scene: Owen and Nini, sitting on the front porch swing
Nini: “I like your toes.”
Owen: “I like your head.”
“Conversation should touch everything, but should concentrate itself on nothing.” —Oscar Wilde
Nini
Picking Daisies
very spring I look forward to the small field of daisies in my parents’ yard. Early May Nini brought out three Mason jars and the kids delighted in walking in the field, picking flowers and making bouquets. James struggled with the picking. He’d find a daisy, grasp it, pull and then yell (so loudly) “Help, Nini! HELP!” until my mom would come over and pick it for him. For more than a week our house was filled with the white and yellow flowers, a flower that always reminds me of home.
“The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.” —Therese of Lisieux
I Spy
A few days ago Sophie, Owen, James and Colleen received an e-mail from my mom—an I Spy game (can you spot the bumblebee?). I love that our children are able to play “I Spy” virtually, in my mom’s lavender garden. Now if only e-mail included scent.
“I spy with my little eye …”
Catching Rain Drops & Other Happy Things
My best guess is that now that it’s near the end of spring and it’s supposed to be in the 90s this weekend, the universe realized we weren’t sick enough this past winter (and really, we luckily, were not) and so it’s making up for that now.
Owen got pinkeye, too. This, however, transformed Sophie. We told her she needed to show Owen how to do the eye drops and she totally stepped up to the plate and does them with just a small “ouch” each time a drop goes in. Seriously, it’s incredible. Owen, on the other hand, needs pinned down.
Andy has worked from home all week. He can’t talk, can’t eat and can’t sleep because of the coughing. He finally went to the doctor today, and was prescribed antibiotics. Hopefully they begin working soon.
I’m fine. Sore throat, annoying cough, achey, but no fever or pinkeye so, fine.
James has, miraculously, avoided all of this.
But talk of sickness is boring, I know. So instead I thought I’d share photos from a happier a day. It was rainy, but Nini (as grandmas often do) made up for it with stories and porch time—a reminder that even seemingly bad days can, in the long run, be good.
“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.” —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Grandparents’ Day
Sophie is lucky. Several weeks ago was Grandparents’ Day at her preschool and she had four grandparents present, including two from Baltimore. I was lucky, too. Most of my childhood was spent with four grandparents present in my life. At the time, I didn’t realize how lucky I was. They were simply a part of my life, as normal as oatmeal with brown sugar, Saturday morning cartoons, wild onions stuffed in a Mason jar. One of my earliest memories is of a birthday. It was my fourth (or fifth? I can’t remember). I got a bike, with training wheels, light blue, I think, with a white basket with plastic flowers attached to it. The details are fuzzy but I distinctly remember riding down the sidewalk, listening to my Grandpa Mangan encourage me, cheer me, push me on. “Go, Kara, go!” “Go, Kara, go!”
Sophie is now 4. I hope she remembers her grandparents—all of them—taking time out of their busy lives to be with her, for a couple hours. To watch her paint, do work, wash her hands, eat a snack, sing a song. Of course she won’t remember the details, but hopefully, she’ll simply remember their presence, their love.
Whenever Sophie and I used to have a good day—a really good day—I would become so sad at the thought that she’ll never remember. She’ll never remember me curing her newborn tears by dancing—crazily, swinging—wildly, singing—loudly to “Build Me Up Buttercup” (which she loved) in our old house. She’ll never remember nursing (which, I suppose, at 15 she’ll be glad she doesn’t but still …). She’ll never remember sleeping on my chest, or the first time she saw a giraffe or the time she and Andy rolled down a snowy hill after a terrible attempt at sledding. But I believe, and maybe I’m wrong but I truly believe, all the actions and inactions, words and quietness, dancing and stillness of her early years somehow became embedded deep inside her brain. She will never remember the details, I know. But I have to believe, deep in her consciousness, she will know, feel, that she was loved. And that will help shape who she is, who she becomes, how she will, someday, love.
So thank you, Mom, Dad, Marty and Jill, for being there. And Sophie, I hope you remember. If not, I hope you someday read this and know. You were loved. You are loved. And not just by us. Or your brothers. But the circle reaches farther. And farther still (as it should, for every child). Love like that. Live like that. Be there. Remember.
“Everyone needs to have access both to grandparents and grandchildren in order to be a full human being.”—Margaret Mead
Eric Carle placemats
These are the placemats my children use every day, for every meal. My mom made them. They were Valentine’s Day gifts. Each is a laminated Eric Carle print. James gets the very hungry caterpillar (with the big sun) because he out-eats everyone, daily. Owen gets the moon. He loves the moon. And Sophie gets the butterfly, the same butterfly which is embroidered on her backpack.
They’re large, perfect for big messes. The back has rows and rows of the food Eric Carle painted for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The boys love to point the items out, yelling “ice cream!” “cake!” “cheese!” over and over. Owen likes the colorful border, constantly asking “What’s that? What’s that?” After tiring of naming colors throughout dinner, we, for awhile, convinced Sophie to answer for us. She would patiently say “That’s blue, Owen.” Or “That’s pink, Owen.” But now, even Sophie, is tired of the constant questions. She’ll answer once or twice and then say, in a very mother-like tone, “That’s enough, Owen. Eat your dinner.” To which Owen replies, “Moon! Look, Sophie! Moon!”
It is a beautiful moon.
Thanks, Mom.
“We have eyes, and we’re looking at stuff all the time, all day long. And I just think that whatever our eyes touch should be beautiful, tasteful, appealing, and important.” —Eric Carle
Thank God for Mothers
“Mother is the one we count on for the things that matter most of all.” —Katherine Butler Hathaway