if only it were that simple...or is it?

"Mom, may I be excused?"

Not until you finish your peas, sweetheart.

"But mom, I don't like them."

Well, I'm sorry honey. I thought you might like that kind with the mint butter. I won't buy that kind again. We'll just get the regular kind that you like next time.

"So do I have to eat them?"

Yes honey. They are good for you and it's part of your dinner. You know, there are lots of kids that don't get a healthy meal every night like you do. Some people are actually hungry every day because they don't have money to buy food.

Silence.

"Mom, if there are people who are hungry, shouldn't we just give them some of our food?"

GULP.

Yes, babe. Yes. That's exactly what we should do.

(I approach her to give her a hug and a kiss and tell her what a love she is and how proud I am of her for understanding how important it is to care about other people. And try not to cry.)

I think "Serve at Soup Kitchen/Homeless Shelter" just got bumped up to #1 on my list of Things To Do With My Family Especially While The Girls Are Young To Give Them Some Perspective About Life.

Big sigh.

Side note:
Before dinner, I found her engrossed on the couch with a Fisher Price catalog (note to self - must intercept mail in months preceding Christmas) because it was "in-stresting." After perusing the entire thing, she asked if she could please get "the Jesus thing." I had to have her flip through to find the item she was referring to and it was the Little People Nativity Scene. Oh boy.

it's still too much

I've been avoiding most media coverage surrounding the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

It may be selfish, but I know myself well enough to respect my overly empathetic tendencies and the difficulty I have letting go of painful emotions.

And honestly? I don't need to be reminded. It's all pretty much still with me. When it happened, I learned that one can literally fall to their knees when overcome with shock and sudden grief, something I thankfully never had cause to experience before. It took me close to 8 months to be able to fall asleep each night without weeping. Today we live near an airbase as well as between two airports, and I still freeze in my tracks sometimes when a jet roars overhead or I see an airplane banking low in the sky. A latent, deeply embedded pang of fear and dread jars within me and then sits heavily in my gut for a while. I don't need to feed that dragon.

Actually, I feel sort of bombarded with the contrived national patriotic mottos to "Never Forget" and "Always Remember."

The thing is, I do want to forget. I don't want to remember.

I want to un-hear the audio clips from passengers on flight 93, the shaky voices of the air traffic controllers, and the sirens echoing in the unnaturally darkened and deserted streets of lower Manhattan.

I wish I could un-see the images. All of them.
Those of the second tower being struck - that baffling vision of an airplane at that twisted angle, leaving no question as to what was about to happen. That action-movie type explosion tearing through that enormous building, wiping out hundreds of lives in a moment.

I want to un-see the dust covered, bloody, terrified citizens fleeing from the scene, running for their lives. I don't want to see the hastily drafted Missing Person fliers that went up everywhere - the smiling faces of lost souls. I don't want to look at footage of the impossibly strong, dutiful firemen plodding to and from the wreckage - "the pile"- what a wretched term; their huge shoulders drooping from utter exhaustion and despair.

And the jumpers. Oh, the jumpers.

The stories of the survivors and the heroes are of no comfort to me. I did end up watching one video online that several of my friends had posted on Facebook, The Man in the Red Bandana - Welles Crowther. It's clearly meant to be uplifting and an example of unprecedented bravery and selflessness. It's a remarkable story, but one that cannot be told without the anguish and horror of that day being torn wide open again.

And so, today - unable to keep it all at bay any longer, something cracked my feeble facade of self preservation. I drove into the town where I grew up, past the firehouse and past the small town square. I looked up and saw the flags at half mast. My breath caught in my throat, I shook my head, and the tears came.

It's still too much.
It's just still too much.

"Mult. Seep."

Lilah is talking up a storm and I am not catching it all on video, so here are some recent phrases and words...

Disclaimers:
A) this will really only be cute and interesting for family members, and even that is probably pushing it!
B)This has been in draft form for quite a while and it's not well written in the slightest, but I'm just going to post it and move on.

Sinner-ruh-ruh. Cinderella.
Yo Dabba Dabba. Yo Gabba Gabba (TV Show).
I push. Shro-rer. Stroller.

Mo stawbeweez pease. More strawberries, please. (a request at breakfast this morning) Uh oh drop fork! (an observation at breakfast this morning)

Sissy Co-see Bank-ette! Sissy's cozy blanket
Daddy go bike. no explanation needed.
Mama/Daddy/Sissy do it.
Mama/Daddy weed it. Read it.
Help you, pease. Help me, please.
Shows. Close.
Paste. Toothpaste.
Damma/Dampa or Jamma/Jampa - Grandma/Grandpa

I wun. I run.
I jump.
I walk.
Button. Belly button.
She loves to point out parts of the face and body. bah-dee
Hair, eyes, eye-bows (eyebrows - she also calls them rainbows), nose, teef (teeth), cheeks, neck, eews (ears), tummy, jye-nuh (vagina), legs, feet, toes.

she loves to count. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9!
she loves to sing the ABC song - she could watch this about 20 times a day if I let her.

Other words she knows and uses all of the time:
book, couch, car, seat, drive, baby, airplane, helicopter, moon, cry, happy, chair, sure (her version of yes), in there, where, bed, dance, paci (pacifier), shirt, pants, shoes, clothes, dress, skirt, shorts, umbrella, bear, doggy, kitty, cycle (motorcycle), vroom-vroom, truck, big one, noisy, school, see you later, kiss, hug, stairs

My very favorite by far is Mult. Seep. Milk. Sleep. This means it's time to snuggle up on the couch to nurse her. She puts her little feet up on my chest like a monkey or offers them to me to hold and kiss and press into my cheeks. It's the best.

More from Maine 2011

it was an awesome trip, once again. Here are a few highlights.

(More to come, but wanted to post something now...)

our first sunset:
Turns out that Boothbay Harbor was fogged in on the 4th (our travel day) so we got to see the fireworks on the 5th:

(insert photos Andrew took of fireworks)

Lilah loved the back porch for snacking and for blowing bubbles. "Mo bubb-ohs?!"
The girls went on some great adventures with Nana in the wagon:
Inspired by our trip to the Botanical Gardens, Sadie and Nana made a Fairy House together:

(insert Fairy House photos and video)

This sunset preceded a terrific thunder and lighting storm:


Andrew introduced Lilah to the Atlantic:


We spent a lot of time hanging out on the rocks below the house:
Obligatory vacation photo:
the view on a foggy night:
our final sunset:

we are in Maine and we are relaxed.

do we look it?

I know this is random but I like these pictures of us.

:)

playing around with free camera apps on my Droid:

somebody else has said it better than I can

I came upon this yesterday on Facebook and I love it. It's my sentiments exactly. Literally. Exactly.

June 7, 2011

by Kelly of "DeBie Hive"

"Having kids has been one of the most amazing experiences in my life. It isn’t, however, the only one. There were others, many others, before.

One of the inevitable truths about motherhood is this:

Every. Single. Thing. Changes.

It just does. In such a profound and irreversible way that you cannot properly explain it to someone who doesn’t have kids. And once it happens, you can’t imagine ever going back.

And everything does change. Even things that you think will escape unscathed. The things that you make promises to yourself and to other people will stay the same. Kids get to that stuff too.

The thing coming to mind today is deeper than the changes most people associate with motherhood. Not something as short-lived as sleep deprivation, and something more significant than a rogue stretch mark.

Sometimes we as mothers can get so caught up in mothering that we start to lose our identity.

We lose ourselves.

We forget who we were before we had kids. What we loved. What we would spend our free time doing. Our hobbies, our passions.

They can get lost in the haze of diapers and nap times. Of soccer practices and scouts.

Our friendships can suffer.

I’ve been on both sides of that relationship.

I’ve been the childless one trying to stay connected to the women who went to the next stage first. I’ve been the one trying to understand how the other person is busy all the time now and has more important things to worry about. Waiting for a chance to just sit and talk with the person I used to connect with.

I’ve been the one with a newborn, harried and overwhelmed. I’ve been the one walking the scary path of motherhood for the first time, trying to navigate everything I used to do in addition to keeping this little person alive too. Amidst all that, attempting to maintain relationships with people who don’t understand why I’m so preoccupied.

I want to believe that I always made the effort to stay connected to my friends on the other side. That I didn’t cut myself off from them, blame my kids for being too busy. That I didn’t create distance. I hope I didn’t.

I hope I didn’t forget what it was like to think about everything, anything else in the world other than a baby.

As moms, we forge a new path in our lives which lead to friendships all their own. The other women from playgroups and birthing classes, playgrounds and preschool. They all have lots in common with us since they are in the same stage we are in, and it’s easy to get caught up in that.

Harder, but just as important, is making sure that we keep close the people who we have history with. The ones we grew up with, went to school with, shared apartments with, walked down aisles and stood next to. They are still just as important, if not infinitely more so than the new friends we make.

They knew who we were before we lost ourselves to motherhood. They remember who we were when we had nothing else to worry about. They valued our ideals and our passions. They shared our hobbies.

They liked us. For real reasons other than having a kid the same age.

Just because they aren’t exactly where we are now doesn’t mean that we need them any less. If anything, we need them more.

Though we are mothers, we need to remember who we are too.

Call your friends. Make lunch dates. Laugh until your sides hurt.

Remember who you are.

I’m Kelly, and I have some really amazing friends."

And I'm Janine, and I have some really amazing friends too.

OK Universe, you got me!

very funny, Universe, veeeeerrrry funny.

I have joked in all seriousness over the years that I still wake up in the middle of the night or in the morning once in a while wondering "who is this man in bed with me? what's going on here?" That actually just stopped recently, and I was relieved but also contemplative that it must signify some sort of maturation turning point for me.

The other night, I told Andrew about my theory, and we ended up having a really great heart-to-heart about all sorts of things, including the revelation that I sometimes don't really feel like an adult, despite being married with two kids. I have daily battles with myself about what kind of homemaker/housekeeper/mother/wife I am or am not, but I honestly haven't settled into "adulthood" in any sort of significant, intentional way. So, what does being an adult mean to me, anyway? I'm married. I have given birth twice. I am a full time mother. What's not adult enough about those things?

An obvious possibility is the lack of home ownership, but I really don't think that's it. The current housing market is just plain sad, and renting is presently viewed as not only perfectly okay, but actually wise in certain areas - like ours.

Another potential piece lacking from my adult puzzle is having a career outside the home. Yeeeeeah. I never got anything off the ground in that department. I don't have anything to "go back to" once the children have been raised. I try not to carry any shame about this, which is easier sometimes than others. I was at a dinner party recently where I ended up talking to another young (and now I question that adjective) mother of two who is an attorney. I ended up telling her that once upon a time I was certain that I wanted to go to law school but that I had essentially chickened out. She asked why, and I stammered through some mash up explanation of my 20-something fear of cutthroat academic competition - legendary in law school, so I hear - and my general fear of commitment. I do remember being really freaked out that if I studied my ass off to get into school and then hated it, I'd be worse off than not having gone at all*. Questionable logic to say the least. Fear of commitment? Come on, Janine. Is there a bigger commitment than getting married and having kids?

*Holy tangent, Batman.

So anyway, I pondered about all of this until I fell asleep and then picked it back up in the morning. It lingered with me and my thoughts throughout the day as I picked up toys, wiped runny noses, and cut up fruit for little hands & mouths. That night, as I regarded my new haircut in the mirror, there IT was.

My first gray hair.

That pretty much says it, doesn't it?