, "It's not a snack! It's poop!"

Of course, this made me snicker. But as I have thought about it more, there is some real wisdom there. How many times have I eaten a load of shit, to my regret? And often, I bet there's been a voice, internal or external, saying, "It's not a snack! It's poop!"

I've been thinking on this the last couple weeks. Some old triggers were triggered again that cause me to tell a story to myself about myself that's not quite accurate anymore and it certainly isn't helpful.

In the past, I have always eaten that story up, to my detriment. And I started down that path this time too. But I stopped. And I guess the celebration in that is that I'm starting to figure out when the stories I tell myself about myself are shit and when they're not.

All this daily refining- today was another walk through the fire- is changing me and I like it. It's so painful, but I like the result. I like being able to accept, the good, the not so good, and the really gross in me with less judgment, because who's got the time to sit around and brood too long about anything? There are three pint-sized people who are constantly reenacting the Three Stooges schtick and I'm the critic who's always saying it's not funny, especially when I'm the one who gets poked in the eye (this morning) and thrown across the room after tripping on a baby gate (this afternoon).

Incidentally, I still haven't learned how to wear attractive pants on a consistent basis, per my final 2009 post, which matters because unattractive pants (especially when you haven't been able to find your belt for three weeks) can lead to more butt checking, which is a ball and chain to the soul. How free do I feel when my clothes fit right? Like a bird. Like a really self-confident bird.

That's a big part of being a family. Helping each other sort crap out of our closet, but more importantly, sort the crap out of our heart. To be able to say, "that's not your story. That's shit. Your story is so much more nuanced and beautiful and broad and messy, but not in the can't ever get that stain out of the couch kind of messy, but in the this too, with time and attention and a whole lot of surrender, can be sifted and sorted kind of messy.

At least, that's the family Sam and I are trying to create. And since Manny knows poop when he sees it, I will try to heed his warnings. Literal and figurative.

Week in Review

2010-04-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

I am in my happy place, sitting on a stool at Caffe Fiore, sipping a latte with a breathtaking rosette and nibbling on a walnut anise biscotti from Macrina. Thank God for Saturdays, sunshine, Rona and all the unexpected graces that befall me wherever I go.

I was here the other morning and met the owner. I had seen him a hundred times and finally asked one of the baristas if he was the owner. When I got outside, he and his friend commented on the twins. "You're really doing it," they said, nodding their heads in approval. This is the kind of thing men who are dads say to women like me and I find it quite charming.

So I told him how much this place has meant to me, how it's been the secret to my happiness since the girls were born (an overstatement and at the same time, on many days, true), how it's been my "Cheers" experience- the place where everybody knows my name and what I like to drink. No wonder that show did so well. Community is an incredibly powerful force and it can be found in a variety of ways. Some moms find it in a mom's group. I have never been organized enough to make it to one of those. I have found it here.

I have happy memories of visiting Newberry's Coffee Shop at Eastgate Mall with Grandma Barb and Grandpa Hal. I'm kind of tearing up thinking about it. I loved to see my Grandpa greet friends. He just lit up, made everyone he interacted with feel noticed and special. Boy, you just don't know the power those experiences have over you until you start reflecting on them. Now, I have tears streaming down my face and a really sweet guy just asked for the stool next to me and I have soggy bits of biscotti in every sip of latte and it just all mixes together. The then and the now. The coffee and the memories.

Manny keeps asking to hear the Michael Jacks song, by which he means, "Beat It" and "Smooth Criminal" and sometimes "Dirty Diana". Sam and I agree that Manny is quite a dancer and he's got the attitude to sell it. When he grooves, it's gold. What's remarkable about the Michael Jackson stuff is that I vaguely remember all of those videos and Manny moves similarly to the dancers in those videos. It's like Michael's music dictates the dance, and if you're open enough, the music just flows through you and comes out with a specific vibe. When I turn music on, Manny takes a moment to absorb it, the movement starts in his shoulders, he gets the "I'm about to get down" face and then he starts pumping his arms and his legs and he reeks of "cool".

Sometimes Elena and Glory join in, but if anyone is going to sit out, it's Glory. She wants to be cuddled and observe, or maybe she is just in too much pain from being bit by her sister.

Sam has a small piece of his face missing. When he was small, his sister was holding a turtle and was so excited about it that she lifted it up to Sam's face so he could get a closer look. The turtle got scared and Sam has worn the end of the story on his face ever since.

Elena is that turtle.

Glory has had a red welt on her back, the exact shape of Elena's open jaw, all week long. When Elena starts to bite, I have to scream and yell and run and unhinge Elena as fast as I can or Glory is going to have dents all over her body. Since that particular incident, Glory has been biting Elena, but there's no commitment in it. She doesn't even leave a mark for a few hours, let alone an entire week.

And yet, this is the same child who always needs an extra hug before bed while Glory contentedly sucks her thumb and strokes her blankie in the next crib over. Every time I give Elena that extra hug, she yawns the biggest yawn. It's like the extra hug is the release she needs to retire her curiosities for a time and rest.

Once all the kids are in bed, they aren't really. At least half the time now, Manny pads down the stairs and says, "I need another hug and kiss from Mom." And then I hoist him into my arms and carry him back to bed, blanketing him in kisses and snuggles and, of course, the pink silky blanket he can't seem to part from. It's a funny thing. Kids get bigger, but blankies don't. Manny's going to have to start sleeping in a ball if that tiny baby blanket is going to cover him for much longer.

And then sometime around 10:30pm, I hear the saddest whimpering I've ever heard from the other end of the hall and there's Manny shaking, needing to pee, but too tired and weak to know where to go or what to do. It is an honor to help him and a relief to place him back in bed, silent and peaceful again.

If only the silence and the peace were as easy to impart to myself. And yet it is always available, just on the other side of my busy mind and my crowded heart.

I watch other moms up here who have disposable income for babysitters and gym memberships and manicures and there is a part of me that wishes I could have that too, but I am reminded by my own experiences that though those things are wonderful, for me they don't solve the emotional difficulties that arise while I am in the heat of my relationships, when Elena and Glory have taken off all their clothes and their diapers and peed on their beds twice when they are supposed to be napping, when Sam and I both need more from each other than we each have to give, and when Manny is throwing his twentieth fit of the day because Glory should be on the other side of the room not touching anything and Elena should be having the time of her life sitting in Manny's spaceship box doing exactly what he says at every moment.

I find myself thinking of my great-great grandmother a lot, who of course, I never knew. She had twice as many kids as me in a much more rural area and her only choice was to go deeper, not to go away. I am surrounded by women who regularly have the option of going away, but my option, most of the time, is only to go deeper...with a latte in my hand, which my great-great grandmother didn't have the pleasure of either, so I still have it much easier (the washing machine and dishwasher help too). The thought of her brings me strength, which is a mysterious gift that hopefully I can hold since it is now time to go back home.

A couple of pictures

2010-04-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

Elena.
Manny.

No new picture of Glory. Somehow she got missed. Perhaps she was curled up on the bottom stair with her blanket, sucking her thumb. No time for stories, but Manny's new favorite word is "fussbudget" and his new favorite phrase is "good grief" and his new favorite animated dog is Snoopy.

The Mean Pirate

2010-04-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

Sam and Manny on their way to Dad's night at preschool.
The Mean Pirate.
Posted at Dad's night.

All the other kids said something novel or sweet,

but Manny is the only one who would really survive on a pirate ship.

All those other "nice" pirates would walk the plank!

Last week Manny and Sam went to a pirate party at preschool where they ate Pirate's Booty, made pirate arts and crafts, sang pirate songs and all around had a good time. Manny's teachers said, prior to the party, that the sheer mention of Dad's night made Manny brightly light up. If Sam was my dad, I would feel the same way. Proud to show him off and delighted to be on his back all the way home.

This afternoon, Manny wanted to listen to crazy dance music and I have a limited amount of that on CDs (does Indigo Girls count?), so after we heard my Senegalese rap disc, we put on Michael Jackson. Manny liked "Beat It", "Thriller" and "Smooth Criminal" the best. He kept asking about the lady. I'm not sure, but I think he was confused about whether the singer was a man or a woman. So I started telling him how Michael Jackson was this amazing dancer (because Manny has really got a groove) and how he was the most famous singer in the whole world for a while and that everyone called him "the King of Pop".

So we went out to the kitchen where I get wi-fi and all three kids stood on chairs at the kitchen counter and we tried to watch Michael Jackson do the moonwalk for the first time on the tiny You Tube rectangle on my tiny Netbook screen as the light streamed in through the window, making it hard to see anything at all. And what I had forgotten is that Michael moonwalks twice for maybe three seconds. So I was jumping and pointing, shouting, "Look! He's doing it! He's doing the moonwalk!" And I think the whole thing was completely lost on them. The girls were smacking my computer keys and Manny was trying to get into it, but the picture was too small and the smooth moves too brief to pump him up.

The crowd in the footage, however, goes wild. And they are wearing off the shoulder, poofy dresses and funky 80s bangs (whose idea was that anyway?) and I got the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach- a nostalgia perhaps, but also a gravity for how much time has passed and...I can't seem to finish the sentence because Sam has returned from staining our dining room table and I have to go to bed before I turn into a whining puddle of self-pity like I did last night when I got too tired and too sick (still sick) to maintain any perspective.

While Michael Jackson was playing, I made Mr. Potato Head breakdance and Manny thought that was funny and cool. Only Mr. Potato Head's body parts would fly off while he was spinning. I wonder if Mr. Potato Head felt vulnerable and dizzy, wondering where he was in space and time, wishing he could get his nose on straight, but his arms were halfway across the room, so he was totally helpless, but happy because it was a helluva ride and help always comes from somewhere....maybe that's how I was feeling.

Better beat it.

Rock On

2010-03-26T21:07:00.000-07:00

I thought this series of photos looks like Elena (left), Manny and Glory (right) are filming a toddler music video. It's amazing to me how grown-up the girls look in a still photograph, not at all like they look to me when I am with them. Maybe it's because of the poop that squeezes out the sides of their diapers at the most inopportune times and how their hips still swivel wildly from side to side when they walk and the fact that every time they are reintroduced to their belly button, they have to spend some time with it and say "butt-on" a whole lot.

A few weeks later....

2010-03-23T10:39:00.000-07:00

Boy, it's been a while since I wrote anything. It always feels a little silly to me coming back to this blog after a long absence, because I sort of assume that those of you who look at it will have given up reading and I should just write this more like Doogie Howser did every night, for my own record, but somehow that's not motivating. It's the sharing of the stories that brings me back.

The last few weeks have been marked by a "keep your head down and try to stay in the game" sort of mentality, which is why there has been no pause to ruminate on it all. We also have been sick for the last two weeks. After feeling like all I want to do is nap every day for 11 days while taking care of three sick kids, I have a heightened appreciation for my mom who always held every detail together for me, even when she didn't feel like she could put one foot in front of the other and for my dad who went to work every day even when he was sick and tired. And then, of course, there's the getting up every hour to soothe a coughing child back to sleep. It's hard to get well under these kinds of circumstances. And yet, we have everything that we need. These days have made me think about those people who don't have everything they need and are walking through the same kinds of sicknesses and worse. I find that when I am not feeling totally sorry for myself (which I have a propensity for) that there is a richness of another kind available to me. A thankfulness.

A few weeks ago, dear friends of ours experienced a terrible loss. We had the gift of being with them that night and I hope I never forget what they shared. A & J spoke about feeling like God was nudging them not to miss Him in their moment to moment journey through the days preceding and following their loss. That there was grace and growth being offered to them in the pain and the questioning and the anger and all the rest of the complexity they were (and are) steeped in. All things they were capable of missing if they instead found respite in easier escapes.

And though, having a virus is no comparison to their loss, what they are after is true all the time and heightened by having to work harder to stay afloat, regardless of what the present weight. They inspire me.

A couple weeks ago, Manny and I were having a snack. He looked up between bites and said, "You're a great mom, Angie." I said, "Thanks Manny!" A few minutes later, I said, "You're a great son, Manny." He said, "Thanks Mama."

At least once a day for weeks, sometimes more often, Manny will say out of nowhere, "Happy Valentines Day to you Mama. Happy Valentines Day to you Dad." And we always say, "Happy Valentines Day to you too Manny." And Manny always gives a heartfelt thanks. St. Patricks Day didn't change anything and I suspect Easter won't either. I find it so utterly charming that I would be happy if Manny wished me a Happy Valentines Day for the rest of my life. It makes up for the fact that he stills screams at me every time I turn off the television.

All at the same table

2010-03-01T21:28:00.001-08:00

Goodbye high chairs!

Last week I decided high chairs were an eyesore and impossible to clean and I would take whatever the kids gave me at the table. What they have given me is a giant mess 5 times a day. But it was a giant mess in the high chairs too. I am hoping empowerment is the first step to growth. And better aim. All those whole grains really stick to a person.

I just thought of a Halloween costume for next year. Oh, good for me! I am not typically oriented that way. I will let one of them go as a dish of brown rice, another as a bowl of oatmeal and the third as a mashed up muffin. It will be so easy to dress up. Just have dinner and go.

Euphoric Morning with Steve Songs

2010-02-17T18:34:00.000-08:00

I just had a moment of euphoria, only matched by the moment of euphoria I had an hour ago when Rona told me that Lost aired a new episode despite the competition of the Olympic games.

The kids are watching PBS Kids and Steve Songs comes on. When the girls were newborn, I really loved it every time this man in the red polo with his guitar came on TV and sang to the world about shapes and feelings and the people you meet in your neighborhood. But then Steve went through an awkward performance phase where they had him in a studio and he looked….well…overmedicated.

But, today, they play one of the old ones. I know it from the first note and I run into the family room and practically shout, “I love this song!” The kids are slumped on the couch and they all look at me like I am being a little dumb. I feel sheepish, but then I remind myself that Elena is wearing a Tupperware hat, Glory is breathing like a pug while constantly taking her temperature, and Manny is clutching a giant picture of a ladybug.

I am feeling really good. The girls slept in until 7 this morning and didn’t wake up all night, which is the first time that has happened in I don’t know how long. Maybe it’s the half dose of Motrin for 2 year olds that I gave them because I was out of infant drops, or maybe it’s the teaspoon of honey they sucked down in the dark for their cough or maybe it’s the grace of God in the form of lighter mornings, but I feel like I can run the next leg of this race today.

And I will either have Steve Songs in my head or the gay love song to the President of Iran from Saturday Night Live that Sam was humming this morning. I love creative types. What a wonderful world!

"I like soccer
And I like songs
I like when everyone around me sings along
I like apples and canoes
I like outside things to do
And I like you too

Everyone has their own song they can sing
with their own special words and their favorite things
Each voice's song is a song that's unique when it sings
ha-la-la-la-la

ha-la-la-la-ha-la-la-la-la-la

a-woo-hoo"

-Steve Songs

P.S. my apologies to Steve Songs for his wrecked lyrics. I replicated them as best as I can remember and I bet you can tell where my memory fails me. But as I tried to think of the words today, I couldn't help but think- wouldn't it be great if we adults lived the principles that we try so hard to instill in our children? Everyone has their song to sing and it's beautiful. But then I think of Fox News and I don't want to hear the song that they sing....argh. Pop goes my balloon. Well, they probably like puppies and cookies and sunshine too. So there are things we call all agree on. What a relief.

Manny's Manners

2010-02-08T19:51:00.000-08:00

Table manners are not a big topic of discussion at our house. It just doesn't rise to the top of the list for me. I am much more concerned with other niceties like keeping your diaper on when you're pooping. Elena, I'm talking to you.

So, today at lunchtime, I was giving the kids shredded mozarella, and as often is his want, Manny requested to have his cheese on the table. "Sure," I said giving him a pile of cheese on the table and then went back to doing the dishes.

When I checked to make sure the kids were doing okay, the top half of Manny was lying on the table, his face planted in the cheese, his tongue licking it up like a dog. He noticed I was watching and lifted his head. There was a shred of mozarella stuck up his nose. He looked at me seriously and said, "Teacher said don't do this at school."

I told him Teacher was right, but that if it made him happy to do that once in a while at home, it was okay with me. The poor kid has enough restrictions. And we'll work on table manners once I am capable of demonstrating them myself, as opposed to my current eating style that I would describe as "sit down, lift fork, hop up, get milk for Elena, sit down, lift fork, stand up, get new spoon for Glory, pick up plate, stuff four bites worth in at once, walk around, put things in the refrigerator while I chew, tell Manny not to get up from the table, feel like a hypocrite, stuff another four bites worth in my mouth, repeat until exhausted and/or finished."

Besides eating Manny-style looked fun. We should all enjoy our food a little more.

Just not when Teacher's watching.

Sunday

2010-02-07T21:36:00.001-08:00

I haven't adjusted to life without Aslan. I just came upstairs and I still have the strong impulse to let him out and make sure he makes it up the stairs while the lights are on because this staircase was always very perplexing to him. The other day I was chopping a particularly teary onion and in my culinary haze, I thought the pile of dirty laundry at the base of the steps was Aslan. It's amazing how, in those split seconds, the heart really does forget what the mind knows.

This morning was my first morning at church since Advent. We went the Sunday after Christmas with Sam's parents, but it was a very small service with no music and I spent the whole time outside of the worship space trying to comfort three tired, screaming kids. Since then, we have been with family every Sunday, except for the fourth Sunday of the month when our church doesn't meet.

It was good to be back. Entering worship at our church for me is like going to University Village to buy a book and making eye contact with the Fran's Chocolates sign. I didn't even know I wanted chocolate, but now, quite suddenly, I must have it. My taste buds have been roused.

Sam stayed with the kids in the play area so that I could have a turn in worship. We were twenty minutes late, which is normal these days, so I walked in and scanned the room. I can't help it. I guess I sort of check people out. We are still somewhat new at our church and I think I am trying to get a sense of who's there and where I fit into the group. I notice people's clothes, their age, their butts, how intently they are listening, if they are drinking coffee, who is resting their head on their lover's shoulder, then more body parts- namely all the ones I am self-conscious about on my person. I notice a lot of post-partum pouches these days. I don't like that I am this way. I think it comes from being imperfect and also from ten years of being mostly in church shopper mode, which is not a very good way to grow as your part of the body of Christ. It's like I've often been the pointer finger wagging at the rest of the body, only I don't realize that I've severed myself and am bleeding on the floor while the body is doing all the things that bodies do, with or without a pointer finger.

The first thing I heard is stories from a young man who works at our church. He lived in the Dominican Republic for a couple years and just got back from being in the DR and Haiti, participating in life-saving surgeries and aiding in post-op recovery. And even though my eyes were still distracted and making all kinds of snap observations that have no relevance, my heart was stimulated and I began to cry. Not the kind of crying where you know it's coming, but the kind where tears start streaming down your cheeks without warning and you desperately wish you were the kind of mother who carries tissues because the drips in your nose are beginning to pool and you only wore 3/4 sleeves, which are much harder to use as wipes.

Worship consistently is so transformative for me, which, I guess, is the point. But I don't even realize I need it until I'm there and that craving is awakened. The involuntary response that I have is something I can't create for myself at home or in natural beauty or with those I love, regardless of how holy a moment it may be. It's a unique thing to stand in a group of people who collectively claim their need for God and experience the Lord's presence together. To say as a body, we are at the same time full of beauty and error, but as we abide in the vine, fruit is born in us and through us that we could not have constructed alone. It's awesome.

At the end of service, all five of us went to receive communion right next to the thumping drums and singing guitars of the worship band, which is Manny's favorite place to be. When I tore off my hunk of bread, Heidi said, "This is Christ's body, broken for you Angie, because he loves you so much." And then James B said the same thing when I dipped it in the wine. And then Glory grabbed the piece of soaked bread out of my hand and popped it in her mouth, leaving me with a crumb. But it was enough and I liked her boldness. Get as much of God as you can Glory.

Manny is going through a contrary phase. Most of it is funny, but there are some things he says that are hurtful. For example, this week he keeps saying that he doesn't like Glory. Sam and I ache when he says this, and we try to have a 3 year-old discussion with Manny each time, but Glory doesn't seem to notice or care, so hopefully the contrary phase will pass before she becomes self-aware.

At bedtime tonight, Manny and I read a book that says,

Giraffes like to stretch. Do you like to stretch?

Manny: I don't like to stretch.

Gorillas like to swing. Do you like to swing?

Manny: I don't like to swing.

Lions like to run in the grass. Do you like to run in the grass?

Manny: I don't like to run in the grass.

Hippos like to eat snacks. Do you like to eat snacks?

Manny: I don't like to eat snacks.

Penguins like to say good night and go to sleep.

Manny: I don't like to say good night and go to sleep.

This totally cracked me up. I turned off the light and laid my head on his chest and began to sing Jesus Loves Me. And I could just barely hear Manny whispering, "I don't like this song. I don't like Jesus." So I stopped. Then he asked to hear another song. I paused, trying to think of something he couldn't be contrary to. I settled on "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." I knew he couldn't say, "I don't like Emmanuel," since he still thinks that song is in some way about him.

It's late and there's no time for editing or a conclusive statement, other than every day is so filled with emotion, hilarity and being distracted by a helluva lot of crap that doesn't matter. And now I need to fold the laundry on my bed so I can go to sleep. Unlike Manny, I like to say good night and go to sleep.

Good night!

Germ Cookies

2010-02-05T20:38:00.001-08:00

We all have a little bit of a cold. I wish that meant that Manny was ready to take a nap while the girls napped, but despite my best attempts, the most he will do is climb on top of me and then roll off the bed while holding a fistful of my hair. So far, no bald spots. Miraculous.

So today, about an hour after he ate lunch, Manny requested a snack. I was already thinking we should bake something. Manny would only accept cookies and I remembered this healthy cookie recipe that I have and boy is it delicious. 101 Cookbooks.com, Carrot Oatmeal Cookies, made with lemon zest instead of ginger. The kids and I all loved them.

Manny was up on his red chair at the counter in a flash. He is getting really adept at emptying the measuring cups into the bowl. And he is better than I am at not flinging spoonfuls of the ingredients over his shoulder as he is mixing them together. But, about five minutes in, things started to unravel and I could not move fast enough to keep up with him. He stuck his hand in the bag of flour and let it snow, so to speak.

But, it was when Manny insisted on scooping the dough onto the cookie sheet that our bonding experience really became a sweaty game of strategy. Manny would thrust his hand in the dough, then take a pinch of dough off of the cookie sheet, then stick the whole ice cream scoop in his mouth all in a matter of about five seconds. I never knew where he was going to strike next and I think he managed to infect every single ball of dough that went into the oven. I was relieved there were no raw eggs and that we had not planned to share the finished product with anyone outside of the Lai Five.

It became funny to him and to me and I had to keep reminding myself, as I had when he kept "making a cave" out of my new sheets and duvet cover that I had just double washed and ironed, that it didn't matter. If he ate the whole bowl of dough, it didn't matter. If he smeared his dirty plaid pajama outdoor play pants all over my clean sheets, it didn't matter. All that mattered is that he felt seen, accepted and enjoyed.

When we were cleaning up, I had a surge of appreciation for Manny and I said, "You know Manny, I like you." And he said, "I like you too, Mama."

And the germ cookies will be making another appearance quite soon.

Chinese Dragons

2010-02-04T18:52:00.000-08:00

I just finished eating about a hundred small pieces of these bar cookies I baked for New Horizons. My bosom buddy, Carmen, likes to poke fun at me because I often take these tiny bites of bar cookies, instead of just having one normal-sized one, and then end up eating more than everybody else. This time I was doing it because I halved the recipe, but forgot to halve the chocolate chips. So the cookies are a bit intense and didn't firm up quite like they should, so I have been forced to eat a quarter of the pan to make sure that they are good enough to share. I really don't know if they meet my standard, but I am all out of time and stomach, so share them I will, and hopefully the recipients will really, really like chocolate chips.

When Manny was sitting at the table, enjoying his bar cookie, he turned to me and said something I couldn't understand. "Jesus?" I said. "No," he said and then repeated the illusive word. "What is it?" I said. "No!" he declared and again repeated the word. Thankfully Kathleen was here to translate for me. "It's delicious!" As soon as I understood, it sounded clear as a bell and I wondered why I had ever been confused. Thank you for the compliment Manny. He likes chocolate chips. But I knew that already.

Later, after Kathleen and Charlie went home, Manny was again sitting at the dining table and said something equally elusive. "Watch a show?" I asked. "No!" "Play with Enzo?" I asked. "No!" Manny started to get frantic. I knew I only had one more chance. He repeated himself for the third time. "Play in snow?" I asked with trepidation. Manny's face lit up. I swear confetti and balloons should have dropped from my ceiling because this translation game is every bit as hard as Final Jepoardy or guessing the cost of a heinous bedroom set on The Price is Right.

Connection. It's a good word and a sublime feeling. This morning, Glory woke up too early because she had a dirty diaper and, thinking it would last for a minute or two, I sat with her in the rocking chair and we rocked for forty-five minutes, me in and out of sleep, Glory sucking her thumb and staring at me sweetly until she finally relaxed into a dream. I had to wake Sam for work, so I took her upstairs and she laid between Sam and I for a blissful ten minutes before he got up to get dressed and she turned into a writhing, squealing piglet. The peace was only complete with Daddy by her side.

When I picked Manny up from preschool today, I scanned the white board where Eve and Kristen write all the activities from the day. They were all themed around Chinese New Year. I had to laugh. Before Christmas, preschool sent home a form and asked us to check all the holidays we celebrate. I checked Chinese New Year because Sam's parents celebrate it and, in the future, I have intentions to create some family traditions of our own. But have I ever mentioned it to Manny? Not once. And so Eve and Kristen came up with all these wonderful activities to acknowledge Manny's cultural heritage that he knows nothing about. When all the kids walked out of the classroom shaking their crepe paper/paper plate Chinese dragons, I was really amused and thankful for all the gaps that Eve and Kristen are filling in Manny's weekly experiences. It's pretty wonderful to have other people investing in your child. And apparently that investment tastes good too because Manny sucked on his dragon all the way home, coating his face and hands in a festive red. Nothing says "Happy Chinese New Year" like paint in your mouth.

It's Valentine's Day this year, by the way. So you can have a combo holiday. How often does that come around? Some Fran's Chocolate, a dozen roses, a nice dinner and a red envelope full of cash. Sam, are you reading this?

Bedtime- Done!

2010-02-03T19:22:00.000-08:00

Three years ago.

Two years ago. Big injury from blocks.

Two years ago.

Glory, one year ago.

Elena, one year ago.

Every day is such a production.

It's like preparing for, hosting and cleaning up after a dinner party where your guests trash your house, scream at you or each other at least half the time, sit on you with their bare butt and drool on your face. Except you like it. A lot.

At least enough to get up in the morning and do it all over again.

Because, let's be frank. Who else is going to invite them over?

Surrender

2010-02-03T11:06:00.000-08:00

All the kids have a little bit of a cold so I kept Manny home from preschool yesterday. Don't tell him. He hasn't figured it out yet. I am still really tired because everybody has been up a lot in the night and the days begin WAY too early, so by bedtime, I was getting to the state where Sam asks me a simple question like, "Is Glory's blanket downstairs?" And instead of smiling and sweeting saying, "Yes, it is darling," I speak/shout/snarl, "It's in the family ROOM." By the end of the sentence, my attitude always eeks out a lot more than is acceptable.

I thought I had it made when we all arrived in Manny's room for pajamas and toothbrushing, but my patience only thinned and I had already had two instances of howling like my finger got cut off when actually the children had only smacked me in the face with books and toys. I am getting better at not screaming at Manny in my weakest moments. Instead I just sort of scream at the universe and then I calmly detail in paragraphs my physical/emotional/spiritual state to the kids so that they understand the nuances of what I'm dealing with and appreciate that, I too, am human and fallible and in need of their grace. I find that somewhere near the beginning of the explanation they got over their shock regarding my outburst and find comfort or boredom in my monologue as they search for more food to eat out of the corners.

Sam could tell I was on the edge and suggested I take a breather, but every time I tried to leave at least two children would start to wail, "Mama!" and I just couldn't make it out the door. When Elena started shrieking because we were trying to put on her onesie, Sam and I were both about to explode in frustration and anger. But Sam, moved by the Holy Spirit, no doubt, began to sing in a churchy lounge singer voice (he is exceptional at making up stupid songs that repeat the same line over and over and over and over), "Jesus! I surrender! Help me Jesus! I am so frustrated!" And I just started to shake with laughter until I was shaking with sobs and the only up side to this total implosion of emotions was that it fascinated Elena enough that we managed to clothe her after all.

Then we stayed up too late watching LOST and the girls were up every two hours last night, so I find that I am still in that wobbly place called self-control. Thank God I have the phone number for Pagliacci Pizza memorized.

Pajama Day

2010-02-01T19:45:00.000-08:00

The kids never made it out of their pajamas today. I love that they are young enough that people at the grocery find this cute and not lazy. I am not sure how people feel about the same pajamed kids covered in sticky granola bar bits. I also find this endearing, but it's kind of like how you don't mind changing your own kid's dirty diaper, but some random kid....might be a different story.

We made a trip to Portland this past weekend sans Sam. He stayed behind for much needed R & R and thanks to Rona and her ever-present exceptional attitude, the drive went well. Before we left, I gave Glory and Elena a sippie cup full of warm pumpkin milk, my concoction of choice these days. A little maple syrup, some pumpkin puree and pumpkin pie spice goes a long way in this house. Otherwise milk is just something to drip out of your sippee cup onto other things for finger painting.

G & E were both enjoying their drink. So much so, in fact, that they began to say, "Cheers!" Back and forth. Endless cheers. There was a jovial spirit until Elena decided she was done cheering Glory, snatched Glory's drink without apology and made off with both sippee cups as fast as she could. And she is faster than Glory. Thankfully, I was there to smooth out the sticky situation, but I think there's something in this story that we can all learn from. Next time you are at a party and you just finished the toast, don't steal the drink from the guy next to you. Even if you're bigger and you know you can.

So today we were tired after our great trip to Portland to visit family. Thank you family for having us and loving us. All afternoon, the kids rotated taking turns being potato bugs with blankies in some corner of the house or other. It is such sweetness seeing them curled up like that. It lasts for about two minutes and then they are hopelessly compelled to jump back on their feet either falling, biting someone, stealing from someone or being stolen from. So it's like circuit training. Intensity! Let your heart rate fall. Intensity! And all the while, I have three pots on the stove, two with boiling water and I'm trying to peel a butternut squash. Fear of losing fingers or severe burns while parenting continues to be a stressor for me.

I can just imagine the reaction every time someone notices I am missing a finger.

"What happened? they would cry.

"I was trying to offer my child vegetables I knew they would not eat,"I would reply.

"Tragic," they would say.

And then I wouldn't say anything because I would be intervening in another love/mine conflict on the ground. The kids really do love each other so much, but not enough to share. Manny doesn't seem to understand why the girls run away from him after he has taken every possible thing out of their hand.

"LENA! COME BACK! I WANT TO PLAY WITH YOU!"

Elena would rather put crayons up her nose, red on one side, blue on the other, wincing with each fascinating poke. Glory would rather clear out the tupperware drawer. There was an amazing parade of hats today. My favorite was the one that went over Glory's eyes and nose, mashing her face against the transparent plastic while she giggled uncontrollably through her mouth.

Last night, Manny got out of bed after we thought he was placed for the night and had a good, long poop in the dimly lit bathroom. "Stay with me Mom," he said in his sweetest voice, so I sat on the rim of the tub and we talked. He was being so charming (hard to believe that is compatible with the activity, but this child can be so dreamy) that I couldn't help laughing and I said, "You are so cute Manny." A while later- this really was a long session- he said, "You're so cute Mama. Daddy's so cute too." Pause. Pause. "Daddy has a really big penis." So we talked about that for a while. I told Sam later, and he said, "Well, I should hope so." You know. The three-year old comparison. There's really no contest.

Tonight, before bed, Manny came up the ramp with something hanging out of his mouth. I asked what it was and he smiled and said, "a tiny bit of garbage!" He sucked on it for a while longer before pulling out the garbage and throwing it away.

When we were putting the girls in their cribs, Manny was busy dismantling the couch in their room and he said, "Nice day Mama." And I said, "it was a nice day, wasn't it?"

And it was. Full of distracted thoughts about things that ultimately don't matter like the espresso maker I might go buy right now and then, of course, have to commit to using. It will be hard to say goodbye to my friends at the coffee shop that I really don't know. And I am sure they will miss my tips that I give them because they remember my name and tell me my kids are cute. But after hearing about Sam's luxurious night in a hotel where he slept in until 9am, I want to save my tip money and professionally made latte money for a few mornings like that. And I'm sure the Seattle "I work all day at a coffee shop" crowd (who I really like too) will not miss the entrance and exit of my enormous double stroller. I often bump the door and people, but I find that if you just smile real innocently and casually bend your head toward your brood, people will forgive an awful lot. And feel sorry for you. Or maybe they're glad they're NOT you. But I'm glad I'm me. And that's all that matters.

Desire and Reality

2010-01-29T21:12:00.000-08:00

Charlie and Manny at the zoo.

Yesterday Manny and I were in his room, preparing to change into "day-jams" after preschool. Sometimes, Manny emits a pained groan when he realizes he is still wearing daytime clothes and that he is not yet cloaked in jammies. So I was surprised when he paused to search for something in his nose. It took a while and I waited patiently because I had seen another mother at preschool speak sharply to her daughter about nosepicking and it seemed to me far too small of a thing to warrant such harsh criticism.

When the object made its appearance, I congratulated Manny on his find and whisked it off his finger to take it to the garbage. This one was too big to store on the inside of my sock for future laundering. He started to shriek, "I wanted that!" I said, "What were you going to do with it? Eat it?" I had a suspicion. "Yes!" he cried. "You can't eat boogers Manny. It's like eating pee," I said. How does one eat pee? But Manny didn't pick up on that. He accepted my explanation and got into his day-jams.

Tonight at dinner, Manny suddenly called out in a panicky voice, "WET TOWEL!", which is how he notifies me that he has sticky hands. I got him a towel and said, "You can just ask me in a calm voice and I'll get it for you right away. You don't have to get upset." He whined, "But I want to get upset!" I understood that. Fair enough.

I feel like our household is ruled by desires and not usually my own. Like when Glory ripped off her diaper in Manny's room tonight and peed boldly all over Manny's carpet. While I was cleaning that up with Glory's pants, Elena took off her diaper and crouched in the corner behind the dresser to pee. I didn't discover that until she went back later and stepped in the puddle.

If it were not for Curious George, there would have been no dinner because all three kids had to have physical contact with me simultaneously from 3:30 until 5:00 when the blessed monkey made his appearance. And the physical contact is specific to each child. Glory has to have her hand inside my bra, Manny has to be climbing on my head, my hair firmly in his grip, and Elena has to be everywhere the other two want to be, so the peace comes in very short intervals in-between a lot of jockeying for position.

And when I have the chance to go to the bathroom, I glance at the mirror and think, "Who is this person?" I don't even recognize myself. I look worn, which to me means I look like I'm in my 30s without a hairstyle, desperately in need of lip gloss and there is a stray, dare I say it, nose hair that glistens in the light that seriously needs some attention, but that would require a serendipity of opportunity and memory. I'm sure once it starts to tickle my upper lip, I will find the time. But, I also look loved and focused. And maybe some other interesting stuff, but who can say because these glances last half a second before Glory bursts in, climbs on the toilet with her blanket in hand, followed by Elena who pushes Glory onto the concrete floor and by the time I've ushered them both out, Elena has flushed the toliet at least eight times. This is seriously one of the best parts about motherhood. If you surrender, it really promotes discipleship- laying down one's self for the interests of others! Much easier to do when those others are screaming "MAMA!" at you and they are 2 1/2 feet tall, which really pulls on the heartstrings.

Most of the day today, I had a lingering desire to have a little time off. It was my morning to wake up early and Sam and I agree, the girls wake up earlier on my days. Somehow they know! But they aren't awake and happy. They are awake and somewhere on the scale between irritable and wailing. The four of us had plans to meet Kathleen and Charlie at the zoo today and I didn't think I was going to make it because it requires a hunt to kill commitment to dress any one of the children and I just didn't know if I had it in me. By the time I got to Manny, I was begging him to PLEASE HELP ME or we just wouldn't be able to go to the zoo. It wasn't a threat. It was the truth. I've heard that kids like it when you tell them the truth. Sure enough, Manny immediately stopped what he was doing and helped me. Maybe he likes my desperation. Maybe it makes him feel like he can relate.

But, thank God I didn't get time off today because some of the most beautiful things happened. The girls went right to sleep at naptime and I laid my head in Manny's lap while he watched PBS Kids and he gently stroked my hair all the while. Before they woke, Sam came home with the most beautiful book about Aslan that Carmen made for us and we wept together. Then, at bedtime, Sam and I each took long turns squeezing Glory and Elena. It's a new game where we say "SQUEEZE!" in a really strained voice, like we just whacked our funny bone on the washing machine and we jump around in circles while we're squeezing. They love it and gave me serious kisses afterward. And then, for the icing on the cake, I got to be the last one to see Manny before he went to sleep and I kissed his face and stroked his hair while he loudly sucked his fingers in my ear. What bliss.

Who's to judge desire and reality? Manny wanted to eat his booger. I wanted a day off. The reality for both of us was much better, and I'm really glad I didn't have to watch him eat his biggest one yet. It's the small things really.

P.S. Thank you Omar and Christy for your comments about Aslan. I really appreciated that.

Pictures

2010-01-29T20:40:00.000-08:00

One last snuggle.
Still beautiful, even though he was in so much pain.

Future Mr. December on the firefighter's calendar?

Watching Curious George. Glory (center) and Elena (right).

Christmas Joy and New Year Grief

2010-01-26T20:08:00.000-08:00

The only reason I am including Christmas at all is because the first moments of the morning encapsulated, for me, the true Christmas spirit. First, the girls slept in until 6:45 or some luxurious time. It was so late that I woke ahead of them, wondering what had happened. Usually, when they wake up, they cry, but Christmas morning, I heard bits of happy noise and then quiet and then more happy noise and then quiet. Finally, Manny got up and insisted we get Glory and Elena so he could go see what was under the tree. When we opened the girls' door, they both were jumping up and down in their cribs in their completely dark room and laughing hysterically. It was magical and totally unprecedented. I don't know what prompted their joyous outburst, but it was as if they understood what a mysterious miracle Christmas is and how it, in concert, with all that followed makes all the difference, even in a world where unimaginable losses are sustained in lands that have already endured far too much. Who can hold all that? It is bleak and then there's Christmas.

On January 14, we said goodbye to Aslan, the golden retriever we brought home from the appropriately named Humptulips, Washington, just one month after we were married in 1999. He was the best dog I ever knew. As I drove past the Aurora Animal Hospital today, I remembered that I took him there for some care in his first few months and that I had given myself a headache suppressing sobs in front of the vet because I did not feel like I could care for him, like I didn't want to do the hard work required to care for him. I really wanted to give him back. He was a puppy and puppies are high maintenance. And he bit me ALL THE TIME, at least for a few weeks, which then, felt like the biggest, most worst thing ever. What did I know? The ironic part is that we became a family with Aslan, until he got downgraded to furniture status when Glory and Elena entered the picture. He also had to endure a number of episodes where I screamed, "Don't touch me!" repeatedly like a crazy person because I was that close to the edge and he was the only one to whom I could behave that way. As the girls have gotten older, I have gotten better and stopped wishing that, once again, I could give Aslan back. And then, gone. Too sudden. Too soon. I thought we would have more time and I realize now that I liked Aslan so much more than most people. I was just never responsible for all those said people's care. I wish we could have had him forever. I wish he had the lifespan of a chimpanzee or a sea turtle, so he could have sat by us as we laid down one last time. He was so much more of a faithful friend to me than I ever was to him and I am grateful for the last time he jumped on the bed after Sam got up with the kids, which he stopped doing long ago. And I am grateful for his last moments at home, as he patiently laid still (this time he had no choice) and allowed Elena to sit on his back while Glory put the baby sunglasses on him, exclaiming "glasses!" and the toy pot on his head- "Hat!" And I am grateful for the morning in early January when I found Manny on the floor next to Aslan. I asked him if he wanted to get back in bed and he said, "no. I'm going to lay here with Aslan." And I am grateful for his last smile, perhaps morphine induced, but a big smile anyway and that he let me lay myself upon him in thankfulness and regret for all the years we had and for all the ones we sort of missed while we were going through the painful process of becoming better than we are. He got the worst of us. But at least we were together and hopefully the chaos around him brought some untold joy...or annoyance. Either way, at least he is not stuck in dog pergatory, like a silly poem suggested that the animal hospital mailed us. I like to think Aslan is running with Grandpa Hal or Jesus or both, but I certainly don't like to think of him being stuck in some smallish meadow with a bunch of other dogs until Sam or I dies and comes to take him across the rainbow bridge to heaven. That actually wouldn't be pergatory for Aslan. It would be HELL. Anyone who knew Aslan knew he never met a person he didn't like and he NEVER met a dog he did like.

There has been all kinds of wonder since that day. Outpourings of kindness from friends and family who loved Aslan. Manny's imagination has taken off and every moment is a new opportunity for the creation of story or just for a passionate exclamation. Yesterday, on our way back from Trader Joe's, there was a jet flying overhead and Manny started to yell and point, "THIS IS MANNY'S HOUSE! THIS IS MANNY'S HOUSE!" It was brilliant. But around every corner, I expect to see Aslan and it makes me terribly sad. I wish I could also say it made my house terribly cleaner, but this is doubly untrue since the vacuum broke and Aslan apparently ate pounds of food every day that the children scattered all over the house. He did a good job. He was a good dog. This experience with him has taught me so much. I now understand why people have hallways crammed with framed pictures of their children from infancy through graduation. We need those visual reminders of who our loved ones have been to us, or when things get hard, we run the risk of forgetting. We must live in the moment, yes. But we best live in the moment when we allow ourselves to be decorated in all that we have known before. That is what makes us the most lovely. Our story. And lip gloss.

Untitled

2009-12-22T21:04:00.000-08:00

I can't think of a title and every counter space is covered with dishes so I must press on. Tomorrow is Sam's morning to sleep in until 6:45am and mine to get up whenever the bells toll, so to speak, so I cannot linger over the sink too long. Sam and I just finished re-watching the final episode of Lost: Season 5 while we ate dinner and I almost wept again when Juliette was pulled down the hole by an ungodly magnetic force to her doom. I don't watch much TV and more often make fun of it, but boy can I get sucked in (sorry Juliette, no pun intended). If it wasn't for the purple Listerine commercial that came on immediately afterwards, I might have been a complete puddle for the rest of the night.

Maybe Untitled is more appropriate than I originally thought. I have had trouble putting words to most everything lately. Every day, I have elaborate plans to clean the house, get physically fit and write my first novel as soon as the kids go to sleep. And every day, the kids go to sleep and it's like my battery has run out and I need to plug into the charger for a few hours before anything of note can occur. But hope rises triumphant each morning. My friend Nikki suggested that maybe this is preparation so that when the time is right, I will be eager and ready. I like my friend Nikki a lot and I like this idea so this is what I will tell myself when the temptation looms to feel that F word coming on. And no, I'm not talking about the expletive I said forty times under my breath yesterday when I closed the garage door on the back door of the minivan while the kids were flipping the hazards on and off. I suppose I should have heeded their warning. No. This F word is really so much more damaging than that one. Failure. Maybe failure and I should become friends. Not the backstabbing kind of friends, but the kind that can offer and receive constructive criticism. Maybe then when she comes around, I won't feel like I am 31, going on too late.

I only think about such things in the dark hours, the hours where the children are asleep in their beds and I am racing around the house folding, washing and twittering (not literally- you know, the way we used to mean it) and the hours pass by so quickly, only to begin all over again. When the children are awake, they fill each moment with meaning and help me to lose myself in this life we are making together.

Last week, I was changing Elena's diaper in the family room. Our family room is huge and yet, there was only one tiny pocket of space where she could lay next to one of the wardrobe moving boxes that Mike turned into a coffeeshop, now spaceship for the kids. I had just finished removing her poopy diaper and was working on wiping when Manny catapulted off the huge box onto the poop, coating the bottom of his foot to the sounds of Louis Armstrong crooning, "And I think to myself, what a wonderful world." Come to think of it, I was so taken by the moment, that I didn't properly wash his foot and he may not have had a bath that day. I was telling my grandma last night that every night we do a bath, I take the girls back to Manny's room in their towels, and without fail, one of them piddles a little bit on the carpet before I can get both diapers on. I just rub it in with my sock so there won't be a line. One can only be so on top of things and by that time of night, I reassure myself with a promise of future carpet cleaning and ironclad immune systems.

Today, I was preparing a marinade for tofu and Manny snatched my ginger and took off running. I caught up with him and broke off a little piece for him to keep. I went back to the cutting board to continue my work and he was right behind me asking questions about the strange thing in his hand. Me, trying to be a good mom and engage every opportunity for learning, said, "Wait! Do you want to smell ginger in a different form?" I pulled the ground ginger out of the spice drawer. Manny took a whiff and said, "It's bad?" "No," I chuckled. "It's not bad," and continued to drone on about the merits of ginger while I peeled and minced. I could see motion out of the corner of my eye and stopped to look. Manny was rhythmically hitting the side of his head with his piece of ginger and said, "Hurts your head?"

Manny has begun to sing. Not a lot. But some, and if I ever ask him to be quiet for any reason, it's like I've stomped on his foot while he's trying to run and play. It just squashes his joy. So, during the girls' nap, we were in his room and Elena had just recovered from a mid-nap crying spell and I was trying to play it cool and not care that she might have only napped for 45 minutes, even though my heart was beating fast and I totally did care. Manny chose that moment to start repeatedly screaming the word "Heap" to the tune of Jingle Bells. I could hardly stand it, but decided that if Elena woke up and was a mess the rest of the day, that was better than giving Manny the message that he cannot fully express himself in my presence. After several minutes, I began to rethink and started to sing Jingle Bells softly, thinking that might change the game. Manny immediately stopped and whipped around to face me, telling me in no uncertain terms, "Mama! Quiet! That's too loud for the babies!" and immediately went back to "Heap, heap, heap. Heap, heap, heap. Heap, heap, heap, heap, heap...."

It's an amazing time. The kids amaze me, I amaze myself and Sam amazes me, but that last part is nothing new.

Two things I am learning. One, if your oatmeal tastes like poo, it's time to take out the kitchen garbage. Two, there must be a zero tolerance policy for unattractive pants in your closet, because inevitably they end up being what you wear more often than not because of their ugly, comfortable, you haven't done enough laundry powers. 31 is too old for pants that don't fit and unkempt hair. Somehow at 20, anything could be cute. Now, I just look like I belong in the classic SNL "Mom Jeans" commercial, but worse, because at least those women blow-dry. As I look back on 2009, I have gained a lot of wisdom, but these two lessons will carry me through the rest of my life.

An A-ha moment

2009-12-15T21:05:00.000-08:00

Last week, Elena woke up from afternoon nap first and it was immediately evident why. I took her to the changing table in our bathroom so that Glory wouldn't be disturbed and while I was changing her, Elena turned her head to look in the mirror and said, "That's Glo Glo!" To be sure I heard her right, I asked, "Where's Glory?" and she tapped the glass.

That same day, the kids and I were reading a christmas book and there was an illustration of the nativity. The girls said, "baby! baby!" and Manny said authoratatively, "Baby Jesus." I said, "what's Jesus' mama's name?" "Mary," he said, which surprised me because I haven't taught him that. "What's Jesus' daddy's name?" I asked and the word that came out of Manny's mouth as he pointed at Joseph was unique to Manny, but could most accurately be translated as "Dufus."

Today, Manny told me that Daddy has a baby in his tummy and that so does Manny. When I asked Manny how big his baby was, he said the baby was as big as Manny. Manny does have a big tummy, but WOW!

This afternoon, Glory was pulling dozens of diapers out of their plastic bag and distributing them all over the hallway. Manny walked out of his room and said, "Oh honey, that's a lot of diapers." I just love it when he calls the girls honey.

If anybody even mentions the word "baby" these days, Manny is lightning quick to say, "I'm not baby. "I'm boy!"

The girls have been waking up on average about 5am for weeks now. The only saving grace is that every other morning I get to stay in bed for a while, which really means trying not to listen to them screech and cry for, as handsome and charming and cuddly as Sam is, he's not me. Here's hoping they magically sleep longer tomorrow. You know you're tired when every time you walk down the stairs, you find yourself thinking, "Don't fall, don't fall because I'm the only one home with the children.....but if I did fall and had to be hospitalized, at least I could rest uninterrupted for a while!" I guess there is a bright side to a lot more than I previously realized. It just depends on one's level of desperation.

Glory and Elena

2009-12-04T19:31:00.000-08:00

Little girls in big boots (Elena left and Glory right)

I haven't posted in so long and that makes it hard to know what to say when so much life and emotion has occured. So I will keep it short and vivid and then go clean the kitchen.

After the kids' nap, I was getting them ready to go up on Queen Anne Avenue for "Holiday Magic" which was far short of magical, though the kids did get to hear some holiday music in Starbucks. Thankfully they are too young to know that the man singing, though in a lovely voice, did not know the words to a single song he sang. Had I the talent, I think I would have grabbed the mike to save us all from the agony we collectively shared as he butchered carol after carol.

Before we left the house for "Holiday Magic", I convinced Manny to go potty. He is small and his little butt doesn't cover much area, leaving the perfect gap for Glory to watch in front and Elena to watch in back. What were they watching? Well, for the sake of good taste, I will not say, but it took a while and there were lots of the baby equivalent of "oohs" and "ahhs" as they witnessed this amazing physical act for the first time. Some parents would probably have tried to move the babies away from the action, but I really wanted to put some mascara on so I would stop looking like I just got out of bed, so I let them fawn over Manny's potty show. It was a lot more magical than what they had going on at Starbucks.

Two Stories from Preschool

2009-11-19T20:01:00.000-08:00

Little Red Wagon circulates a red Asiany-looking silk handbag around to the children in Manny's class. It is the sharing bag or a really cute purse for a night out on the town. Manny gets the opportunity to share pretty frequently as there are now only 5 kids in his class and there are two of these sassy little accessories. This morning, I asked Manny a number of times what he wanted to put in the sharing bag. He never acknowledged my question with a response, only grunts and syllables that didn't make any sense.

Finally, it was time to go. I asked Manny one last time if there was anything he would like to put in his sharing bag. He said, "socks." Sometimes it seems like he picks the most obvious thing. Like, last time he shared his lion and tiger magnets because that was the exact thing he was looking at when I asked. I peered down at his new striped socks and said, "those?" "No," he said. "Those." I looked over to where he was pointing and there was his pair of dirty red socks from yesterday. "These?" I asked. "Uh-huh," he replied happily. The selection was made. Dirty socks for the beautiful sharing bag. I smelled them. They were pretty stinky and I tried to roll them in a ball, all tucked into themselves. I guess that's what I get for not taking the dirty laundry upstairs.

When I picked Manny up, I asked Miss Eve how the sharing of the dirty socks went. She said, "Well! Manny shared that these are his red socks and that he likes them. Then he put one on his hand and pulled it up around his wrist. I asked him if he does sock puppets and he said no." I love preschool.

Today, it was our turn to bring home the class book they made entitled, "We Are Thankful." I wish I could display the artwork from each child, but here is the text.

Cover page.

Page 1- I am thankful for the picture I'm drawing- Jordan

Page 2- I am thankful for "Super Why," for drawing, and for the whole circle- Mira

Page 3- I'm thankful for circles and Mom and Dad- Manny (when Sam read this aloud to Manny at bedtime, he choked up.)

Page 4- I am thankful for "Super Why" and my Mom and Dad. I'm thankful for circles and school and coloring and crayons- Brevon

Page 5- I am just thankful for green- Drew (True to his sentiment, Drew used only the green crayon for his picture.)

While Glory and Elena were finishing their lunch before we rushed off to get Manny in the pouring rain, they both said "Manny" the clearest I have ever heard it. Actually, prior to that moment, I was never aware that they even tried to say his name. And then I must have said, "my Manny" because Elena kept repeating it over and over. "My Manny. My Manny. My Manny." Incidentally, when Elena says "Manny" it sounds exactly the same as when Lyella Borwick used to say it when she was tiny.

Tonight while I was making dinner, Manny actually shared some toys with the girls at my feet for about ten minutes. It was extraordinary! Maybe it was all the wrestling we had just done and the good pee he had on the now extinct cardboard box that has been Manny's third place for months, but he was in a rockin' good mood and it was beautiful to see him adopting a nurturing big brother attitude. For a few minutes anyway....

Street Bean

2009-11-18T19:09:00.000-08:00

Sam teaching Manny how to wrestle. When Manny pins Sam, he shouts, "1, 2, WINNER!"
Elena (L) and Glory (R) all dressed up in skirts my mom made.
The barrette lasted long enough for this photo.

It's been a long time since I posted anything. I'm kind of at a loss lately. But the children aren't! Glory and Elena are talking a lot. They are willing to try anything these days. Whether it's food or words, they are soaking it all up. It is really exciting to see and hard to believe that they are just four months away from how old Manny was when they were born.

Today, Sam and I took the kids down to the grand opening of Street Bean Espresso, a new, gorgeous coffee shop that is employing 5 clients from New Horizons for the next two years, creating a job history that will help them transition from street life into the greater marketplace. The coffee is fantastic, the space is inspired and the heart is solid. I was so moved to be there and thankful that I am connected to people who paint bold strokes on behalf of others that enable all of us to expand our vision for what love and faith can accomplish in the world.

You can find out more at www.streetbeanespresso.org or if you live in Seattle, it's worth a visit. Free wi-fi too. 2702 Third Ave in Belltown.

Some Birthday Pictures

2009-10-26T20:25:00.001-07:00

Manny's birthday balloon and pumpkin. "Make pumpkin bread Mama?"
Sam and Manny at Julia's for a special father/son breakfast.

Manny's Little Red Wagon Preschool class.
From L to R: Lucy, Drew, Miss Eve, Jordan, Mira, Brevon, Miss Kristen and Manny.

Manny blew out the candle on the first try!

Birthday dinner with the Vances and Kathleen and Charlie. From L to R: Echo, Charlie, Zoe, Sam, Manny and a few locks of dear Max's hair.

Manny had a great birthday. He still says he's two, but lots of us claim to be younger than we are, so I don't fault him. I think age is probably something that's okay to be creative with.

There is a lot going on right now and life is really demanding so I don't feel like writing. I find that happens when things get tougher, but I know there are some of you that check this periodically- some dear friends who are far away and treasured family and I don't want to leave you out of a peek into Manny's big day.

There's a lot that sobers me. The war, health care, the fire at Taproot Theatre, challenges people I love are facing that are grievous and hard and that's just the start. Then there's my own personal limitations that had me exploding glass bottles in the freezer today, flinging poop across the room and joining my kids in a good round of sobbing. BUT we have much to be thankful for (Kathleen's visit was a big one!) and I suppose that includes the mountain of clothes that I have to go iron. I have been avoiding the pile for three months and I think it's now harder to avoid it than to just do it.

Hope you all are well and finding ways to love on the people around you.

And enjoying good coffee or chocolate or whatever your thing is.

Why am I not in Northern Ireland drinking at a pub right now? Somehow that sounds so good. Wish I could meet you Katy!

Manny's Birthday Eve

2009-10-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

Almost 3!
A terrible picture of an adorable kid.

Glory before she styled her hair with banana.

Sam is at his board meeting tonight so I got the rare treat of putting Manny to bed. He was laying on the floor and I was straddling him to brush his teeth with his electric Oral B toothbrush and I paused to tell him, "We're going to have to get your hair cut soon. It's getting long!" I stroked his head. "You have nice hair," I said. "It's beautiful, huh?" Manny said. "Yes, it is," I agreed.

Manny, you do have beautiful hair and a beautiful heart and a beautiful bottom that I enjoyed watching as you sailed around on your skuut in your pajamas pants this afternoon. Tomorrow I am giving Manny some fleece sweatpants and waffle knit shirts that we will be referring to as "daytime jammies" in the hopes that I will be able to talk him out of wearing pajamas all day.

I'm off to make some healthy-ish cupcakes for Manny's preschool class. Hard to believe that three years ago tonight Sam and I successfully induced labor with a Clive Owen film, some red wine and a little bit of pressure point massage. Look out for Clive Owen ladies. Or maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was the heist movie. Or maybe it was Denzel. I guess if you're pregnant, just look out in general, because sooner or later it's going to come out and it might demand a whole lot of jammies, raisins and love. Thank God there's always plenty of those to go around.

Happy Birthday Eve Manny!

Saturday

2009-10-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

I just had the most ridiculous conversation with the two baristas at my local spot. It’s Saturday afternoon and I am taking a momentary pause from mothering to eat a sandwich and smile at people I often see but don’t know.

The first barista asked me if I have ever seen The Wire. Is that the prison show, I ask. No. It’s a cops versus drug show in Baltimore. It’s awesome , he replies. Then we spend the next five minutes trying to think of the name of the prison show, which incidentally, I have never seen and don’t know anything about. But he’s really trying to help me out and finally when I say, I think there was an O in the title, he says, Oh yeah…that was like 10 years ago.

Wasn’t everything like 10 years ago? I am still trying to get my mind around 10 years ago and 10 minutes ago and all the stuff inbetween. The older I get, the more behind I am in trying to absorb what it means to have experienced all the living, loving, striving, creating, sitting on my hands questioning, screwing up, reconciling, connecting, screwing up more, reconciling more. I think if I live a long life, I may be one of those people that hopelessly has my head in the clouds and makes really asinine comments about someone’s cute little boys who are dressed head to toe in pink.

I have come to believe and have said to a number of friends recently that we are all deluded. Just what we are deluded about varies, depending upon the person. We simply cannot hold it all at once. It is all too startingly painful and beautiful and naked (especially if you are the guy in line who just took off his shirt. Thankfully, no penis sighting. I had three of those in a row back in 2003.)

That’s a neat thing about little kids. They are, almost always, in the present moment. The past is what you ate for breakfast and the future is what you are going to do after lunch. So there is more room to soak up what is now. I like that.

Manny will be three on Tuesday. He is exhibiting so much growth! He is experimenting with conversation and concepts that are coming as such a delightful surprise. Rona has been trying to teach Manny how to deal wth the girls in a more loving manner when they take something he wants or HAVE something he wants (which is all the time). She explained that babies are often easily pleased with new toys, so all you have to do is provide a distraction and, most of the time, you can have what you want.

I had been working on the laundry and came downstairs to get caught up on what they had talked through. As Rona was finishing her update, Manny shouted, “DISTRACTION!” at the top of his lungs while he yanked the toy out of Elena’s hands. If nothing else, I think it is probably the longest word he has ever said.

Elena wants to climb on everything, including me. Last night while I was getting the girls ready for bed, I laid down on the floor to read to them. I told Elena to go get a book. Back and forth, she toddled, bringing me six books, one at a time. I began to read, but kept getting stuck because the only suitable place to sit that Elena could find was my face. She would sit patiently, waiting for me to continue. I would ask her through her diapered bottom, which absorbs quite a bit of sound, to find another place to sit so I could see the words. She got up, walked in a circle and sat down on my face again. We went through this about four times, before we skipped the story and went straight to bed.

Glory loves to talk on the phone to Sam. Yesterday, I called him and handed her the phone. She immediately said, “Hi Da!” I have a lot of things floating through my head that every time I try to write, strike me as a bit self-indulgent and very “little” picture, as opposed to big picture. So I guess the best thing I’ve got before I head home, and it’s pretty good, is “Hi Da!” Pure. Precocious. Pretty cute.

Threat Level Downgraded to Orange. Thanks Zip Ties!

2009-10-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

Things are getting tougher around here. The way I can tell is that I am doing unusual things like getting out of the car to go inside the house, but the car is still running, and then today I took a stack of recipes to Manny's preschool and left them in his folder for the teachers and then spent an hour looking for them at home. Boy was I surprised to find them when I picked him up. I am glad I got them back before Miss Eve discovered them. The children baked pretzels on Tuesday and I wouldn't want her to think I was criticizing the simplicity of her choice by leaving her recipes for Orange Pan-Glazed Tofu and Sun-Dried Tomato Cottage Cheese Muffins.

Last night, Sam and I shot another bullet into the chest of minimalism by putting up loads more plastic sheeting and zip ties all over our main floor railings (which are a big feature, in case you haven't seen our house). Not since the eight panel plastic monstrosity baby corral I bought (and have hardly used) has there been such ugly childproofing. Now the minimalism resides in our living room furniture, which we keep evacuating to other crevices of the house because the children can turn absolutely anything into a lethal danger. It is a talent of rare proportions. Our living room would look empty if it weren't for the giant cardboard box and the loads of toys I never get around to picking up. It makes me laugh to think about the goal I had to relegate toys to one area of the house so that the living room would always look ready for company. And it does. Toddler company.

We went to our last Queen Anne Farmers Market of the year today. It was chilly, blustery and on the edge of really raining. We visited all our favorite vendors and I was thrilled to see that even on the first day of October, they had raspberries. Golden ones. Like little jewels mushed in the hands of babes.

Sarah at the fruit stand gave Manny a ripe pluot and he sat on the curb, next to the guy doing his extremely repetitive Dylan-esque banjo thing, and ate every last bit of fruit off the pit. I was glad he was wearing his red jacket so that the juices mingled with his fleece perfectly, leaving no trace of his first whole fruit free-for-all.

After he was done, I bought a mini Butter Toffee Crunch ice cream from the Parfait truck. Holy Moly. I almost turned my back on the kids and ate the whole thing myself. They would have screamed their heads off, but I might not have cared, it was so good. But instead, I was the only who didn't get a last bite. And I was okay with it. This is a clear example of how parenthood makes you a better person.

When we got home, Sam was still on the road and it was time to make dinner. I don't think that people should have to risk their life to make cauliflower, but that's what it felt like with three little people trying to scale the stove and yanking on my legs for the duration. I am amazed that we make it through some of these moments without injury or bursts of insanity. My favorite moment of the haze was when Manny rushed after Glory into the family room, pushed her, came back out to the kitchen, heard Glory crying and then ran back into the family room to say, "It's okay sweetie." Talk about mixed messages.

I was relieved and happy to arrive in the girls' room for bedtime. Elena sauntered over in her diaper to smack me in the head with Goodnight Moon, which is her way of politely asking if I will read her a book. I paused, thinking I should find the comb because her hair looked like a Richard Nixon toupee, but instead we found the comb in the book and said Good Night to it. The girls did their nursing/poking each other in the eye/sticking their fingers in my mouth and laughing thing that they do so well, we read Goodnight Moon again and I made my exit.

The days are so full of joy, laughter, snuggling and peril. Glory almost got hurt so many times today. I took the girls to the community center open gym and Glory loves to ride in this Fred Flintstone like car that has a handle for the parent to push. I thought I was so clever that I could push Glory and keep an eye on Elena until I realized that Glory had slipped under the steering wheel of the car and was trapped, about to be run over by her doting parent. Coming home from the farmer's market, all bundled in her new winter coat, I only buckled the top part of her stroller straps. I realized not a moment too soon that she had slid underneath the buckle and half of her body was hanging off the stroller. Last week on the way home from the Farmers Market, Manny fell out of the stroller. And he still greeted me with a huge leg squeeze when I picked him up from preschool today.

That is grace.

I think I'm going to go eat some chocolate chips. That is grace too.

New Pictures

2009-09-28T18:58:00.001-07:00

Manny, not so sure about the super-healthy carrot cake I made. I'm not either.
Glory loves black beans!
Elena's facial hair.The kids in their special chairs from Grandma and Grandpa.

Sunshine and Wisteria

2009-09-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had the distinct pleasure of dressing up and going out by myself. Nikki offered me a comp to opening night of Enchanted April at Taproot and, despite myself, I went. This week was tough. Reality can really beat the crap out of you sometimes. As a result, I was feeling fragile and inward and dumb and thought I didn't want to be around people I know and admire who are actually leading lives outside of their homes. But, as most things that involve relationships, showing up was the thing that mattered most.

After I put the girls to bed, there was time to dress up, which is something I haven't done since I went to Matt and Amanda's wedding on May 23. I haven't done my ironing in months and my laundry (that I am now using as a blanket as I type) is in piles too, so I put on the only suitable option- a deep turquoise knit dress that Carmen spied on the sale rack at Nordstrom years ago.

By the time Sam was done with Manny, I was done with me and was starting to get uncomfortable. For one thing, there was no time for shaving and my nylons were itchy. But the bigger deal was that I felt like I was wearing pajamas. When you spend your life in mom clothes, it feels downright inappropriate (and a little bit exciting) to be wearing a dress that hits above the knee and has a plunging neckline. I felt half naked most of the night, but thankfully had a gift bag for Nikki that I could use as a prop for extra coverage.

I worked at Taproot for five years and that was five years ago. In a way, it doesn't feel that long. But the stack of diapers waiting to be stuffed on my knees is testimony to how much can change in very little time. I sat close to Karen, who directed the show and was at Taproot long before I ever started. She had a baby right when I began working there, and one day, she let me hold Hannah while she had a meeting. While in my care, Hannah had a blow-out. I am certain I was not familiar with this term then. At the time, I thought blow-outs were an unusual occurence. Ha. Hannah is so grown and beautiful now, but she still looks new. My children look so new. I don't anymore, but they do and I revel in their beauty.

The show was about people who appreciate sunshine and wisteria and whose lives are transformed in Italy, which seems to happen a lot. Is it fairy tale or is Italy really that great? Maybe I should go and arrange to meet everyone I am unreconciled to so we can be healed, enlightened and enriched. But since I have these babies, I guess I will just keep eating biscotti and drinking espresso and hanging out with my Italian friend Amy. Those are three revelations right here.

I'm so glad I went last night. I was reminded how good it is to laugh a little too hard in public and that it is possible to keep one's new year's resolution and accept a compliment, even when I feel like I am missing my pants and I was reminded that other people see me differently than I see myself. A little kinder perhaps. Oh and I made a good joke that I didn't think of ahead of time and the two other people I was talking with laughed and I didn't even follow it up with anything slightly embarrassing or inappropriate. It was simply perfect and so was my gift for Nikki (though I was sorry to give away my prop) and I was glad to show up for her because of how many times she's shown up for me.

It was late when I got home and the morning came too fast. But apparently Glory got the memo that I really enjoy the comedy and costumes because she immediately brought me a pair of pink polka-dotted roll socks and blue and white striped bloomers to wear over her too-tight footie pajamas, her thin, longish hair flopping up and down with each step. She was laughter in motion and I forgot that it was 6am and that I was back to mom clothes and that my children don't know I am a person outside of them. But then again, maybe I'm not. I vaguely remember who I was before this experience, and she is in there somewhere, but all of us, all the Angies, are melding together like flavors in a stew and even though it's hot, I want to stay in this pot because the aroma is sweet and something good is coming together. And I haven't even been to Italy yet.

Lunch with Manny

2009-09-21T19:59:00.000-07:00

After I put the girls down for a nap, I fixed Manny some lunch and took it into the family room so he could eat at the kids' table. I sat on the other side of the table with a variety of books so I could read to him while he ate. He started saying, "What's that?" over and over again, but he didn't seem to be gesturing to the books or looking at anything specific. "What do you mean?" I asked. "What's that?" he repeated. "What's what?" I said. "What's that?" he said again. "What are you looking at?" I asked. "My penis," he said.

Which was untrue. He was looking at me. But then I looked under the table and there it was peeking out from his underwear, mashed between his fingers.

"You're right," I said. And then proceeded to laugh. How could I not? And even as I did, I had flashes of him doing this at preschool during snacktime and not getting quite the same warm response. But I guess I will leave the, "Just so you're aware..." conversation for another time. I am certain there will be multiple opportunities.

REI

2009-09-20T18:19:00.000-07:00

For a long time, I have been wanting to take the kids to REI because I heard they have a play area. But every time, I have been flying solo and have chickened out. Good thing. Our play time would have amounted to five minutes of me sweating and swearing under my breath before a dramatic exit, the wails of Manny's disappointment making a pathway through the streams of short people underfoot.

But with Sam along, it was doable. Barely. Before we went to REI, we fortified ourselves with a perfect cup of espresso at Espresso Vivace. Glory threw every piece of food we gave her on the floor because we have just discovered that Glory and Elena have hand, foot and mouth disease, which sounds a whole lot worse than it is. And if you are over the age of 10, your chances of getting it are very slim. There's nothing you can do to treat it, except to self-medicate as your children cry the majority of the day. Maybe it's called hand, foot, and mouth disease because you are tempted to punch the wall, kick the furniture, and pour lots and lots of chocolate into your mouth to make it through the agony of long, uncomfortable days.

At Espresso Vivace, Elena ate a lot of the biscuits I brought along in a ziploc baggie. When we got to the impressive treehouse play structure at REI, I took off Elena's jacket and a hundred chunks of biscuit flew out of her sleeves. They were everywhere and I was scrambling around on the floor, trying to look responsible and responsive while Sam darted left and right, up and down, trying to protect the kids.

About a half hour in, Manny got that look and we knew it was potty time. There was no time to waste, so I hoisted Manny over my shoulder and ran for the bathroom. Neither of us had shoes on and that really amused me once we were in the stall. I think it amused me because I am too aware of what other people think of me and always have been. But when I'm with my kids, if there's a need, I don't care at all what other people think. I just act. And I LIKE it. It feels invigorating. Like discovering a whole new me. A more intense me. Who needs extreme sports when you can take care of small children?

Sam got a slack line at REI. He set it up in our living room. It's like a tight rope, but not tight. Manny thinks it's great. I think it might spell head injury for me. I plan to stick to my dorky step aerobics and watch from the dining room. I think Sam is going to acquire abs of steel much faster than me, but then again, he had a big head start.

Gorditos the night before Preschool

2009-09-19T18:55:00.000-07:00

Funky by Association

2009-09-19T12:40:00.000-07:00

I am at Caffe Fiore alone! It's Saturday and I have a few minutes before Sam goes to his first eye exam in years. His glasses finally broke yesterday and he is going to buy two pairs today. I think this is smart for a man with three young children. He said he is going to get a "Fashion Sam" pair and an "Appraiser Sam" pair. I said, what do we need with appraiser Sam? I am voting for Fashion Sam to take Seattle by storm.

There is funky music playing in here and the barista is wearing a backless shirt that highlights her elaborate tattoos. And then there's me. I am wearing tennis shoes, hardly any make-up (time constraint) and pearl earrings (the only thing the kids can't pull out), but I feel a little more funky by association. And the bit of my reflection I can see in my computer screen makes my age look intriguing, rather than just tired. Soak it up.

I left Manny watching Mamma Mia. He is so engrossed that he cannot make the spoon reach his mouth. Sam is literally spoon feeding him and encouraging chewing while Manny stares at the screen, entranced by Meryl Streep. But who isn't? I asked him if he wanted to watch all the Pixar favorites and nothing interested him. But singing and dancing. Bring it on. I secretly want him to go to preschool and break out into Abba. The other kids would be clueless, but Miss Eve and Miss Kristen would be enchanted.

The kids are doing such amazing things. I put the girls down for their one nap of the day and before I changed their diapers, I told them, "I'm going to change you. If you need to go poo-poo, now's the time." Their facial expressions immediately changed and I can confirm that they indeed were listening. I don't remember Manny doing things like that. But maybe I wasn't communicating with him like I do with Glory and Elena. Also, this morning, Glory brought me a book and said, "Read book." And Elena said, "thank you." Thank you! Imagine that!

When I came down from my morning nap (yay!), Manny was sitting on the little chairs in the family room. I sat down next to him and without looking at me, he said, "Hi Honey." "Hi," I said. I don't want to give him a weird reaction like laughing or smirking or anything, because I love that he says that and I am hoping he will do it again. My favorite thing he said this week was when we were reading a toddler bible that was given to us as a gift. It is hard for me to read those toddler bibles, honestly. They are a total of about twenty sentences and all the stories are pulled totally out of context. How am I supposed to explain why David is standing in front of a dead giant? How can I explain a flood or why Adam and Eve are banished from the Garden of Eden forever? My favorite page is Jesus and John in the Sea of Galilee when the dove descends and God speaks. That one I can explain. Sam just smiles at me, because the way he deals with it is to say, "Look! There's a giraffe!" But I have trouble. Anyway, on the page where Noah and his clan are all getting out of the boat, the text mentions God. And Manny says, "Where'd God go?" The question of the ages. Where'd God go? It was completely in line with everything he talks about these days, but it made me laugh. And I don't remember how I responded. Maybe I said, "Look! There's a rainbow!"

I am reading John Gottman's book about coaching your child (and yourself) to build emotional intelligence. Miss Becky at preschool lent it to me and I am gobbling it up. There have been a number of things that have happened this week that I just realized are an answer to prayer. I have been asking for wisdom and guidance to parent Manny, Glory and Elena well and I am receiving guidance. There is so much horror and disappointment in the world. That has always been true. My common error is allowing myself to be derailed by that instead of staying in the game and focusing on beauty and relationships, including the one with the Lord. And when I do that, it's really something. It's like manna from heaven. I don't get to decide what the manna is, but there it is, so I'm trying to pick it up and hold it for a while. Take a bite and see what happens.

A young bank teller processing my transaction this week tried to convince me that parenting is much harder than taking care of pets because pets, you can just leave for like a week and they don't really care that much, but leaving your kids for a week effects them a little bit more. He was so earnest and I laughed out loud at the first possible moment as I walked away. I laughed at the absurdity of the conversation I just had and how crazy old I am now.

They're playing Michael Jackson now. Remember The Time. I had that album in middle school. I am shaking my head and smiling. How did it all go so fast? And how did my alone time go so fast? Time to go home so Sam can go funkify himself. I can't wait to see the results.

I Made It To Parent Night

2009-09-15T22:17:00.000-07:00

Showing Manny his doggie backpack tag on the first morning of school.
All ready to go with Rona's help!
Spending lots of time in the tubs lately.

Every day I have countless things that I think are worthy of writing about in this blog. But I am really coming up short on time. It's strange. I think I'm catching my stride and then all of a sudden, I feel like I can accomplish next to nothing and I have stacks of laundry everywhere, a kitchen full of dishes, no idea what I'm going to make for dinner tomorrow night, I'm tripping over toys, I didn't exercise, on and on and on, but the kids were well cared for and they have clean sheets on their beds. Oh and I made it to parent night.

I need to go to bed, but here's the brief preschool update. We all walked to preschool last Thursday and Manny was fine until we said we were going to leave. He began to sob those terrible sobs that make you want to promise your child you will never leave their side ever, ever again even when they beg you at the 7th grade dance to just go home already!

Of course, it was after the sobbing began that I realized I hadn't taken the first day of school pictures I wanted to take. I guess in this way, I am not my mother's daughter. She never would have made that mistake! And because she's loving and good, she will not think less of me for having forgotten.

But of course I forgot! It was crazy trying to get all the children ready to leave the house and this was with extra help from Rona the saint (I told her I put in her official application for sainthood, but that was a lie, which may preclude them granting my request. Did I just use preclude correctly? Sometimes I think someone with a vocabulary as shoddy as mine is seriously kidding themselves to persist with these writing aspirations).

After dropping Manny off this morning, I wiped the literal sweat off my upper lip (preschool is up a hill and I was wearing a baby and pushing the other two in the double stroller as fast as I could go so we wouldn't be late) and answered the phone. Kathleen was calling. God bless her. What would I do without Kathleen? Probably shrivel up and die. So Kathleen listens to me (laughing at all the appropriate places) drone on about how unfair it is to feel this unattractive as a mother. There should be time granted to every mother every day to iron her shirt, dry her hair, brush her teeth, find clean pants, file her nails before she scars her own face or that of her children. I don't think I have ever gone into a public place with unwiped sweat on my upper lip, but when you have two squirming babies in your arms, you are forced to let some things go. Thankfully Manny didn't care one bit that I was leaving this time and so I was able to leave quickly without any drama.

After the first day of school, I asked Manny lots of questions, but he's not one to get into details. Finally, when I asked, "Do you like Miss Eve?" he said "no." "Why?" "She's scared." "Of what?" "Of the kids," he said emphatically. I abandoned the conversation because I am quite sure this is untrue and I think if I had asked Manny if there had been a lion in the potty, he would have uttered his signature "uhh-huh".

Tonight, at parent night (how is it that I am now attending parent nights?), they told me that Manny is mellow, that he listens well, and that he sings all the time. That last one was a surprise and so delightful to contemplate. There are only five children in his class (all eldest children and one boy has 11 month old twin sisters), and two teachers, one with a graduate degree in education. I feel so blessed that we can send him to this school and that he is taking to it so well.

Sam is sick, so I got to pick up Manny alone today. The girls were asleep in their cribs and Sam was asleep in our bed. Manny was so brave and we walked a block to the library before he told me that he needed to go potty. I scooped him up and walked as fast as I could home. We did not make it, but I was so proud of him for telling me and after parent night, I now know that the kids took a play break in the room with the water fountain and that explains a lot. I didn't care. We came home, stripped off our clothes, had a long afternoon with no nap and lots of tears, but we made it through together and I wouldn't have missed a moment.

I just reread this and it does not make as much sense as I wish it would. It is not the beautifully crafted essay that I imagined unfolding over a cup of drinking chocolate as I saw the sun setting over the library on my way back to preschool tonight. But it is now 10:40 and the whole adventure is about to begin all over again so beautiful prose must be abandoned and sleep must be embraced.

Love Letters

2009-09-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Manny,

I love that you say things like, "I miss Daddy" and "Is he scared?" and "I'm sleepy" right after you didn't take a nap when you had a chance and tonight when we got home from Gorditos to celebrate your first day of preschool tomorrow, you said, "Mama, I want some dinner. I'm hungry." So we fed you and your sisters a big bowl of whipped cream and blueberries in the bathtub. I love that you helped me make muffins today and that when you ate one, you were totally covered in melted chocolate chips that you wiped on your bare chest because I can't remember to ever buy napkins or paper towels or even give you a towel unless you explicitly ask me. I love how much you love books and that when Daddy asked you to sing a song to Glory because she was sad, you beat boxed instead because that's the example that has been set for you and you are a kid after your daddy's heart. I love that you were brave today when we went to meet Miss Eve and visit your classroom. And I love that you show your backpack to everyone who comes over. I can't wait for you to see your doggie luggage tag that has Manny Lai written on it and the ball of 4 tiny photos that is attached to the interior mesh lining of your backpack. If you are ever sad, you can look at the four faces who love you the most. Daddy, Mama, Glory and Elena. We will always be right within your grasp.

Mama

Dear Elena,

I love that the other day when everyone was snuggly, whenever you got your turn on my chest, you bit me while Glory would cuddle up and suck her thumb. I love your toothy grin and how you climb on absolutely everything, including the tables and chairs at Manny's preschool today. I love that you shriek with delight every time someone puts you on the couch and that today you demonstrated your ability to say please. I love that you have been able to say it for a while (I suspect), but didn't because no one asked you until this morning. I love that you said bye to Rona after she took care of you and that you still give me a wet open mouth kiss when I say good night. I love that you are full of light and that you shine all over the place. I love how you look in leggings.

Mama

Dear Glory,

I love that you like to hold your green blanket in your high chair until the last possible moment before I give you something to eat. I love that when we ask you where Elena is, you tilt your head completely to one side like you are playing peek-a-boo around the corner of the kitchen island. I love that you need more sleep than Elena and that you curl up in the corner of your bed with your thumb in your mouth and all is right in your world. I love the way you look in the bathtub, the littlest of the three, but every bit as spunky, perhaps because of your squished gestational period. I love that you press your whole face to my body when I hold you in the Ergo and that you answer my questions with a nod or a shake of your head. I love that you listen to me sing and the way you scoot down the ramp on your tiny diapered bottom. I love the way you look when you put food in your mouth with your beautiful, delicate fingers and how messy you look when you're done.

Mama

Downtown

2009-09-08T21:39:00.000-07:00

I get seized by these irrational impulses to take the kids places when there's not enough time or energy, or frankly, reason for the huge push required to do it. I guess it's the thrill of the challenge or maybe it's that I need to feel like I am getting out there somehow, but whatever it is, I dress it up as stimulation for young minds and off we go.

Today we went downtown. We parked at Pacific Place and I felt a great sense of accomplishment as we rounded the corner to the elevators and everyone was strapped in place. When we neared the doors to 6th Avenue, we passed by the Barney's New York display windows. There were female mannequins with sharp, shiny, white plastic points for heads wearing designer clothes, and at their feet, were at least one hundred Mr. Potato Heads all assembled exactly the same. When we went outside, there were male mannequins - these ones had actual heads, but no facial features, and they too were surrounded by Mr. Potato Heads. Manny was excited, but I was a little put off. What the heck is that about? It seemed stupid and meaningless to me. I hope they are donating all those toys when they are done. Maybe I have just revealed myself as someone who doesn't appreciate art, but if that's art, then I should have taken a picture of what Glory left in the bathtub tonight and submitted it to Barney's for display in their ladies' lounge.

After we left Old Navy with Manny's new school shirts in hand, we walked towards the kitchen shop on 4th. I could see up ahead that there were a number of people holding signs with those insipid pictures of President Obama plus Hitler mustache. I can feel my blood getting hotter even as I type this. The people looked so normal, but they were holding these signs which are so unbelievably offensive and strange and when she asked me if I would stop, I spoke the most sharply I have ever spoken to someone I do not know. Of course, what I said was, "no thank you," but it was a strongly put "no thank you." As we walked on, I got madder and madder. I don't know how loud I was, but someone listening in might have thought I had the syndrome where you swear involuntarily. (I demonstrated that again later this evening when I accidentally made my first calzone.)

I was so distracted that as I crossed fourth avenue, I totally miscalculated the width of my gigantic stroller and could not make it onto the sidewalk because there was a car and a man selling Real Change and a long line of newspaper boxes and fire hyrdrants and absolutely nothing I could fit between. I couldn't think straight and this nice 40ish man approached me and offered help. I told him that I was fine, but then it became apparent to both of us that I wasn't and was totally stuck. So he did a gallant thing. He lifted up the dirty front wheel of my gigantic stroller and placed it on level ground so my children were no longer hanging out in the middle of a downtown busy street. I thanked him and he walked away with a noticeable limp. I wonder if he has adequate health care. Thank you for your kindness downtown nice man.

Manny starts preschool on Thursday and I can't figure out where to write his name on his backpack. I am afraid I am going to get him to school chronically late and that I will not make it to parent night or forget his teacher's name or do any number of other dumb things that will prove that I am really not cut out for this mothering thing. The nail in the coffin will probably be when Manny screws up his macaroni self-portrait and drops some R-rated language. I think I need to start washing my own mouth out with soap. But everyone needs an outlet to release all the pent up pressures of the day. Why doesn't dishwashing or folding laundry achieve this goal? This seems so unfair.

My mom and Mike were here last weekend and we had a lovely time. My mom brought me a copy of my high school newspaper and as I looked through it, I realized that Manny is closer to starting high school than I am to when I graduated. Does that make sense? I finished 13 years ago and he will be a freshman in 12 years! WAIT! SLOW DOWN! How does this crazy stuff happen? Sam and I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button the other night and we both cried at the end because it is such a vivid description of how brief the magical moments of our lives are. And in that film, because they cannot make the moments last and they know that they can't, they savor. They really, really savor. This is something I want to get better at. Even right now, I find that I am squinting. I think squinting is a hallmark of "I am savoring this moment." Or maybe the resolution on the laptop screen is too bright. Either way, it is 10:02 and there will be very little savoring tomorrow morning if I don't go to sleep. I suspect I will dream of an army of Nazi Mr. Potato Heads wearing designer pants. Except Mr. Potato Head doesn't wear pants....

Maybe that's why Manny likes Mr. Potato Head. Gives him a role model for which items of clothing are necessary like hats and shoes and which aren't...namely, everything else.

I Should Be Doing The Dishes

2009-08-31T21:13:00.000-07:00

But instead I will post another photo retrospective (since I have no new photos to post).

Two Years Ago
One Year Ago

And three years ago...I guess that's when we used to take pictures of the dog I often now forget I have several hours out of the day.

Sam is at a board meeting and the kitchen is scary messy and emitting a barrage of smells between the compost and the garbage that would warrant a walk out to the alley, but it is dark now so it's going to have to wait until morning.

On Saturday and Sunday, my dad, Lisa and Grandma Barb came up for a visit. The children were charming, my second stab at pizza went relatively well, and Lisa and Dad spoiled us with many treats, including an enormous peach cobbler that I just ate for the second time today.

On Friday night, I was in that "the world is a horrible, messed up place- how can I even bear to live another day" kind of mood, which was too bad, because Friday nights are supposed to be our take-out dinner, kick back and enjoy that we made it through another week date nights, but I totally killed it with my sour mood and story after story from the news of psycho people ruining perfectly nice peoples' lives. Blah. I think I realize that when I feel that way, conversation is the worst antedote. I need to jump on the elliptical trainer and watch one of the three movies I own on DVD. And that does not include the Die Hard series, which was a gift to Sam years ago, because I don't think Die Hard would be what the doctor ordered for that kind of a mood. Not for someone like me.

But then Grandma Barb comes and realligns my perspective. She is so good at that. And I don't think she really tries. It's just her nature. Because she says, yes, yes, that's all true. And that's all here. But God is so much bigger. And there is so much that's beyond our understanding. And there is this mysterious act of trusting God that we practice. And then she tells me about the generations of our family that have trusted God and what they trusted God through and though I am moved and amazed, the cynical part of me wants to resist and protest and say, "but, but, BUT!!!" But in my heart, I sense that she's right. I understand about zero in regards to what that means, but then again I don't understand much of anything. I am truly astonished at how little I comprehend, practical, mechanical, political, historical or spiritual. I understand that food makes me happy, my children make me laugh, I am indescribably lucky to be married to Sam and a list of other things that I guess entails what I am grateful for, but I really don't understand much of anything, including my oven which I can only turn on half the time.

And yet, there is this peace that passes all understanding and if I am not bathed in it, it is only because I stepped out of the tub. The older I get, the more aware I am that there is always a choice - to surrender or to tighten my grip. To embrace the mystery or claim to have the answers.

Grandma is wise and full of the richness you would hope to see in a woman who has surrendered over and over to the Lord for 80+ years, but when I am with her, I see a clear picture of what Jesus meant when he said we are to have faith like a child. There is nothing simple about Grandma, but she repeatedly comes to the conclusion that she doesn't have the answers, but she knows who does. And there is rest in that. Even if the headlines make you want to suffocate in your own despair.

By the way, on Saturday while Sam and I were putting the girls down for a nap, Manny took off all his clothes and made quite a show of trying to fit his penis on the baseball tee for the visiting family. Since he was really little, I have talked to him every time we have guests about being a good host. I guess being a good host is open to interpretation.

Thursday

2009-08-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

Often I think that my life would be so much richer if it were underscored by some Academy Award winning composer. My lows were be more nuanced and my highs would be more jubliant and when something bad was about to happen, I would know well in advance because of the violins.

Yesterday, the girls got up from their morning nap early and Manny was playing target practice already, shrieking with delight every time he nailed one of them. I knew I had to go somewhere, but where? So many places are tricky now that the girls want to play too. For months, I went to the playground and held both girls while Manny played. It was perfect. I could follow him anywhere, the girls were visually stimulated by all the other kids playing and I got a great bicep workout, not to mention lots of adulation from other parents who only had one or two kids playing independently. I felt....above average.

Then the girls began to sit in the sand pit while Manny played and that worked well too. If necessary, I could square off, so to speak - Manny at first base, Glory at second, Elena on third and me, home plate. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. But then the girls decided to push the boundaries and crawl out. Now I feel stuck. All these beautiful playgrounds mere blocks away, but we can't go.

So I loaded them into the car to go to University Village where they have a small fenced play structure, the whole while thinking, "What am I doing?" It's not a long drive, but it's not a short one and it's a whole lot of effort to load up, drive, unload into the stroller, on and on and on- I don't even want to type all the steps because it's tiring just to do that.

The play area was bustling with moms and kids and it was HOT. I let Manny loose and then tried to hold Elena in the stroller with my foot while I unbuckled Glory so that I could buffer both of their initial burst of energy at the same time. The girls are fearless. They were all over that play structure and seemed to be nonverbaly planning their strategy. "You go wobble at the top of the slide and I'll stand at the three foot drop-off and kick my legs out like I'm going to jump. Okay, break!" I kept my knees soft and even bounced up and down a little, ready to pounce like a mama cat. Back and forth, over and under - I, too, was all over that play structure. After 30 minutes, I was done with my cardio and a little miffed that no one had told me how amazing I was, so we went in search of a cold drink and our mini-van.

Manny successfully avoided sleep at naptime again so he got up and we kneaded our first round of pizza dough. I found it to be a great receptacle for pent-up stress and he found it to be something fun to hit and slap that doesn't cry. It was great. When the girls got up, the pizza dough was rising and we needed to get to the grocery store and the farmer's market quick because it was getting late. Both the girls wouldn't stop crying (I think they were hot) so we swooped out of the house and I let Manny hop into the stoller in his Thursday Lion Underwear with nothing else.

Once we were out of the house, I felt a little embarrassed for him, like no one loved him enough to offer him a pair of shorts. I don't think I will do that again. It was an even funnier visual when he fell asleep with his hand petting the lions and his chin slumped again his chest. I thought about laying my reusable grocery bag over him like a blanket, but the bag was visibly dirty and that seemed worse.

When we got to the market, the place was alive with colors and smells and alluring, expensive ice cream trucks. There was also this beautiful blues/American roots musician singing and strumming his guitar whose presence was both enveloping and humble. At last, my soundtrack. I made my rounds a little slower than usual, trying to soak up the notes. And I stood in line for a long time at the outrageously expensive ice cream truck because I had promised Manny I would. And even though he was sleeping, he remembers things now and I didn't want him to ask, "Where'd the ice cream go?" and have nothing to say but a sheepish, "I didn't feel like waiting." Manny doesn't feel like waiting all the time, but he does, so I guess it was the least I could do in return.

The pizza turned out beautifully despite the meager amount of cheese I sprinkled on top. Sometimes it's hard to know when to be lavish and when to hold back, but I find if there's a soundtrack, it's much easier to go big. I am about to do some cleaning. Maybe I should turn on some music and the toliets will sparkle that much brighter.

Supermom is back!

2009-08-25T19:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday

Today was a much better day because my trusty partner, Super Sam, whisked in unexpectedly and at the nick of time to conduct a business meeting on the go, while pushing Elena and Glory in the stroller. He even had the guy he was meeting with walk the dog! Hallejuah!

It was especially helpful because I attempted an even more complicated dish than rice and beans (Cumin-Scented Mushroom and Cheddar Galette from www.inpraiseofleftovers.com) and it was taking me a LOT longer than I thought it would. It was my first time making it, but it certainly won't be my last. I think I went up a notch in Sam's eyes. Thanks Sarah!

Manny was happily occupied with sitting in the tub of water on the deck while I crisped the bacon, roasted the potatoes and boiled the kale. I think he drank half the tub water with a plastic straw he was playing with, which would explain the burst of pee that exploded while Sam was finishing his business meeting in the pea gravel pit. Bye bye Monkey underwear. At least for now.

While I sauteed the mushroom, cumin, garlic, salt, pepper and splash of lime juice in olive oil, Manny ate playdough. He even got a big piece stuck on his teeth, but I didn't care. Sometimes you got to take one for the team or something.

After the business meeting ended abruptly with the change of underwear, Sam and the kids played drums and Manny even took my hands and danced funky moves with me in circles, his eyes closed, perhaps to avoid having to watch me attempt funky dance moves. That's okay. I understand. It was great.

After dinner, the girls ate books as I tried to get them interested in reading them and Sam did the dreaded tooth brushing. There were plenty of kisses to go around and now I have a mountain of chores, including cleaning the toliets which are hotbeds for disease, I'm sure, but Sam picked up cookies from Macrina on his "business meeting" and life is really, really good. It was really, really good yesterday too, but today feels a whole lot sweeter.

Elena's First Word

2009-08-24T21:07:00.000-07:00

Almost forgot.

FLOSS.

We had a discussion about whether or not to call it and we decided it was affirmative.

Elena's first word was FLOSS.

She hates the toothbrush, but maybe she would like floss. Perhaps we are going about this dental hygiene thing all wrong.

I Need A Time Out

2009-08-24T20:20:00.001-07:00

I totally got my butt kicked today. It happens a lot actually, but today was a real doozy. And it was really only from 3pm on, but boy, it doesn't take long for everything to unravel. For example, we had rice and beans tonight and I had all the dishes done up until afternoon nap and my kitchen currently looks like I haven't done the dishes in three days. Three days! I am so out of it right now that I am just walking around my house grazing on bits of food. I was going to work out when I put the kids to bed (Sam is gone tonight), but instead I came downstairs and watched previews to a movie while I ate Manny's oatmeal from this morning spruced up with some sugar, whipped cream, strawberries and bits of granola bar that I made this morning while I let Manny watch a little too much PBS kids.

Manny was freaking out all afternoon because he was tired because he never takes a nap anymore. I think the Lord is trying to teach me increased patience because once the girls got up, they were a mess too. I finally figured out that Glory had a dirty diaper and I don't know what was wrong with Elena. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Manny kept pummeling her like he was practicing for the NFL. Only those guys wear clothes and they don't put their underwear on inside-out, front-side back, with their crotch in the wrong pocket so that there's no choice except for the underwear to remain tightly tucked in you-know-where. How can someone so absurdly dressed cause so much commotion? You would think he would be too busy just trying to remove his underwear from you-know-where.

On one of the many times where one of the girls was thrown halfway across the room by Manny's tackle, I started to scream in that terrible voice that resides just below the surface of my calm, cool, collected Super-Mothering exterior. I hate it when that happens. I feel like the worst person on the face of the planet. And it's awful because there is this day care next door and I am sure that all the kids, teachers and parents can hear me and they probably think I'm some kind of alcoholic, abusive witch of a person when really all I am is literally bombarded by people whose unknown demands I can't meet. I was on the phone with my mom at one point today and I sat down on the floor. All three kids within seconds had thrown themselves at me and I actually fell over because the force of three little people hurling themselves at you is a lot!

During Manny's time out, Elena walked over to him and they began to laugh together. I can't remember whether she had been the most recent victim or not. I felt like the only one who was on the outside of the joke. I think it is cruel that I am supposed to prepare healthy, balanced meals for these children while I am trying to referee the madness and keep everyone from losing an eye or scooping out fistfuls of water from the potty. I can see why some people resort to frozen chicken nuggets every night, but I absolutely refuse, even though my "easy" pot of beans was somewhat of a culinary disaster. Thankfully, the kids ate it with gusto anyway. We finished off the meal with whipped cream dashed with a bite of fruit. My kids don't like milk and Glory is so teeny-tiny that I am afraid she might waste away with an undeveloped brain if I don't resort to some serious measures.

The last time out of the day was met with constant screaming from Manny, "I need to go potty!" The time out is two minutes. I did not warrant his requests with a reply. He replied to my lack of reply with a strong stream of pee that covered his whole time out corner. I made him sit down in it while I got a towel. I don't want him to slip, do I? Glory grabbed a rag and helped clean up and then the girls stood outside of the bathroom and screamed while I put Manny in the shower for literally two seconds to rinse off the 65% of him that was covered in urine. Sheesh.

I felt a great sense of relief when I secured all three kids in Glory and Elena's room to get them ready for bed, but that was no cakewalk either. Neither girl wanted to be changed or dressed and Manny kept climbing on top of my head and throwing himself down onto some appendage of the babies. Then it came time to nurse. Glory can't decide which side she wants to be on and they pop on and off every five seconds for a total of about 50 latch-ons, half of which involve some level of biting. I can't believe we are still doing this, but we just dropped a feeding a few days ago and I don't want to push them to wean too quickly.

I skipped brushing the girls' teeth because I simply couldn't wrestle with them any longer and I am really hoping their teeth don't decay. Every time we brush their teeth, the sounds they emit are so horrific that I almost can't stand to be in the same room. I want to run down the hallway and hurl myself into the pea gravel pit below and ride one of the plastic cars straight to West Seattle for a Twice-Baked Almond Crossiant from Bakery Nouveau, the new most amazing thing I've ever tasted.

The best part of the evening was saying good night to the girls. They kiss on command now and Elena usually just shoves her tongue at your face and Glory gives you the sweetest, tiny wet mouth kiss you could ever hope for from a baby. I love, love, love these children and God help me because sometimes I think I will melt into a puddle of simmering, puce ooze because I am so beyond the point where I know what to do or how to salvage my experimental healthy dinners.

They say the length of time outs should match the age of the child. I think if I could send myself to the corner for 31 minutes, that would definitely do the trick and I could save myself the sore throat I currently have from shouting.

A few things worth remembering of late...

On drums:

Glory and Elena were crowding Manny and Sam while they were playing before bed. Glory accidentally knocked over the snare. Manny said, "Is she sorry?" This coming from the boy who cannot see a box of anything without immediately dumping it out.

On the penis:

Manny chased Elena around the kitchen island with his penis the other day. He really knows how to win over the ladies.

Elena has discovered Manny's penis in the bath and likes to yank on it.

Manny was running around naked and Aslan sniffed his crotch. Manny ran to the bathroom, singing, "She likes my penis!" (FYI: Aslan is a boy.)

On the potty:

I think every time Manny climbs on the potty, he might fall in and disappear forever. It is like watching a toddler mount a horse. It is a complicated piece of choregraphy and once he is in position, Manny massages the toliet seat (Sam's description). After he drops the mass of toliet paper in the potty, he often tries to retrieve it and my favorite thing of all, he frequently lifts his penis up as high as it will go in the hopes of being able to see himself pooping.

Aren't you glad you read this post?

I try to think of meaningful things to say, but then I don't really write for two weeks and I think it's because that's too much pressure. This is what I've got and I suppose someday I will read this and find it quite hysterical, which was the whole point in the first place.

Time to go attack the mountain of dishes. Bakery Nouveau is already closed and Sam is still gone so I guess I better get to it.

Drums

2009-08-22T21:28:00.001-07:00

Glory wants a turn too. Manny likes to drum naked.

This was taken on day one before he figured that out.

Thanks Rona X 3

2009-08-18T21:30:00.000-07:00

This is Manny one week ago when I took him to the show. I think I have scary eyes in this picture, but he looks take your breath away handsome.

Out of the blue, Rona (our friend and neighbor) told us she would hang with the baby monitor so we could go out after the kids went to bed. We decided to go use her birthday gift to Sam and had a fantastic three course dinner at Crow in Lower Queen Anne. Then I got home and she told me that her 6 year old niece Isabella was looking at a Victoria's Secret catalog and said that one of the models looked like me. Nobody's ever said that to me before and it won't likely happen again so I wanted to make sure I wrote it down.

I doubt those nice Victoria's Secret girls eat three course meals. It's good being normal and not in catalogs. And it's really, really good having friends like Rona.

Changing Rhythms

2009-08-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

Manny got a drum set yesterday. Sam's co-worker at G2B found it free on the side of the road and gave it to us. So with great joy, Manny rocked out with his chopsticks for an hour before dinner. I don't find the sound of it the least bit annoying (ask me again in a week). The sounds I can't stand at 5:30pm are the shrieks of children attacking each other with diggers and their own fingers. Two year old drumming is loud, but it's productive.

When Sam went to get Manny this morning, Manny was laying on his bed, wide awake and content. Sam said, "Have you been up for a while?" "Uh-huh." "Were you thinking?" "Uh-huh." "What were you thinking about?" "Drums."

Manny has also been playing/pounding the piano a lot lately. Who knows if he has any talent, but I am excited to give him opportunities to explore music.

On Monday night, I took him to a Daniel Berryman & Friends concert. It was at 8pm and Manny usually goes to sleep by 7:30, so this was a big deal. It was only his second time ever that he has gotten to stay up late for a special event.

Earlier in the day, I took him to the Counterbalance Barber Shop up here on the hill, so he was looking fantasically handsome. After dinner, he took a shower while the girls bathed and Sam dressed him in nice, clean clothes. The shirt was a Max Vance hand-me-down (meaning it was hip and without stains) and the sleeves fell below his knuckles. The jeans were also just a hair too big, but he looked like he might grow at any second, so it worked.

As soon as we put the babies to bed, Manny began to prance down the hall. "Come on Mama! Let's go Mama!" I told him I needed to change my pants, so he ran down to our closet and handed me a pair of Sam's jeans. "Here you go!"

We arrived at the Good Shepherd Center just in time to go potty and grab our seats. For the next hour, Manny sat on my lap and listened to Daniel and three of his friends sing, half the time performing opera in foreign languages. He watched intently and clapped with enthusiasm after each song. I kept revisiting my escape plan, in case he started to shout, "Mama! What's happened?" or wiggle out of my arms, but it never happened. The four performers were amazing, but I kept wondering why the audience wasn't applauding my son, for I felt he was the most astounding person in the room.

Elena is getting fast. She's going to be running any day. And Glory can walk across the room now. She holds her arms out to her sides and wobbles back and forth like a zombie. The only difference is she giggles the whole time. Maybe if zombies did that, we wouldn't be so scared of them and I would enjoy those movies more.

Incidentally, Manny was supposed to go to the dentist for the first time this week, but I couldn't get my act together and ended up rescheduling. When the receptionist put me on hold, I got to listen to a segment of George Michael's Faith. What is it about George Michael and dentists? It's like that album inspired a whole generation of young people to pursue the drill. Once, while I was having a cavity filled, my previous dentist's office was playing the musak version of George Michael's I Want Your Sex. I thought that was one of the more absurd moments of my life.

That is until I had two babies giving each other a smackdown over who gets which nipple and then swapping back and forth every ten seconds. I think it might be time to wean.

Pictures From the Beach

2009-08-11T22:05:00.001-07:00

Glory at the wading pool.
Elena.
Manny in too small swim trunks.
Oh sand! Oh ocean! What rapturous delight!
Tastes GOOD.

I wanted to write tonight but I decided to spend some quality time with Kathy Smith instead and then proceeded to smear Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough (that I had been saving in my freezer from the Baked Cookbook) all over my oven, dropping the F-bomb twice in front of Sam. He hates that. And I admit, it is not a becoming reaction to anything.

I try to be so good all the time. But all my ickiness comes out whether I want it to or not. And when my baking explodes into disaster, I am always beside myself with anger and grief, at least for a minute.

We ended up defrosting some Lemon Loaf and eating the couple edible bites of the cookie remnants and laughed much too hard joking about Sam taking the dough-strewn piece of parchment paper to work tomorrow and seriously offering some cookies to his co-workers, suggesting that I would be offended if they declined.

One of my favorite games when I am tired and loopy is thinking of the most inappropriate thing one could do or say in certain situations. Try it! You'll like it!

I better get to bed so I can clean my oven in the morning.

This Week

2009-08-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at my favorite coffee shop that is much too close to my house eating a gigantic piece of Macrina Walnut Anise Biscotti (every word deserves capitalization) and wiping all the stray crumbs (there are a lot) on my recently clean pants. I am recovering for a few minutes. We had a fundraiser for New Horizons at our house yesterday and I blew my energy wad early. Sam and I both have been dragging for the last 24 hours and are walking a fine line between exercising proper coping skills and completely dissolving into selfish misery.

I almost lost it last night when we got home from the playground and Manny began to freak out about some unidentifiable incident. He was a broken record of screams without a single syllable to support his complaint. I took him to the bathroom, but he was too despondent to pee. Like the Tasmanian Devil, he whirred a path of destruction back through the kitchen and dining room until it all exploded into a furious stream of urine flowing down the ramp. “Mama! Mama!” Manny cried, as though I hadn’t noticed what was happening.

I wanted to take the scream baton from Manny and run with it. I wanted to do that thing where I also act 2 years old, but I dress it up a little nicer so that it seems like it might be defendable adult behavior. I’ve been practicing that a lot lately. Thankfully, I was able to stifle my impulse long enough to get Manny to the bathroom where he proceeded to proudly deposit a poop in the potty, thus solving his mood entirely. Never underestimate the power of accomplishment.

This has been the week of love. Monday night Sam was just about to tuck Manny into bed when he asked him, “Who do you love?”
“Mama.”
“Who else do you love?”
“Daddy.”
“Who else do you love?”
“Rona.”
“Anyone else?”
“Glory. Lena.”
“Do you love Aslan?”
“Sometimes.” (Such complexity of emotion! )
By this point, Sam was really enjoying the conversation and wasn’t ready to let it end. So he began to prompt.
“Do you love anyone else? Grandma?”
“Grandma Mike.”
“Anyone else?”
“Cake.”

Then last night, after the poop accomplishment, Sam and I were serving the kids dinner. Sam said he loved me and Manny began to tell all of us that he loved us. Over and over and over. It was very dear and I was so glad to have so many opportunities to tell Manny I loved him back. He really is such a wonder.

Elena is walking all over the place. It is so shocking to catch a glimpse of her little head bobbing up and down as she walks around the kitchen island. These are the same girls who didn’t even roll until after they crawled. I laid them on the bed on their backs until they were almost nine months old. Every time I went to the doctor and had to fill out the questionnaire, I always lied.

“Do you leave your child unattended on the bed?”

“No.” I checked that box every time even though it was a total lie. And now Elena and Glory are trying to scale every climbable area of the house, which there are many. They even climb up on chairs and SIT on them. This may sound boring and obvious, but I hope I always celebrate these details. If I don’t , who will?

On Tuesday night, Sam and I put the kids down, handed Rona the Saint the baby monitor and went to Ryan and Brooke’s house to have a great conversation with Barry and Linda, a couple who are on the brink of being empty nesters. We came hungry for wisdom and perspective about parenting and marriage and following Jesus and they offered up stories of pain, struggle, triumph and praise for the faithfulness of God in their lives. It was the best church I have been to in a long time and I left wanting to love with more abandon, serve my family with less agenda and praise God for all of it.

Embrace the pain, Barry said. Embrace the frustration. Embrace the chaos.

What is remarkable about these sentiments to me is that pain, frustration and chaos are not limited to events of magnitude. Pain, frustration and chaos can sweep over me and there is really no discernable reason except that it is really hard to show up and be present in this life a lot of the time.

Last week, James B preached from the text where Shadrach, Meshech and Abednego receive their death sentence to walk into the fire, but they do not burn. And King Nebakenezer (not at all the spelling, but my phoentic version!) releases them amazed by God and God’s power. And James B’s point was that God does not deliver us from the fire. God delivers us from within the fire.

I hope I never get thrown into a literal fire. But emotionally, there are fires smoldering all over the place and they ignite without warning. I am excited about embracing the heat. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that it dawned on me that it really hurts to grow. I think I’ve always wanted to be mature because, in my opinion, I was never very good at being youthful. Self-awareness is a blessing and a curse. In high school, I equated maturity with melancholy and being moved by Sarah MacLachlan and Tori Amos in the dark. Now I think maturity is about how we respond. And responding requires refining. And refining requires some heat.

Makes me wish I had some more coffee. And some more time. Here’s to embracing the rest of the day.

Too Much Water

2009-08-04T22:58:00.000-07:00

Manny has begun to go to the bathroom by himself when it is time to use the potty. He always emerges proud and naked from the waist down because underwear is difficult to put on. I still trip every now and then. I frequently send him back from his triumphant victory lap around the kitchen island to flush the toliet and wash his hands. Every time Manny washes his hands, somewhere a reservoir empties. I guess conservation is a learned value.

Hard Sun

2009-08-02T21:31:00.001-07:00

I am listening to Hard Sun, an Eddie Vedder track from the film Into the Wild. When Glory and Elena were two weeks old and my mom had gone home, the girls went through a difficult period. And Sam and I were reminded what it meant to pace the floor for hours at night. Except when it was Manny, there was only one baby and two of us. And frequent naptimes during the day. Those weeks with the girls were an unpleasant experience and I remember thinking that this pacing with infants must be God’s way of reminding me that parenthood demands everything. Lay it all down. You think you can hang on to that? Nope. You’ve got to lay that down too.

But you know what? It feels really, really good to be sold out for something. I am a confused and divided person about some of the most important things more often than is comfortable. And even though I have moments where I want to hop in the mini-van and drive into the horizon, I am totally sold out on motherhood and the nurturing of my children. And if it means pacing floors and sopping up pee for the sixth time in one day, it is an easy choice. And there is rest in that.

Oh, but Eddie Vedder. When the girls would scream inconsolably in the middle of the night, Sam and I would take turns coming downstairs to the family room and we would pace in front of a movie. And all the movies we paced in front of were sad and dark and depressing, which did not improve my mood. The three I remember were I Am Robot, Into the Wild, and There Will Be Blood. And now every time I hear Hard Sun, I am back in those moments of helplessness and fatigue. Little Glory was probably six pounds. But really freaking loud. And terribly persistent.

I would say, remind me to watch cheerful, funny movies next time I am pacing the floors. But I don’t plan to pace again, except maybe for my children if ever they find themselves held prisoner by a sleepless baby.

Tonight at dinner, we were listening to a band called Beirut. Manny was sitting at the table finishing his teriyaki (Melissa- I get plenty of take-out despite my better intentions!) and he did the most extraordinary thing. He lifted his chin, closed his eyes, swayed his head back and forth and air drummed through the entire song. I could barely watch. It made me want to laugh uncontrollably. But I don’t want him to censor himself in front of me, so I walked away and stole glimpses here and there, just to make he was still feeling the music.

In Portland, during my dad’s retirement party, I took Manny to the potty and thought, oh no, I have become one of those women who coaches their children loudly in the stall. Another thing I never wanted to be. When we left the stall, there was a young woman in SHORT shorts with TAN legs washing her hands. Manny never saw her face, I don’t think. He turned to me and said, “She’s a pretty girl, huh?”

We went to the wading pool today. Finally. Don’t know why it took us so long. It is blocks away from our house and more shaded than I thought it would be. The girls wore swimsuits for the first time (pictures to come). They had ruffles on their bottoms, which grew substantially with the water. When we changed their diapers later, it looked like we hadn’t changed them for a whole week.

At the wading pool, I saw a baby whose head was the same size as Sam’s. No kidding. There was also a girl running around with goggles on. The water is like eight inches deep. And there was a girl in a fairy swimsuit, complete with a leaf-like skirt, prancing around sharing magic out of her plastic yellow bucket. For Elena, magic meant a Seattle Supersonics ball that she spent the next ten minutes chewing on.

Sam and I walked away asking each other, “Do we look as old as all the other parents there?” We talked this through for several minutes and decided that no, we don’t. Those people are all much, much older than us. Like at least three or four years.

This is a really random post. A series of unrelated thoughts, but in the spirit of things I want to remember, here’s another one.

On our last night at Gearhart on the Oregon Coast, my mom and Mike sent Sam and I to dessert for our 10th wedding anniversary. We left happy, full and with a bag of soft, delicious ice cream for my mom and Mike. On the way back, Sam decided to drive down onto the beach because, for better or worse, you can do that in Gearhart. We had not even gone halfway down when we got stuck in the sand.

Truth be told, I was more worried about the state of the ice cream than anything else, but I didn’t say that to Sam because I knew that would annoy him, as it should. He pushed and pushed the car and I revved and revved, cringing all the while, afraid he was going to throw out his back or something like almost 40 year old people do. The car didn’t budge.

We called Mike to save us. Mike probably could have been a British version of MacGyver. He is very resourceful. Upon arrival, Mike was there to greet the gang of 10 year old children who ultimately pushed our car out of the sand. One part The Little Rascals, one part the cast of the church Nativity play and all bravado, they saved us from an expensive towing bill and the ice cream was still in good form when we arrived back at the house.

My mom gave us a bad time about going to park on the beach and make out for our anniversary. If only we had made it onto the beach. But I still would have been thinking about the ice cream. That makes me laugh. It would make Sam laugh too. It’s good to be loved for who you are. And for ten years? That’s a whole lot of love. And a whole lot of ice cream. More to come. More to come.

A Delicate Crumb or Grit?

2009-08-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

Elena's first assessment of birthday cake.
Glory's.
Elena; a few minutes later.
Glory. A girl after her mother's heart.

In keeping with my pattern, here are some pictures that are at least four weeks old. We just got back from a week in Oregon and I am still sorting out my stories. At the moment, I feel like I can't remember anything because I am in an ice cream coma and I really should be paying my utility and light bills, which are overdue because I didn't set up auto pay correctly. But I felt like I wanted to post something since it has been so long.

One thing I will say though. My children's new favorite food is sand.

How can you look at cake like that Elena and then turn around and eat, literally, fistfuls of sand?

People are such mysteries.

Untitled

2009-07-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

I couldn't think of a title and since I sat down in the spirit of "bust this out as fast as possible so I can wash the dishes, go to the bathroom and apply a little make-up before Super Why is over", I decided to forgo coming up with something clever or meaningful.

There a few things I want to remember from this week. And a few I would like to forget! (i.e. lots of pee running down Manny's legs at inopportune times).

Two days ago, I got the kids situated with their dinner. When I sat down with my plate (which is the plate I feed the babies off of- I have no idea how much I eat anymore. I eat off the collective plate, off their trays, off their clothes, off their arms, legs, pretty much anywhere I find food, I just eat it because I don't know where else to put it. Thank God for Aslan or I would probably sit on the floor and eat there too.) Anyway, I sat down and I sighed a big, "Thank you Lord for this food", which is about all the grace that gets said around our table anymore since we never all begin our meal at the same time. Manny reached out his hand to me and said, "Hold hands?" about five times before I finally figured out what he meant.

Then Sam came home and changed his clothes. He came down in a pair of navy cargo shorts that he wears all the time. Manny saw Sam and said, "cool pants Daddy." This was the first time he commented on fashion.

Yesterday was a tough potty training day with lots of pee. At "naptime" I drilled Manny on what to do if he needed to go potty. He was instructed to yell out, "Mama! POTTY TIME!" When I left him in his room, I was full of household ambitions- so much cleaning, laundry and refrigerator work to do. But I found I was a bit paralyzed. I didn't want to make any noise, lest I miss Manny's verbal warnings for the poo I knew was coming. So I was very quiet and folded clothes slowly and noiselessly just a few feet away from his door. When he started to make some noise, I rushed in, sure that we were going to have our first successful poop in the potty. Instead, what I found was Manny standing naked on his bed, pointing at the large turd on the carpet like I was the maid and I had missed a spot while vacuuming. Then I realized it was smeared all over the sheets and all over him.

I threw him in the shower and as I was rubbing soap between his cheeks and trying to dislocate all the bits of poo that had been drying while I was quitely folding laundry, I began to doubt my potty training plans and strategy. A woman needs some kind of warning. I'm not a freaking mind reader! Though perhaps I should become one.

Once I got Manny all squared away, I needed to wake the girls because we had a drama camp dress rehearsal to attend. Manny entered the girls' room with gusto banging and singing/screaming. Elena immediately sat up with a dazed look on her face. I went to her first and realized she was holding a diaper. She was also wearing a diaper.

I looked over at Glory, still sleeping like an angel. A bottomless angel. She was all curled up, sucking her thumb with no diaper on. And she was dry! Maybe she is ready to use the potty.

When we got to the dress rehearsal, all the kids were transfixed by the songs and the monologues that the teenagers were performing. One boy got on stage and began a monologue where his character is trying to pick up a woman and convince her that he is a good guy and not weird in any way. As he explained to her that he is not into little boys, Manny sauntered on to the stage. The whole room broke into spontaneous laughter and my friend Ryan scooped him up since my hands were full of babies. I think that must say something about Manny that he saw someone delivering a monologue and wanted to go on stage anyway.

Now he is watching Super Why and wearing a diaper and I have no idea what to do next. Oh wait. I still need to go to the bathroom. Maybe I will reward myself with an M & M when I'm done.

Glory Walks!

2009-07-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

A Common Scene at Our House

Glory took her first steps yesterday. Go Glory! I didn’t see it myself so I can’t say too much, except that it happened, I still didn’t cry, and look out world.

The potty training is going swimmingly if you don’t count the poop I keep scooping out of Manny’s underwear. He has yet to do that in the potty. After it happened again today, I decided to adopt the quizzing strategy and began to ask him, “Where do big boys poop? “ until he answered with enthusiasm, “in the potty!” “Where does Manny poop?” “In the potty!!” Eventually, I’m sure. Tomorrow? Eh. I choose to remain neutral.

We are using Baby Bjorn toilet seat inserts. They are great. And the opening is exactly the size and shape of Manny’s head. I know this because he put his whole face in it directly after using the potty on his way to washing his hands.

A fact of Life

2009-07-17T19:33:00.000-07:00

One year ago. And two years ago.

It is a fact of life that everyone has to pull their underwear out of the space between their butt cheeks on a regular basis. This is something that Manny is learning since the spontaneous decision to turn my back on diapers yesterday.

He had been down for his "nap" for about fifteen minutes when he started shouting for me. I went to his room and he was naked, his cloth diaper wadded into a ball with its soggy insert wadded next to it. Manny has been removing his diaper a lot lately and it dawned on me that perhaps this is a sign. So we put on underwear and besides the small ball of poo that appeared this morning while I was putting Elena down for her nap, we are doing okay.

I am going through a stretching period again. I have several moments a day where I am stunned at the constancy of needs, not including my own! And I keep reminding myself that there is no use in fighting it. It makes things worse. It is so much better just to ride the wave and get a lot of salt water up my nose (which hurts and is frustrating) than it is to fight the gigantic force and drown because I was too obstinate to just accept that I am never going to get on top of this particular wave.

Since the potty training thing was a split-second decision (which seems to be my pattern with big changes regarding the kids), I was a bit busy with other things- trying to bake for New Horizons, feed all the children and keep Manny from pulling every last thing off the counter. When did his arms get so long? I seriously think he might be Inspector Gadget.

By the time 4:00 rolled around, Manny was totally fried. It is exhausting to take your clothes off every 20 minutes to deposit four drops of pee into the toliet for one measly M&M.

Somehow we managed to get out of the house and go to the Queen Anne Farmer's Market. It felt great to be there. My late Grandpa Hal grew the most divine raspberries in his garden and every time I buy them fresh from the farm, I feel like I am honoring him. I have found a few farms that I really like and I patronize them every week.

The guy that sells me delicious cherries is tall and good-looking. I feel like there is a tiny part of him that notices that a tiny part of me is more than just a disheleved, stained, aging mother. This week he advanced our conversation by asking how my week has been. He does recognize me! I thought. Of course he freaking recognizes me. I have the same three children with me every week.

I try to think of how to answer and the first thing that comes out my mouth is weird and awkwardly phrased. "I am surprisingly potty-training today." This almost beats what I wrote in a card to the Canlis family after a complimentary meal during my Taproot days. "Even my dog liked the leftover lobster tail!" I wrote. I am getting flushed just thinking about it. (For those of you that don't know, Canlis is arguably the nicest restaurant in town.) The cherry guy didn't respond except to give me my total. There is the end of that farmer's market romance.

I literally laughed out loud at myself all the way home and stopped laughing when I saw the man sunbathing in his speedo right next to the chain link fence and public garbage can where I often throw away Aslan's poo because I didn't want the man to think I was laughing at him.

Today is Sam's birthday and we are going to go celebrate by getting off our computers and doing something else. 32 years old and fabulous. If it was junior high, I would vote him "Best All Around".

Manny

2009-07-15T21:00:00.001-07:00

Post-nap smoothie face. He has my furrowed eyebrows, I'm told.

Today, I was out on the deck with all three kids. Elena started to walk. I said, "Look! Manny! Elena's walking!" Manny looked at Elena and pushed her down. That's one way to respond.

This afternoon I took the kids to Banana Republic to find a birthday gift for Sam. I picked up a kelly green polo shirt that I thought Sam might like. I showed it to Manny and said, "Do you think Daddy would like this?" Manny pointed at the shirt and said, "Mama's shirt!" We bought a long-sleeved white button-up instead.

Elena Walks

2009-07-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

The long-ago promised picture of Manny's dance routine to The Killers.

Elena waving to the crowd after her Olympic victory in splashing.

Elena has sort of taken a step here, a step there and I haven't known when to call it her official first step. I know lots of mothers cry when their children take a first step and I waited for that sign, but the tears never came. Finally, while I was on the phone with Aunt Pat yesterday, Elena took a clear series of five **tiny** steps and I have decided to declare if "official".

This picture is old because it consistently takes me at least six weeks to upload pictures onto my computer, but it reminds me of the night before last. Glory and Elena were playing in the bathtub and we have never seen them crack each other up as much as they did splashing back and forth. I ran to get the camera, but only got 16 seconds of film minus sound because I don't have enough memory. I am such a bad 21st century mother. I was thinking about running to get Sam's work camera when we realized that one of the babies had laughed so hard that she pooped and it was in a million pieces all over the bathtub. Who dealt it? Who knows? But that was the end of the "precious" moment and the beginning of the "wash the babies from head to toe in the shower as fast as we can" mission.

There are so many moments where Sam and I look at each other and it's so clear we are both thinking, "Can you believe this crazy stuff? No! Can you? No! WOW." And then something else happens and we're off.

Manny's new favorite saying is, "Oh no! What's happened?" It is the beginning of the era of explanation. We will sit with a book and he will ask that same question about one picture ten times before we move on, but I love it and hope I never lose patience for the answering.

I guess, in a way, that is the question I am constantly asking myself. "Oh no! What's happened?" What's happened between the children? What's happened that all three are in hysterics? What's happened to my midsection? What's happened to my memory? What's happened that I am living such a dream ballet of discovery and fatigue? What's happened that I grew up and it's so much better than it was to be 20, overwhelmed and asleep? What's happened that Clifford the Big Red Dog is over and I haven't done the dishes yet?

And that is where the pondering ends and the diaper changing begins.

Happy Birthday Tomorrow Babies!

2009-07-04T21:05:00.000-07:00

Glory and Elena on the ramp that Mike and Manny built.

Elena looking sporty at the playground.

Manny's new bulldozer- a thank you gift for a year of exceptional patience.

An older picture of Glory, but too cute to pass up.

I am sitting in bed, drinking a toast to myself. I did it! In two hours, I will mark the anniversary of when I went into labor with the twins. One whole year. It has been a purifying experience to have occasion to love this much and this often. I am going to celebrate by reminiscing tomorrow and enjoying the full night of sleep I didn't have last year! Except it's sweltering in my bedroom and people are setting off obnoxious fireworks all over. Oh well. These are small obstacles to sleep in comparison to contractions.

Childproofing

2009-06-25T17:06:00.000-07:00

You know you missed a critical area of childproofing when you are changing a diaper and look up to see your 2 year old brandishing a carving knife you have never used and could never figure out where to store. Apparently, in the very back of the silverware drawer will no longer cut it. Did it happen exactly this why? Who can say? All I remember is Manny, a knife, and I am always changing diapers. It may not have actually been as dangerous psp[

[[][]

]--]0-\

That was how Glory remembers it going down.

I have a career choice for Elena. When they remake Mission Impossible again, she can be the woman who pulls off all the villian's fake faces. She's already overqualified.

I think I might know what it feels like to be attacked by a pack of vampires. Vampires in diapers.

Rites of Passage

2009-06-23T21:18:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I took Manny, Glory and Elena to Pacific Place to walk across the skybridge, say hello to the fish at Nordstrom, and to feign interest in children's socks so the very well-accessorized young saleswoman would give Manny a balloon (which met its untimely end on the popcorn ceiling of the parking garage to much wailing and grief). More importantly, we were there to buy Manny days of the week underpants. His first underpants. They are not to be worn yet. In fact, they are in a sad pile on the laundry room floor (good thing Manny doesn't know that. He was quite territorial about them all afternoon). But soon and very soon, we are going to try some potty training and so I wanted to make a big deal out of the underwear thing. They are covered in all different modes of transportation, which is perfect for Manny's interests right now. I was noticing how tiny Manny's behind looked on his Skuut bike today. I can't imagine how small it will look once we remove the enormous cloth diaper!

Then, last night, Manny slept in his big boy bed for the first time and he didn't wake up once. We are so proud of him and have made a big enough deal of it that I think he is quite proud of himself too. I think the crib will be gone by the weekend. Actually, swapped, since Elena's crib is currently held together by zip ties. Zip ties are the new duct tape. Don't know if you knew.

Today, Manny was in the portable crib in the kitchen playing with a huge pile of stuffed animals he congregated for his amusement. Suddenly, he said, "Mama, wanna go outer space!"

Oh, and yesterday as we were leaving Pacific Place, I put my parking ticket into the machine as directed and a woman's recorded voice said, "Thank you and drive safely." Manny shouted out from the back of the mini-van, "See you later!"

I have a sinus headache and almost didn't write at all. But I am glad I did. Because things like your first package of underwear and your first night in the bed you will sleep in through college (because that's the plan Manny!) are big rites of passage. How did Manny grow into this little wonder who is constantly asking me now, "What you doing Mama? Making cookies?" "I wish," I said. We are truly conversing. I am in awe.

Echo Joy

2009-06-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

My little goddaughter Echo Joy has said a couple of things lately that I want to remember. Echo will be 3 years old next month.

When we were leaving her house recently after a fun playdate and a muffin snack, I was packing up my things. She was watching me expectantly. Finally, she said, "Now's when you thank me for feeding you!"

Today we went to an artist's reception for Sam (Echo's dad). When we walked into the cafe, Echo was checking Manny out. She looked over at me and said, in her most grown-up voice, "Is he getting bigger?"

Also at the cafe, Glory walked, holding only Sam's finger, for the first time. I admit I was surprised. It won't be long now! There was a band playing and Manny stood and soaked it all in for a long time, much longer than one would expect from a 2 year old. The girls apparently soaked it up too because they serenaded us all the way home.

Too Tired to Blink

2009-06-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

Which is sort of true. I am doing that whole stare at the screen until your eyes burn and you feel completely glazed over thing, but I am blinking involuntarily. In fact, I do a lot of things involuntarily. Like bake cookies. And shout like a mad woman at my toddler when there are stairs involved.

Last night, Sam was at his bible study and I was putting the three children to bed alone. Everything was going swimmingly. I was proud of how clean the kitchen was when we were ready to head upstairs. I am on top of it tonight! But common sense is not my forte so when I took Elena upstairs I set her in her room, but didn't shut the door or put her in her crib. So, by the time I got back upstairs with Glory in my arms and Manny at my heels and Aslan completely in the way of everything, Elena was at the gate. A calmer or more well-rested person might have been able to problem solve this situation and not lose their cool, but all I could see was my son at the top of a very tall, open staircase built on concrete who was refusing to obey and Elena getting closer and closer to danger and I just started to scream in that horrible voice that might warrant a tranquilizer dart in my ass (if I wasn't holding a baby).

Manny stood at the top of this treacherous staircase, completely stunned. I wondered if he might fall because I shouted. So I kept shouting because I had no idea what to do and now the girls were really in a pickle. Finally he came through the gate, I shut it and crumpled to the ground with my face in my hands. All three children were sobbing because they were so frightened and I felt, at the same time, indignant and completely ashamed. When I looked up to meet their scared and angry faces, Glory was standing, screaming right at me no hands. I guess in all her upset, she forgot that she doesn't know how to stand yet.

There are all kinds of changes happening. The girls are beginning to point, they are cutting two and three teeth, Manny is napping in his big boy bed and the girls are crawling down the ramp with no fear. I can barely keep up. What else? Manny rode his bike to the park and back while I pushed the stroller. There's a big one I didn't think we would do for a while. We went to the farmers' market this afternoon and Manny was completely captivated by a man playing guitar. He stood statue still with his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants he has been wearing since he was 11 months old, which now look like gray, pin-striped capris. If he wasn't three feet tall with a button nose and a baby belly, I could have sworn he was a young man. There was nothing little about the look on his face.

I am feeling a bit beat up from the emotional roller coaster we are all on (children are very emotional! I thought I had a flair for the dramatic!), as well as the constant barrage of housework that is every parent's duty. At the same time, I am very grateful. My kids are amazing and I am so lucky to have the privilege of spending this time with them, of washing their dishes five times a day and rinsing out their poopy diapers (which is what I am going to do next). These are blessings. For whatever reason, I have this worthless idea stuck in my system (where did I learn this?) that the aim of life is leisure. I don't think I would care much for that even if I got it and yet, I am always battling this assumption.

I am sitting here, ready to fall asleep with my hands on the keys, and all I can think is God, the beauty, the beauty.

I've never read Faulkner's The Agony and the Ecstasy, but I am digging on the title. Maybe I should pick up a copy.

Look out poo-poos. Here I come. I've had just about enough of your shit.

I really need to go to bed.

Flying Solo

2009-06-15T21:44:00.001-07:00

Sam had his New Horizons board meeting tonight. That means he leaves at 5:20 and doesn't get back until after the children have all gone to bed.

Right before he left, he helped me bring the kids inside. We had been in the yard so that everyone could file down their teeth on the rocks in the pea gravel pit. There's nothing like the sound of your kids' teeth on rocks. I always look to Manny for support in these situations, but he's doing it right along with the girls. Though, to his credit, he did take his rock out of his mouth long enough to walk over to Glory and reprimand her for gnawing on hers.

As soon as Sam left, I started on dinner. Manny wanted to hear his "Jenny" song so I reluctantly turned it on and he began his special dance. He was forced to stop many times because there were serious traffic jams with Glory, Elena, and I plus all the toys. He also paused to lean. He loves to stand next to the girls and lean on them until they are completely flattened on the floor. It is slow and stealthy and incredibly deliberate. If I see it, I am always in the background, trying to repeat in an escalatingly calm and wise voice, "Give her space. Give her SPACE!"

By the time I had the salmon and the fried rice in their respective pans, all three children were hanging on my pants and crying. You would think they would want me to prepare their food. But something about the image of me and a wooden spoon at the hot stove drives them nuts and they lose all ability to cope with waiting and with each other. It is these moments that I try to use all my theatrical training to ground myself, breathe deeply and control the motion of the wooden spoon as not to cause anyone to have a permanent scar from a flying piece of searingly hot egg yolk. (I can't wait until the girls can eat egg white.)

Everyone ate well and Manny got the special treat of Rhubarb Crisp with Hazelnuts. Have I mentioned how much I love my friend Sarah's food blog www.inpraiseofleftovers.com? Delicious.

I gave Manny his dessert in a mug and somehow it flew off the table and shattered all over the floor which caused the tears to spring forth from Manny's ducts like a golf course sprinkler system. He was screaming so loud that he could not hear me reassuring him that more dessert was on the way. After he was served the second time, I began to clean up, which included hauling out the vacuum hose, plugging it into the wall and sucking up all the tiny shards of mug.

I turned off the vacuum, looked over at the girls, and marveled at how their entire bodies were covered in rice, salmon flakes and strawberry bits. I could not resist. I turned the vacuum on them. I vacuumed their arms, their legs, their middles, under their thighs, and even Glory's fingers. It worked so well I may have to pull it out every night.

In the girls' bedroom, I had to tackle each baby a dozen times to get their diapers changed and their pajamas on. Their bodies were covered in dust from the gravel pit, but I can't bathe them alone, and I just wasn't in a position to get washcloths and there were poops and remnants of poops and Manny was building a sculpture out of everything in the room, so I resorted to using wipe after wipe after wipe. Then came the eco-guilt. Sorry God. Sorry Al Gore. Sorry great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren. Sorry. Sorry. SORRY. Then I spotted more rice and salmon on the floor, as well as shards from the mug. Where is my trusty vacuum?

Finally I get the girls in their beds and Manny is running up and down the hall laughing at his own physical comedy. The girls are watching him from their cribs like they are about to win big at the horse races. I feel like I should just extricate myself from the situation because they are having so much fun and anything I do just deters from their delight in one another. It is magnificent.

I instruct Manny to stick his face through the crib slats to kiss the girls like I have been doing. He pushes them instead, which Elena thinks is hilarious and they do this for a while with me saying, "Gentle. Gentle! Gentle!!"

Manny and I retreat to his room for a short burst of toothbrushing, lots of spittle and some quality time with the digger book from the library. At 7:30 I said goodnight and have been in my post-bedtime comatose state ever since. I should be doing my ironing which is on the floor of the family room closet. I know this because I step on it every time I turn on a DVD for Manny. How many times can you walk on your ironing before you need to wash it again?

A question for another day.

Manny's Palette

2009-06-14T09:21:00.000-07:00

It is exciting to discover what complimentary interests you have with your children. For example, I love to bake and Manny loves to eat what I bake. This is no surprise - what kid doesn't like cookies and muffins and pies? But it still feels great to see his approval and satisfaction and in a few weeks when the girls can eat egg whites and honey, I can't wait to have three appreciative tummies to fill with warmth and sweetness (after they eat all their "growing food" as their godmother says).

We also love going to the bakery together and it has become our tradition to take Manny on Saturday mornings to Macrina while Rona hangs with Glory and Elena at home. I really look forward to this outing. For one thing, it marks the end of another week and I still feel a sense of accomplishment about that. And then, of course, there is the Orange Hazelnut Pinwheel, a marvelous pastry that I would love to savor.

Except it is impossible to savor anything at the bakery with Manny. Manny eats like a dog. He vacuums up food so fast that you wonder if he bothered to stop and chew. His typical order is a scone. Yesterday it was blueberry. At the start, all he cares about is his own pastry. He does not allow anyone else to taste the smallest crumb from his plate. This is usually when I regret having given him the whole thing at once, because the scones are large.

Then I get over my amazement and choking concerns and settle in to take my first bite of pinwheel. Manny somehow manages to notice this amidst the flurry of crumbs falling from his lips and emits a grunt that sounds something like an emphatic "THAT". And while I am re-establishing the bakery bartering system, Manny continues to eat scone and starts to negotiate with Sam over his Nutella Brioche as well. While Manny's working Sam, I steal chunks of scone and eat them Manny style to try and reduce Manny's sugar and fat intake. Sam, not one to rush food, eats small bites here and there and by the end of the whole charade, has eaten maybe 1/4 of what Manny managed to shove down his snack hole (thank you McDonalds advertisers for that disgusting and catchy phrase).

I, on the hand, have eaten plenty, but tasted or enjoyed little. The last bite is gone and I wish we could start all over again, because it is all so delicious and it went by so fast. I can only imagine the frantic flurry of food and fun it will be when the girls join us at the bakery table. I can't wait.

For dinner, I made this dish called Israeli Couscous with Tofu and Vegetables that we are really digging. I served Manny and he sat there for a couple minutes and stared at the food (probably still full from the bakery). Finally, he said, "where'd the meat go?" This is where he and Sam's passions align. In the end, Manny ate his dinner and I'm sure the meat will make an appearance soon.

Bedtime Stories

2009-06-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

I picked up a book from the library called In Our Mother's House by Patricia Polacco. I have seen her on Reading Rainbow and I am always on the lookout for stories about children who have different racial and cultural backgrounds. This was the first picture book I have ever seen about a non-traditional family, though I am sure there are many published. The book tells a story about two women who adopt three children of all different races. The book is a retrospective, told from the perspective of the eldest daughter. The story takes us all the way through their idyllic childhoods, their marriages, the birth of their children, their mothers' deaths and the passing on of the house to the next generation. It is a lot for a 2 1/2 year old to absorb.

Throughout their childhood, there is one neighbor woman who is always scowling at their family. She is also skinny. I think her bigotry problem may be linked to a body image obsession, causing her to be chronically hungry and therefore very irritable. At one point in the story- I can't remember if this is when the mothers throw a huge neighborhood block party where everyone prepares ethnic foods to share or if it's when the mothers invite the neighborhood over to build a tree house, but both look like a ton of fun. If you apply beer marketing strategies to this book- if you drink this beer, you get this girl- this book seems to say, if you have two moms, you will know the true meaning of community and racial harmony. It's irresistable. Anyway, during one of these events, the mean lady comes wagging her finger and says something to the effect of, "I don't appreciate you!"

Manny is learning to identify emotions and situations. Everything right now is "he's sad" or "she's scared" or "he fell over". So when Sam reads this book, he changes the words to this exchange. He always says about the mean lady, "She's sad. She's sad because somebody pushed somebody else. And pushing is bad." It's hard to tell if Manny is learning how to be gentler with his sisters as a result of this improvising on Sam's part. Sam also likes to change the text on the page where the mothers have died, which is illustrated with a touching picture of the mothers, now deceased, holding each other on an armchair in the stars. "This is an outer space armchair," Sam says. And Manny, who repeats everything of interest, always says, "Outer space armchair."

For a long time, Glory and Elena didn't get read to regularly. I just couldn't figure out how to make it work when someone was always squirming out of my arms or crying. But now that they are in the same room, I put them both in their cribs and I read to them like I am a professional librarian. I come by that naturally, of course, since my mom is a kick-ass professional children's librarian. How do you like that title Mom?

I select a book and I do that reading upside down-thing. I even occasionally lick my finger so I can turn the pages with greater ease. I put the book in front of Glory's face, then like I am on a pendulum, I move it into Elena's view and then back to Glory's and so on. Sometimes, I even let them touch it, but not for too long, or the book inevitably ends up in one of their cribs and I am not as good at story improvisation as Sam is.

After I put the book away, I have gotten into the habit of kneeling at their cribs and pressing my face in between the crib slats, alternating equally between Glory and Elena. Elena is always quick to give me a huge open mouth kiss. She also likes to stick her fingers up my nose and pull. Glory likes to poke at me with her fingers and she also likes to press her face to mine. Sometimes we kiss. They both LOVE this and are totally delighted the whole time. When I get up to leave and blow kisses as I say goodnight, there is often some whimpering. They could play this game for a long time.

The nose thing reminded me of an image I want to remember. Every night, we say to our kids, "The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine on you and be gracious to you. The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen." Last night, Sam spoke these words of Old Testament blessing to Manny while Manny picked his nose and deposited the contents of his find into his mouth. That is a beautiful image. The holy and the gross. The hopes and the reality. The divine and the utterly human. No pretense. No false piety. Just a need and the love of God so clear in the fact that the finger is the perfect size to fit in the nostril to meet that need.

I love bedtime.

Your Song

2009-06-09T22:11:00.001-07:00

Life is about contrasts. Contrasts help us to determine how we feel about things, what we want, and remind us of what's possible.

Today Manny watched a little bit of Arthur. If you don't know, Arthur is an aardvark and his friends are various other creatures. And they go to school and learn life lessons and do amusing things, etc, etc. Manny loves it and the part of me that faithfully watched television series as a kid loves it too.

Sam worked from home today and emerged from his office at one point to grab a bite to eat. I seized the opportunity to go to the bathroom and took my sweet time to make the break as long as possible. While I was in the bathroom, I could hear Manny telling Sam about Arthur. Sam, trying to engage Manny further, asked what Arthur's best friend's name was. "He's a white bunny, right?" I'm sitting in the bathroom trying not to raise my hand and jump up and down. "I know the answer!" I wanted to shout. I actually felt a surge of excitement that I knew the rabbit's name was Buster.

Manny, if knew or not, did not answer and Sam eventually shouted to me to see if I knew, so I had the satisfaction of blurting out the right answer. What was this about?, I wondered. Why the thrill? I pondered this for a while and I think I spend a lot of my time feeling like I don't know anything conclusively. I don't know what to do with Manny when he's a pushing monster, I don't know how to keep my eye on all three children and cook dinner, I don't know how to complete a thought more complex than "I'm tired" and I don't know how to feel about most of the complexity I feel inside me and see in the rest of the world.

I miss the days of elementary school when I knew everything. I always had the right answer and I was usually one of the first people to get it. I identified myself as a smart kid. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being smart and just started being interested in boys. And you can draw a straight line to motherhood. Some people manage to stay on the smart trajectory and add in boys as an interesting side dish, but I've always been a single focus sort of gal, and right now the focus is pretty clear.

But there are no right answers, short of love your children. And sometimes, I don't even feel like I do that all that well. I've been surly as a sailor on the inside a lot lately. Every day, I have moments of total amazement over the beauty of my children. I lay on the floor and the three of them crawl all over me, pulling my hair, catching my eyelids with their sharp fingernails and biting the ample belly I keep hidden underneath my stained shirts (Elena). And it's painful. But amazing. How did I get so lucky as to participate in the creation of three people who desire to be so close to me?

And then there are other moments where I think all the thoughts that well-adjusted people are not supposed to think and I feel much, much too weak to be available, kind, loving, wise and present. And I start to think that any random person on the street could nurture them so much better than I can. And then thankfully, it's usually close to 5:30, Sam comes home, I get a grip, the kids go to bed and before I know it, we start all over again.

Tonight, I went to a lovely evening of music that my friend Amy Eernissee produced. Daniel Berryman and Friends. It was marvelous and as I listened to these young people sing, I experienced a host of feelings that have laid dormant for quite some time. The desire to create. The desire to tell stories - momentary ones and ones that require a journey, in search of resonance, truth and the illumination of spirit that gives birth to change. I have felt my whole adulthood that I have something special inside me to share, but I can't ever quite find it and I sure don't know how to let it out.

On my way to the show, I was afraid I would leave feeling like crap. I wasn't sure I wanted to watch teenagers more talented than me and more driven than me, shine. But thanks to Daniel and Amy, I left with a much different feeling. Some people live out their gifts in a way that don't make us feel small, but instead ignite in us a sense of possibility. Too often, I live as though I believe that if I'm special, it means the next guy isn't. And if he is, then what does that say about me? And I get stopped there. But something about tonight assured me that the mystery and the majesty is that we all have something valuable to contribute. We each have our song.

I hope I can teach that to my children. I hope I can learn it myself. Why does there have to be such a big difference between knowing and embodying? I just looked down at my wrist and my mom bracelet that I wear every day. "The Journey is the Reward" it says. I guess there's my answer.

Coffee Cup Saves the Day!

2009-06-08T19:32:00.000-07:00

Manny, Glory, Elena and I took two outings today. One at our regular outing time between morning and afternoon nap and one before dinner. This morning we ended up at the playground after quick stops to buy strawberries and a latte. The small sandbox at Big Howe was packed with kids and their parents. As I sat there counting the heads of my children 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3 over and over again, I couldn't get over the smell of poo. I did the general waft of my children, but it didn't smell like them. I think I was in denial because it took longer than reasonable to locate the animal poop right behind Glory and Elena. This is a gross story. There is no way around it. But I tell it because my coffee cup saved the day, so add that to the list of reasons to drink a latte on the go. You never know when you might need a large scooper to save your children and the rest of the neighborhood from a terrible animal poo accident.

Interject a cute bit of dialogue from this morning.

Manny sees Sam for the first time this morning.

Manny: Hi Sam. Have a good time?

Sam: Yes. I slept good. Did you sleep good?

Manny: I sleep good!

This afternoon we went to the library, which is a short walk from our house. I have taken the kids there periodically over the girls' lifetime- we always have library books, but often they are gathered with other people. Taking all three children to the library has always been a problematic activity. For one, I make a scene getting my double jogger BOB through the old side door. I start out thinking I'm going to sail through, but then I get stuck and push and bang and apologize under my breath until we finally break through to library land.

Once in the children's section, I put the girls on the floor with some toys, thinking they would play happily in one place. No! They were off like racecars in different directions. The goal? To pull as many books off the shelves as far apart from one another as possible. I spent the next ten minutes frantically trying to return books to their proper places while still engaging Manny so he didn't destroy the library computer which clearly says, "This is NOT a toy." Doesn't he read?

Finally, I gave up and put the girls back into the stroller. We checked out our books and Manny decided he wanted to be in the stroller so I scooped up Glory to put her in the Ergo and make space for Manny, forgetting that the stroller has a thick layer of cracker crumbs all over it, sprinkling the floor with a gust of cracker dust. The library also has a sign that says, "DON'T FEED THE ANTS." I considered ripping the pages out of the books we just checked out since I was doing such a poor job of following the rules anyway, but I figured we had done enough damage. If any of the librarians are particular about alphabetization, I'm sure the children's section gave them quite a headache after we left.

When we got home, there was more dancing to the Killers. I am a total failure at the picture thing. I have a great one of Manny at the start of his dance, but now my camera is not responding. Someday, I will develop some blogging sophistication. But not today.

Plastic Bins X 3

2009-06-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was even hotter than the day before and the length of the afternoon loomed large ahead of me so I made a rash decision to put all three kids into their own plastic bin of water. I didn't think through all the details. I knew I had to act fast before Manny spiraled into constantly pushing both girls at the same time rather than alternating between the two. So I ran into the family room and dumped a bin of stationary onto the couch. Heaps of untouched Christmas cards I bought with good intentions cascaded over boxes of invitations purchased at a liquidation sale that, in this age of evite, will probably live forever in my closet. The couch was too full to handle all of the gift bags I have accumulated from years of generosity at Christmastime and showers, so those I left on the floor of the closet.

As soon as Manny realized what we were about to do, he could not wait. Those two inches of water were irresistable, so I stripped him down and he climbed into his bin. What I didn't anticipate, but should have, is that Glory and Elena both were curious about what Manny was doing and wanted to pull themselves to standing on his bin. They also do this every time Manny is sitting at the dining table in his booster seat. He hates this. It doesn't matter how cheery he is, whether he is eating steak or apple pie - there is no food tasty enough to distract him from the annoyance he feels when the girls pull themselves up on his chair. He takes the palm of his hand, presses it to the center of their forehead and pushes with all his might. It is no understatement to say that this behavior drives me crazy. It is a terrible thing to feel like your child is the enemy. And it is easy to start feeling that way about Manny. He terrorizes the babies. But he is still in diapers. He could not be accused in any way of maturity so it is ridiculous of me to expect otherwise. It's just challenging. I was telling Rona that sometimes I play things out that my kids do into their adulthood. For example. Elena and Glory are at Manny's heels no matter how many times he knocks them on their heads. This makes me worry that they will be the kind of women who stay with abusers because they are loyal lovers and believe that their man has the ability to change. Pretty stupid, but I have always been a long-term perspective kind of person and this is where my mind goes.

By the way, I should add that Manny is a delightful child. He is curious, quick to laugh, patient, interested in everything, has a great appetite and he's a tender snuggler (minus the hair pulling and subsequent hair eating). If he was an only child, life with him would be easy. Sure, he would have his toddler moments. Everyone does. But he is an easy kid. It's just this whole gentleness thing that is a problem.

So, he's in the bin, the girls are getting pushed and keep coming back for more, everyone's soaked already and I still have two empty bins to fill. And the sink is far enough away that the deck could look like the final scene from Hamlet by the time I get back. Manny's not listening to any of my warnings, so I pull him out of his bin and try to have a conversation with him. He's kicking and screaming and still naked and wet. It's like to trying to hold onto and reason with a giant sturgeon. People are walking by on the street and can see his bare butt through the open slats of our gate. Finally, I give up on talk and instruct him to sit on the ottoman in the living room while I fill up the girls' bins. This miraculously works and by the time all three children are in their bins, my head is pounding and I realize I have no towels or diapers for the after part of this adventure.

All three kids want a peri bottle. I have never stopped to think about why they are called that, but as I just typed the word, I figured it out. Perineum. That's the part of a woman's body nobody usually talks about. And after you give birth, they hand you a bottle so that you can give yourself a mini-shower every time you use the toliet, making wiping unnecessary. Thank God for that. I have only given birth twice, so therefore, there are only two peri bottles. This is a big conflict in the water bins and someone is constantly unhappy. I am definitely not giving birth again just so I can get another bottle and I suppose that wouldn't solve the problem anyway because then I would have four children vying for three bottles, only I wouldn't know about it because I would be living in Canada.

I remember that I have an empty ketchup bottle filled with vinegar and water in the kitchen. I run to the kitchen, thinking "don't trip and incapacitate yourself causing the children to drown in an inch of water in a gift bag box" while constantly turning around and counting 1, 2, 3 heads...1, 2, 3, heads. So far, so good. I get back with the ketchup bottle and this solves the problem.

Elena wants to climb out of her bin, Glory sits and observes, quietly playing with her peri bottle, and Manny waves his peri bottle up and down, spraying me with water. If I play it up, he think it's hilarious. So I comply and occasionally splash him back, which he loves. He pauses to take a pee into his bin. I can see this coming from a mile away and I start talking quick. But it doesn't matter. He refills his peri bottle with the pee water and soon I am covered in that too. I can't really run away. The two babies make it a delicate situation.

Once the pee starts flying, I am done. I get all the kids out of their bins, dump the water and let them crawl around the deck in the buff while the water evaporates. I look at the clock. It is only 4:45. How is this possible? Where are my reinforcements?

Time to make dinner. Manny wants to hear his new favorite song. Jenny Was a Friend of Mine by The Killers. It's a cool song, but it's about something violent happening to Jenny and the only reason I tolerate it is because it's not at all graphic. There's no way Manny knows what it's about. For some reason, he loves it. I have not played a song on repeat this much since the 8th grade when I would tap dance in my garage to If You Go Away, a little known single release by New Kids on the Block that captured my heart and broke it in those three and a half minutes again and again. Tap dancing helped relieve the pain.

Manny has turned Jenny into a dance routine. He stands at the top of the ramp and waits like an Olympic gymnast in the floor competition for the appopriate beat of the music to raise his arms like a bird and prance around the island in a fervor until the song is complete. And he wants to do this again and again. This is one of the reasons I love him. He is a creative dancer. I have taken a picture that I will post next time.

A Day to Get Wet

2009-06-03T22:27:00.000-07:00

It was hot here today. Don't know how hot, but for my Pac NW blood, it was too hot. I could have tried to take the kids to a wading pool or something, but I opted for less traditional water play.

This morning, Sam needed to leave for a breakfast meeting so I needed to shower quick before he left since the girls were already awake. Our shower is inside a wet room that you just walk into. There is no door. Usually we block the entrance with our laundry basket, but this morning, the basket was inside the toliet room and a man deserves his privacy. So I started the shower and tried to see how far I could get without attracting the girls' attention. I had been in there maybe a minute when both the girls came charging in (can you charge when you're crawling?)and sat their fat diapered bottoms (they hadn't been changed from the night yet) right on top of the drain. And they played happily there in the spray of the shower for the next few minutes. Add that to the list of things I never thought I'd do. Shower with two fully-clothed babies when I'm in a hurry. I love that the girls have a gusto about them. It's the same quality that they exhibit when I vacuum. Instead of keeping their distance or even trying to get away from the vacuum, they spend the whole time trying to climb on top of it. Makes for difficult cleaning. Manny also tries to climb on the vacuum. Oh and Aslan too. There are so many things in my day where there are two choices- 1. laugh heartily OR 2. laugh maniacally like I have just gone over the edge. The vacuum one is a tough call.

At naptime, we had a dryer delivered. Yay! I thought it was hard to do laundry and then my dryer broke. That makes it harder. Buddha, the dryer delivery man, arrived to the sounds of all three children napping...oh wait, I mean screaming. He works alone and took our new Speed Queen all the way up our giant staircase all by himself. I didn't get to see him take our old one down because I was doing my best to soothe the children one at a time. By the time I got to #3, Manny, I was done soothing and just brought him downstairs. He needed an activity so we got him naked and I put him in a big tupperware of water and plastic cups. That did the trick. It was so fun to see him out there on the deck enjoying the body God gave him and the stacking cups I gave him pretty equally. I have a feeling I am going to be putting each of the kids in their own tupperware of water a lot this summer. Maybe I need to evacuate my gift wrap to a safe place and sit in my own plastic bin once in a while. Nothing like chilling out with a sippie cup of applesauce and yogurt in a plastic bin. Seizing the summer one moment at a time.

Chocolate and Pee

2009-05-31T21:48:00.000-07:00

I asked Manny what he wants for breakfast. "Oatmeal or Pancakes?" "Chocolate," he said. "Me too," I said. We settled on oatmeal and pancakes. And then chocolate chip cookies after dinner. Lucky kid.

During bathtime, Manny pushed Elena. He constantly pushes the babies. My mom tells me that I used to hit my sister over the head with books and continued to do so after lots of intervention, so I guess he comes by it naturally. Sam pulled Manny out of the tub, naked, to have a little discussion about his behavior. After Sam gave Manny the talk, he asked him to say, "Yes Daddy. I understand." Instead of repeating that obedient phrase, Manny grabbed his penis and peed on Sam's leg. We can all relate to that, right? Somebody tells us we can't do what we want to do and we really just want to pee on them. Thank God that is socially unacceptable or life would be a whole let messier. Manny eventually said what he was supposed to say and rejoined the tub. Sam washed his leg.

Diaper Changing, Part 2 + Some Old Pictures

2009-05-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

First of all, I just want to say that anyone posts a comment, I get a real kick out of it. I don't know what the blogging etiquette is. It feels rude to read a comment and not respond somehow, like if someone left you a thoughtful voice mail and you never returned their call, but it also seems silly to assume that any of you would be checking back to see if I wrote, "Thanks!" below your comment. So feel free to educate me if there is some blogging etiquette and I will add that to the list of things I forget to do because I am preoccupied with all the other things I am not doing.

Yesterday morning, I was trying to get the kids ready for a trip to the Vance's house. Elena had a poopy diaper so I pull out a new package of wipes. Manny, being the helpful lad that he is, opens up the package, pulls off the sticker that reads "Remove Completely" and affixes it to his forehead. Then he lays down next to me and rolls back and forth like a dog who wants his tummy rubbed. I open the diaper and attempt my first wipe when I realize that Glory, at not even 11 months old, can read. She is following instructions and trying to "remove completely" the sticker from Manny's forehead. Manny doesn't like this and pushes Glory. Elena wants to get in the middle of it all, but I have made no progress on her bottom and am trying to micro-manage Glory and Manny while I grip Elena's ankles. The scene keeps playing out over and over like a skipping record. Glory reaches to remove the sticker. Manny pushes her. I freak out. Repeat. Finally, I just ignore Manny and Glory, tackle Elena, wash my hands and escape out the back door for a much-needed coffee break. (All true except for the escape.)

Thinking I have paid my diaper dues for the day, I retreat to the kitchen/dining room (where I do most of my poopy changes....mmmm...appetizing) and realize that Manny needs to be changed too. He lies still for me. Good boy. Oh no! It's Glory again and she is alternately trying to gouge Manny's eyes out and stick her hand in his diaper deposit. Oh no! There's Elena on my other side. Manny is trying to get away. I would too if two babies were sticking their fingers in my eyes. I don't know how we made it out of that one, but I didn't have to change my clothes or theirs, nor did I have to clean the carpet. I think that's what we Christians like to call mercy.

On my way to the Vance's, I stop at Macrina to pick up a latte for myself and one for Candace. There is a parking spot right in front. Grace. I go inside with one baby in the Ergo, one in my arm and Manny between my legs again. I am aware that I look ridiculous, especially when I add to that two steaming hot beverages. Why do I do this almost every day? Why do I put myself into this awkward, attention-grabbing position? I didn't even really care for espresso prior to the girls' birth. A nice barista helps me to the car and as I drive to Shoreline, eating my morning glory muffin, I realize that this has become my coping mechanism. It bothers me that I require a coping mechanism in the first place, as though that is revealing of some weakness I would not have were I a better person. As far as coping mechanisms go, it's a whole lot better than breaking out the wine at 3pm or any other list of things that help people get through their day. And maybe there isn't any thing wrong with it at all. Maybe I waste too much time evaluating myself and too little time just savoring the opportunity that is now.

And now there is a baby (Elena) crawling up my leg and wiping her nose all over my hip. She already coated my back. I like being this down to earth. I like that she feels like she owns me and that she sees me as an extension of herself. I think, in general, this attitude the children have of viewing me as completely accessible all the time, actually makes me feel more accessible in really good ways. Except for when I am wondering if I have travelled down a dark road by buying too many lattes and eating too many muffins. Especially ones that don't have cauliflower in them.

A few thoughts before making muffins

2009-05-27T20:01:00.000-07:00

I am about to make muffins with cauliflower puree in them. Sounds unusual, I know. But pretty darn tasty and indiscernable with banana and peanut butter, and of course, lots of brown sugar. I am discovering that cooking is really important to me. Even when I'm exhausted and I should just be going to bed, I still do it. Sure, it's for the kids. But it's also for me. I remember when the girls were almost six weeks old and my aunt Virginia and cousin Alissa were coming up for the day. I was really struggling. Every time I nursed the girls, they fussed and screamed and this was going on about six times a night between the two of them, not to mention all day long. And, even in the midst of all that, I insisted on making cookies. I am sure it did not make an impression on my aunt and cousin, but it felt so critical to me. And it has been that way all throughout. Why am I not wired so that running three miles and lifting weights are the thing I will not sacrifice, no matter what? Oh well. Why fight your deepest impulses? Instead, I am just trying to make every cooking experience count. Which is why I spent three hours today making a barley risotto that was only supposed to take 50 minutes. And then I ate it in 5 minutes so that I could get the kids fed and up to bed on time.

Our outing this morning was to Caffe Fiore, one of my favorite spots since the girls were born. They have a teeny, but cool, kid's korner with books, toys and two tiny chairs. I parked my enormous double jogging stroller just off the bathroom door (far enough away that people can still use the bathroom, but close enough that everyone involved feels awkward) and gave the kids crackers and apples so I could have a moment to sit on the tiny chair and enjoy my espresso. I thought perhaps reading books to the kids would stimulate their brain development and buy me more time. Manny wanted to read an Elmo counting book. The words on the last page read, "Elmo loves you." The End. This really stuck with me. The only other person we hear this regularly about is Jesus. I have never even heard the phrase "Santa loves you." But apparently after counting from one to ten, the next logical thing to say is "Elmo loves you." I didn't read that part. I would prefer they used the extra page to teach children about the number eleven. Eleven Elmos. There's a good idea!

I think I might pull a muscle changing diapers. I don't remember when we crossed over. Maybe it was a gradual process. A partial roll here. A wiggly leg there. But now when I change Glory and Elena's diapers they immediately flip over and try to escape, which is tricky if they are dirty. It is a harrowing experience to be holding a poopy child by the ankles when the only part of their body touching the floor is their hands. And you can tell it's going to be a two-wiper. Maybe a three or four, depending on the level of skill demonstrated in the wiping. For as many times as I have wiped my children's bottoms, I have refined my wiping skills very little. Maybe it's the same reason I am no good at tennis. My follow through is weak. Today, I could not get Elena's diaper on her and Manny was standing on the ramp pulling his off. It would be so much easier to let them run around naked, but no diapers is a slippery slope (literally with our ramp) and my children are already so much grubbier than I ever imagined they'd be. I have decided that spray and wash is for people with too much time on their hands.

I love how so often when Manny is doing something I don't want him to do, like push his sisters, I say “Let's not do that” as though we are both pushing Glory off of our high chairs. Does that lessen the impact of my reprimand, to suggest that I share the responsibility of the push with him? I have a lot of opportunity to think about this because pushing is always on Manny's to-do list.

MANNY'S TO DO LIST

1. Watch Clifford.
2. Eat raisins.
3. Push Elena.
4. Climb something I'm not supposed to.
5. Clean the top of the toliet with my toothbrush after 5 seconds of brushing my teeth.
6. Push Glory.
7. Eat Mama's hair.
8. Repeat #3 and #6 and #7 until Mama shouts at Aslan.
9. Back off for one minute and then resume being alternately charming and territorial, depending on what the babies are touching.

Life is beautiful. I'm going to go bond with my cauliflower puree.

Manny's apprenticeship

2009-05-25T14:56:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Manny participated in his first day-long building project and Glory and Elena attended their first wedding. My high school prom date, Matt, married the love of his life, Amanda. It was a beautiful ceremony with lots of happy shrieks inserted during the vows by the girls. Elena was trying to remove my face during the majority of the ceremony. My skin was stinging throughout the cocktail hour, so much so, that I had to ask Sam if I looked like I had been attacked. He said no, but it sure felt like it. I really enjoy people fawning over the children and I get it everywhere I go because a. lots of people love babies and I have lots of them and b. my children are very cute. I don't think this is an arguable opinion. It is fact. And I take no credit. But I sure take a lot of joy in it. My favorite interaction, regarding the girls, after the wedding ceremony, was with Amanda's uncle who said he loves to hear the sounds of happy babies at weddings. And I think I agree. Whether or not Matt and Amanda have children of their own, a wedding is a time where we all gather to honor a part of the cycle of life. Young and old and everything in between, we gather. And we witness. And then we drink and eat cake and be merry, or if you're Sam and I, we rush home for bedtime before our babies stop being cute and start being really, really annoying.

My mom took these fantastic photos and I haven't figured out how to configure them beautifully with my text. And since Super Why on PBS Kids is almost over, I'm not going to worry about it now. My mom and Mike came up this weekend to build a ramp so that the children would stop falling down the stairs between the dining room and the living room. Manny was Mike's assistant every step of the way. He helped carry the lumber, he passed Mike the pencil, he hid half the screws (which we have yet to find) and he tried to pack up all the equipment that Mike unplugged every single time Mike went in the house. By lunchtime, Manny could no longer speak. He could only scream. He was so tired and wanted so badly to keep working that it drove him past the point of language. He took a nap and by the time we got back from the wedding, he had run up and down the ramp so many times that he was exhausted again. Mom and Mike made Manny feel like an integral part of the project from start to finish and thereby gave Manny a memorable day and a valuable sense of accomplishment. And now we've got an amazing place to race cars and/or babies.

With recent visits from my dad, Lisa, Grandma Barb, my mom and Mike, Manny has plenty of people to miss. Before Super Why, we were playing with giant Lego blocks. Manny built a tower and then lifted it to his ear like it was a 12-inch wide phone (kind of like the cell phone bricks people used in the early 90s). I followed in suit and we talked to Mom about the cookies she was baking and Dad about the lunch and ice cream he was about to eat. Everything I would say, Manny would repeat into his blocks. I think he is going to be an excellent conversationalist, at least about food. And when it's 9:30 and you've been up for 4 hours already, what else is there? Why does Mom making cookies have to be imaginary? If only the blocks were really a phone and if only Portland was really Seattle.

By the way, Mike said that the above photo looks like Manny is attempting a bank robbery and I totally agree.