To Hope For and To Leave Behind

 

A roaring fire, a glass of wine, Emmy Lou Harris and happy, giggling kids upstairs. It's a lovely way to end the old year. We had happy hour, just me and the kids; concocted some new dips, threw together some pantry finds and made up our lists for hopes and things to leave behind. Tessa would like to play shark more, to ride horses more, to learn an instrument perhaps a quitar she said.  Thatcher would like to go on a plane and learn to snowboard.  Tessa would like to leave behind regular Chex for the sake of cinnamin Chex, she would like to get more oppurtunities to love and care for animals. Thatcher, I believe, would like more chances to tell us what he would like.

My list was pretty simple:
1. Focus: on dreams, aspirations, projects.
2. Patience: for kids, for life, for myself.
3. A clearer voice: speak the truth, let my true needs be spoken.
4. Playfulness:  laugh more, pay attention and learn from silliness.
5. Prioritize: stop repeating days, live....

I can't recall all the things I burnt up on the paper of things to leave behind but I know judgement and comparison were pretty high and I know that list was too easy to come up with. Tessa added "busy-ness" and "vacuuming".  Hmmm. Priorities....

I'm not sure how to look at this year yet. Personally, I think it was pretty decent. It started out rocky, Jason and I had a hard time figuring out the balance between our jobs and what they meant to us personally. His is full of obligation and stress but also creativeness and an environment he thrives in. Mine is about having time to breathe, to make some extra cash to not feel guilty of my desires and also to be a person outside of "momhood". We're still working on it. I got a tattoo, my first at the age of 30, which was exciting and exhilarating and also seemed kind of odd.  It's a work in progress but it makes me feel like there's this artistic thing I'm developing and changing that's solely my own.  There were great trips to Rockport, Newport, Boothbay Harbor, Jason's big birthday in Burke, Tessa started kindergarten, Thatcher's big bash of a party, Cousin's weekend, the now annual Thanksgiving fiesta extravaganza, the arrival of chickens and the dimished flock (now down to one hardy soul), Tessa's riding lessons, my first trip away from the family ever to Chicago with my mom, Thatcher's speech therapy.... It's been a whirlwind that I can hardly recall in detail. Maybe my memory is not what it used to be, maybe the world is turning faster, maybe we're packing more in. Maybe it's just been a great year and we'll leave it at that. Maybe another year is coming and we'll just walk into it with hope and love and we'll be ok.

Sprites and Spirits

 

I feel like they more than just love eachother. They get eachother. Thatcher's not talking yet but Tessa knows exactly what he means, she's his voice often. And yes, she sometimes resents it, they head butt and pinch and have screaming matches but mostly they're just buddies. They make eachother laugh. They whisper to eachother in the car, play hide and go seek, tonight they put a whole puzzle together. Tonight I watched Brother Bear with them, a mostly ridiculous Disney movie I picked up at a tag sale over the summer and had to fast forward through one third of. But it was based upon Native American spirituality and it got us into some deep, heady bedtime conversations. The nature of spirit, our calling in life, etc.  I came to realize the how true their middle names seem to ring for the two of them. Tessa Cairn, her natural ability to guide, her wiseness and how clear she sees things, how defnitive her path can be at any given moment. Thatcher Espen, Divine Bear, a growling spirit, so present and literally growling! He seems to take up more space than his physical body allows. He charges headfirst into everything. They're both so whatever they are it doesn't matter. They're them, names or not.

Enough

Night time. The only time I ever feel able to get a thought out. The tendency seems to be perched between two beings, breathing in turn, glowing in the light of the computer screen. Yes, they're still in my bed. Jason's got his own now in the guest room. I imagine someday soon we'll all grow out of this phase, I even plan it out from time to time. They may actually have a  room of their own! Most likely we'll just give up ours for them to share. That way I can sneak back in because of course I'm the one enabling it all. But what a magical time it is to spend, hearing Tessa spell her friends names out in slurred sleepy whispers or make letters in  the air as she dreams.
They're both getting so big. Growing so fast. Tessa's steadfast love of animals does not falter, it encompasses her life daily, what she talks about, how she looks at the world, what she looks for in it. She's also obsessed with learning her letters, how to read, addition. Thatcher is half bear. He still doesn't have much of a vocabulary but he growls and lets us know exactly what he needs. He loves Tessa and tells me he misses her while she's at school. She lets him into her world almost always. Calls to him. Shares her imaginary games. They understand each other and it makes me so happy.
There's no real reason for this entry. No significant summation of my days I've come to. No enlightened thought. I'm just happy at the moment I suppose. And that should always be enough.

Holding Together While Letting Go (a little)

 

So there she goes again. Off to school but like a full time job. Five full days a week away from home, her brother, her pets.... and me! Oh, I'm holding together by a thread. I've stayed busy by cleaning and baking and entertaining Thatcher to a miniscule degree of what he's used to. Just last night Tessa said, "Thatcher's my best friend in the world! He does everything I tell him to!". Hmm. Sweet, telling and a little scary that it's her idea of what it means to be a best friend. They are though. They rough house and chase, pretend, race, clobber, create and bath together. They are inseperable.

 

Until school just seperated them. Part of me feels evil for it. Like I've disrupted a beautiful, healthy relationship by sending her off to the unknown world of cliques and secrets, tattletales and bullies. There are parts of that school world I hate. Parts that I feel like can really destroy a person's self esteem. But there's also the beauty of meeting difference. A strange new world of people with different backgrounds, different sounding names, different ways of playing. Who knows what she'll pick up from it, hopefully it will be good things like patience and the true qualities of a great friendship. Qualities no one could ever teach her by telling because they'll be specific to her.

 

I am scared to death. Scared of losing her a little bit more by the minute but so proud that she really wanted to go today. I know she was nervous, I didn't want her to mask it but I wanted to emphasize the excitement not the scary nature of it all. And so, when she woke up with a smile on her face, her eyes still closed and said softly, "it's a school day" I just smiled. Not a tear in my eyes so happy for her to want to know life outside of me. It's how I'll imagine I'll feel if she wants to travel far away someday. So excited, so nervous but mostly so proud of whoever she's becoming. Still, I had Jason drop her off so I didn't lose it completely. Ah well, there's only an hour and fourty six minutes to go to pick her up. Thatcher is sleeping, my second press of coffee has steeped, there are projects to be done, plenty of ways of distracting myself ahead. She'll be fine, she's Tessa for goodness sake.

Awake Asleep Awake

Awake... write a post. Check facebook, pinterest, email. Asleep... dream, shift, shuffle, pee. Does it matter? Morning will come and I'll want to sleep more, the kids will wake too early for me. Day will come with crepes and  laundry, dishes and a struggle to get everyone dressed. Why not take comfort in this silence but for the air conditioner I so strongly opposed? The rise and fall of the sheets over two sleeping beings next to me. Heads turned away from the glow, legs tangled, the smell of  sweet sweat in their hair. Tessa always wakes with a story of her dreams... Thatcher sneaks off the side of the bed. I stay, as long as I can, holding my breath and praying this never ends.

Go team!

I'm computerless, almost. I have this little flat iPad which is part wonderful conciliation and part terrific annoyance in it's frustrating touch screen keyboard... Not the least bit interesting or important enough for a blog post but here we are. I just got attacked in the eye by some large stinging bug. My left pinky toe is broken, I think, and have furthered the injury into the whole side of my foot by working on it and then walking all day through gritted teeth and moments of angry hysterics. Hello Friday the 13th. I am now relegated to the downstairs lacking tv and really comfort because everyone else is asleep and whatever. I'm slightly bitter, no kidding, and now my eye is severely stinging and swelling. The only bit of relief is the emotional vomiting I'm exercising here and now. In a few short words I am: Frustrated, restless, lonely, annoyed and probably a little buzzed off red wine I should most definitely not be drinking for the sake of the inevitable migraine I am to experience tomorrow am. There it is. Motherhood at it's finest.

All I Need Is A Little....

Tessa's last day of pre-k

So I'm trying to teach patience to Tessa. A four going on fifteen year old. Her sighs are about as heavy as a brick and her whine could cut glass. It cuts me, it tears me up and it destroys my patience along with any chance of avoiding the whole "do as I say not as I do" dilemna. I whine when I ask her to stop whining. It's awful and redundant and completely unhelpful.  She's as lost as I am these days I know.  When we finally get a chance to actually talk about how she's been feeling and why she's such a case lately she just holds on to me. In those moments I feel like crying too. She's so lost with this whole growing up thing and so am I. What in the world am I supposed to expect of a little ball of craziness but utter craziness? At the end of the day I'm often so short tempered I feel like I'm imploding. By the time Jason's home I'm the one whose got crazy eyes and the kids are exhausted from being restrained all day long. And that restrain generally consists of trips to a pond where I restrain them from drowning themselves, walks where I restrain them from running in front of cars because they have no idea of staying on the side of the road or holding my hand in a parking lot and trips to the supermarket that were it unnecessary to eat I would avoid like the freaking plague. I mean really. We are a total of three whole school days off into the summer and the thrill is long gone.

The weekend on the other hand was fabulous. We had Uncle Brett to entertain us and then Grammy and Bestefar to cling to and to finally get projects done with. Tomorrow is scary openness but in a few short days we'll be headed to Providence with all the Palmers for a week of escape and cousin face time. So I'll breathe in and out. Ten deep breaths like Tessa and I do whenever she starts to freak out because she can't pet a snarling dog. Oh my.

In other news.... I though I should take a toll of Thatcher's complete vocabulary at this time.  He says Mom (not mama, his choice not mine), Da, Teh-teh (Tessa), hi-ya! (very loudly), buh-bye (very softly), no (in variations but generally very short and cute), uh-oh! (often), oh (when he understands) and OW! (very often). He mumbles to himself and laughs a lot (I wonder who that came from?) and has some of the most incredible conversations with Tessa which go something like this: 

Thatcher: "bahbahmehmehmeh!" 

Tessa: "No hatcher! You can't ride a horse yet, you have to ride a pony! You're too small!"

Thatcher:  "NO!"

Tessa:  "YES!"

Thatcher: "NO!"

Tessa:  "Someday you can ride a big horse too. I promise."
Thatcher: "oh."
It's the best. And so life with babes goes. Two parts madness, one part joy, one part humor, served over melting time.

Giving In without Giving Up

The kids just left the house, a neighbor picked them up and carted them off. "Good luck!" I exhale to her as I wave and head in for a moment of silence and iced coffee. I'm shaky, partly because I've neglected my B-12 requirements for the past month or two and am nearly passing out  with chronic fatigue, but also because I feel this silence deepening and it's slightly disconcerting. Tessa's last day of pre-school ever is this coming tuesday, then summer vacation (a chaos before the quiet) and then full day kindergarden.  I look at Thatcher and wonder how in the world we'll make it for 7 full hours a day without her. She is the driving force in this house I'll admit. She is my energy when I have none. She forces me up, moves me out and manipulates my body into whatever she thinks it should be at the moment... games player, house cleaner, experimental lunch lady. She plans our days by playdates and pond trips and playground runs.  She never admits to being tired and she's happy to point out my dark circles. For the few hours I'm alone with Thatcher each weekday morning we have our slow going routine; clean, eat omelet, his show during my shower, do laundry and pick up Tessa. It's light and easy and familiar and I'm also happy to break it up with the return of my girl before lunch. I am terrified at the thought of leaving her in the hands of someone else for seven full hours. My parents are the only people who have ever spent that much time with her alone and that was once, on the night Thatcher was born. And that's why right now I'm spinning. They're out in someone else's car, going to a softball game, a middle school awards ceremony and I'm off to work. We've got different lives and that's becoming clearer. They are little people growing up and away, they are not just extensions of me. And yes, I love the quiet, I appreciate this moment without screaming or whining or nagging or fussing or crying for background sounds and maybe while she's away at school next year our relationship will blossom. She'll stop asking for babysitters, she'll be happy to be home with just her family. Thatcher may even get a chance to learn how to talk! Life is crazy and parenthood is like admitting yourself to a torture chamber sometimes but I don't know how else to live it anymore. Before I know it they'll both be in full day school and I'll have to re-acquiant myself with the world of adults. I'll have to learn how to have a cohesive conversation again. I'll have to start doubling up on the B-12.

Rainy Spring Days

everything is grey misty green, a cloudy version of neon. forsythia and daffodils gone by. the time for yellow blooms seems to have passed and now we wait for the sun to break through again, the ground to finish it's thaw and to plant our too big seedlings. as we wait we forage, bake, stomp in puddles, gather bouquets, utterly filthify ourselves in mud, turn the compost. beanie gathers grubs for her hens and minnow eats and eats and eats the eggs. they both grow and grow and grow. there's no season for rest in that process of theirs. time moves on in quiet charted mornings, in the swarming of weekend cousin and grandparent visits, night time rituals, but mostly expansive afternoons of lolling around the field and yard. with photographs the only thing to remind us later that those slow moments are our real lives.

To Hens and Health

Tessa called Saturday our "first farm day" and although we're a far cry from actual farming I think we're all  experiencing a renewed sense of commitment to the well being of our family health. I want these kids to feel connected to where their food comes from year round, not just through the occassional farmer's market where we buy a few greens here and there and maybe some maple syrup and then guiltily head to Hannaford's for the deals. I am a farmer's market fiend but the obsessive penny pincher in me can not pay $5 for a tomato and even Jason has a hard time dishing out so much dough for meat. I've started plants way too early with high hopes that our third gardening season will  reap more than a few handfulls of arugala. To ensure some kind of home grown food we've started with chickens, Jason's planning the sheep pen and Tessa's got cows and horses tallied up in her mind but as far as I'm concerned a dog, a cat, five chickens, two wild younguns and two aging dreamers fill this patch of eden well enough for the moment.

Minnow Turns Two

And now you're two! I absolutely can not believe it. When we woke up this morning, or when you woke me up this morning with a measuring spoon in one hand and a bottle of children's tylonel in the other, I thought what an amazing person you are. My little Thatcher, so ready to take care of yourself, to let your needs be known even before you can speak. There's a clarity in you, in your sense of the world and what you need from it that radiates from you. Yes, you get frustrated with us. I can't imagine how silly we seem sometimes, talking and talking, spewing out all sorts of words and still not understanding you sometimes. We're all getting there though, you're showing us how everyday. Tonight we "wow"ed back and forth until we were both laughing so hard, your sense of humor is so rich, your smile so contagious.
This day two years ago was one of the best and clearest days of my life. You pushed your way into this world in just over an hour, you came faster than anyone expected and the mid-wife had to come running just to make it in time. I'll always remember that minutes before you were born I called out "it's a boy!". I just knew it, I knew you already. I feel like we've known eachother much longer than these quick two years. When you fall asleep in my shirt, when you lead me around by my hand, when you hug my neck so tight it's like you've been doing it all for thousands of years.
So today we played it easy, just the four of us. We flew a kite, read books at the bookshop, got chickens (!) and celebrated with strawberry shortcake. Another perfect and luxuriously simple day to kick off a great year. Happy Birthday my Minnow.

A Year

So it's been a year. I don't know if I have the words to explain what it is that I'm feeling. The normalcy that has set in day by day is unsettling. It feels wrong to let her be gone. To move on. But what else? I've stopped crying daily, obsessing, wondering who everyone else's "Kristin" would be. A sick game I play with myself to feel ok in this anger. That other people would ache this bad if their soul sister left. And I am angry. I let myself really feel it yesterday for the first time in ages and it scared me to pieces. I was literally drowning in it. I escaped to the woods to gasp for air and plopped down imagining myself chopping down the entire forest. The rage was so foreign and terrifying. I was so lost that when I came back in I couldn't look anyone in the eyes. I curled up in bed, closed curtains, my children calling for me from downstairs, Jason making dinner, trying to keep them from being scared of the look of me, sheltering them from my despair.

Today was different. We all spent the day together. Walking quietly through the woods, running errands, driving backroads, making dinner. I tried not to sink in while allowing myself to feel her presence. She wants me to be happy. To be a good mother. To live the life we imagined we'd be living as mothers when we dreamed of it years ago. Even in our wildest days we dreamt of this life. A simple one that included woods and babies. Some animals! Chickens perhaps... So here I am... living it. And there she is in the wind....

choosing to be

If I could just sit still like this forever! Just to be in the moment like these kids are in this picture. If we could always feel that sand beneath us, that sun warming our arms and spirits, calming us, bringing us inwards where we belong. I love pictures of moments like these because it gives me something to meditate on. I don't need a dream board when I have this scene. This is my dream and I am lucky enough to live it on occassion. So how do I bring it to everyday? How do I give them this beach always? They have the expanse of sand and sea and sky and they choose to sit down together. Nothing artificial or contrived, no manipulative plaything. They're barely dressed! They ran around and into the water Thatcher fell and floated for a heart racing moment, they walked the beach, collected shells and left them behind, inspected the roots of a driftwood tree, saw a horse trod past and then they sat down. Lifted sand between their fingers for minute after minute. How long would they have stayed there? Till the sun set? Would they prefer to live in a tent on that beach? I think they would. So why live that way just one day a year? Maybe five. I think it's only a matter of time before we come to another fork in the road. Or maybe it's just a dirt road veering off to the right, it looks a little risky which is why it's so unused. Maybe we can make it to the end, maybe the ocean's there.

Simply Dreaming

Here we are. The three of us, babes and myself, huddled into one half of a king size bed. I'm home from work, late as usual. It's nearly midnight but since I can't find my book and light I'll record a moment and a thought... Both sleep so quietly, their daddy in the next room, aching before the next day begins too early and runs too late. The plans for us though are simple and slightly overwhelming in their open-endedness. And so in trying to overcome the anxiety of unplanned days I've found a new religion of sorts:

Simplicity. I've yet to be interested in parenting books since Bean was born but I've found one I'm addicted to. It's simple, un-ironically. Less stuff, less information and more free time helps kids figure life out at their own pace, in their own way. I think I've jumped on this particular bandwagon because I've always loved the simple approach to raising kids although I've felt guilty for it. The idea that boredom is a gift you give your kids might come across as mean and neglectful but I refuse to carry any more guilt for not taking them to more "socializing" activities. So far these kids are homebodies, happier to play with pine needles and bugs than go to a tap class or even school! Maybe I should be more terrified but I'm not. I love it and although it's beyond comprehension in this day and age to just let kids be I'm vowing to myself to do just that. Not that we won't do anything ever (God, I want to take these kids around the world!) but most days I am trying to keep it simple. I am getting rid of tons of unneccessary stuff (theirs and mine), I am turning off NPR and turning on Miles Davis, I am letting them explore their worlds and ask the questions they want to ask without prompting them, I am trying to live in their world without burdening them with my own. The trick is to still have my own space there somewhere... which is where a half page of the New Yorker and a cup of coffee come in. I'm learing to simplify my own life too.

So here we are, all nestled in bed "like a bird in a nest in a tree". My nearly five year old crisscrossed with my nearly two year old, both dreaming simple, beautiful childhood dreams.

Please God

So years from now when you both are in therapy or just dishing it all out to your new, young lovers what your crazy parents did so so terribly wrong when you were being raised... whether it was having 24 sitters before you were 2, Tessa, or not fully understanding all your EH!EH!EH!s, Thatcher, I hope the underlying, deep emotional truth you ultimately dig your way down to is that your parents loved you down to their crazy bones. It's an inevitable duty for every human being to judge the crap out of their own up-raising and I have no doubt that we will not be the exception to the rule. But I do hope and pray that you feel generally understood. I know you feel loved, how can you not when we tell you one thousand times a day. But more than that you feel listened to, cared for, appreciated. That we fill your individual needs in a more than basic way. That you're happy. I hope to God above all else that you are happy. That even when you're sad you're happy.

A Collection of Proof

A collection of proof that these kids are indeed growing up. Thatcher insists upon wearing layers of mismatched clothes, preferably Tessa's. They stand and run on their own outside. Their individualistic nature turning them loose on the world. Tessa found and "saved" a dead mouse the other day. We finally had the dead talk although I'm not sure it phased her that much. A pulse is not necessary when a decapitated rodent is just going to sit in a play bird cage on ice for days anyway.

A Day Off

The One Day Weekend has come. Jason's only day off. We spent it hiking, driving, walking, driving, hiking, eating, posting. To document that the winter contains daddy too... here are some lucky shots. (And yes! I bought the damn earrings!)

Odd Vent

(A picture of Tessa's new pajama pants I fashioned out of an old hippie skirt to show I am not as useless as the following post might lead you to believe).

One of my favorite things to do when I'm feeling restless is rearrange my life somehow. Sometimes it's just a picture here to there, sometimes I take down an entire room of wall paper or sometimes I just swap out the comforters. This trait is genetic and it comes to me from my mother who is an avid, some might say obsessive, re arranger. Her house will look completely different from year to year, season to season even. I grew up in not four different places but probably 50. I loved it, my dad and brothers not so much. I think it sparked my interest in travel, in trying new things and my insistence on change. My childhood bedroom went from sunflowers to floor to ceiling collages to dark song lyrics painted all over in the space of a year. I felt like I could change myself whenever I wanted to, all it took was a little paint or a big shopping spree to SA.

So these days, these long often lonely winter days trapped indoors when I yearn to give away all my second hand clothes and start fresh, when I want to buy a gallon of Athens blue paint and start in on a room the reality hits me, in the impossibility of it all I sulk. I move a bed resentfully. I get the kids to help me organize every single craft supply into separate mason jars. I change which towells go in which bathroom. Honestly, it gets pathetic.

But all I have really wanted to do for a few weeks now is buy a pair of earrings. Seriously, it's a change that small that I've given into. I have exactly in mind what I'm looking for and I want it and the absurd difficulty of that kind of task makes me want it more. This feeling of wanting something just for myself is almost painful, it's so coated in guilt. To buy something, not make it, not craft it with the kids, but buy it. The frivolousness of it all. I feel like a real housewife of Connecticut. Not Vermont because if I was of Vermont I'd be melting down old iron from the torn down barn and welding it to maple leaf inlaid glass to make my own earrings. Nope, I want to go shopping. I don't want a yoga class or to go for a hike in the woods (I do but not with the same kind of obsessive zeal). I want a store to spend money in. (This post has been completely high-jacked by crazy Kirsten, btw.) Not much money mind you. Like $10. Maybe $15 if I go totally crazy.

Hoo. Wow. That was weird. Gotta go. The kids are restless. Craft time!

Winter 2011-12

The fillings of our winter.