Quiet Time

It's quiet time.  Quiet time is mine, one hour that I can do whatever I want and not have to worry about what the children are doing.

I could catch up on a show.  I could fold one of the 37 loads of laundry waiting to be folded.  I could waste time on the internet.  Usually I am doing one or more of these things.

But not today.  Today I am listening.  I am straining my ears for the sounds the children are making.

They are each behind closed doors, wrapped up in their own little world.  Bunny is playing with her dogs, Lion his superheros.  Their play is imaginative.  They tell stories.  They make up voices.

I drink up the sounds they are making.  I store away the way the stories are told.  Their voices open up the beauty of their worlds.

I move closer to their closed doors.  I don't want them to know I am listening.  Bunny is likely to shut down if she heard me.  This is hers, not mine.  Lion is the opposite.  He craves an audience.  He would fling open the door and demand my presence.  His becomes ours.

I do not stay long.  I cannot.  It is theirs, I must be contented with the glimpse I have stolen.

Charade

This weekend Frink lost his voice.  Communication with him was reduced to pointing and motioning for this or that. 

During a trip to Target, I had to introduce him to the notes feature on his phone.  When he wanted to say something, we had to wait patiently while he typed it out.  Bunny can read so he was able to communicate with her but I had to translate for Lion.  "Daddy said we are not buying any toys."  "Daddy said to watch where you are walking."  "Daddy said ..." well you get the picture.

As we were wandering the aisles, he held up two bags of M&Ms with a questioning look on his face. "Should we buy these?"  Dude, do you not know me?  Of course we should buy those.  Carry on.

After a successful trip, I opened the bag of white chocolate peppermint M&Ms so everyone could have a snack.  (Quick aside: Run, do not walk, to your nearest store and buy some.  They are amazing.)  Frink looked very excited when he tasted the candy.  He made some gestures, one of  which looked like pouring M&Ms into a bowl.  The other was more difficult.  He slid his hand into the imaginary bowl with a scooping motion.

I had no idea.  He repeated the gestures. Again, nothing.  Another round of gestures.  "You want to eat the M&Ms with a shovel?"

My response was met with a stare that said, "no, you idiot." 

One last time he poured the imaginary M&Ms into a bowl, scooped with his hand and flipped.  Oh. Ohhhh!  "You want to make pancakes with these?  That would be awesome."

Vigorous nodding.  Success!  This was followed by 5 minutes of laughing at anyone wanting to eat M&Ms with a shovel.  That is just crazy, handfuls shoved into your mouth are much faster.

The Red Couch

There have been times I've wondered if it was the right one for us.  It's so red, so big. 

The back cushions are bulky and uncomfortable.  We've long since let the kids toss them off to be used in whatever building projects they've dreamed up that day.

But there is something about it, something that makes me love it.

It is red, so so very red.

There are times when I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye and I am transported half way around the world to a hotel lobby filled with red couches.  Red couches where so many anxious parents took so many photos of beautiful babies.  These beautiful babies and anxious parents were now families.  Frink and I sat on those couches, taking pictures of our beautiful baby, creating memories of the time when we became a family.

Red couches mean family.


It is big, so so very big.

It takes up a lot of space but it provides lots of space too.  In the afternoon, I often (but not often enough) spread out and doze on the couch while Lion is napping.  Sometimes he joins me.  He curls into me, gets comfortable and sleeps the deep sleep of those without a care in the world.



There are times when we are joined by a cat or two.  And there are rare, special times when Bunny will join us.  She forgets that she is six.  She forgets that she no longer naps.  She surrenders to the warmth of the afternoon sun, the comfort of the couch and sleeps the deep sleep of those without a care in the world.

Big couches mean togetherness.
And that is how I know it is the right one for us.

A Moment

Our relationship has been tough lately. You are growing up so fast, hurtling towards 3 at a breakneck pace. You can do it, you want to do it, everything, anything in your own way, on your own terms.

You listen. I know you hear me. I know you understand. You are smart, very smart. Your brain processes the information and chooses to do the opposite, sometimes in outright defiance, sometimes because you feel your way is better.

The word no, or any correction in behavior brings forth a storm. You immediately lash out, hitting, biting, kicking or looking for something to destroy. I am the frequent target, it's only natural given how much time we spend together.

There are times I wonder if I am helping or hurting the situation. I know how to calm you, it could be so easy to soothe you and move on with our day. But often exhaustion and frayed nerves win out, I have to make a point. You will have a time out. You will finish it, even if it takes all night.

So here we are, both of us warily circling the other like boxers looking for a weakness. Time that could be spent playing is spent fighting, trying to win control of the situation. It's exhausting and it does not bring out the best in either of us. Resentments creep in. You run to daddy. I gravitate towards Bunny.

Just when I am ready to throw in the towel, it happens. On one of our many visits to Starbucks, you fling yourself into my lap, climbing up to make yourself comfortable. A finger goes into your mouth. The other hand reaches for my ear. You are calm.

I relax. The breath I was holding waiting for a tantrum is expelled. I see you, the real you. I press my face into your forehead. Tears prick my eyes. I whisper silent prayers seeking forgiveness.

How could I have ever doubted you? How could I have ever doubted myself? You own my heart.

Momma, What Would Happen If . . .?

Momma, Daddy and I are going to discover a new planet and call it Hubble. Hubble is such a funny word. Hubble. Hubble.

Daddy? What planet would crash into the Sun last?

Daddy? Is Pluto in our solar system? Is it a dwarf planet? Why isn't it a planet anymore?

What's that red thing on Jupiter? How many moons does Jupiter have?

Daddy? How do scientists discover new things? Could we discover something?

What would happen if . . .

The questions come at a rapid pace. The thirst for knowledge drives her. She has to know everything there is to know in this exact moment. Later is not good enough.

We answer the questions as best we can with the help of Professor Google. Answers are accepted. She quiets, returning to play. Her animals utilize the knowledge she has gained in their travels to distant planets.

Part of Just Write at The Extraordinary Ordinary

Holiday Hello

It seems that I often come here, hat in hand, to say I'm sorry I've been gone. But it happens, more often than I would like, it's life.

Life has been lived in that time. Children have grown. We have been happy and sad. We have loved, laughed and cried.

We celebrated family.

We celebrated Hanaukkah.

We celebrated Christmas.

We sang.


And it was fantastic.

Giving Thanks Today

This week the we made a gratitude tree. It's a place for all of us to share the things that we are grateful for.

Bunny and I painted leaves and pressed them on the tree.

Then we each took turns writing what we are thankful for on the leaves.

The tree is now hanging in our dining room as a reminder of what we are blessed to have.

We are thankful for family, friends, home, health,pets, China, Ethiopia and so much more.

And Back Home

I'm ready to leave. I sit on the floor struggling with the buckle on my sandal. I say my good byes to the children. I love you Lion.

"Damoo momma".

What sweetie?

"Damoo momma".

He clearly is waiting for a response but I have no idea what he is saying. I love you too buddy.

"No! Damoo momma."

He is frustrated I cannot understand what he believes he has so clearly stated. He tries so hard, but still, after a year, I cannot make out most words.

Boys talk later than girls. He's still so young. It will come. I know that. I have been assured by a therapist that there is no delay. I know it will come but there are times it is not fast enough for either of us.

"Damoo momma!!" his frustration growing.

English is his third language. I imagine at times he is speaking Kembatinga or Amharic, languages that live in his memory, in his soul.

The first words he heard were uttered softly in Kembatinga. I love you, my son, a voice so familiar he thinks it could be his own. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. Stories of his people, the Kembata, were music to his ears.

He heard a quiet man choked with grief say I am sorry, she is gone. The man struggled to explain the unexplainable. I love you. I will miss you. Remember that.

"Damoo momma."

He heard women's voices trying to soothe his fears and quiet his cries. It will be all right. Voices trying to explain the unexplainable. I am sorry. He is gone but he will always be with you. These voices gave good news too. You have a family. They are coming for you. You are loved. He heard children's voices singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of hope.

"Damoo momma."

Another city, another language. This time women's voices spoke in an unfamiliar tounge, Amharic. Welcome. We will care for you. It will be alright. A special voice sang to him. It was her voice he sought out when he was scared. Ishi ishi. It will be alright. Your family is coming. You are loved. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of family.

"Damoo momma."

Strangers came. They spoke a strange, unfamiliar language. Words of comfort offered none. They spoke of love, of home, of family. It will be alright. We are together now. He came home, to his new home, filled with these unfamiliar voices and unfamiliar language. He heard children singing and telling stories as children often do. He heard stories of home.

"Damoo momma!!"

Slowly these voices grew familiar. He understood. He knew about hope, about family, about home. He yearned to add his voice to the chorus.

"DAMOO MOMMA!"

I struggled. I turned to my husband for help. He is saying he loves you to the moon. Oh, of course, how could I not know that.

To the moon buddy?

He curled into me, finger in mouth, hand stroking my ear. "Damoo momma".

I love you to the moon buddy.

"Abahome"

And back home.

Knowing he had been heard, he untangled himself and ran to the living room. There he joined his sister, singing and telling stories as children often do. They told stories of love.

The Dog Days

(image courtesy of dogbreedinfo.com)

Meet Bob. (Well his name is probably not Bob, more likely it is Peanut or Spike.) According to Bunny, Bob (or a dog very much like him) is going to be our dog.

Bunny loves dogs. She wants a dog very much. She talks about getting a dog all of the time. She loves Labs and Retrievers, Pugs and Jack Russells.

She knows we can't get a dog right now because of our two (elderly) cats. However, she knows that at a time in the future we will get a dog. (She assumes that she will be 7 or possibly 8, because that is a good age to get a dog). I grew up with a dog and I am on board 100%. Lion likes dogs so he's a go too. Frink does not like dogs in the least but has consented to the inevitability as long has he does not need to take care of said dog.

So Operation Dog is underway. I thought it would be fun to learn about the different types of dogs so that when the time comes we could chose the right breed for us. Bunny thought this was a good idea too, until yesterday.

Yesterday, Bunny unilaterally decided we would get a Deer Head Chihuahua. His name would be Bob. Bob "would be perfect for our family because he is small and could not jump over our fence. He can stay out in the yard when we eat so he won't eat our food. He'll go in the cat's litter box so he wouldn't have to go outside to the bathroom when it was raining or yucky outside."

You see yesterday, Bunny met a chihuahua named Chloe and fell in love. Chloe's mom was more than happy to tell Bunny all about her and that was enough for Bunny. She has talked of nothing but Bob ever since.

So Bob it is.

Tradition

It has become a tradition in our family to take a trip to Door County, WI every Memorial Day. It originally started as an anniversary trip for Frink and I but we have continued it with our children. I love the idea of having our spot, our trip, something special just for our family. I want the kids to say "do you remember the time Bunny got two holes in one at mini-golf?" or "how about the time Lion tried to ride a goat."

In the four years we have been going with Bunny, the tradition has become so ingrained that we do the same things. Every year, the same thing:

Friday - fish fry at Sister Bay Bowl and swimming
Saturday - the Mai Fest parade in Jacksonport and lunch at PC Junction then swimming
Sunday - brunch in Rowley's Bay, biking in Peninsula St. Park and shopping in Fish Creek (with a stop at the candy and fudge stores)
Monday - a trip to The Farm (a petting zoo/ farm museum) and the ride home

Every year, the same thing.

But this year was different, sort of. This year we had the Lion cub with us. It also rained on Saturday morning so the parade was out. Instead we went to a hands on art studio (called, ironically enough Hands On Art Studio). You could make mosaics, paint your own pottery, fuse glass, or play in the metal and jewelry studios. Bunny and I were in heaven. We chose to paint (a plate for me and a unicorn for Bunny). But what is good for an artistically minded 5 year old and her mom, is not necessarily good for a very excitable 2 year old. Let's just say paint got everywhere.

Luckily for Lion, the day was redeemed by a trip to PC Junction for lunch. I think his little brain exploded after we were seated and he saw a train running around the bar. A train that brought your food to you. "Choo choo! Choo choo food! Choo choo food!" over and over again. To say he loved it would be an understatement. He had to be forcibly removed, screaming "No bye bye. Lion choo choo. No choo choo bye bye. Choo choo food!!!!!!!" He still talks about choo choo food today.

The last change to our routine involved us scrapping the bike ride. Neither Frink or I had the desire to pull two kids in a trailer. And I am fairly certain they would have killed eachother. Instead we drove into the park and played at the beach. The day was warm so the kids ran in and out of the water (which was insanely cold). We also built a castle fortress with a working moat. Awesome.

Here is a glimpse at some of the beautiful memories we created.

Three Little Words

I still remember the first time I said those words to him. I was nervous. I thought I knew what his reaction would be but I could not be sure. But I had to say it. I felt it so deeply, I thought I would burst if I did not say those words out loud.

We were sitting on the couch in his apartment. I couldn't look at him. I just blurted it out. "I love you". My first instinct was to run away. But I didn't. I stayed to hear his response, "I love you too".

It at that moment that the life we have began. It was built on those three little words. Our love grew and our life did too.

Life began to get complicated, as life always does. There was happiness and joy. But it was tempered with pain and struggle. The struggle of building our family, the realities of being parents, the house, work, life, all of this changed us. We were no longer the boy and the girl on the couch. We had to work to find out who we were and who we wanted to be.

There were times when the words were not said out loud. There was always something else that got in the way. Kids, work, life weighed heavily on our shoulders. We each went to our separate corners to decompress. Or we would wearily tumble into bed, sleep coming as our heads hit the pillow. Another opportunity missed to say the words that mean so much.

There were other times that the words were said in such a way that they lost their meaning. Love You became synonymous with Bye or Have a Good Day. The words were thrown out as he is rushing off to work and I am wrangling the kids. "Love You" I say, my hand fluttering a good bye wave barely conscious of his exit as I try and impress on a two year old the importance of wearing pants or something. Another opportunity missed to mean the words that mean so much.

Those words do mean something now just as they did then. I need to think back to that ugly couch in that rundown apartment. I need to remember how he made me feel, how he still makes me feel. He is the one I have chosen. We have built a life together based on those three words. I love the life we have, the family we have created. I loved him then. I love him now.

Those words need to be said. Those words need to be meant. With a touch on the face, a look in to his eyes, I need to say "I love you". Then there is no mistake, he will know how I feel.

And so I say to him today, just as I did 13 years ago in front of God, our family and friends, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

24

What would you do if you had 24 hours away from your children?

The following is a chronicle of the 100% child-free hours between 1:00 p.m. Saturday May 14, 2011 and 1:00 p.m. Sunday May 15, 2011.

1:00 p.m. - Hooray! They are gone! Much joy and dancing ensue.

1:10 p.m. - Lets pack our bags and get the heck out of Dodge.

1:30 p.m. - The car backs out of the driveway. We are headed to Chicago.

1:30 - 2:15 p.m. - I 94 eastbound.

2:15 p.m. - We are hungry. Hey there's a Wendy's at the next exit. Spicy chicken and french fries.

2:45 p.m. - I 94 eastbound

3:00 p.m. - "Honey do you mind if I sleep for a while?"

3:20 p.m. - I 94 eastbound. Hey it's raining.

3:35 p.m. - I 94 eastbound. Man there's a ton of traffic. I don't think we'll make it in time to visit the Art Institute before it closes at 5.

4:15 p.m. - The Hyatt Regency in downtown Chicago.

4:30 p.m. - It's still raining. "What do you want to do now?" "I guess we could walk on Michigan Ave. In the rain."

4:45 p.m. - Um it's really cold. And wet. Hey a Starbucks! Hot beverages for everyone.

5:00 p.m. - Nordstrom's shoe department. A heavenly choir sings in the back ground. I pick up shoe after shoe and cry a little bit when I see the price. "Honey I don't want to have a ton of money. I just want to be able to buy some pretty shoes regardless of the price." "Someday, honey. Someday."

5:30 p.m. - "What do you want to do now? Do you want to shop some more?" "Um no it's cold and raining and my ratty old shoes are wet. Let's go back to the hotel."

5:45 - 7:00 p.m. - Hanging out in the hotel room and getting ready to go out.

7:00 p.m. - Head to the car. In the rain. And the cold. "Uh oh!" "What uh oh?" "I forgot the parking ticket. It's in the room." "You go get it. I'm going to wait in the car. With the heat."

7:20 p.m. - Frink gets the ticket and we head out of the parking lot.

7:40 p.m. - "I'll drop you off and find a place to park."

7:45 p.m. - Happy Birthday Michelle!

7:55 p.m. - The phone rings. "I'm lost. Where is the bar again?" I hand the phone to Michelle and she gives him directions.

8:00 - 10:00 p.m. - Fun and friends. And birthday cake.

10:00 p.m. - "I'm kind of hungry. Are you hungry? It's been a long time since Wendy's." Get directions to a restaurant nearby. Walk in the rain.

10:45 p.m. - Dinner arrives. Yum.

11:20 p.m. - It's still raining. "You go get the car. I'll wait here where it's warm and dry."

11:40 p.m. - Back at the hotel.

Midnight - Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

8:45 a.m. - Wake up. Wonder when the last time you woke up this late. Decide it was probably 5 years ago.

10:00 a.m. - Breakfast. Decide to skip eating in the hotel in favor of a walk to West Egg cafe. In the rain.

10:45 a.m. - Walk back to the hotel. In the rain. Check out.

11:00 a.m. - Wheels up. Time to drive home. In the rain.

12:10 p.m. - Welcome to Wisconsin. "Hey it stopped raining."

1:00 p.m. - Moooooooooommmmmmmmyyyyyyyyy!

A Happier Place

We here on the western shores of Lake Michigan are bracing for a bone rattling blizzard tonight. You know it's going to be bad when they cancel school for tomorrow before noon today. Well at least some schools are going to be closed, so far ours is open.

But I really don't want to think about snow. I'd rather think about warmer weather, sunshine, the beach anything but snow. In order to take myself to a happier place, I am going to post some photos I took at the Domes over the weekend (if you are not from Milwaukee, the Domes are our botanical gardens housed in three separate domes).










I feel warmer and happier already (which is ironic because I always cry when we visit the Domes).

Alone

I was alone twice yesterday.

First I was alone for two hours in the afternoon after my mother had picked up the kids. It was glorious. For two hours I could do whatever I wanted. I did not have to do anything for anyone. Sure I could have done the dishes or the laundry but that would have defeated the purpose of being alone.

Instead I reveled in my aloneness (if that is even a word). I surfed the internet. I watched TV. I took a shower. A shower! It seems so trivial but it meant everything to me. I got to take a shower during the day not late at night before I tumble blearily into bed. I got to take a shower during the day when no one was breaking down the door, pulling open the curtain to ask for juice or to chuck random bath toys at me.

I barely remember when I was able to do that before. Before, that long ago time before children that I am not completely sure actually existed. But my alone time was short lived. I had to collect the children and resume my normal life.

The second time I was alone was after the kids went to bed. Frink was away for business and I was alone in the house. You would think I would love that type of aloneness too. I do and I don't. In 41 years, I only spent 9 months living alone. I don't do that type of alone well.

I always stay up late when he is gone hoping that I will be so tired I can drift off to sleep immediately. If I cannot then I begin to notice his absence. I double and triple check the door locks. I leave the closet light on with the door cracked. I pile pillows on his side of the bed in an attempt to feel not so alone.

When Frink is there in the bed beside me, I notice the snoring and the battle over the covers. I think how nice it would be to have the bed to myself. But when he is gone, the bed seems to big. I can't rollover to his side and slide my hand under the sleeve of his t-shirt to cup his shoulder. It's a little thing that calms me and allows me to sleep more soundly.

When he is gone, the dark seems darker. The noises seem louder and more ominous. I wonder if I should wander into Bunny's room to grab her large stuffed dog. I love to lay on it when we play in her room, maybe it would make me feel better. Or maybe I could bring one or both of the kids in bed with me. The warmth of their bodies, their weight next to me, the sound of their breathing would certainly calm me.

But I don't. I lay there alone, listening. My eyes strain to see in the dark. Was that a cat? Or was that the mouse? My brain turns on. It ramps up and the hamster wheel starts to spin. Alone with my thoughts in the dark is not where I want to be.

Suddenly I hear something. "Momma. Momma! Momma!!!" My heart leaps with joy. I run downstairs and scoop the little lion cub into my arms. I carry him to my bed and I soothe him back to sleep. Once I hear his even breathing again, my body relaxes and I am able to fall asleep, alone no longer.

Possiblities

I love this time of year. Everything feels shiny and new like there are new possibilities around every corner. There is so much I want to do, to try.

But I am careful. I do not resolve or promise anything. Instead I follow the possibilities seeing where they may lead. Perhaps there will be an undiscovered present full of joy, perhaps not. That is the gift of the new year, it holds so much promise. We can make it whatever we choose.

This year I choose love. I choose laughter. I choose hope. The rest will take care of itself.

2010 A Look Back

January




February



March



April


May



June




July



August




September




October




November



December