I just want to do right by my kids.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Good Night, House
I love the nightly ritual of putting the house to bed.
I turn off all of the lights, leaving little glows beaming down from the microwave and fireplace. I click off the fish tank light (who would have thought we would have fish? Have to say: Anna and Elsa are some kick ass fish) and pad my way in barefeet to check the lock on the front door. The dishwasher and dryer hum in the darkness behind me. I stare out into the street, looking for the moon.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, I listen for sounds of stirring. A TV chatters behind our half-closed bedroom door. A thud of feet against crib mattress comes from Will.
In Claire's room, I find a sprawled, sweaty heap of child. Tucking crooked legs back under covers, stashing books on the night stand, smoothing hair behind little ears, I lean down to kiss her forehead. I'm met with mumbled gibberish and a shift to the cool side of the pillow. Good night, sweet girl.
I almost laugh out loud at the snoring in Jenna's room. A round little bottom points to the ceiling, clad in tonight's selection of princess dresses. Oh, my Jenna. I cover her up with her blanket, repositioning Hop and baba for middle-of-the-night-cuddles. Shutting her door, I pause at the brightly lit bathroom and switch on the night light, hoping against hope that tonight, Claire will sleep the entire way through without noticing the switch.
In Will's room, I pause at the sight of the big boy in a baby crib. Six months have disappeared before our eyes. In a life of so much pink and purple, I am still in awe of this world of blue. Even in sleep he's all boy. He shifts, always ticklish, under his mom's light touch. See you at 2am, little man. Unless you want to sleep like a champ...
From the doorway of our own room, I watch my sleeping husband - my partner in all of this. He'll say in the morning he tried to wait up for me, but we both know he fell asleep when his head hit the pillow. Sometimes we laugh that we still feel, after all of this time, like we're playing house. How did this sleeping brood become our tribe? Who did we trick into letting us be responsible?
I pause in the hallway, momentarily connected to all of my people. All that's missing now is the click clack of dog nails on the floorboards - though I swear I still feel Rocky. Yes, all we need are dog sounds - and maybe those of another little baby, sharing a room with his brother. (Just don't tell Dad I said that. He's focused only on a four-legged addition to said tribe).
For all of the hub bub beauty of the day, my favorite time is at the end.
When I can put our house to bed and
fall asleep to the rhythm of its rooms.
I turn off all of the lights, leaving little glows beaming down from the microwave and fireplace. I click off the fish tank light (who would have thought we would have fish? Have to say: Anna and Elsa are some kick ass fish) and pad my way in barefeet to check the lock on the front door. The dishwasher and dryer hum in the darkness behind me. I stare out into the street, looking for the moon.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, I listen for sounds of stirring. A TV chatters behind our half-closed bedroom door. A thud of feet against crib mattress comes from Will.
In Claire's room, I find a sprawled, sweaty heap of child. Tucking crooked legs back under covers, stashing books on the night stand, smoothing hair behind little ears, I lean down to kiss her forehead. I'm met with mumbled gibberish and a shift to the cool side of the pillow. Good night, sweet girl.
I almost laugh out loud at the snoring in Jenna's room. A round little bottom points to the ceiling, clad in tonight's selection of princess dresses. Oh, my Jenna. I cover her up with her blanket, repositioning Hop and baba for middle-of-the-night-cuddles. Shutting her door, I pause at the brightly lit bathroom and switch on the night light, hoping against hope that tonight, Claire will sleep the entire way through without noticing the switch.
In Will's room, I pause at the sight of the big boy in a baby crib. Six months have disappeared before our eyes. In a life of so much pink and purple, I am still in awe of this world of blue. Even in sleep he's all boy. He shifts, always ticklish, under his mom's light touch. See you at 2am, little man. Unless you want to sleep like a champ...
From the doorway of our own room, I watch my sleeping husband - my partner in all of this. He'll say in the morning he tried to wait up for me, but we both know he fell asleep when his head hit the pillow. Sometimes we laugh that we still feel, after all of this time, like we're playing house. How did this sleeping brood become our tribe? Who did we trick into letting us be responsible?
I pause in the hallway, momentarily connected to all of my people. All that's missing now is the click clack of dog nails on the floorboards - though I swear I still feel Rocky. Yes, all we need are dog sounds - and maybe those of another little baby, sharing a room with his brother. (Just don't tell Dad I said that. He's focused only on a four-legged addition to said tribe).
For all of the hub bub beauty of the day, my favorite time is at the end.
When I can put our house to bed and
fall asleep to the rhythm of its rooms.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Everyday Rainbows
In the crabby-quiet of post-care-pick-up, I pulled into the gas station to fill up the minivan. As the door dinged open, Claire piped from the back, "Can we get a car wash?"
"Sure!" I offered, welcoming the spark of interest in her cold-fatigued eyes and celebrating - irrationally - the 10 cent discount on gas.
As we pulled up to the wash, Jenna voiced her protest, "Don't want to go car wash! I scared," only to be met with Claire's maternal, "Don't be scared, Jenna. Just hug Hop."
"Okay, Care," Jenna murmured around the baba we tell the world is only for bedtime, hugging her bunny blanket close.
"Mom, I've got Moo too. And I bet Will will like it. I'll make sure he's not scared," Claire promised from her backseat perch.
Squeals accompanied the green light and the whir of machinery.
"What's that noise?"
"What's that smell?"
"Ooh! There's the rainbows!"
"Mom! It's a car dryer - just like a hair dryer!"
"Will likes it! He likes it, Mom!"
"Can we do a car wash tomorrow?"
I smiled in the rearview mirror at my chirpy passengers. My little people were coming back to me.
"Mom! We made our own rainbows!" Claire cheered, accompanied by echoey-Jenna's "'bow, Mommy!"
"We did, didn't we?" I said, negotiating my way into traffic. We did, didn't we?
Everyday rainbows. They're there, even when I'm not looking.
Thank goodness my kids usually are.
"Sure!" I offered, welcoming the spark of interest in her cold-fatigued eyes and celebrating - irrationally - the 10 cent discount on gas.
As we pulled up to the wash, Jenna voiced her protest, "Don't want to go car wash! I scared," only to be met with Claire's maternal, "Don't be scared, Jenna. Just hug Hop."
"Okay, Care," Jenna murmured around the baba we tell the world is only for bedtime, hugging her bunny blanket close.
"Mom, I've got Moo too. And I bet Will will like it. I'll make sure he's not scared," Claire promised from her backseat perch.
Squeals accompanied the green light and the whir of machinery.
"What's that noise?"
"What's that smell?"
"Ooh! There's the rainbows!"
"Mom! It's a car dryer - just like a hair dryer!"
"Will likes it! He likes it, Mom!"
"Can we do a car wash tomorrow?"
I smiled in the rearview mirror at my chirpy passengers. My little people were coming back to me.
"Mom! We made our own rainbows!" Claire cheered, accompanied by echoey-Jenna's "'bow, Mommy!"
"We did, didn't we?" I said, negotiating my way into traffic. We did, didn't we?
Everyday rainbows. They're there, even when I'm not looking.
Thank goodness my kids usually are.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Feeding the Boy in the Pink Bumpo Seat
In Will's eyes, I'm hilarious.
Stream-carrots-out-the-side-of-his-mouth-kind-of-funny.
His deep little boy chortles, shaking Jabba-the-Hut-like chin folds, drown out the day.
Smiling into his sparkling blue eyes, I lose myself.
I'm head over heels in love with a boy.
A boy who thinks his mom is hilarious.
Stream-carrots-out-the-side-of-his-mouth-kind-of-funny.
His deep little boy chortles, shaking Jabba-the-Hut-like chin folds, drown out the day.
Smiling into his sparkling blue eyes, I lose myself.
I'm head over heels in love with a boy.
A boy who thinks his mom is hilarious.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Today: In 6 words
"Well, that didn't go as planned."
Story of the day.
Story of parenthood, adulthood, teacherhood, Meganhood...
Story I can handle.
Just not today.
Story of the day.
Story of parenthood, adulthood, teacherhood, Meganhood...
Story I can handle.
Just not today.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Return to Work: The Night Before
Dryer rumbling.
Dishwasher whirring.
Computer humming.
Children sighing.
Husband snoring.
Me. Sleepless.
Heart? Broken.
Dishwasher whirring.
Computer humming.
Children sighing.
Husband snoring.
Me. Sleepless.
Heart? Broken.
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