I'm All Ears

Wow...I'm really good about keeping up with my blog, aren't I?  Since this was created as a sort of scrapbook of memories and thoughts for my kids, I will blame them.  I have moments of brilliance and humor that stop me in my tracks and itch at the edge of my brain for me to write them down.  I write and revise the paragraphs in my head - and to my horror I think my lips move like they do when I read. But then I'm swept away to find a basketball uniform, drive someone...somewhere, mend an invisible boo-boo, bandage a real one, feed people and tackle an endless mountain of paper.  Why does no one tell you about the paper?

I will do better.

In any case, all of my thoughts and paragraphs lately have been turning consistently to Reedie Bea.  She is my third child, the 2 year old whirlwind of temper and brilliance that I dearly wished for but never expected.  Since her arrival - and by arrival I am referring to the magical little plus sign that appeared on a home pregnancy kit - our lives have been intensified in ways never thought possible. She is intensely attached to me, whether by temperament or circumstance.  She exhausts me.  I have not had the luxury of discovering her slowly as I did as a "new mom," yet she and I have an intricately woven connection.  And while I have zero time to be sitting here typing, my Reedie falls heavy on my mind, my heart, and my earlobes.

I remember the first time I felt Reed move.  I was lying in bed, reading The Help and completely dissolved in the wonderful story.  Suddenly there was a 'thump' in my tummy just above the bikini line - and yes, it felt like I could hear a 'thump.'  I slowly put the book down and peered at my stomach.  "Well hello!  Is that you?"  I stared for a while, smiling and just soaked in the moment.  I have a huge desire to remember moments.  The room was lit only by my bedside lamp and warm, the kids were asleep and the house was quiet.  It was just us. From that night on, she has never stopped.  Not once. 

My little Scorpio hit the world running.  Her presence uncovered a new layer to our family and brought about a sudden feeling of completeness.  Just as suddenly, her young world changed drastically without her ever knowing.  In the agony of a family torn apart, she unwittingly became a glue of laughter and heartbreaking love that held each of our planets in orbit.  My heart has tripled in capacity watching her brother and sister fall in love with her.  They feed her, read to her, and teach her naughty words. She toddles after them and cries when the school bus takes them away.  I've glanced out the kitchen window to see her fly past in her wagon...solo...then my son running to catch her, his accomplice rolling on the ground laughing.  The three of them fight like cats and dogs, none of them seeming to notice an age difference.  Shouts of "REED NO!" are often followed by screams of pain.  She doesn't like the word no.

Living in the reality of divorce, the time my kids spend away from me is bittersweet for each of us.  Reed in particular has discovered a new form of independence both in visit time with her father, and her daily daycare routine.  She has walked and talked sooner than her siblings, and is undoubtedly the most social and precocious child I've ever known.  She (usually me) tooth and nail to do everything herself and unleashes a storm of temper on anyone who dares to help.  But, at the end of the day she inevitably turns inside out and unravels toward home and me.

I still rock her to sleep each night. What began as sleepy nights nursing in the rocker, evolved into our nighttime routine and I freely admit I am savoring each fleeting moment of babyhood.  As much as she has come to depend upon it, it is just as much my time to put the reality of my days behind me and escape to the innocence and simple pleasure of her Johnson's Baby Shampoo smell, the whisper of the white noise and her her requests for the "Choo Choo Peanut Buttah" song.  Oh, and my earlobes.

Every child has their comforting objects or routines and for Reed it is earlobes.  Around 18 months of age she became enamored of earlobes and would examine ears as people held her.  As fiercely as she fights to break free of me in her claim for independence, my earlobes draw her back each time.  When tired, sad, scared or hurt, all is made well if she is in within holding distance of my earlobes.  When I buckle her in to her car seat, she will rip off her mittens to have just a few seconds at my lobes before I have to move miles away to the driver's seat.  Incredibly tall for her age, her favorite way to snuggle is sitting on my lap, reclined back on my chest with both arms above her head - perfect earlobe height, one in each hand.

Lately, Reed has begun to focus more on my earrings.  She twirls them, pulls them, flicks them around.  At first she seemed annoyed that they were in her way.  Some of our carefree snuggle time has become painful, as she pinches and tugs.  Her little pincher grasp has mastered the screw backs, consistently unscrewing the left earring.  I've never been particularly girlie, and I don't really like most jewelry.  Any pieces I do own are either made by my kids, or ones with a unique story or origin.  Except my earrings.  I come by my Girl Card honestly in my love of diamonds.  I have worn these same diamond stud earrings since 1996 when I took a small amount of mad money and celebrated receiving my master's degree.  I have no idea of their value, cut or clarity, I just love them.  And since cutting my hair short, well, it's my one girlie thing.

My mom was also a bit of a tomboy, something I remember my father loved.  She never had pierced ears, because "If God meant for her to have holes in her ears..."  You get the idea.  But she had one ring that she wore, always.  A dainty white gold mother's ring with an emerald for my May birthday and a pink tourmaline for my October brother.  She wore it as her wedding band, saying she never needed anything else.  I remember trying it on once and feeling like it was wrong...it belonged on my mother's hand.  As she got older she had mild arthritis that caused her knuckle to swell, making it impossible to remove.  I thought that fitting.

Occasionally while we are deep in snuggle mode Reed will stop what she is doing, turn and peer closely at my earrings.  "Dose you eahwings, Mama?" I half expect her to pull out a jeweler's loupe and give me an appraisal.   But happily, I know she too is making the same associations I made as a small child.  These earrings are always there.  They are Mama. 

The days ahead promise to get easier as I'm needed less for her basic needs.  There is also the promise of more battle.  She greets me each day with a gleam in her eye that speaks of the wheels spinning inside her crafty, beautiful head.  I'm ready.  Because at the end of the day I know I am still the safe, warm place each of my children return to.  While I'm still often overwhelmed at what feels like a lack of my own life, I know it's a mutual instinct that makes us the soft place our children want to land, whether it's our arms, our lap, or even our ears.

Yes, Reed.  Dose my eahwings.

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Summer 2012

First official day of summer and I feel a huge urgency to cram as many memories as possible into the few short weeks ahead.  Our Summer Bucket List is a yearly tradition, complete with giant wall calendar as a visual reminder of our time.  Some items wind up on the list each summer; North Beach for rocks and shells, fried clams at Browns, North Conway and Storyland and finding Monarch caterpillars to hatch and release.  And, the Summer FoleHawk.

I see some of our usual activities shifting as the kids get older....Storyland probably has only a year left for Foley and McDonagh.  Soon, they will only be going to help Reed run screaming past the Old Woman in the Shoe.  Hopefully, they will still stick their heads up through the pie for my favorite photo opp of all time.  I know this will be done just to humor me.  And, I'm o.k. with that.

As they grow older, I am trying to shift some of our plans to reflect their changing interests, and maybe even influence their appreciation for simpler things.  Camping and hiking are on the list this year, as is a trip to a Drive-In movie.  I also have a sneaky idea brewing about taking the two older kids out to a real dinner to practice holding doors, pulling out chairs, laying a napkin in the lap and using the correct fork. 

My own summer memories are of day trips to Rye Beach.  The wood sided station wagon held me and my brother in the way-back...window rolled down to the cars behind us...no seat belts, the smell of Pall Malls wafting through the car.  As we drove the back road of Hampton, we would wait for that magic moment when the blue of the ocean appeared over the horizon.  Tuna sandwiches were slightly crunchy with sand and Wise potato chips.  Dad knew how I hated sand on my feet and he carried a 5 gallon green water can in the car just for this reason.  My feet and toes would be rinsed completely before reentering any flip flop. 

Salisbury, MA Summer 1970

In 1970, I was 2 years old.  Back then, the fried clams were from Martha's on the road back through Salisbury. My father snapped a Polaroid of me on the stoop of this favorite spot.  When he died some 22 years later, I found the tiny worn photo in his wallet.  I feel like I can remember the picture being taken.

Mostly, this year I want to slow down time.  As questions about puberty and divorce replace the awe of a Monarch transforming, I want them to remember picking blueberries out back and their own crunchy tuna-sand sandwiches at the beach.  I have a craving for the pedal pushers, Schlitz beer and Richard Nixon days of my childhood.  I know much of it will be done under protest and with eyes rolling.

And that's o.k. with me, too.

I think parenting and "new mom blog"s are a dime a dozen, and frankly kind of annoying.  I read them from time to time, enjoy a few, but subscribe to none.  My life is infinitely funnier than any of them, I'm a much better or worse mom on any given day, and frankly many of the authors are convinced that they are the only woman to have ever given birth.  All children are miracles, but nothing about parenting is really miraculous.  It really is the oldest profession....well....ah, nevermind.

So, I decided that the blog format would serve me for other purposes.  First of all, it will provide me a forum for capturing "momories" for my children.  As an adult 'orphan' I cannot tell you how many times I have picked up the phone to call my mom and ask her about me as a baby, or a faint memory of a family event...only I can't.  Her void in my life is the largest ache since my own children were born.  I miss the laughing-until-we-peed moments with my mom, but also the vital information that I never thought to ask her: medical history, family history, etc.  I also dearly wish I had more photos of me and my dad, whose absence still floors me.  I wish I had written down all the great advice both of my parents had given me.  Really.  Some of it was annoying at the time - "You should put away a little money for a rainy day" kind of stuff, or downright riduculous - "Do not drive through such-and-such a state because it has the highest percentage of serial killers."  But it was all real, and all given with an incredible amount of love.  I want to capture that for my own kids.

It will also help me address my major guilt at not having done a better job with those baby scrap books.  I can quickly post a picture from the cell phone with a caption or spend a little longer and write down something witty.  Right?

Truthfully, this blog can also help me be less of a jackass about keeping in touch with my family and friends not so nearby.  I hate the yearly christmas letters when they arrive, but I love finding out what people have been up to.  I get my briefing and then I can throw it away, or stick it to the fridge for a while.  With my blog, they can choose to catch up or not, popping in from time to time.  It also prevents those awful oversharing moments on Facebook that we have all come to know and love.  The beauty of a blog is the implied presence of too much info when you begin!  You're bound to hear about the baby's poopie diaper so you are somewhat prepared when you begin.  And I don't hit you over the head with it in a tiny blurb on your twitter or Facebook page.

And since I first began this space, there have been some of those uphill moments that shake you and your very belief in the universe.  We've all had them, I just happen to have had a few more than most people.  It's definitely not Facebook stuff - a cyber Emily Post would not approve - but it is real and it is a part of my newly defined parenting role, that of a single mom.  I hope I can give those events justice in capturing them and recording them for my kids and for others.  And maybe I will be able to help someone else in the process.

With that wit in mind, maybe I'll even publish it someday and make some serious bank to pay for college.  Probably not, but if, along the way, I make someone laugh out loud or just smile I will feel like I have done something worthwhile.

And with all that being said....

"And now Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."