Not Working

Get a job you lazy mom. That phrase repeats itself over and over in my head the past few days. Specifically since 8:15 Wednesday morning when I walked both kids off at full day school. Thatcher and I woke simultaneously to the sound of our own internal clocks chiming at exactly 7:01 am. His was a cheerful ting ting ting while mine an anxiety laden shrill pulsating through my brain. I leapt from the bed and into the shower, Thatcher leapt onto Tessa's not yet ready morning face squealing with joy "it's a school day!". When she came too they were both elated, actually making their own bed and getting dressed in their laid out clothes. I packed their lunches frantically, one hand not knowing how to work efficiently with the other, my brain a jumbled mess. We managed a number of adorable pictures to post on Facebook, proof that they had been sufficiently groomed and donned in proper first day attire to be awarded with a few dozen congratulatory thumbs up.
And then they were off, like crickets they bounced down the path to the woods. At the door of the school they greeted their friends, Thatcher seemed slightly timid for a split second and then recovered     looking to his big sister for a little eye contact support. They hugged me, barely, and I disappeared back through the woods.
Here, at home, it's so quiet. People call and ask how I'll spend all this free time and it frightens me. I don't know how to have free time any more. It's been seven years since I've had nearly entire days to myself. Of course there's all the things I've been doing while the kids are here.. the bills, the grocery shopping, cleaning, dishes, laundry, mowing the lawn, going to the dump, changing over the apartment, taking the car to get fixed, taking Percy to the groomers, painting the kitchen, you know... Life. But somehow it doesn't feel like it's enough. The most difficult part of the tasks has been taken away, entertaining and keeping alive the kids. That was the number one job, all the rest was a circus act.
So I've been thinking about, looking and applying for jobs but the criteria I have come up with is limiting. I do not want to have the kids in after school programs every day, I don't want them in day cares during holiday weeks, I don't want to send them to camp all summer long. I still want to make them my number one job. I still want to prioritize money after children. If I had a specific dream or enriching work life it would be different but I don't and I'm ok with that right now. But the rest of the world doesn't seem to be. I know I'm feeling this pressure, this radiating anxiety because of the way I feel perceived. If I'm not career oriented or at the very least making money I must be a free loader. But what about all the jobs I'm doing for the family (not to mention the money I make from the apartment and waitressing)? As I was mowing the lawn and loading old box springs and garbage into the car I was going as fast as I could. I was thinking about all the odd jobs I had to do today and how I would rattle them off when Jason got home to prove that I am paying my way! What a ridiculous thing to feel I thought next and how truly I actually feel it.
It might be easier to get a job as a lunch lady just so I can say there, that's what I'm doing with my time, see!? Here's a piddly paycheck to prove my worth in society. Because that is what this society cares about, here are days and times that you should be generating an income, work more than that? Even better. These are the guidelines, follow them or be forever lazy. I've got just over two hours until the children return and my worth can be restored, I should go be seen being productive should someone think I'm wasting life blogging.

52

"How many weeks until Rockport?", they ask. 52. "That's not so many", Tessa says. And she's right. It's not so far off I suppose. It will have been 25 consecutive years next year that I've been to Long Beach. Walking the length of the 1/2 mile beach, painting rocks, beach Olympics, croquet, lobster dinners, grill outs, boogie boarding... Some of the very best memories of my childhood are on that beach. My most distinct are playing in the waves with my cousins and waking up to that piercing crack of light from the heavy curtains, the sound of lapping waves on the shore, the screech of a seagull and the murmur of the generations before me gathering quietly, planning for the day. I'd look out onto the porch and maybe Aunt Ethel and Aunt Jan would be there walking back from the office to their plastic deck chairs, Nana and Papa already walking Penny back up the beach, mom and Uncle Ned sitting down by the shore, just talking. Everyone playing their part, greeting each other so kindly, so happy just to be there.
Every year is different and every year some of the same. Some people can be there, some have other obligations that tear them away... like Jason, who missed it and felt as pained missing it as I would've. And some are gone forever but their prescience is never felt as strongly as it is there at that Inn. This is where I grew up, where I've measured years and my own life. Where I've weighed possibilities and found deeper understanding and connection to people I love than I could possibly find in a few hours over holiday meal craziness. I've watched great aunts play rummicube late into the night, heard pregnancy announcements and helped plan weddings. I've cuddled with my cousins children on lawn chairs and now I've had the greatest blessing of all... I've watched my children get as much joy as I have.
Last Sunday morning Tessa was the first one on the beach. Suit on, pail in hand, towel over her shoulder, she sauntered onto the sand and laid her claim. As she walked down to the water's edge I heard my Mom and Uncle Jim talking down the way, my brother, Brett, passed by with a coffee, Thatcher said hello to the office parrot, Bert. Tessa stood on a rock covered in seaweed watching the surfers, feeling the safety of generations at her back. A kind of strength in her that the ocean couldn't help but break in front of.

Dreaming

It's happened. They slept in their own bed.... ALL NIGHT LONG.  I woke at 4:30 am to no child's butt stinking hands in my face, no toe nails scratching my dry legs, no cries for water when the glass is 6 inches from them, no wet sheet soaking through the back of my shirt... I tried not to breathe too loud knowing they have the hearing of bats. I stared at our clock and did the math over and over in my head (it's two hours and seven minutes behind). I forced my eyes to shut and I slept like a grown up till 6:30, in my own bed.
Thatcher came in first so proud of himself rubbing the crusty sleep from his bleary eyes. "Mama! Me sleep alone! With Tessa! All night! Me super big now! Move over...." Then Tessa next, same thing. I was so proud of them, they were so proud of them. And hey! I felt rested! We all did.
Six and a half years of beautiful cuddling, warm breath, whistling snores, cold feet stuffed under my thighs to keep warm. I've loved it and worried about it, when will I sleep again?! This isn't the end of sleeping together completely I'm sure but it is the mark of a possible shift in needs. In everyone's needs being met. In recognizing the power of personal space. I think it will make me calmer, the kids will be less worried, surer in themselves, Jason and I can stop having the conversation of when and how.
It's just a little change in the grand scheme of raising a family but it's a mark on the timeline. I can perhaps start really sleeping again. Hmmm. Maybe I'm just dreaming but at least no one is waking me up....for now.

It's a new dawn...

So it's a new year again...I love this day. The feeling of renewal, of letting last year's heavy weight drop out of my clenched fist and breathe in the fresh new air of opportunity. The idea that we can start again new. I've decided to believe in it this time.
Last night I came home from work walking through the door at 12:02 to a terrified 6 year old, shaking from nightmares. I was so happy to see her, to be able to feel her relax when I brought her to bed, to listen to her heart slow as we whispered about our favorite moments of the past year and our dreams and wishes for the new year. I fell asleep pretty fast. Exhausted from a busy night working with a bunch of crazy, fun women. I rushed out of there without a drink worried about checkpoints and a missing headlight, the icy roads. Then the jazzy NPR countdown just moments from my door. Hearing that countdown was like talking down a tantrum. How appropriate it is for people to do just before the year changed. Count down... Let it all wash away, lessen the grip, absolve yourself of the burden. Start anew.... Scream! Smile. Sleep. Wake up in a new time. Make a list of hopeful change. Feel yourself grow. You've shed the old skin and now you can stretch.

Just Living

Just a moment... Just a night... A regular night but I'm nostalgic for it already. Shrimp curry mostly gone on the stove top, the rest of it comfortably settled into two little voracious bellies (and one decent sized one), filling the house with the scent of ginger, lime, garlic, making me fuller even after the dishes are done. Joni Mitchell's "Blue" on loop, the fire finally, finally roaring after days of tinkering and toiling, swearing and nearly crying because it just wouldn't get warm in here. Tessa writing in her journal unfamiliar words she's finding in "Charlotte's Web", Thatcher sniffling in a wing back arm chair, feet dangling looking through his books from back to front. Jason on his way home from a different world, weary and worn from a life I know little to nothing about. Percy scratching to come in, go out and tease the neighbor dogs with her freedom, come in again satisfied. Leftover Halloween candy brownies waiting to be devoured, resting on the counter. The tree lit, Christmas covering every wall of the house. Stockings hanging in the window, greenery sprays decorating the interior doors, felt stars hanging in the window, my sewing machine out on the floor along with unwrapped presents, paper, ribbon.... The house is a mess in exception for this night. The dogs sound chaotic every moment besides this one where their deep barks and the kids sudden cries of frustration and Joni's "California" are harmonizing.
Life is life. It is richer with every complicated day. With the long hours and the quick holidays. The preparing, preparing, preparing... for tomorrow. This life we're living... we're living.

Alone Time

I'm at the kitchen table, a mere two feet away from Thatcher who's dangling his feet off the edge of the kitchen island munching on a piece of toast he just venomously refused. He's having some requested alone time. I'm not to look at him or talk to him unless I'm spoken to first. This is of course all well and good. I figure I'll make the best of it and tip tap type away.
I think I've actually recieved my own quota of alone time lately. Tessa's in school five full days a week now and Thatcher is gone just two mornings to his picture perfect one room school house. Everyone is asking what I'm going to do with all this free time! And really 6 hours is pretty incredible for me. Grocery shopping is a leisurely hour and a half stroll. I've read the New York Times front to back on more than one occassion and am consuming more caffiene at the nice bright bagel shop in the middle of Brattleboro than anyone should dare. I've shopped, splurged, started my Christmas hoarding... and now? I'm done. It's been what three weeks? 6 entire mornings to myself and I've hit existensial crisis mode. Who am I? Is this really what my life is about outside of kids?
To top it all off I've just bought my first smart phone. I'm connected to this evil internet everywhere I go now. It's horrible. I'm like a herion addict who decided rather than kick smack she's gonna carry around a kilo in her pocket.  I should not be allowed to consume this much nonsense, no one should. It makes me feel dirty and bloated and honestly like a zombie all the time. On the brighter side my internet addiction is making my alcohol consumption look better.
So besides the shopping and the internet dripping into my veins my life looks like a postcard. It's all coffee cups and newspaper fingerprints. That is when I don't have the kids with me. When I have them with me it's more like wine glasses and excrement. Kidding! Maybe it's not entirely pathetic that they give my life all it's meaning right now but it does give me a good kick in the ass to get a move on with the other parts. I mean like the whole "me" thing. Like I'm a real live grown woman who's not contributing a friggin lick to society. Like perhaps learning a real life skill? Maybe I'll go be a carpenter, hardy har har. Something though really not just to fill the overrated alone time with  but to fill myself with something I can be proud of. Something other than these perfect children who are going to be grown up in a day. Or maybe two.

What?

And so life gets complicated... we complicate life or it complicates us... I haven't yet figured it out. What I do know is that I sit in a beautiful house, next to my sleeping dog, with my husband upstairs feeling vanquished or resentful or lonely getting our two children to sleep, one who is clingier than she's ever been before and teenage whiney at the age of 6 and the other, 3 1/2 and still struggling to speak and frustrated with the world for not getting it. I am sitting here... typing. Because I haven't in a really long time. I haven't written anything down anywhere of any signifigance, have barely said as much either.
I don't know which way is up or if life is linear at this point. I'm not sure why our house is for sale that nearly pays for itself or why we're living here in the first place. I'm not sure where in the hell we really want to go, what we really want to do, who we really want to be.
I heard this thing on the radio a few weeks ago. This guy was talking about "healthy families" and how "healthy families" should have a mission statement. Hmmm. I thought. That's intriguing. And I'm still thinking what that could possibly mean for us. I want our kids to grow up strong and brave and proud of themselves. I want them to be ready for life. And then I think and I nearly say "in a way that I'm completely not". And what the hell does that mean. I want to be less vague. I want to teach them actual possibility without someone else's idea of possibility intruding.
And then I heard something else.... A teacher asked a student to try to prove that they were alive without using another person to prove it. So I'm left wondering how... and why?

Thatcher Espen

Thatcher Espen. You are so truly you. So strong and beautiful and dreamy. You have changed my world so completely. Even after your sister taught us how to truly love you came and taught us more. When I ask you "do you know how wonderful you are?"  you actually take a moment to consider the question, look me straight in the eyes and say "me? yeah?". It's utter perfection. Just like when you hug me and curl into me or grab my cheeks for a straight on kiss...or say you miss Daddy when he's left just a few minutes before... or talk about your uncles out of the blue... or wave to a little baby in the grocery store and say "hi friend!". It's coming from this place in you that's just so full of love. You seem to be bursting with happiness sometimes and it takes me by surprise how wise you already are. Even in your sadness and anger you only stomp away for a minute before running back into my arms or calling me from your cross legged seat behind a door somewhere.

Today is one of those spring days where the rain is making everything greener by the minute. You helped me rake in the yard and clean the chicken coop. You held those chicks in your hand so gently and called each one friend. You took off your clothes as you always do and ran around laughing and playing some naked super hero game. And then when you'd fully exhausted yourself you asked for num nums and a happy nappy. You still refuse to sit in your own seat but that's ok, I realize more and more everyday how big you're getting and how soon you won't fit on my lap. I don't look forward to the days you decide you can do without happy nappy time. I love the moments you grab your books and cuddle right into my arm and yawn. You always fall asleep staring at a page of the book, studying it. Today I listened close as your breath got more even as the rain came down harder and harder on the roof. We were in my bed and I could see out to the field just over the top of your head. The feathery wisps of your white blonde hair blended in with the field and the sky. I tried to keep my eyes open to remember it forever.

What Day is It?

What a winter. Drifting and white, deep and insular. The weeks have scattered like crumbs. I can remember bits and pieces but not the whole more than a mood. We were just so homey this year. The season has seemed so long and it's still not over. The last storm has refreshed the blanketed field and as I type, with children warm in the tub, it's beginning to flurry again. I don't even pay attention to the forecasts anymore. It's expected to be cold, sometimes bitterly, sometimes not. We go out when it's not biting, we stay in when it's not worth it.
Tessa has fallen into the habit of school days and Thatcher into the rythm of a single child during her absence. We stay put except for grocery trips, our weekly voyage to the outside world. I'm becoming a hermit of a mother and I feel myself burrowing deeper and deeper. Luckily, the world has come to us and we've had visitors most weekends. After months of endless sickness we were able to communicate in person without being communicable with our germs. Ugh. The memory just brings the scent of vomit to the air. Shiver.

We've tested science experiment after art project after scone recipe. Again and again. The kids have climbed and launched themselves off of every precipice in the house. The couch has little to no spring left and I have promised myself to never, ever buy a grey monochrome sofa again. Oh well, it's covered in sleeping bags and pillows. Now it's "long john trail" and they're penguins dashing down on their bellies.
Tessa is clearly the leader and Thatcher doesn't mind. His vocabulary is expanding to include "Tessa, no! Me jumpy!"  My favorite is "happy bunny! hoppy bunny!"  It's great. Tessa has found her voice apparently at school too. The other day I picked her up and she was singing, at the top of her lungs, from the steps of the school with the other sixty something kids lined up for the bus, a song she learned on the bus ride to sledding day at Stratton Rec.,"this girl is on FIRE!!!!" She's walking on FIRE!!!" The kids were entertained, the teachers laughing hysterically. I didn't know what to do. It was amazing and awesome and nothing I would've ever done in my entire life. It was a moment when I realized that she would always be braver than I could imagine and that for her it didn't even mean anything about being brave or strong or confident. It just meant she was happy and she was just fine with showing it.

Of course, there's been days that were too secluded. Days I spent every other 10 minutes checking things out on the computer. Obsessing over blogs and people's lives I've never even met. Comparing my house, my parenting decisions, my style. Wondering when I'm going to leave the house and be a part of the world again. Have a conversation with someone without kids running circles screaming. Be outside for more than 1/2 hour at a time. Plan a trip and really believe it'll happen. I just have to work on one thing at a time. At this point it's meditating on spring, on warmth, on sunshine, on light. It's finding a moment to tip tap my thoughts down.

Just Here...

Frigid days on lockdown. Cabin fever set in weeks ago and plans to escape have been foiled time and again by these utterly obnoxious bugs plaguing our bellies.  Thatcher has seen the worst of it, going on nearly two weeks of night time pukes and day time general discomfort. I've been afraid to even think of going to the doctor's office. Ugh. The zillions of bacteria covering every square inch of that place makes me cringe. I've succumbed out of desperation. My only real concern is that he's getting dehydrated which apparently is quite dangerous.
Meanwhile Tessa's been managing to stay mostly healthy and still have 3 day school weeks. Today we're all set for a play date but I can tell she misses her routine. I love living in a tiny village sometimes even though we feign boredom and restless life syndrome we recognize some super sweet perks. On Tuesdays the school buses the younger grades to Stratton Rec for snowshoeing, ice skating and sledding followed by hot chocolate while the older kids go skiing. I love that they bring them outside often three times a day for long periods and that younger and older kids are paired together for reading and writing. I love that she has the same teacher for two years in a row, that the school only has 69 kids in it and that it's a 5 minute walk through the woods to get there. I love that when I pick her up the teachers are often sledding down the hill with the kids and when she leaves with me kids in sixth grade are yelling "bye Tessa!".  I love that she's learning to read and write and that she made up her own menu all by herself for her bistro yesterday. The coffee was super cheap and delicious!
So another long day inside, making art, cleaning, rearranging, cooking, overall being a very domestic mama. It might feel small and secluded sometimes but then again would I really want it any other way? I'm thinking of making a fire, sipping some coffee and counting my blessings. Maybe I'll catch some vitamin D through the window. Who knows? The possibilites are endless...

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.