birthday buddies

Friends that feel like family; pulled pork sandwiches; rosemary gin drinks; blindfolded children swinging pinata bats; ducking adults; furrowed baby brows; green houses; giggles; legos and marbles and inflatable fists; an almost springlike feeling in the air.  Almost.

week 11 // you are my wild

One of the other "wilds" shared an article with all of us this week...

(Read it HERE before continuing).

It articulated feelings that are so present in my life right now, that I felt as though I was a water balloon ready to burst as I read.  

The one who is looking at me as I type this is still fully immersed in all that is childhood.  Daily I hear her plead with her sister for her time... an hour of her day to play dolls or school or set up their doll house together.  And the other, back turned to me, is somewhere in between.  She wants to play, I can tell she still has the spirit in her, but her mind has begun wandering to other places too.  Her heart still wants to be wild and free, chasing fairies or writing stories about woodland animals in dialog with one another.  But she tires of it sooner than she used to, defaulting to organizing the shelf next to her top bunk or making proclamations about who she is and what she likes on scrap pieces of paper.  While one child runs to the slide and swingset at the playground of our neighborhood park, the other quietly meanders away from the gear and down to the creek.  There she collects trash from the creek banks so as to "save the fish and ducks.  It's my job, Mom."  She's finding her identity, and I have a front row seat.

I feel like I'm in that little boat up there.  I get scared and sea sick from time to time.  I never know what lies ahead.  But the journey is beautiful and always changing.  Things are never boring.  I continue to fall in love with sea again and again, for different reasons as the journey continues.

                    "All of parenting is a constant farewell and an endless allelulia wrapped together..."

See the 13 other journeys here: you are my wild.

week 10 // you are my wild

St. Patrick's Day.

Friends, family, food, secrets, garden romping, baby holding, fairy chasing, giggles that make your stomach hurt, pinches, and whiskey-infused everything.  Even butter.

We had an Irish feast at a friend's house that day.  Their 4 girls + our girls = swarm of feminine goofiness.

>>>If you've not already, take a minute to look at the others' week 10 portraits here.<<<

week 9// you are my wild

We have some strange and wonderful Industrial haunts not far from our house.

Sunsets through broken painted windows, papier maché boats hanging from the trees, goats, wild turkeys, gardens growing out of old tires, magic sticks, free coffee, broken down trucks and MGs, and apparently one of the set locations from Walking Dead.  And all nestled quietly behind downtown.

Check out the others' portraits here.  

little big girl

Recently I was looking through old photos and came across this one.  My friend, Janet, took this in her backyard.   There are many reasons that I love it, and I imagine the reasons will only multiply over time.

I know it's awfully trite to say, but I can't believe how little she was here.  In this moment, 3 years ago, she seemed so old.  I remember buying those size 4 jeans and thinking, "these look like mini adult pants".

She's the oldest of all my friends' kids, she's almost the oldest cousin in our family (with the exception of a 4th cousin she doesn't see nearly enough), and she's the older sister.  When I look back on every old photo of her, I feel a mini heart ache.

I worry that I've rushed things.  I worry that I made her my paradigm of good behavior and manners.  I worry that I tried to tame a curious animal that needed to run wild more often than I let her.  I worry, and I worry, and I worry.  And I know I will say the same of her at every phase of her life.  She's my first big girl.

Thank you, Janet, for capturing this moment.  It will always be a good reminder and confirmation that she was still my wild child.

when a tiger and a lion rent a cabin together.

Fiona has a National Geographic book about animals that she keeps in the car for long boring car rides.    It's like the equivalent to the Smithsonian mag you leave on the back of your toilet.  I know you do.

She pulled the book out last night on our way to dinner.

"Mom?  You know what a 'liger' is, right?"

Immediately I imagine Napoleon Dynamite.  I shiver over the thought of my daughter bearing any similarities to him.

"I think so.  But are ligers real?"

"What do you mean?  Of course they're real!  Look at this picture.  It's just a lion and a tiger mixed together."

"Oh okay.  I just didn't know they did that."

"Did what?"

"Had babies together."

"Hold on.  I'll read more and see how they make babies together..."

I'm looking through the rear view mirror, watching her head move about 2 inches from the text.

"Well, mom.  Bad news.  They don't say anything about how to make a liger.  BUT, I think I know..."

"Really?  Tell me."

"Well, the liger in this picture is standing in snow.  And I don't think tigers or lions usually live where it's snows."

"I think you're right.  So what does that mean?"

"It means... ligers are rare because they are only made when a tiger and a lion go on vacation."

week 8// you are my wild

Breakfast on Sunday.  We were on our way out the door to get brunch, but Fiona was begging me to make her "famous scrambled eggs" first.  (Water, salt, pepper, and eggs.)  I said no- I really wanted brunch and coffee made by anyone other than me- and she placed the eggs over her eyes and frowned. I made her do it again and she made this face + held the cast iron skillet.  I love how animated this age is.  She musters up her own energy in front of the camera, and has recently taken to being behind the camera as well.  Then enters sister, grabbing the pan, placing it on her head and says, "Take a picture of me.  I'm Johnny Appleseed."  M'okay.

>>> Please look at the other 13 here.<<<  

Another great week.  (But I am biased).

television curing television

After work yesterday, I came home, made dinner, and we bought a movie OnDemand.  (Kind of a big deal around here.)  Neve was lobbying for a light n breezy flick, while Fiona was hankering for something a little darker like The Hunger Games.

Me: "Hunger Games?  Are you serious?"

Her: "Yeah, my friend, Lucy, watched it after she read the books.  She said it was good."

Me: "She read the books?!  I'm not even old enough to watch it, Fi.  We're watching something more age-appropriate."

Her: "Ted?"

Me: "TED!?  Fiona!  Absolutely not.  How do you even know about these movies?!  Let me guess... Lucy."

Her: "What about--"

Me: "Please don't name any more.  How about... ParaNorman?"

Fiona & Neve, in unison: "YES!"

I pressed the buy button, I pulled the blanket over me, and I don't think I made it through the opening scene.  I have no idea what this movie was about.

After the movie, Fiona and Neve are still wide awake.  Terry and I are in a warm lumpy mass at the corner of the couch, fast asleep.  I muster the strength to pull myself up the stairs and into bed.  I make the kids follow.  I realize how odd it is that Neve made it through an entire movie at this hour.  I think this is a first for her.

Tucking them in, Neve says, "Can we leave a light on?"

I turn on their closet light.

Neve: "No, like a brighter light?"

I turn off the closet light and turn on a brighter side lamp.

Neve: "Like maybe that light?", pointing to the overhead light attached to the ceiling fan.

Me: "That one?  Okay."

And I kiss heads and slip into my much darker bedroom.

2 minutes later I little footsteps and whimpers.

Neve: "Mom?  I can't sleep.  I think I'm scared."

Me: "Scared?  You're never scared.  What are you afraid of?"

Neve: "Zombies."

Me: "C'mere.  Zombies aren't real.  Do you want to sleep with me until Daddy comes up and kicks you back into your bed?"

She nods.

I rub her back in bed until I fall asleep.

Neve: "I'm still thinking about dead people."

I rub her back more.  I fall asleep more.

Neve: "Still scared."

Rubbbbb.  Sleep.

Neve: "Mom?  Scared."

This went on for a long time.  It went on until I lost my patience and told her to rub her own back.  Zombies and back rubs are not related after all.

Whimper.  Whimper.

Me: "What, Neve?  There's NOTHING to be scared of.  I'll tell you all about the things that are good.  Strawberries, puppies in baskets, puppies falling out of baskets, kittens under your hat, the smell of flowers, the Easter Bunny, meadows in spring, playing in a creek, eating snap peas out of the garden, making s'mores, fat babies dressed up like animals, swinging really high, helping me bake cookies, and new shoes.  What are your favorite shoes?  What kind of shoes do you like?", I'm halfway delirious at this point.  I don't even know what I'm saying.

Neve: "I like those all of those things, but mom?  Can I just watch some Spongebob to make it all better?"

Me: "Yes."

I press the button on the remote and I'm asleep (again) before the end of the opening credits.

Neve rubs my back while she watches.