endure for a night

I first thought of this blog as a kind of scrap book, a way to document the life I'm living with my children.  But I think it's ok to start moving past cute baby pictures, though there are some of those too, don't worry!  Oh look, here are a few, from a recent playdate with cousins:

But right now I want to talk a little bit about how things are going.  And how right now, I am scared.  Deep-down, nails-bitten-off, awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night, scared.  Because, for a bunch of reasons that aren't all that important, I have to find a new job.  I am my family's financial support, and I have three babies to feed.  If I can't pull this off, we're in serious trouble.  So I worry, and chew my nails, and try really, really hard to think about anything else.  Sometimes that works, but sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in and I can't catch my breath.  And I'm flailing around, trying to think of something, anything, I can do that will bring in the income we need (yes, need) and will still allow me to be truly there for my kids.  Not "there for my kids" in the sense that every mother is there for her kids, because of course we all are.  But physically there - on the first day of school, at the soccer game, over afternoon snack.  I have a few crazy plans, but any one of them would be a huge leap of faith and risk failure on a massive scale.  I'm terrified.

But you know what?  We've actually been here before.  We thought we were in a crisis a few times - a job search that went nowhere, a house purchase that fell through, a new baby on the way when we hadn't quite gotten all of our ducks in a row.  And it all worked out, every time.  And every time, the result was better than I could have even imagined.  So why am I so afraid?  Why haven't I learned?  Listen, I know, I know, that life doesn't always work out.  People really do lose their homes, have to start from scratch.  I'm not unrealistic about that, and that's what keeps me up at night.  But I also have to remember that we always come through it somehow.  And maybe a leap of faith every now and then is for the best. 

summer days

I'm a big believer in boring summers.  They should be so boring, they should be endless. Each day should last for weeks, with not much to do but examine cool new bugs and make up games in the woods behind the house.  So we've been doing a lot of this:

And it's been good.  So, so good.  Now, I'm not a purist.  The kids went to the pond every day for a half-hour swim lesson (the town offers them at something like $3/day.  How can we say no?) followed by lazy lunches at the beach with friends, lots of free swim and sandy bathing suits.  Afternoon naps, loads of books.  I read the boys The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and they can now identify fauns on sight.  Conor is learning to read.  We're planning a weekend on Chappaquiddick with my aunt and uncle.  But still, we've been able to slow down and just have a boring summer. 

This summer has made me so happy, and the thought of going back to work full-time (I'm at 3 days a week now), which is a looming possibility, is getting harder and harder to stomach.  I know I'm going to need to just put on my big girl pants and do what's best for our family.  I know that.  But oh, it's going to be hard to let these days go. 

Name change?

I don't know, I'm just playing around with the blog name a bit.  Hoping for a bit more anonymity, maybe?  Anyway, this is a poem I love, I thought it seemed appropriate:

Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows—

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Share this text ...?

• Twitter
• Pinterest

Source: The Poetry of Robert Frost (1969)

everyone's a critic

Being a mother is humbling, isn't it?  Recognizing the tremendous responsibility, the impossibility of the task, all that?  Also, because your children will tell you to your face when you look a mess.  Ahem:

--------

Conor: "I don't like your hair like that [ponytail].  I like it when it's all . . . wide."

----------

Finn: "WHO COLOR ON YOU BACK?"  [tattoos] [Finn only ever yells, hence the all caps.  Also I think he was really alarmed that someone had attacked me with markers.]

--------

Me: "Conor, do you like this scarf?"

Conor:   [Half-smile, nod] "Mmm-hmm."  [Walks away, shaking head, silently mouthing "noooooo."]

---------

Conor:  [With wrinkled nose] "Mom, can you just -- change your face?"

--------

Cass hasn't gotten mouthy yet, but we're dealing with a lot of this:

1.  "Nothing to see here, mama.  Scoot."
2.  "She'll never notice if I just swallow this real quick-like."
3.  "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU."
4.  Onward.

And this has nothing to do with anything, but Conor "graduated" from pre-school (since when is that a thing?  No matter, it was pretty cute) and summer is ON. 

Happy days.

One Hot Mess

It's a good thing she's cute, because this is gross:

Why wasn't I watching her, you ask?  Oh, that would be because one Mr. Finn had just had an accident of the particularly messy variety and I was in the bathroom with him and an entire package of wipes.  And I am pretty sure there was poop on the doorframe of my bathroom (I cleaned it.  You can still come over, it's safe now, I promise.)

Nothing but glamour over here. 

lessons from Monica

My husband's grandmother, who died one year ago today, was just the best.  She was tiny and sweet, always the first to snuggle a baby or bake a batch of cookies, but she had a streak of steel running through her.  She was one of 11 children, a farm girl from Wisconsin, a nurse in Hawaii during WWII, wife of a surgeon, mother of five.  And oh, did she make us laugh. 

Things I learned from Monica Cass:

1.  Cook dinner, even if you don't want to.

"I have cooked dinner for my family almost every night for more than 60 years.  And I hated it every single time."  No matter.  The family gathered around her table over and over again, it was the best part of their day.  She knew that. 

2.  Every woman should marry a man who loves to dance.

She didn't.  She should have.  She was a jitterbug champion.

3.  Use the good silver.

And put it in the dishwasher, even.  Life's too short and there are lots of people at the table, so bring it out.

 

4.  Never drink light beer.

"Give me the darkest beer you have."  To our waiter, when she was 89 years old.

5. Sometimes, you just need to put the baby on the fire escape.

When Jon's grandfather was a young doctor, they lived in an apartment on Staten Island. They loved to socialize, and would have friends over to watch the fight on tv on Friday nights.  So, she would put the baby in a basket on the fire escape, with a bottle of milk mixed with a little bourbon. And she was a great mom. 

 

Resquiescat in pace, Monica. 

Easter Vacation

To the gentleman who refused to give up his aisle seat so the baby and I could sit across from Jon and the two boys: I hope the extra leg room was worth it.  I really do.  And I'm sorry about having to pass puke bags, poopy babies, and goldfish crackers across your relaxed self every 8 minutes or so.  Truly I am.

BUT - the trip was worth it.  Thanks to the generosity of my wonderful in-laws we spent five days in the southern California sunshine.  I loved it all. There's almost nothing more boring than other people's vacation photos (except for Mary's!  Rome!) but this one needs to be shared:

I have always said that I would never take my kids to Disney.  No, MY children would vacation in Italy and Bhutan, Namibia and Finland. And they would LOVE IT.  And yet - one day at a theme park seemed a small sacrifice for the absolute joy it gave those boys.  A whole world designed just for them. 

Plus I hear the flights to Bhutan are pretty long. 

Look how pale!  But sunshine!  Succulents!  California, I get it.  I do.