A Room of My Own

Science Experience

2011-10-09T16:37:00.000-07:00

I baked bread today. The kids hypothesized about the size of the rising dough. We observed whether our hypotheses were correct. As Atticus shoved warm buttered rolls in his mouth he said, "Thanks for the science experience, Mom." Thanks for every day with your four-year-old self Atticus!

"Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves and it is exhausting for children to have to provide explanations over and over again"

2011-06-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

I heard Zola for the first time in nine months. She has been telling me that a friend she values "always chooses other friends over her." Perhaps it was the use of "always" rather than a more accurate "often". Perhaps it was because I didn't want to see it. Perhaps it was because I thought I knew better. I am the adult and as an adult my vision is clear and unclouded. As her mother, I know that Zola is passionate. I blamed Zola for being too clingy, emotionally demanding and unwilling to share attention. I insisted that her friend liked spending time with her and insinuated that this was mostly about Zola's own insecurity, that in reality she wasn't really being rejected.

However, events over the past several weeks have opened my eyes. I began to watch her interactions between her preferred friend and a variety of other friends within the same social group. It became clear to me that Zola's perception was not wrong. In a situation where there was more than one girl, her friend often chose one of the other girl's company over spending time with Zola. I watched Zola make overtures only to receive both physical and verbal signals, sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant, that made it clear that she was not the preferred companion. After the 3rd time of seeing this dynamic play out, I began to look back over the last year at social situations where I have been physically present. I have vivid recollections of several other situations where the same or a similar dynamic occurred. Zola would try to engage and be ignored--back turning, walking away, pairing up on projects, etc. I stood there and watched her take the rejection without acknowledging that it was happening. Disturbing--not the rejection--that is part of childhood, part of learning to navigate the social world. All these girls are 8. They are figuring things out, even if it's brutal at times. What disturbs me is my inability to see the situation accurately, acknowledge that Zola was experiencing repeated rejection, and provide her with better emotional support and a broader set of options. That's what I am beginning to do now.

It has been a valuable learning experience for me. I hope that next time one of my children says something over and over and over--I will actually stop and listen to what they are saying. I hope that I will take time to quietly observe and try and understand where those feelings are coming from rather than assuming I know the reality of their situation better than they. The truth is they are at school for 7 hours a day and I have little or no idea what that environment is like for them. My hope is that when they ask me if their drawing scares me I will not respond "Why be scared scared of a hat?" (see The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery).

summer

2011-06-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

My bare feet are wet from the morning dew. I bend over to pick up a stray cup and sit down to watch the sparrows. They have discovered the ever present feast of my children's disregarded snacks; crusts of bread, bits of melon, cheese, spilled water glasses, crumbled crackers. There is unseen treasure everywhere. Atticus has decorated our prairie fire with gardening tape. It's green and does a swirling kind of dance when the breeze blows.

The kids haven't come out yet and it's quiet aside from the constant hum of traffic.

It's afternoon now and a couple of neighborhood kids add their voices to the commotion on the trampoline. Walt is asleep in his crib. His simeon like body still, for once. We found him down the block and across the street this morning. The side gate, that has been an open invitation, now has a dead bolt. No more heart in throat breath holding.

We spent the afternoon in the basement watching E.T. It was the first time my kids have seen it and the first time that I've watched it in years. The pace was perfect and there were no explosions, other than the fizz from a coke. Everyone in my family has found a new love in the little alien. Abe got choked up several times and particularly at the parting of Eliot and E.T. He asked me if it was fiction and I told him it was, but it was also about real things, like the connection and love we feel for each other and how that doesn't go away when we're far apart. Now they are jumping up and down, playing it all again. I remember that pleasure, even if I've lost my ability to suspend my own disbelief. I miss it.

There are still many shoulds, but summer seems to make them less pressing. I should be making dinner, but I'd rather write for a minute, listen to the rain fall and my kids chatter on the trampoline.

On Turning 39

2011-04-02T09:16:00.000-07:00

On April 11, I turn 39. I have one more year here, in the best-so-far decade of my life. I've spent the better part of my 30's pregnant and nursing. I've been in therapy on and off to heal from childhood trauma and figure out how to parent my brood. I've found a way to make my religion my spiritual practice and hold on to what feels true and let go of what feels like nonsense. I finished my masters degree in creative writing and found time, here and there to put down a word or two. I've done a ton of laundry and planted several gardens. I've spent months on end playing with my kids, reading them books, attempting to be present. I've spent a lot of time closer to the ground, crouching to look at bugs, flowers, fallen leaves and puddles. I have found myself comfortable in my own skin, sure of my choices, not needing outside approval in the same way I have in years past. My thirties have been full and I am grateful for one last year.

I am a bit baffled by women who want to suspend their life as a teenager or even a twenty something. I like the flux of aging. I don't mind my new wrinkles and slight--all right significant--loss of perkiness in my breasts. There is a beauty that exists in the face of age that is different, richer, than the young wide eyed beauty of youth. I am used to my not so straight teeth now. I have accepted my freckles. It is a relief to look in the mirror and see a woman that looks her age. Not a face that has been cut, pulled, plumped or tightened in an effort to hold onto something that has passed. I am here and here I am.

The last year of my thirties will, doubtless, be filled with more laundry and more crouching to examine bugs and such. The next few years will be the last of mothering small children and (I think) I have relaxed sufficiently to enjoy it, for the most part, and not hurry it along. As for forty and beyond I am looking forward to watching my children move into and through adolescence. I am hoping they will embrace their independence and know that home is always a place of safety when they need refuge. I would like to learn to be a better listener. I want to see my kids more clearly and honor there individual selves more fully. I want to camp with my kids. I want to hike with them, and swim with them, and sit on the beach without worrying they might drown. I want to read them more of my favorite books. I want to find out who they would like to be and help them love who they are. I want them to see how many stars there really are in the sky. I would like to travel. I would like to write more seriously. I would like to plant more gardens and read more books. I want to climb some mountains. I would like to settle into myself further and open myself up wider. I would like to sleep for eight hours straight for several nights in a row. I would like to sit on the beach with Jon, just Jon. I would like to be more quiet. I want to know God more. I would like to be more giving and less selfish. I want to keep learning interesting things. I want to see my dearest friends more often. I would like to learn to play the guitar. I would like to sing more often. I want Jon to teach me how to use the grill. I might start using mascara regularly, maybe, why not? I would like to plant a lot of lavender wherever we are. I might go back to school and get another degree. I want to sleep in the Utah desert again. I want to sleep with Jon in the Utah desert. I could go on.

All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better. Ralph Waldo Emerson

2011-01-31T13:48:00.000-08:00

The Foreign Service is not the experiment for this year, but we haven't given up hope. Federal Budget cuts made it a very, very long shot for this year anyway. Jon will try again next year. And in the process teach our children an important life lesson...as Zo said "I'm so proud of Papa for not giving up."

However, It is time for us to try a new experiment. We will be putting our house on the market in the spring, March. My crocus, tulips, Iris and lavender will be our gift to the new owner. Three of my babies have been born and come home to this house, have learned to climb stairs on unforgiving oak and been bruised by the beauty of the hundred year old wood work. They have become comfortable on most of the neighbors porches. And I have loved watching them trasform into superheros and wild animals, claiming the front yards as their territory, growling, flying, swooping and running up and down the block. The years of friendship we will miss.

We have gone back and forth a thousand times or more about city verses suburb. Battled to find some peace either way and have finally found it. We will miss the people, the food, the variety of city life, but we are heading for the hills. Ideally, the suburban mountains in Golden, but potentially, just a regular suburb.

These are my hopes...

That my children will walk themselves to a bus stop or to school. That we will have a half acre or so to set them free. That the tranquility will renew me and help me remain present. That we will grow an enormous garden. That our dogs will, finally, get some exercise. That we will watch Elk walk through our back yard. That we will lay down to sleep in complete quiet, excepting the children of course. That we will wake early to the sound of birds singing. That we will look up and see millions of stars. That we will discover new bugs. That we will splash in streams. That we will climb trees. That my kids will get really dirty and I won't care. That, perhaps, we will find a few like minded people. That I won't have to worry too much about the schools. That church will, at least be bearable, and perhaps surprise us. That our friends from the city will visit often.

All of this is a perhaps because the house has to sell and we have to find another that will fit the bill. But it is good to have made a decision and to feel, for the most part peaceful about it.

Holiday Update

2010-12-02T19:20:00.000-08:00

Life continues at a pace that I can't seem to match. Four, has pushed me to my brink and yet I wouldn't give one of them up to make my life more managable. So I've opted to hire a baby sitter 2 days a week and try and get back to my novel. In so doing I've had to grapple with the ideals in my head that look down disapprovingly and call me inadequate, selfish, and other mean sorts of names. I plan to say goodbye to my personal critics soon and dig into the work of mothering and writing, hoping that the two can nest peacefully together in my psyche.

Now for the obligatory family rundown, which frankly compensates for my lack of journaling about my children, starting with Zola. The first six months of her seventh year were alarmingly peaceful considering the fire of her early self. And then she started 2nd grade and experienced competition for the attention of her favorite friend, and some snubbing, which was down right painful and ended in a night of heavy sobs and the dredging up of forgotten childhood hurts from our own elementary years. I think she felt less alone, after a little commiseration, but 7 is so fully in the moment, I'm sure it all feels very hopeless. It has been heartbreaking to watch her struggle. She also saw the ballet Dracula on a school fieldtrip and couldn't sleep for 2 months and for some reason she is very worried about her upcoming baptism and wants the fewest people possible to attend--family only, she says. The two aren't related, but show that the second half of her 7th year has been quietly terrifying for her in more ways than one. This is when I hope our love is big enough to promise some sense of safety. In happier news she has learned to make her own toast, peanut butter and honey crackers, operate the stove safely and is now responsible for feeding Zach and Ruth each night--our dogs. (I know sometimes we forget we have them too.) And she's reading SuperFudge and loving it.

Abe is a star in his kindergarten class. According to him, he follows every rule, to perfection and is a model student, which is probably close to accurate. His friends are many, but he spends most of his time with Jack Y. and Jack D, nice boys all. His Christmas list is extensive and ever changing, which is proving tricky, as I've already purchased his 3 gifts. He is also officially finished with O.T., but his aversion to all foods excepting starches has not gone away. We keep offering and he keeps gagging. He watches over his baby brother Walt, following him up the stairs, reporting his progress all the way. "Mom, he's headed up the stairs. Now he's at the main floor. Oh, he's headed up to the landing. Hey mom, he's at the top. M-O-O-O-M." Abe isn't really comfortable hefting the little guy who is easily half his weight. He intermitantly plays with and fights with Zo and/or Atticus. He talks in his sleep occasionally and (literally) sleeps with one eye open. He still climbs into my lap at the end of a hard day and secretly wishes he were Superman. He is sweet.

Atticus is potty trained! Praise Jesus...and the video "Potty Power". We were locked in a battle of wills for a good 3 weeks and I was praying for patience and inspiration. The battle was clearly being won by my determined 3rd child. I waffled between incentives and threats depending on how much sleep I'd had the previous night. It was ugly and no one was feeling to good about anything. And then it dawned on me...he learned all his letters and their sounds in 4 viewings of "The Letter Factory", maybe a video was the answer. Indeed. He is clean and dry both day and night and feeling very proud of his new found autonomy. (Also, much thanks to his Auntie Jeanie for putting on all the adjustable toilet seats. He's no longer worried about falling in, which is important.) He is also incredibly kind to the baby who usurped his former position in the family. When Walt hears him coming he gets absolutely giddy with anticipation. He loves preschool where he spends Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons slathering himself in finger paints and sand. Dana is another favorite in his life (mine too) his new baby sitter who comes on Mondays and Wednesdays. He adores and annoys his older siblings near constantly.

Walt--oh where to begin. He makes me gushy with his snuggly, smushy little face and his pure delight any time I walk into the room. Jon swears he took two steps last week and he is certainly flirting with the idea of walking, wobblying around furniture--standing alone,throwing his arms up as if he's an olympic gymnast. He giggles almost without provocation and adores all forms of hide and seek. Other things he adores: bananas-whole not mashed, the dogs, music, pizza crust, baths, apples, olives, lentils and rice, me, Jon, Zola, Abe and Atticus, climbing the stairs, banging on the washer door, taking the drain cover off the basement shower (gross), exploring the great outdoors, mouthing unedible things, and the doting moms at Teller Elementary. He also slept 11 hours straight 2 times this week. That I have been praying since he came out.

Jon also makes me gushy with his snuggly, smushy face and the way he still lights up when I walk into the room. He made sweet potatoe Latkes for the first day of Hannakah, last night, yum! and brought me a chocolate, chocolate chip custard tonight. It sounds like I love him only because he feeds me, but that's the smallest part. He's my man. His knee is healing from from surgery on a torn miniscus and he's finished his second round of stuff for the foreign service. He didn't blink when I told him I was ready to go back to therapy and start writing again. He continues to be an incredibly involved and supportive husband and father. As well as my favorite person ever, hands down.

If our life and parenting sounds ideal it's not. I yell too often and hear myself saying things like, "Do I look like a trash can" or "can't you please remember to put your shoes back in your cubbies" in a not so kind tone of voice (yes, we have preschool cubbies). The kids still throw some exquisite tantrums, fight as often as they play well, pick there noses, ask for more toys all the time, and rarely come when they are called. Sometimes I think all the doting is a bad way to parent and they get way too much stuff. Which is one of the reasons my house is often a mess regardless of Maria, who comes and cleans it top to bottom every other week and leaves me singing West Side Story. So there you have it, the condensed version of our life at the moment. Oh yeah--we also survived a planned kitchen renovation and an unplanned bathroom renovation (thanks to Kent and Zola who helped us out there.)

Walt Asher Warner

2010-03-04T13:49:00.000-08:00

Keep your face always toward the sunshine
and the shadows will fall behind you.
-Walt Whitman

Walt came screaming into the world at 5:47a.m. on Wednesday, February 24th. He was a 8lbs. 1oz. and 20 3/4in. long. He was welcomed by Zola, Abe and Atticus with open, grimy little hands and has been hovered over ever since he arrived home. Thanks to all our family and friends for their loving support and help in ushering our last little Warner into this world.

Twila, Jon, Zola, Abe, Atticus and Walt Warner

Waiting

2010-02-19T19:13:00.000-08:00

Two snow storms have come and gone
hope grows dim
He will be lodged inside of me
forever
impeding my ability to
bend, sleep, eat

The waiting...at the end
is endless
less about holding a new sweet smelling
little thing
than the relief of no longer having to share my own
Stretched to it's edges
I am Aching to reclaim the shared space inside

I think I have cursed myself with his namesake
he will come out
bearded and spouting poetry
grown to adulthood
Until then
We are waiting

Stomach Flu Nine Months Pregnant

2010-02-07T14:29:00.001-08:00

UUUUHHHG!

2010-02-05T19:09:00.000-08:00

We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains.
Ursula K. Le Guin

Last night I had the pleasure of spending a few hours in the company of my friends, all women, all remarkable, all different. Walt provided the excuse, Jill provided the place, the food, and the sweet warmth that is her gift. She is a rare friend.

My sisters from church were there. Jen, beautiful in her honesty and humor--such a relief to be around. Lyssa, always grounded and willing to help in a pinch, as well as a fellow lover of really good television. And Deidre who is quiet, perceptive and articulate...wise beyond her years really. They came and met my other sisters, who I've come to know over the years through preschool and now elementary. Leslie, with her positive energy and ability to both entertain and put everyone at ease with immediate friendliness. She, my comrade in kindergarten room parenting and life in general. Laura L. who is smart, interesting and often allows me to look at things from a different and valuable perspective. Brandy was there, kind and unselfish. She has taken my two little boys on occasion without flinching and given me a welcome hour of respite in spite of her own busy schedule. There's also Sarah who, in many ways, understands my spiritual life though we belong to different faiths--and who has played, most patiently, the role of guide to our neighborhood school. Cindy came too, smiling and down to earth--loving my kids and always being willing to haul them to and fro. She is someone who quickly feels like a very old friend even though she's relatively new. Hadley and Charlotte (her #4) made the trek from their new home--my sister in the insane endeavor of mothering many small people all at once. Of course, she seems to be managing the transition with ever instinctive grace. And Diane who has taken Atticus on endless walks around the school, identifying trees. I love to talk with her because of her sincere, frank and funny take on herself and life. Finally, Laura W. with whom I felt an immediate affinity and connection--which everyone must, because she is open and real. I don't see her nearly enough these days.

Of course this doesn't begin to explain these women or the connection that I feel with each of them, but I am grateful to know them. I see qualities in them that I long to create and nurture in myself, in their varied styles of mothering, in the giving of their friendship, in their pursuit of passions and dreams. This is my community of women and over the course of the evening I was blessed with their good wishes, with the poetry and prose that has touched and provided them with new perspectives and which, in their sharing, created for me new mountains--the gift of being lifted out of the valley of my own narrow perspective and reminded of the view, the possibilities, the blessings, the humanness and the divinity of womanhood and mothering. Thank you, thank you. There are not words.

Update

2010-01-15T19:36:00.000-08:00

It is 8:36 p.m. My feet are up on the couch and Walt is lodged in my ribs. I have a back ache, but feel relieved to be in a supine position, finally. I can hear Zola getting settled upstairs, rearranging her menagerie of stuffed animals, getting a drink of water, moving things about. Abe was asleep before I came down and Atticus, after the required 3 lullaby's is hopefully snoozing away. Jon went to get me a chocolate shake and mindless, happy movie. He has scheduled his vasectomy, which makes me want to shout for joy! Pregnancy is not fun at all with three little ones to chase and two very long flights of stairs to climb several times a day. Walt's official due date is Feb. 19. I have a lot to do between now and then and no will to follow through. So be it.

The three living outside my body are doing well. Still a lot of managing with the O.T., but they seem to be responding in a positive way. I've also learned a new trick this week... when they raise their volume, I lower mine. So far it's worked like some weird sort of magic, not that I can maintain it all the time, but I've stopped yelling, "Stop yelling at me!" so much--which is a positive thing.

Lately, as a family we have seen a bald eagle, talked about traveling to Africa, South America and visited the local bird store. We've had several lengthy and detailed discussions about how a child gets into a mama's tummy and how it comes out. (Abe asks very pointed and specific questions, which we try to answer with simple, truthful and direct answers...sometimes this proves difficult.) Everyone is looking forward to Walt's arrival and not one of us really knows how it will alter our current life.

Jon is happy in his job. He bought new basketball shoes and discovered a roast chicken recipe that is unbelievable. It doesn't even taste like chicken, but rather some other, much more moist and flavorful fowl.

We did not sell the house, and probably won't for the time being. We are all making an effort to bloom where we've planted ourselves.

To Move or Not to Move...

2009-10-04T14:44:00.000-07:00

I am in a conundrum. I love my old house, it is big and beautiful. I have grown a substantial garden and several children here. I love the woodwork and the large bedrooms. It is home.

I do not love living off a busy street, the constant hum of traffic, the unrelenting base in my bedroom when I try to lay head to pillow. I do not love having to cross 3 busy streets when we walk to school in the morning.

So, do I sacrifice my lovely and spacious square footage, as well as moving away from the wonderful neighbors on our block, for a much smaller, quieter house, closer to the school? Please weigh in...I need some outside opinions.

In truth, everything would have to happen just right for this to happen anyway, but I am mulling.

Here Comes Walt

2009-09-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

A SONG OF JOYS

O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music--full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments--full of grain and trees.

O for the voices of animals--O for the swiftness and balance of the fishes!
O for the dropping of raindrops in a song!
O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!

O the joy of my spirit--it is uncaged--it darts like lightning!
It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time,
I will have thousands of globes and all time.

O the engineer's joys! to go with the locomotive!
To hear the hiss of steam, the merry shriek, the steam whistle, the
laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.

O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weed, the moist fresh
stillness for the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the
forenoon...

O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human soul
is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless
floods.

O the mother's joys!
The watching, the endurance, the precious love, the anguish, the
patiently yielded life...

-Walt Whitman

Walt Warner is due to arrive on February 20, 2010. I've tried to think of a middle name, but I think we will leave it and hope he comes full of poetry. It turns out that the worries of last week were unfounded as his measurements were all in the normal range, and we learned that my Dr. actually misread the results of the screening. My blood test came back slightly better than normal for my age group. They are having me come back in four weeks, because they are worried about a couple of other things. I am done worrying. As soon as I saw the little face (in 3D, no less) the worry walked out of my body, down the hall and around some unknown corner. Walt looks exactly like his brother Atticus and if he is delivered to me whole without blemish or full of unforeseen problems my love is in place to greet him.

Now I am thinking of the color green, something rich and growing. Maybe I'll even attempt stenciling the large tree I bought several years ago. I like the idea of a tree in the nursery. Yarn is also nesting in my thoughts, blankets, tiny pants and hats, soft, warm. Exactly when these thoughts will become realized is a mystery since Zola, Abe and Atticus give me little time to act on anything but their requests and I have the constant urge to nap. Still...things are beginning to stir.

Life and stuff

2009-09-18T20:17:00.000-07:00

My doctor called. My triple screen came back showing a higher risk for Downs than is normal for my age: 1 in 155 as opposed to 1 in 350. We go in for an ultrasound on Tuesday to see if there are more markers. As they say when it rains...I'm trying not to worry so here are some other things from the past few days.

Zola was choosing her jammies last night and informed me that she doesn't like ballerina's, princesses or pink. This is the conversation that followed.

me: Really? Shall we give all your pink things away?
Zo: No, I mean, I like it. I'm just trying to move on to purple.

I laughed out loud, which she thought was very funny. I'm trying to move onto blue myself.

Every conversation with Abe goes like this.
Abe: I need to tell you this Mama.
Me: Okay, tell me Abe.
Abe: Uhm, well sometimes Hulk can jump really high like this (demonstration), but sometimes he rides a motorcycle. Is hulk a mean guy or a nice guy?
Me: What do you think?
Abe: He's a nice guy, because he helps people, right? He's really strong. I am strong like hulk. Watch this mama. (He carries the little stool across the room.)
Me: You are strong, Abe!
Abe: Yeah, I know.

I should mention here that none of my children have ever watched any superhero cartoons or movies. All of their knowledge is from second hand information and the Target toys that both boys seem irresistibly drawn to.

Finally Atticus--2 years old
Atti: Hewo mama.
Me: Hi Atti.
Atti: A MOU! A MOU!
Me: Yes, a mouse. (YES A MOUSE--yuck.)
Atti: A beebee mou.
Me: Probably. (gross--I run let out Ruth, our dog who hunts mice.)
Atti: A cue (cute) beebee mou.
Me: They're yucky Atti, and they might bite you.
Atti: A baman mou.
Me: Okay, a batman mouse.
Atti: Baman mou mean?

And so it goes.

A Better Place

2009-08-26T19:00:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am tired and craving a deep uninterrupted rest, but today was a good day.

Zola is happy in first grade. She loves her teacher who is a short, round, happy sort of person and a soft blessing for my little girl. The therapy is working. Yesterday she was riding home with Jane and Maggie who were planning a little extra playtime. When I told my friend Emily, Zola would have to join another time I hung up the phone steeled for battle. Both Emily and I were shocked that Zola's response was "okay." Normally this would have resulted in a full blown tantrum of exquisite screams, followed by door slamming and crying uncontrollably. I feel like I'm seeing my daughter clearly for the first time in her life. I always thought she was a challenging, inflexible, strong-willed child who was sent for the purpose of mellowing my own will and breaking my spirit, a little. She doesn't seem to be any of those things. She is eager to help and kind. She works hard and loves with incredible empathy for a girl of six. I love to hear her talk about her day and her friends, the things that bother her, the things she loves--a turtle dance they are learning in class, chicken satay for dinner, Paris' ponytails with a headband and playing horse at recess.

Abe doesn't whine at me anymore. We spend at least 2 hours together every afternoon while Atticus naps. He is full of questions and every word that comes out of my mouth seems to be something new to him. Today he asked me why he can't come to my doctor's appointments with me. I said "My doctor only sees adults, just like your doctor only sees kids." That satisfied him for a moment until he looked at me and said "what does adult mean." I explained and he used it correctly this evening in place of grown-up. It was very adult of him, being only 4.

Atticus starts his therapy tommorow, but what little we've been able to do seems to be helping some. He's very snuggly suddenly and wants to be held close and tight when he wakes up from naps. His language is also exploding. He's graduated from sentences to paragraphs and also regularly serenades me with made up songs. With Zola at school all day he's found a fast friend in Abe. They had the foam swords out this afternoon, playing pirates. He was thrilled and his older brother is incredibly sweet with him, most of the time.

All of these brushings and compressions, managing schedules, constant watching for each of their signs of high and low arousal is exhausting, but it is parenting, it is what they need at the moment. Only a year of this intense energy, after all, maybe less, if they respond very well to the therapy. And it is good for my parenting, seeing my children and good for me, understanding how to help them. I can do it if I take it one day at a time. I am tired, bone tired. If I had money I would hire a part-time house keeper. Not once a week--everyday for an hour or two. I don't have money. But I have a home and good health insurance that is covering a huge part of the cost, and food--even if nothing sounds good but Arby's (I know--completely disgusting). I have my faith, which gives me perspective and comfort. I have Jon who cooks and cleans and doesn't see those things as gender specific responsibilities. I don't know any other man like him. And...

I have one more baby to come. One more time to hold a little body inside of mine and feel it grow. One more, small, helpless, warm and sleepy curled against my chest in a tiny ball. One more little person to push me beyond and outside of my ego and help me remember that there is only letting go. Letting go of pain, of sorrow, of expectation, and letting in the light of being. One more.

What the???

2009-08-15T19:33:00.000-07:00

I have no energy for writing so I will give you a list.

1. I am pregnant, 13 weeks, with my fourth. Don't say congratulations yet, read on.

2. Zola, Abe and Atticus have been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder. Their nervous systems are easily overloaded and we are spending the next year in an intense effort to teach those little systems to regulate themselves.

3. The home program is as follows, everyday, no weekends off--vigorous physical input 4-6 times a day for each child, body brushing and joint compressions 3-4 times a day with each child. Limit noise, limit too much stimulation (like large groups, having loud and obnoxious siblings, hitting, fighting, grabbing, large families are probably not a good idea, living off of a busy street also bad, parties, dinner out, going to the mall, school will be a lot, etc.) eliminate t.v. and make 3 visists a week (1 per child) to the occupational therapist.

4. The home program + O.T. take, on average, 1 year and their little nervous systems will be able to regulate themselves. Consistency is the key.

5. The baby is due in six months.

6. I am nauseous. All I want is Orangina and pickles, neither of which give me the energy to brush my teeth, let alone brush 6 arms, legs and 3 backs, 3-4 times a day.

7. I am exhausted, but consistency is the key and the baby is due in six months.

8. Jon is working long hours. He has many strengths. Organization and structure are not high on the list. Jon is exhausted.

9. Zola and Abe are showing marked improvement. Zola has yelled at me only 2 times and has not slammed the door once or sobbed uncontrollably since we've been doing this. Abe does not whine all day. He looks at me in the eyes when he is talking to me. They are slowly trying more and different foods and transition between activities without nearly as much drama.

10. Atticus officially starts in two weeks. He is out of control and spends most of the day yelling or crying. He is exhausting.

11. I got pregnant before we knew any of this, still what was I thinking.

That is all. Clearly I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but consistency is the key, so I can't have one...just yet. Now you can say congratulations?

ROAD TRIP! Road Trip. road tri...

2009-07-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

Adventure comes in many forms and exhaustion is almost always the price. Ours began two weeks ago, bodies packed tight in our mini-van and headed for Provo, then Vegas, then Burbank and back.

We began rested and eager, our two year old leading the chant road tip! road tip! road tip! We stopped for an hour in Fruita and let them run, enjoying the night air, and our little ones, in no particular hurry--our goal to enjoy the journey. The kids were asleep (and grumpy to be awakened) once we arrived at Syl's and invaded her 2 bedroom condo with five extra bodies. Atticus insisted on falling asleep on top of me (after much wiggling) and then being carefully transferred to his pack and play. Zola and Abe were eager to prolong sleep in favor of seeing their, much beloved, older cousin Tommy--but we managed to wrap them in their sleeping bags and lull them to sleep with promises of tommorow. We spent two days wandering in Provo Canyon, taking walks along the river and catching up with family. We ate pizza and spent an evening on the couches in Von's living room. All my sisters came Jean brought me cookies and Mel teased me about something I'd rather not mention. Syl took care of me, when she's the one who could use a break. It was a relief to be together, to be with people who know, love and understand me. It was the first time in a long time that Denver felt very far away. I miss my sisters.

As an added bonus we caught up with some of our favorite non-related people, the Aanderuds who fed us M&M's and Twizzler's (just like old times) and took us to Veteran's, the community pool turned water park. I remembered the pool as enormous, from my swim lesson days, but it wasn't at all. It's strange to have passed all those years with the image of a pristine, gigantic blue rectangle, a few teenagers sun bathing around it's perimeter full of deep, endless, ice-cold water. I imagined riding on the backs of dolphins and killer whales. It was my ocean without waves. Now it's a busy puddle. I think I prefer the child version. I will keep it.

On to Vegas after a harrowing night of being kicked and mauled. Atticus took residence in our borrowed bed leaving Jon and I with less sleep, energy and patience. However, In-and-Out arrived in St. George, which did much to lift our spirits and the drive to Vegas was shorter than we thought until we realized we didn't have the right address for Mike and Jen. Mike is one of Jon's very best friends. They've know each other since they were eight years old and Mike hung up on Jon when he called to suggest they get together and play. It was a rocky start, but, much like our visit in Vegas, proved a reliable oasis. Jen fed us and put us in our own Casita. We spent countless hours in their amazing pool and enjoyed the company of two people who know how to relax and go with the flow, not to mention the free teeth cleaning for my kids. We were sad to leave (not realizing we would see them again in one weeks time.)

Burbank California, filled with brown hills and conservative relatives was our next stop. We arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's, the kids reeling with excitement--grandparents, cousins, beach--it was too much. Eighteen people in a 4 bedroom ranch is too much. We shoved food into our children's mouths as they ran by wildly and we didn't put them to bed until their heads began to spin and we were afraid they might self destruct. We laid awake more than slept, but it was good to catch up (a minute here or there, amidst the general chaos). We spent a lovely, windy and chilly day, at the beach where Abe napped, Zola hunted for sand crabs and Atticus would not stay out of the water, despite near constant shivering. It was good, except Atti caught cold.

Abe got his first play gun from Auntie Karen, which to my chagrin, he thourouly enjoyed. I tried to walk away when I caught wind of the many convrsations about the virtue of guns, the evils of welfare, and high taxes--all of which were blamed on Obama. There was no acknowledgement that the problems we face now were created by the past 8 years of lowering taxes and the immoral focus on emacing more and more material wealth. Walking away is a technique that I've taught my kids--if someone is bothering you, you can just walk away. In most cases it's magical, unfortunately there wasn't anywhere to walk to. I was surrounded by these people I have great feelings of affection for, except when they open their mouths about anything political. And my tolerance was very low because I hadn't really slept in several nights. That part was particularly exhausting and I was disappointed in my inablitly to let go of my own political prejudice. I think I managed to get through the weekend without making an unkind comment, but my head was full of arguments about having a little compassion and looking at the facts--not according to FOX news. Grandma Zola made a comment about David, a new member of the Warner clan, feeling like they were just like him. I've had a decidedly different experience, but, in addition to the frustration I've experienced, I have also learned to appreciate and learn from those differences. What I've learned is that the group all together in a small space is difficult for me, but the individuals that make up the group are really fabulous. There were a couple of nights when we sat and talked, once with Brad and Hillary, and once with Kent and Zola. I like those. When it's quiet and you get to hear about peoples lives. There is always a funny story about one of the kids and Zola (grandma) will start laughing until tears come from the corners of her eyes. They are Jon's eye's forty years from now, and I love them.

After everyone left we spent the next couple of days in grandma and grandpa's backyard and had a frogging adventure up a local canyon. We captured two pacific tree frogs--hippity hoppy and hoppsofar (or something like that). According to little Zo, one was a girl and one was a boy. Evidently, she knows how to tell. Grandma had the perfect container, an old jelly bean jar, and some screen so we made them a home. I give her a hard time about saving everything, but you never know when you'll need to construct a home for a couple of frogs. I was grateful for her stash. We were excited to take them home to Colorado until we found out we'd inadvertantly broken the law. ooops. We released them later that evening.

By Wednesday Atticus was runny and cranky, Zo and Abe were fighting and we were on the road back the oasis in the dessert where we swam, put the poopers to bed and fondued for the next several hours. In the morning we swam again and, reluctantly, piled back into the car. Next time I need a vacation I'm going back to the Nelsons. At this point I was tempted to torture the poor children and drive straight through--13 hours, at least, to be home in my King Sized--extra firm bed, limbs stretched as wide as creation with little chance of touching anyone. We drove to Provo instead.

Syl and Tom were waiting with food. My sweet big sister and her boy. Tom is one of the most pleasant 12 year olds I've encountered. He played with my kids, was incredibly patient, helped clean up--I remember him as a happy baby, big, soft, smiley and open. Miraculously, he is still all of those things. His little cousins insisted he come out on the balcony to wave goodbye as we left on Friday. He happily agreed and they waved and waved.

The drive home was long. When we arrived Atticus only cried for a couple of minutes before snuggling into his familiar crib. Abe, visibly relieved, smiled sleepily and crawled into the bottom bunk. Zola grinned, wide awake, and was out in seconds. Jon and I sat on the couch and took several deep breaths. The dogs laid by our feet thumping their tails. We didn't unpack.

When we went to bed I laid down, closed my eyes and saw the ocean, feeling the waves, watching the water meet the expansive blue sky, then red and white desserts, their earth vibrating with heat, and the endless blue sky, then countless green valleys with soft wind blown grasses and the enourmous blue sky, then canyons, winding and cut by the wide roaring river, covered in pine and aspen and the eternal blue sky.

growing up

2009-06-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

There are people who long for their twenties, or teens, or even for childhood. Perhaps dysfunction was my blessing because I find myself present in my 37th year. It has taken me this long to settle into my own life.

I had Zola when I was 30 after completing a masters degree and novel of sorts. Since then I've been a mother by choice, but not without reservation, angst and long stretches of something with the uncomfortable resemblance to a martyr complex. For the last six years there have been moments when I've deeply resented the lack of continuity created by the small people in my home constantly needing to be fed, watered and generally tended to. These demanding, adorable, destructive, warm, soft, little things devoured all of my energy. I often thought "what about me, my time, my interests?" Off and on for years I felt the need to be recognized as something more important--not just a mother. So, I would turn back to my novel, until someone got sick, started swim class, soccer or the sound of two heads thumping pulled me back into my life.

Last summer something shifted. It started with a dream, like most things in my life, a picture in my mind. There was one more child. I woke up with my soul focused on impermanence and the realization that in my uneasiness I was missing my life and my children. Two minds are not better than one. And so my novel will sit in my desk while my children grow and I will be here with them before they are gone. I will not find myself calling down the empty hallway wondering where the years went and why I spent them searching for something else. There will be plenty of quiet then, plenty of time for myself and a different kind of creation, less challenging, less fulfilling, fiction.

Here there is real noise, sweet, deafening screams of joy, earsplitting cries over minuscule scrapes, laughter, endless arguing, fantastic adventures narrated through hallways, down stairways, into the backyard. Here there is life. And I want it, to cover myself in pleasant chaos, sweaty and rough, exhilarating, exhausting, short and lovely. Our fourth child may never be, but the dream of her left me awake, aching, grateful and here.

Departures

2009-06-07T16:14:00.000-07:00

"I used to think there was one person I was supposed to meet. Now I know we meet the people we are supposed to meet."

-Maggie "Northern Exposure"

Today there was an exodus in the Capitol Hill Ward. As a congregation we are used to seeing people come and people go. There are interns, students, and a few people that stay for a short time because they are clearly uncomfortable with the lack of Mormon convention. We love them as our brother's and sister's in the larger sense, and send them off to their real life elsewhere. Today was different, it was saying goodbye to faces I have seen Sunday after Sunday for the last ten years. Today I said goodbye to people for whom I feel a deep connection and love that is truly filial. Perhaps it is because the core of Capitol Hill is a lot like a family. We are a disparate individuals who might not have chosen each other as friends, but come together each week because of our common faith. We have varied interests and, often, different points of view. However, there always seems to be room for everybody to be appreciated for who they are. I love my little congregation and I will miss people who are leaving us after such a long time.

Wade Livingston was there when we first walked into the run down building on Grant Street and were delighted when rhetorical questions from the pulpit solicited a response from the congregation. All three of my children grew up mimicking Brother Livingston as he conducted the hymns in sacrament meeting--always thoroughly enjoying himself. I couldn't help singing a little louder, not that that was always a good thing. My oldest daughter, Zola, came home week after week with the most gruesome stories imaginable, straight from the old testament and courtesy of Brother Livingston, her primary chorister. She relished shocking us with all the gory details on the trip home from church! In Sunday school Wade always had interesting, insightful and informative comments that helped me to examine my faith or understand something in a new way. We didn't do a whole lot together outside of church functions, but I love him because he is my brother in a real sense. We share our common faith and years of coming together for fellowship and worship.

Janet Zamboni introduced herself that same first Sunday in the same falling apart room. She was in the row in front of us, which consisted of uncomfortable folding chairs strung together. I remember her blue hat and matching suit. I love hats, so I took an immediate liking to her, but quickly realized you can't help but like Janet. At the end of the meeting she turned around and we saw that her nails also coordinated with the rest of her outfit, electric blue. She handed me a business card that said Janet Zamboni, Relief Society President, Capitol Hill ward and her phone number. When we ran into her in the hallway she said, "you know, we are not a corporate ward, none of us here is Lilly white." I found another sister and my love and respect for her has only grown over our time together. She is a sparkling conversationalist and a fabulous teacher. I have been to her classroom in Lakewood, she graciously gave me a little teaching opportunity while I was working on my masters. Her class was organized, thoughtful, and incredibly smart. I wouldn't have expected less. We will miss her over the next year while she is having her adventure in Manhattan and eagerly await her return, completely chronicled--of course.

The St. Johns--After Michael gave his first prayer and politely requested a good snow storm so that he might enjoy a day of snowboarding, Jon leaned over and said "We need to have them over for dinner." We do not snowboard, but we do love the St. Johns. In addition to all the church meetings, we shared countless nights of food, Catan and conversation. Shelly was also delighted by the Amens and Hallelujahs that punctuated talks and emanated from that early Capital Hill congregation. She is a woman who is committed to Christ's gospel of love. We had our babies together and watched them grow. She worried much less than I did and it was a blessing to be around that kind of confidence. She has a natural gift for gathering little ones together and loving them, whether they belong to her or not. And she will fool you into thinking that she has few opinions, but is actually constantly examining the question of how to live a more Christ like life and has interesting thoughts and ideas on many different subjects. She was an understanding ear and really good friend when I began to examine my own difficult childhood, always supportive and kind. I can cry in front of her and not feel completely uncomfortable and stupid. The only other people I feel that way about are my Utah sisters and a couple other choice friends. I am immensely grateful to know her. She is my Colorado (now VA) sister.

Michael is analytical, curious, loves a good argument and can tease a person to their limits. Before he was a member he would casually try to check out the temple to see "what that was all about." He's fabulous and honest, a rare and intimate thing that put Jon and I immediately at ease. (Jon doesn't inadvertently moon just any one's mother.) Oh, and he's also a democrat. We found our safe place to discuss and hone our own similar political views. We suffered through the Bush years together, commiserating hopelessly and chanted O-BA-MA in our living room during the 2008 campaign. He is committed to serving his brothers and sisters inside and outside of the church. He adores Shelley and loves his boys. They are his first concern. That, to me, is the definition of a good man and we all know that a good man is hard to find. Michael is my brother.

I remember when Liam was born, he was so tiny and quiet and Shelly was so physically uncomfortable and completely blissed out at the same time. He was so shy for so long and I felt it a great honor that he would occasionally return my smiles. He's become a good friend of mine in his 5 short years on this planet. I have watched his confidence and courage grow. I took him to his first day of preschool in September. I wasn't sure about leaving, but he was. When I whispered "I'm going Liam, okay?" He said "Okay" and waved goodbye. Zo will miss playing dress up, Lions and house. I'm glad I got to be his primary teacher for a few weeks. We will miss his mischievous grin and will miss Saturday night trips to the store for Salami and pretzels. Liam is our friend and our little brother.

Seanicakes--Abe is going to be wondering where "his best friend" has gone. I remember when he was born and quickly grew incredibly fat on his mama's milk. He was so round and funny. He's still a funny little guy, quick to smile, quick to play. He and I share a deep love for watermelon. He often comes to our house and disappears with Abe. I hear them talking a lot about "saving the day". They spend a great deal of time as various superheros. I hear them giggle as they hurl objects over the staircase and pull out all of the dress ups. They are at ease together and I will miss listening to Sean narrate one of their adventures, his eyes bright with excitement. Sean is our friend and our little brother.

Little Adam doesn't quite capture their youngest, who is enormous and irresistibly squishy. The rolls on his thighs alone are incredibly charming. Jon compared him walking, to a bumblebee flying--they should be physically impossible, but there they go. He is a sweetie pie and has helped me appreciate the simple beauty and entertainment power of a leaf. I am so sad that I will miss seeing him grow. But he is still my little brother, and always will be, because of my connection to his family.

This is what I was unable to articulate in my testimony this morning. The only thing that is real is the relationships we have and the love we feel for one another. Whether the people you love are born to your family or become your family through time, shared belief and shared experience, doesn't really matter. Love is eternal and the connections I feel with my brothers and sisters in this odd and wonderful little congregation will not depart with them . Thank you, thank you for sharing your lives with us over these past years. We love you.

Rolling in

2009-06-01T19:50:00.000-07:00

The skies opened up, cracked wide with Colorado thunder, the clouds dark, full. We were walking in the park watching them roll in over the mountains and I remembered my westerness--the freedom of the expansive open, not crowded out by trees, impossible to cover the mountains and the sky, there is space--even in the middle of the city.

The rain came hours later, with my kids tucked safely in their warm beds and my feet up on the couch listening to the water fall. The sound of the rain drowns out the cars, the music, the voices and creates the illusion of solitude. Rhythmic, lulling constansty, splashing out of our rain gutters. Sometimes I feel like this is my second life, like I lived here before when there was nothing but open space and wildness. I must have been a woman then also, with thick layered skirts and sensible boots, my skin wrinkled by the wind and sun, my hands full of the hard earth. Eyes to the sky, watching, waiting, anticipation and worry married inside my body.

The storm--unpredictable, a thing in motion vibrating through your body like hitting a low note, slow and rumbling. Or a crash through your core, sitting you up--stiff, eyes raised to the roof, unsure you'll find it above you. I find myself in this immense forbidding sky. I can feel my body's connection to the earth, this earth, this place. I am home.

2009-05-22T13:24:00.000-07:00

A woman died of cancer yesterday. She lived three blocks over. Her twins are in the first grade at the same school Zola attends. I am going to go play with my kids. Housework be damned.

On Gardening and Motherhood

2009-05-17T12:55:00.000-07:00

I've been out in my garden a lot the last few days, tending to my existing plants and planting new additions. Iris, Coreopsis, Shasta Daisy, Delphinium, Butterfly Delphinium, Pansies, Asiatic Lillies, Oriental Poppy, Dianthus, Zinnias, Petunias, Clematis and Roses. There are more and each with specific preferences. Some of the flowers are hardy and tolerate little care, some are fastidious and demanding, requiring regular attention. The plants come with information tags stating some simple conditions that each individual plant needs to thrive--

full sun, clay or garden loam, drought tolerant

sun/part sun, well-drained soil, moist,

shade, fertile, well-drained soil.

But, it takes careful attention and lots of practice to understand how a plant will react to my yard, and even a specific spot in my yard. I move things around a lot and the advice I get from other gardeners and from gardening books doesn't always apply. When I do get it right the result is immensly rewarding. For instanse, I am looking at my Iris bed, the ones that inspired me to read a 250 page book devoted only to that genus. It is amazing what dividing once every few years and feeding twice a year has done for my flowers. The leaves are green and strong, almost every spike has a big flouncy bloom (except for the 20 or so that Atticus beheaded yelling with glee, "blowbluh!").

There are other plants that have been straggling along, a couple of day lillies, with yellow edged leaves that the sprinkler misses, and I forget to water. There are some asiatic lillies that bend desperately to one side searching for more sunlight and a Shasta daisy that wilts every afternoon in the harsh Colorado sun. I also lost some of my perennials this year because it was my first really dry winter here and I didn't water. You can leave a lot of plants and they'll do fine. They will produce flowers, just fewer. However, if you want a really stunning garden, full of happy plants you have to pay attention and take care. Becoming a really successful gardener is a learning process, it's about getting to know your plants, how they react to their surroundings and trying new things. So, I try to feed them weekly, or monthly, or a couple of times a year. I give them more or less water depending on their particular preference. I watch their foliage to gauge what is missing and, most of the time, I have beautiful flowers.

I think it would be nice if children came with a small tag tucked behind their ears--

Needs a lot of movement, needs constant feeding to maintain even temperament, will not sleep unless forced, does not self-regulate, determined (will not be redirected), intensely social,

requires patience and understanding, thrives with a lot of positive reinforcement

Sleeps well, snuggly, feed at reasonable intervals, exercise occasionally, talks quietly, but incessantly, requires careful listening, thrives with regular one on one time

Needs near constant movement, feed at regular intervals, sleeps well, can be aggressive, communicates needs in no uncertain terms (yells a lot), very pleasant when allowed to pursue (sometimes messy, sometimes dangerous), interests

requires huge amounts of energy and thrives when set free out of doors

As a mother and a gardener I've noticed, that children and flowers have a lot in common, what makes one bloom, makes another wilt. There are basics they all need, just like all plants need sunlight, food and water, all children need love, physical care and attention. However, they need it in different amounts and in different ways. I know some mother's who scoff at parenting books, who smile and roll their eyes when I say "I was just reading about..." They have it all figured out, evidently. I do not. As often as I'm reading to figure out how to make my flowers bloom, I'm doing the same for my children. I've got the basicsdown, it's the fine tuning that I like to explore. I believe the more information and options a mother has, the better. I am not a subscriber to one philosophy. I don't think you'll ruin your kids if you co-sleep or breast feed them until they're four. I don't think you'll ruin them if you let them cry themselves to sleep or don't breastfeed at all. But they might not thrive, either way, if that's not what that particular child needs.

So, I'll keep looking for ideas and trying things out. One will will receive forced food and rest, because she can't stop herself from running, if someone is running, or dancing or talking or engaging in play of any sort. We will end a hard day with a list of all the good choices she made, because she blossoms when I praise her efforts. She may end up in bed with us at some point during the night. Another will get some quiet snuggles on the couch and a game of ABC Go Fish, because he needs to feel like he is my world for a little while. He will lay down in his bed and I will lay next to him and sing a quiet song. If he wakes with a nightmare and I bring him into our bed he will politely request to go back to his own. The other will be set free in a pile of mud and fed on the go. He will be set down and ignored when he grabs the skin of my neck and pinches as hard as he can. I will rock him in my arms with a bottle and a book at the end of the day before he snuggles into his crib with his blanket and says "nigh, nigh."

There will be days when they're looking a little wilty and days when their edges are yellow (Zola is currently screaming in the chair next to me because we said no to a play date--it's a wilty moment.) Then we'll adjust--a little water, a little food, a little rest, some one-on-one time, or a little run to the park, some muddy puddle jumping, or having a friend over. It all depends on which one of my kids you're talking about and what kind of day, week or month we've had. And I'll keep reading the parenting books regardless of the rolling eyes of judgement. For me, that is the beauty of parenting--when you think you have it figured out your child shifts and both of you are forced to grow in a new way. New ideas are good.

And, there will always be those mother's who raise an eyebrow or whisper to their friend when I choose to parent my child differently then they parent theirs, but their understanding of my children is severely limited at best. These misguided mothers have not spent the last six years of their life devoted to watching my little ones for signs of wilt, yellowing edges or over care and they are clearly oblivious to their bounteous bloom! Perhaps they do not garden.

2009-05-08T19:47:00.001-07:00

Jon's 36 today. I remember the first time he hugged me. He's good at that and if you haven't experienced a one of his hugs you should. It both warms and envelopes. For me, that first time, I melted with both desire and comfort...perfect.
Birthday presents have included a two hour morning nap, an apron that says "chef papa" and a trip to the local cupcake shop. Currently, he's watching the Lakers and I'm not complaining--the truest and most difficult gift I can give. I'm petty and jealous when it comes to what little alone time we have together.
Somehow, I stumbled into him despite his blue toenails and the younger blond coeds. I caught him looking down the bleacher. I caught him because I was looking too. He said, "Tweela right?, WRONG, cardinal sin--and still I ended up married to this man who loves his family more than his work, who does the dishes everyday and actually enjoys taking care of our kids. He still hugs me and it still feels like desire and comfort. He is, by far, the best man I've ever known. He's better than Mr. Darcy, Heathcliffe and Indiana Jones. Also, he's not fictional, which is important. I don't mean to say he's perfect. We have an ongoing argument about his tendency to create piles, to walk past laundry on the landing without taking the basket up, his uncanny ability to tune me out, at times. My tendency to grumpily need things neat when I'm feeling stressed, to take on more than I have time to do, to nitpick about piles, laundry and not being heard, stems from the basic difference in our personalities--the thing that attracted us initially and attracts us still. He is steady, thoughtful, still and I am forever in a state of flux, impulsive motion and then...exhaustion. Most of the time the result is a tenuous balance somewhere between inertia and hyperactivity.
At this stage in our lives, I miss him. I love my children and the thought of them flying away leaves my heart aching, but not without a flutter of anticipation. Someday there will be time together, just the two of us. I married Jon because there is no other person I would rather spend every waking moment with. Call it unhealthy co dependence. I don't care. If we could figure out a legal way to achieve independent wealth, a way for him to be here all the time we would. Call it laziness. I don't care. He is my person, my one, my much better half and the thought of the next fifty years together is a pleasure. Happy Birthday, Jon.

Ode to Abe

2009-04-28T19:46:00.000-07:00

Abraham
All the night stars sing to your mother's womb,
sands of the sea breathe your name.
Tides draw you in.
Galaxies call you out.
Numberless one,
you are the beginning.

Auntie Mel

Abe turned four last week and I am remembering...my labor--long and quiet. The moment I first held him, the relief of his coming. The spot on my chest where he curled, so small and warm. I am remembering that he never cried unless he was hungry, or tired or need a diaper change. I knew he was not my last because he was such a pleasure. I remember the way that Zola made sure his pacifier was near and the way he was thrilled when he began to wake up to the world and found his sister there. Then the bewildered and heartbreaking "mama, mama" as he entered the hospital room and discovered me holding Atticus a couple of years later. Sweet Abe. I try to make time for just him, but it doesn't feel often enough. The middle is hard and I know, because he is generally more easy going, I sometimes put off for him what I would quickly do for his louder siblings. He is patient and follows my direction, most often without complaint. So often I hear myself telling him to wait, just one minute, just wait. And he does until he is sure I've forgotten to get him that glass of milk or bowl of melon, or throw the ball, or read the book. If I could just stretch the day and my energy then maybe. When I can let the laundry or the P.T.A. or the clutter go I find my little boy who loves to play catch and read stories, who counts his fingers and adores his big sister, who cries from honest regret when he hurts his little brother, who, after viewing The Incredibles referred to Jon as Bob, "because he catches bad guys", who bestows the gift of laying him down on Jon or I with great ceremony "you get to lay me down tonight, mama" and a pleased smile, who often says (unsolicited) "Mama, I love you". The feeling is completely mutual.

Do you work?

2009-03-22T19:58:00.001-07:00

Recently someone asked me if I worked. I said yes. I am a manager, a teacher, a maid, a cook, a nurse, a chauffeur a psychologist, a nutritionist, and probably several other things I'm forgetting. I am a mother. My typical day goes something like...

7:20 a.m. Awakened by small child crawling across my face saying "mama, mama, mama"

7:25 a.m. make bed, open drapes, curse at the plastic animal that gouges my foot, pick up little plastic animal and...

7:30a.m. try to sneak into the bathroom to pee in private, no lock--no luck.

7:35 a.m. gather three outfits and one at a time, wrestle two small children into outfits.

7:50 a.m. first attempt at waking Zo for school. The grumbling response leaves little hope. I follow the trail of toys into the hallway, picking them up along with last nights pajamas.

7:55 a.m. Try to wake Zola for family prayer, say goodbye to Jon. Hurried kissing and much lamenting by my littlest--paapaa, paaapaa, paapaaaah and on and on.

8:00 a.m. threaten Zola with cold water on the back. Loud protestations, but no movement.

8:05 a.m. pull her from her bed and ask her to put the clothes I've laid on the floor onto her body, Please. She scowls. Mention breakfast and both of the boys insist they are hungry although Jon has already fed them two or three times. Downstairs for yet another round of cereal or toast.

8:15 a.m. back upstairs to get Zola. She's built a tent in her room and is still in her jammies. At this point I wrestle my third and strongest child into her outfit and ask her if she wants oatmeal or cereal for breakfast. Cereal. Back downstairs. Poor one bowl, clean up the other two, let the dogs in to eat what has been scattered all over the floor.

8:25 a.m. Have a negotiation over a second glass of milk with Abe while I gather jackets, shoes and...uugh, the socks are upstairs. Put dogs out. Head upstairs.

8:30 a.m. Abe yells his side of the argument "but I want more milk" from the bottom of the stairs while I gather socks and yell back "water now, milk at lunchtime" (reading this argument makes it seem ridiculous. note to self--next time give him the milk)

8:35 a.m. Put shoes and socks on the boys while directing Zola to leave the new tent she's constructing with the living room couch cushions, put on her jacket, socks, shoes and backpack, please.

8:45 a.m. Everyone but me exits. Grab, keys, snacks, purse. Drop my brain somewhere between the kitchen and front door. Chase Atticus down the street, while the older two climb in car. Retrieve escapee, who flails and screams while being strapped the car seat (his personal nemesis). Ask Zola and Abe to please buckle. Climb into my own seat, reach back to help Abe buckle, buckle myself and smear some lipstick haphazardly across my mouth (morning beauty regiment). Buckle my seat belt.

8:55 a.m. Drive up to the school, park, frantically unbuckle and open doors. Run across playground. Gravel fills shoes. Give Zo a hug and kiss. Set the boys free and breathe. They play, I chat with other grownups and run to catch Atticus from falling off of the play structure, or running into the street, or incessantly buzzing the office at the front of the building, or throwing gravel at other small children...etc.

9:20 a.m. Abe is ready to go. Atticus wants to stay. The resulting negotiation terminates my participation in a heated discussion about grocery certificate sales and plastic surgery.

9:30 a.m. back in the car, more kicking and screaming...appeased only by a rousing rendition of "popcorn popping" and then "the isty bitsy spider"--both precarious songs to perform while driving.

9:40 a.m. Abe runs to porch. Atti runs down street. Retrieve the escapee and carry him, kicking and screaming into the house. De-shoe, de-jacket. Abe says, "I'm hungry". Grab crackers, slice an apple and sit the boys at the little table. Pick up the cushions from earlier tent building and replace them on the couch. Climb stairs to dreaded laundry room. Three bins full of clean, three of dirty. Load the dirty, begin to fold clean--interrupted by screaming. Run down the stairs. Hold two boys on my lap and kiss the bumps resulting from a head on collision. Alternate hugs and check for signs of concussion.

9:45 a.m. pick up chewed up and spit out apple. add two more plates to the breakfast dishes in the sink. Persuade Atticus and Abe up the stairs. Resume folding laundry. Atticus begins the unfolding of said laundry. Grumble and find him a toy, down the hall in his room. Fold laundry in an amazing stretch of quiet. Feel a sense of accomplishment as I put the last pair of underwear in the basket.

10:15 a.m. Discover the reason for quiet. Atticus is standing on top of the toilet and has emptied the cupboard. He jumps and then says "Dah" pointing at the bottle of nail polish. Make sound like an injured animal, which seems to puzzle, then please him. It is only when I remove him that he kicks and screams. Abe approaches during said tantrum determined to have me put on his spiderman costume. Not possible holding a kicking, screaming baby. When I try to place said baby on the floor the volume goes up and he clings to my legs as I help Abe step into his spiderman costume.

10:30 a.m. Clean up mess in bathroom. Begin to put clothes away. Abe wants spiderman costume off. Roll my eyes and remove said costume. Now he would like to be Batman. Unable to find the batman cape Abe begins to whine, then cry. Tell him I'm so sorry. Offer suggestions that might help him feel better. He decides pretending the cape will work. All the while putting clothes away.

11:00 a.m. Clothes are in drawers, feeling hungry. Realize I have not eaten. Check on Atticus who has emptied my vanity (in more ways than one) and spread the contents all over my bedroom. I say, "No, Atty, no, no, no, no..." He begins to cry. Abe flies in and punches my leg. I yell "TIME OUT!" Abe begins to cry. I carry Atty downstairs and shove handfuls of almonds in my mouth and start the water for cheesy noodles. Grate cheese, while Atty hangs onto my leg crying. Abe wanders in, apologetic until I announce cheesy noodles, which incites much loud protestation. I set the table, cook the noodles and get the drinks amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

11:30 a.m. We say prayer. The boys eat. I slap some ham between bread and call it lunch.

11:50 a.m. Let in the dogs to clean up the spillage. Get milk for boys. All is quiet. Let the dogs back out, clear the table, wipe the table. Change Atticus...more kicking and screaming. Up the stairs. We sit together and read a story. You are my I love you. Atticus snuggles into my shoulder and asks for his blaeblae (blanket), lullaby and nap.

12:10 p.m. I walk down the stairs slowly, still warm from his little body snuggled against me. I sit next to Abe and we have a talk about his day, the time he spent as a Superhero, and how he's such a good listener. I give him a nuzzle and he grins, wide, happy and says "I love you, mama." Another hug, and he picks a show. Check the doors to make sure they're locked. Back upstairs, pick up toys and exercise.

1:20 p.m. Back downstairs turn off T.V. Abe throws a small fit and initially rejects my suggestion that we read a book. We play a game of "what's that letter?" We read several books. Feels good to sit. Abe happy to have all my attention. Ahhh.

2:00p.m. Atticus is crying. Back upstairs. Abe runs ahead, throws the door open. Pick Atti up. He clings to me and wails. Back downstairs. Offer yogurt, water, crackers, finally shove a spoonful of yogurt in and he wails between bites, making the more sign frenetically. Abe wants some. Get yogurt and spoon for Abe.

2:30 p.m. Atti is calm. I set him down. He dumps the blocks. Wipe table and rinse yogurt containers. Back upstairs. Change loads. Begin folding. Atticus comes upstairs to help. He unfolds. Abe jumps on the bed. STOP. Back downstairs. Fix myself a snack. Sit down. Drink, eat. Abe is yelling NO,NO,NO! Back upstairs. Atticus is trying to take Batman off the Batcycle.

2:40-3:40p.m. One hour until School Pick up. Join a friendly wrestling match with boys. Many giggles. Back downstairs. Pack snacks and water. Begin the great shoe search (under couches, behind chairs, etc.) Shoe boys. Gather jackets. Abe to toilet, Atti -- new diaper. More screaming and kicking. Barely keep poop from smearing on floor. Leave the house in utter chaos, grab bag and keys, chase Atti down the street. Kicking and screaming, strap him into car seat. Help Abe buckle, buckle myself, smear lipstick haphazardly across mouth.

3:45p.m. Unload boys. Abe runs one way, Atti another. I grab Atti and tell Abe to please stay on the playground. Atti arching back and then going "boneless". Receive short hug from Zo and she's off to play. I am left holding Atti, her jacket, her backpack and lunch bag. Waddle to playground. Attie squirms out of arms and hits pavement. Wails. Drop Zola's belongings and try to comfort him, but he's already recovered and running away.

3:50p.m. Scan playground. Spot Abe, spot Zo, Atticus headed for "big kids" playground on the other side of school. Retrieve Atti, kicking and screaming. Zo heads for monkey bars on "big kids" playground on the other side of school. Abe happily hurling rocks. Put Atti on little slide. Tell Abe to stop throwing rocks. Ignores me. "Do we have to leave?" Rock throwing ends. Scan horizon for Zo and Atti. Spot them. They're safe. Talk with other moms. Scan again. Repeat, with many episodes of running to prevent Atticus from causing himself bodily harm.

4:20p.m. Tell Zo it's time to go. She ignores me. Gather boys and belongings. Head toward car. Zola yells and scowls. Runs to join us. Has to go back to get her backpack. Distracted by monkey bars. I strap boys in. More screaming. Head back to playground. Bodily remove Zola, backpack and lunch bag to the car.

4:30p.m. Home. Look at clock. Can I make it the 15 minutes until my relief/Jon shows up? No. Put on Wow, Wow Wubbzy and get all the children water. Get myself water. Begin picking up stray toys, shoes, coats and socks.

4:45p.m. Jon walks in. Kiss. He talks about SEC case. Try to focus my brain, unsuccessfully. Kids run in, hugs, happiness, hungry, whining begins anew. Jon begins cooking. I head upstairs to finish folding, or putting away clothes. Desert him in the midst of tantrums. Gather myself. Back downstairs. Gather the kids. Back upstairs. Tent building begins again.

5:00p.m. Back downstairs. Set the table amid much yelling, crying and/or whining. Hungry children are not pleasant creatures. Sit down. Pray. Fill Abe's plate, fill Zola's plate, cut anything that needs cutting. Pile food on my own plate. Take two bites--oops forgot drinks. Jon, who has somehow managed to finish an entire plate of food already, kindly gets up and fills cups for everyone.

5:30p.m. Clear from dinner. Begin picking up toys that are scattered across floor. The little ones run circles complaining they're too tired to pick up. I am too tired to pick up and too tired to run circles. I threaten to throw the rest of the toys in the trash (not an empty threat). They scream "NO!" and quickly begin to pick up their toys. Jon is cleaning up from dinner. I head upstairs to start the bath water.

6:00p.m. Can not resist the lure of warm water. I undress and climb into the bath, quietly...maybe Jon will not notice that I've disappeared. Maybe my children will not--the door flies open and Zola undresses while walking to the potty, singing "It's a hard knock life" all the while. She sits, pees, stands up and climbs into the bath with me. Abe and Atticus (with Jon's help) quickly follow suit. There is much scrubbing, some splashing, complaining about hair washing, tickling, giggling, more singing and screaming as Jon removes Atticus. Abe begins to yell that he wants out. Zola is begging to stay in. Jon gets Abe and I climb out. Zola tries to make herself very low as the water drains.

6:30p.m. The pajama drama begins, to fuzzy or not to fuzzy, that is the question. Zola refuses the fuzzy and chooses a big t-shirt. Abe wants the footed fuzzy and Atti doesn't get to choose. Fuzzy it is. I am only half dressed, lotioning children and passing them to Jon for clothing and at the same time asking him to go get milks--all around. He passes me the pj's. Zola is yelling. Abe is crying. Atticus is screaming. I throw myself on the floor and join in with a little kicking and screaming of my own. In a minute they are crawling on top of me giggling. Jon comes in, bottles, cups and toothbrush, in hand brushes every one's teeth except for mine. Then they're all very quiet while they drink their milk.

7:08p.m. We separate for story time. I take Atti. He snuggles in and says "taw" (star) and "moo" (moon) as we read through a bedtime story. I turn off the light and say a prayer and sing Now the Day is Over...this is when I want one more, soft, little, warm, little--hand on my cheek little, asking for his "blae, blae" (blanket) quiet little, happy little--in my arms. Night, night sweets, I love you.

7:20p.m. A hug and a kiss for Abe while Jon heads down with Zo to work on homework. "Will you lay by me Mama? I crawl in next to him and fight the urge to sleep, listening to the rhythm of his breath grow steady and deep. Peaceful little...

7:45p.m. Must have drifted off. Slowly, I lift myself back up, finally climb into my own jammies and slip (literally) down the stairs. Zo and Jon are reading on the couch and I sit and watch them. The quiet of the day has arrived. Her eyes are watery, tired. Her head is leaning on his shoulder. More prayers, more songs. A squeeze of a hug and a kiss on each cheek from my baby girl grown up. Upstairs they go and I am left alone on the couch. My work day is over. Jon will take the night shift, unless someone is sick, then we're both up and down. But tonight everyone seems healthy. I have two hours of time to do something...write? to tired. knit? too tired. Television? complete with a tall glass of water and a foot rub.

So, yes, I work, but it's not a bad gig, if you can get it.

"Might I have a bit of earth?"

2009-03-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

Zola and I have been reading The Secret Garden together before bed and she is in love with Dickon, his creatures, his broad freckled face, his wide smile, round blue eyes and up-turned nose. Her own blue eyes are wide and searching, her nose close to the ground looking for little green shoots. Her cheeks are pink with excitement when she takes my hand and pulls me to the little patch of crocus she's discovered by the side of our house. I am in love with Zola.

My house is piling high with laundry and we are in the yard. Abe carries the water back and forth in little bowls and Atticus dumps it on the ground laughing. The sun is warm, for now, and the air is cool. It is the perfect kind of in between. Tomorrow I will let the dishes fill my sink and take out my rake, clearing room for the plants to breathe, pulling out the dead to make room for the living. Tomorrow my garden will drink deep for the first time in a month and Atty will fill his tiny hands with the soft wet dirt. He will lift them up to show me, so proud of his bounty, and then howl with frustration when he can't get them clean. Abe will run, he runs everywhere these days, making shooting sounds. He is a little boy. Jon will look on smiling, clearly wanting one more small growing thing to come to our family and make us six. It has been a long winter of waiting for my belly to start growing. We are still waiting.

Spring is a fickle season in Denver, fluctuating between warmth and cold, interrupted by the inevitable heavy snow that knocks the blossoms off my forsythias and bends the tulip stems to the ground. It is a tease that makes my house feel like a prison and creates an insatiable, if unwise, desire to plant things, to sink my fingers deep in the cool earth and feel it breathe. Unpredictable and wild, Spring is my soul, year after year, a reawakening to my essential self, to the joys and passions that drive me: my love, my children and my garden.

Quiet

2009-02-13T15:13:00.001-08:00

Winter is coming on and the cold makes me crave warmth and quiet. My body is tired of the constancy of traffic and the thumping of base rhythm's. I wait for the moment at the end of everyday when the television is off, the children are asleep and there is silence, but it is not enough. I want the quiet of new snow, so big that it stops the traffic, a snow that stops everything. I am willing a blizzard.

At night I lay down and find myself missing the heat of my children, their breath, the smell of dirt, a little sweat and something unnameable and belonging only to childhood. The only time of day when their movement shifts from frenzied to even and slow. I want them all with me sleeping, still and warm. It is a fantasy, because Abe likes his own bed and Atticus crawls over the top of us saying"papa, papa, mama, mama" until we shake off the fiction and return him to his crib where he can rest. Zola sometimes climbs in and her nearness is a relief, a blessing to make up for the days away at school. More often her sleep is so frenetic we get no rest, and again, have to return her to own bed. Quiet is a fantasy when you are the mother of three little things full of energy and light.

Jon is accustomed to chaos and, I think, not phased by the incessant noise of our life. I have heard people refer to him as quiet, those who don't know him well. If he is quiet, he is thinking. There is nothing quiet about Jon's mind, which is always working on some philosophical or metaphysical conundrum and then the questions come, disquieting and endless. This is the man I love.

So, I will wait for the storm that will wash things white and bury us four feet deep. The storm that will curl us up on couches with children's books and hot chocolate, that will soak us in hot baths, that will wrap us in blankets of silence, noses pressed against cold glass watching the falling endless white. The quiet that will give us an hour, a day, a week to be no where, but home.

a time to whine

2009-01-24T19:18:00.000-08:00

I think I might be dying. I swear I've caught every bug the kids have brought home this year and being sick with kids is like embracing masochism. You still have to take them to school, feed them, clothe them and listen to their tantrums all the while feeling like you're going to pass out from a coughing fit. Mind you, losing my voice doesn't stop me from talking. I couldn't shut up on the playground on Thursday and my throat was raw. (Maybe it's not the kids. Maybe I've come to need that "on the verge" feeling.)

I've decided I'm going to take on the public education system. If your in the fight with me, clap your hands and do a little dance, something like you might see in a music class for 5 and 6 year olds. It's not a big deal. I think I'll have DPS all sorted out by late Monday, that is if I don't die from the common cold, which feels like a distinct possibility. Thankfully Jon has been taking the lead the past couple of days. I love modern men. Please send your healthy vibes over to my house. I need some serious healing.

Music? Really?

2009-01-16T23:10:00.000-08:00

Time to rant. I went to help in Zo's classroom today and attended her music class. I was so excited. The ultra-structure and push for academic achievement in kindergarten has been a big disappointment to me and hard on her free spiritedness so I was looking forward to having some fun, you know, singing, clapping or stomping to the beat, maybe even using little percussion instruments.

I was shocked when we sat down in rows of chairs and the music teacher sat on her table and told the kids to listen---for the entire 45 minutes I was there. I left 15 minutes before class ended (small mercies). These sweet 5-6 year olds who are asked to focus for most of their day 5 days a week, were not encouraged to sing, clap or interact with the music rhythmically. In fact she reprimanded them if they moved too much or talked. She asked them questions about the content of the songs, "what was the rhino's favorite fruit?" and she gave them sheets to indicate whether they liked, kind of liked or disliked the song. I WANTED TO SCREAM!!!

We are fundraising to provide the school with a music teacher, granted she teaches band and gives lessons (I think) for the older kids, but come on. I was initially all about supporting our little neighborhood school. However, the more I see the more frustrated I become. This was not enrichment. It was a weird form of torture. You try listening to music, without moving or singing along. I'm wondering, have any other parents attended kindergarten music class? Do they think this is teaching music? Granted, it was one class. Maybe she mixes it up. However, we only got through 2 songs and there were 12 on the list. By my calculation that's 5 more sitting and listening sessions. I plan on emailing the teacher and thought I ought to try and get my attack out here and approach her with a little more diplomacy. Am I being unreasonable?

2009-01-11T12:48:00.000-08:00

I'm finally giving into the blog. I am supposed to be a writer and I have so much spare time. Does this count as publication?

Zola and Abe are viewing "Bedknobs and Broomsticks", glassy-eyed, content and unreachable for a few minutes. I know there are many who think the television a very bad invention, but we embrace it at our house. Sometimes it means that I get to eat something other than smashed goldfish crackers (I know they should be eating fruits and vegetables, but I just can't stomach smashed broccoli) or use the bathroom without a child on my lap. Atticus is sleeping after his second week in nursery. His teachers said that he spent most of the time trying to escape, which sounds about right. Jon is sacked out in the chair in the corner. I've always coveted his ability to sleep upright.

Our life is quiet, ordinary even, and I am so glad...but it doesn't make for a very exciting blog. When something happens I'll write again.

Recent Entertainment:

Our Christmas lights have been up since last Christmas and one section of the strand doesn't work. Zola said, "We need to get Grandma out here to fix those." I don't know if Jon and I are really qualified to own an older home.

She also told us about the "pilly-pot pig" at Berry Patch Farms.

Abe is still missing his s's "can I have a trawberry poothie mama? I'm tarving."

Atticus can say many words, but mostly uses his hands. He gestures very emphatically for milk, more, book, phone, bath, water, light, fan, etc. and makes any number of animal sounds. If you're familiar with Curious George than you know Atticus, they could be twins.