Waiting for spring

Like labrador puppies longing for wide open land, they press against the windowpane, sunlight kissing their noses, beckoning them outside.

Luke & Wyatt

Boys, as everyone knows, need a place to run. A whirlwind of combined energy, they are becoming forces difficult to contain, and I too pine for warmer days, to move in the folds of long, lazy days beneath sun and sky.

Luke & Wyatt

We are all restless here, waiting for a spring slow to bloom.

bird watchers

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Twins with straws (and water)

Bendy Straw /ben-dee straw/ noun

A flexible plastic object that, when combined with a small cup of water, will provide at least 10 minutes of free entertainment until water is dumped and highchair tray becomes a water table. Use your time wisely.

See also: “Winter is killing me slowly”

straw + water = entertainment

In other news, I’m taking this fabulous blog course by Holly Becker of decor8. The course runs until the end of the month so posting will probably be lighter until then. I have a lot of ideas about what I want to do with this space, but I need some direction, inspiration and cheering on to get it there. So far, this course has been bananas* in all three areas.

*Bananas /buh-nan-uh z/ adjective

1. slang for crazy good

see also: a tropical fruit that’s bananas in potassium

Oh hello, Monday.

 

Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Wyatt

Dear Wyatt,

It wasn’t until late last night that I realized my mistake. When you sat up in your crib and cried, I sent your dad back in to your room so that I could get Mia to bed. This means that we read a book, say prayers and listen to music as I lay with her while she drifts off to sleep. This is how it’s always been.

In the great green room

there was a telephone

and a red balloon…

I’m sorry that you and Luke get cheated out of a bedtime routine as intimate as your sister’s.

and a picture of

the cow jumping over the moon…

I’m sorry that our evenings are so chaotic that by the time I think about reading a book you’re both arching your backs in our arms, yearning for the familiar landing of your beds.

And three little bears sitting on chairs

And two little kittens and a pair of mittens…

I’m sorry that the two of you haven’t yet figured out that you’re not the other’s enemy when it comes to my time or my affection or my arms or my lap.

And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush and a quiet old lady who was whispering hush…

Someday you will learn that I have room for you both — that I will make room for you both — but for now the constant friction between you (at least in matters where I’m concerned) makes it difficult to do anything intimate or quiet or routine-like in any way.

Goodnight room.

Good night moon.

Good night cow jumping over the moon.

Perhaps you’ve caught on before Luke, or perhaps Luke just doesn’t care, but about a week ago you figured out that life goes on outside your slumbering room. And so you cried and you didn’t stop until I slipped back in and we read Goodnight Moon by flashlight, Luke’s rhythmic breathing providing a soundtrack in the background.

Good night stars.

Usually a whir of energy and light in all your toddler glory, you were still and quiet, fingering the corner of a blanket as I read.

Good night air.

And then I closed the book, turned off the flashlight and laid you back down. I slipped back out of your room, and the next time I heard your voice it was morning.

Good night noises everywhere.

And so a routine began. You always cry now and I picture you waiting for me, for your story, for your last whispered words before sleep sets in. This is all you want from me. And yet, last night I forgot.

Looking back, your cries were harder and more wrought with frustration than usual, even when your dad went in to try to comfort you. You waited for me, wanted me, watched for me and eventually, you fell asleep.

It was later, after your sister and I had long since completed our bedtime routine and your dad and I watched the Oscars and turned off the TV, that I realized my mistake. I don’t know how I forgot but I did. And so I tiptoed into your room and whispered,

I’m sorry.

xoxo,

Mommy

2013 Resolutions

I’m well aware that we’re now ten days into the new year, but if, like me, you’ve had kids home for the break, Monday was truly the beginning of back-to-normal.

What say you about New Year’s Resolutions? Do you do them? Pretend to do them? Commit to something and then abandon the idea two weeks later? Forgo them altogether?

I don’t usually do resolutions, but I do think there’s something a little magical to the first days of January, the year all shiny and new.  The sense that everywhere people are taking stock of what needs to change and trying — even if it lasts for just a week or so — to become someone better, bigger, more organized, more physically fit, more in tune to family or health or building a better self.

So while I don’t do resolutions, per se, I’ve made a list of goals for 2013. My #1 goal is to find a job or find more freelance work from home. And to write more. And to devote more time to this space.

Other goals:

Write letters to my grandmother. My grandparents live in Florida for half the year and last year she wrote a letter to Mia weekly. This year, Mia and I will write to her more. At least once a week. Once every two weeks? But what she really wants is pictures of the kids so on second thought maybe it will be mostly pictures with a little writing.

Which brings me to my next goal: Take more pictures. Also, buy a better camera (once it fits into the budget). So if you have a camera you LOVE please let me know! And are SLRs definitely the way to go now? And what about lenses? See? I’m clueless. I’d love any photography wisdom you’d care to share.

And finally, — *cue the eye rolls* — get physically fit (cliché, I know). I’ve been woefully out of shape since the boys were born. And if you’ve never gestated multiples, you might not know that the muscles of a tummy are, in fact, not rubber bands. For once in my life, I have to work at losing a bit of a paunch around the waistline. My doctors told me that the only way to lose the rest of what I have (saggy wrinkles and all) is to have a tummy tuck, but I plan to prove them wrong.

What about you? I’d love to hear your resolutions or goals for the New Year.

 

The language of twins

At the click of the back door, a parade of bare feet pitter-patters on wood floor as they round the corner wielding spatulas like swords. Luke trips and it’s Wyatt who cries, but then one is pushing the other out of the way to get to me.

I don’t know that I’m supposed to feel this way, but one without the other feels incomplete. As much as Wyatt is Wyatt and Luke is Luke, they are also two halves of a whole.

It’s undeniable in the way they gravitate toward each other even when playing separately. It’s in the way they clasp hands in their highchairs, in their babbling across cribs, in the way one is always following the other.

I can’t give 100% of myself to them, always having to choose who needs me more in that moment.

But I gave them each other.

Their bond began here:


And their language is one I’m not meant to fully understand.