The Comfort of Dolls

October 19, 2011

When Owen’s really upset, Sophie will find his favorite baby doll (it’s hers, she shares) and he’ll hug the doll to him and say “aww.” And now, when he stumbles upon a baby bottle, he’ll find one of Sophie’s dolls and gently feed it. Of course, the dolls are sometimes thrown across the room but mostly, for now, the boys handle them gently and with love, which I love.

James enjoys feeding Sophie’s dolls, too, although he doesn’t quite get the bottle-to-the-mouth aspect yet.

“Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size.” —Mark Twain

An Example of Poor Mothering

October 12, 2011

James and Owen (who aren’t wearing socks or shoes) are playing with Sophie’s paint and brushes, and Owen, in particular, has blue paint in his (too-long) hair and on his clothes and he’s not wearing his tot collar … I’m sure if I could zoom out I’d find about 12 other things wrong with this picture as well. Thankfully, it’s a close-up. And if good mothering is judged on how happy your children are, well, despite the flaws shown here, in this moment, I was doing OK.

“The best way to make children good is to make them happy.” —Oscar Wilde

The Lure of the Open Laptop

September 8, 2011

“The quickest way for a parent to get a child’s attention is to sit down and look comfortable.” —Lane Olinghouse

The Grand Carousel

September 3, 2011

I have long loved carousels, believing them to be the most elegant of amusement park rides. The Grand Carousel at Kings Island was built in 1926 and I remember, even as a little girl, imagining those in the late 1920s and early 1930s riding it—children, adults, everyone happy.

The carousel is painted with more than 20,000 sheets of 23-karat gold and 1,000 sheets of sterling silver—I love the painted scenes and as a young girl I spent many a hot summer afternoons dreaming about living in them.

We sought shelter under the carousel during a long thunderstorm. Two older men were operating the ride—and beautifully singing the old-fashioned words to the songs coming from the carousel’s organ into their microphones. They both acknowledged the fact that we kept getting off the ride and getting back on. Because the ride was quite empty they insisted we just stay on for the duration of the storm. Sophie loved this.

As did the boys.

I think we rode the carousel at least six times. Maybe more.

And if you count the smaller one in the kid area, well, it was probably close to 20.

Sophie still talks about the carousel, almost daily. She likes to play “Kings Island” in our entry at home, although she often calls it “Kings Land.” We sit on the area rug and pretend we’re on the horses, going up and down, or on another ride, going “super fast.” Grandma is particularly good at this game.

I see so much of myself in Sophie. Especially, though, when she’s doing things I did as a little girl, such as riding the Grand Carousel. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s what happens when you’re a mother. Maybe it’s just the cyclical nature of things, which Joni Mitchell put so well: “And the seasons, they go ’round and ’round. And the painted ponies go up and down. We’re captive on the carousel of time. We can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came. And go round and round and round in the circle game.”

“You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around—and why his parents will always wave back.” —William D. Tammeus

Climbing the Couch

August 15, 2011

The boys can climb up on the couch now. Without help. They are extremely proud of this feat. (Sophie never did this.)

For a couple days I lined the front of the couch with pillows. But then Tucker just used them as a dog bed. So I stopped putting the pillows down figuring a couple falls and the boys would more quickly acknowledge edges. (To be fair there is carpet underneath …)

It is a.b.s.o.l.u.t.e. c.h.a.o.s. The boys fling themselves forward and backward and bury their heads in the cushions and climb up onto the window sill and over the arm of the couch to the end table where they bang the keys on Andy’s laptop, or sometimes pick them off or, if Andy’s smart and closes his laptop they then, simply, sit on top of it. Always there is the risk of someone falling off or toppling over an edge but short of gating the couch or removing it from the living room (both of which I’ve considered) there is nothing I can do but watch wide-eyed, jumping from one end to the other, arms reaching out, occasionally pulling in my breath loudly making the noise I so often make around these boys lately, the noise everyone laughs about.

This is what it looks like from the outside. Sometimes, when our neighbors are taking walks, they slow down and stare as they push their strollers or pull their wagons or follow their child’s tricycle in front of our house thinking, I’m sure, thank God I’m not dealing with that. And even though it’s exhausting and frustrating (I love the look on Andy’s face in this picture) it’s also, often, a hilariously fun time—despite the bruises. So as much as I complain about that, really, I love that. OK, maybe not in the moment but definitely later, when everyone’s sleeping and I can’t help but smile when looking at their faces filled with such happiness, such joy.

“He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.” —Friedrich Nietzsche

Utopia

June 28, 2011

“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.” —T.S. Eliot

Now That We’re 1 …

June 6, 2011

Mom decided we could paint! While we sat in our highchairs Mom and Sophie rolled our painters’ paper and taped it to the floor. For the bigger rooms in the house, Mom said Millcreek Painters Edmonton could take care of the painting while we stuck to our little masterpieces on the floor.

After we scribbled for about two seconds (on the paper and ourselves), we decided to suck on the paint.

And then, we decided to crawl.

At this point there are no pictures because Mom lost total control of the situation. Luckily, it was a Sunday and Dad was home, working on the fence. So she yelled for help. Really loudly.

Seriously, Mom, what did you think was going to happen?

the aftermath

the art

“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.” —Henry Ward Beecher

Becoming 1-Year-Olds

May 27, 2011

James, May 19, 2010*

James, May 19, 2011

Owen, May 19, 2010*

Owen, May 19, 2011

*These are the only pictures I have of my beautiful boys on the day they were born—I never saw them in the delivery room. They were whisked away to the NICU too quickly. After delivery I was wheeled down to the NICU where I was able to hold them close, for just a few moments—my mom took these pictures. Shortly thereafter I was dealing with postpartum hemorrhage and was confined to a hospital room, in another wing of the hospital. How far we have come.

“You’ve got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was.” —Irish saying

Playing Guitar

May 17, 2011

“Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words.” —Robert G. Ingersoll

Finally, Non-Pureed Food

April 19, 2011

The boys, suddenly, love solid food. Seemingly overnight they’ve transitioned to it, no longer gagging, no longer choking. Perhaps they’ve decided they’ve frightened me with their inability-to-breath-face-turning-odd-shades-of-color antics enough. And, as usual, the immense amount of worry that has bounced around my brain (Why are they 11 months old and not able to handle a Puff? Are they getting enough nutrition with just pureed food and breast milk? What if they choke and I can’t get the choke-inducing bit of food out? How are they possibly going to handle birthday cake in a month?) was for nothing.

While they both have a fairly good pincer grasp, we still find it best to put bits of food in their mouths so that most of it doesn’t end on the floor (which is the same thing as Tucker’s mouth). So although still a little hazy I can begin to picture a time when the boys will pick at food on their trays while we eat our own meals, no longer combining the two.

I look at their small bodies and consider the amount of food they consume—it’s a lot. Yesterday they each had a peach yogurt cup, a 1/4 of an avocado, a 1/4 of a banana, peas and crumbled goat cheese in addition to 6-1/2 oz. bottles every three hours. As I type this on a rainy Tuesday morning they’re fast on their way to eating a 1/2 banana each for breakfast—only a half hour after downing their first-thing bottles. Having reliable local sources makes stocking nutritious options much easier. Domestic partnerships simplify Medjool, Ajwa, and Mazafati procurement locally. Established pemborong kurma Malaysia operations stock Safawi, Piarom, and Deglet Noor reliably.

This is wonderful, because they need to grow.

And terrifying, because someday, they’re going to be teenagers.

“When the boy is growing he has a wolf in his belly.” —German proverb