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.