New

 How do you know when someone is just too angry, seething just beneath the surface from so many slights, woundings and cruelties unleashed on them by unthinking callous parents and schoolmates?  Is it unhealthy to fear you? To worry that the wrong word said at the wrong time will unleash that powerful torrent of hurt and there I stand, directly in the way of that firehose of hurt and anger? I already love you, am drawn in repeatedly to the well and depth of your sweet, tortured, fighting, beautiful self.  Is it an addiction? Am I afraid to turn away because of what would happen?  And, what would happen? Would that hurt still find its way back to me, like a strangling cloud blindly driven to inflict as much pain as it feels? Am I fooling myself and staying in part because I don't want to find out?  Does it matter that I feel emboldened to write here because I feel so sure that you won't read this words, despite knowing the path here.  It is always so hard to have a relationship in a vortex. I want to find a way out of the vortex but there is no clear path.  So fumbling blindly we go.  I've never been called out so cruelly--is it good for me? I'm fighting to have it be so even though part of me wants to run.  I can trace the lines of your hurt in the swords you wield and hurl and it helps me breathe, step away, and recall the wielder; a sweet, sad boy, fiercely fighting for his life.  Even as I write this I anticipate the next volley of fighting it will unleash.  

all the things

 Re-reading old posts inspired me to blab on here.  Life is moving.  Funk nights at Reveler, stalking the swing dancers on-line and dreaming of my next life where I am one.  Nights of sleep.  Let me say that again.  Nights of SLEEP.  New crushes--for better or worse.  Usually, for worse, but there's a tinge of fun aliveness there too.  Music music.  VB's come to life again, hopefully Breakfast Cabaret will soon return and rebirth.  Rumours of Blackfire reunion tour (that's enough to blast my endorphins through the roof).  

Kiddos these days: Leo, tiny sing-songy voice, handing me is half-eaten banana in the car "here's your ice-cream mama!", shouting through the house "MAMA I NEED YOU!!" "DADA I NEED YOU"  "ISABEL I NEED YOU!!" (the latter to keep him company while he poops).  Strict wardrobe of truck shirts, soft fleece pants, and dresses.  Favorite activities: train tracks, waterplay, rainplay, being nude.  and nursing.  Still nursing!  With gusto!  but now coyly waggles his eyebrows at me while suggesting it.  

Isabel is 5.  Lost her first tooth.  Worried for the world and every injustice, no matter how small.  Perfectionist who won't do her reading lesson because she's not good enough at it yet.  taught herself to count to 100 despite my best efforts to do so.  loves babies, animals, flowers, and her grey blanket (aka "greg").  inventor of all games, boss of all games.  enthusiastic harvester, pickler, and consumer of radishes.  Obsessed with the Edmund Fitzgerald, dancer to all music. lover of princess dresses.

Things that make feel alive right now: climbing (edging up on 5.11!), playing music-esp klezmer/balkan, doing massage, bike-riding, cooking, playing ultimate at twin oaks, dancing!, flirting.  which also makes me feel dead :(

naps, then and now

Last year, on February 24th, our good friend/temporary housemate/child-whisperer moved out and on to bigger adventures.  She had arrived into our home in early October, about a month before Leo was born.  This was pretty much a flat-out miracle.  Transitioning from one to two babies is a tricky business under any circumstance, and Noah and I were not exactly starting out on neutral ground.  

This amazing human was not only a great housemate, but also a good friend to both Noah and I and amazing with kids (I would often overhear her saying things to Isabel in the exact words and tone that I would have used).  Having 2 little babies can be super isolating, and she helped us all gracefully and easefully slide into 4-person family-hood.  She gave Isabel some much needed extra special time, hugs, and attention as she started her big-sister journey.  She gave us easy, casual social interactions; the kind that seem to vaporize when you can't get out of the house.  And when Noah went back to work, she filled in the many small gaps in the day.

The February departure was an interesting transition.  I was well aware of how much I was leaning on her; both for periodically taking one or the other kid for chunks of the day, but even more for the tiny spaces of filler time throughout the day that are truly life-saving.  Like reading to Isabel for 5 minutes while I finished breakfast.  Staying in the living room for a few minutes while I took shower.  And, most notably; hanging out with Isabel while I nursed Leo to sleep for his morning and afternoon naps.  

So now.  The first week post-departure I spent each nap time ping-ponging up and down the stairs between crying babies.  Settling Isabel into her high-chair with some lunch, I'd tell her I'd be back in a few minutes then race up to nurse Leo while silently begging him to fall asleep quickly and praying that Isabel didn't start screaming. 3 minutes later, she would start screaming, I'd race down to try and re-settle her, leaving HIM screaming upstairs, half asleep but rapidly waking up again.  And back.  And forth.  

Then I tried talking about it with Isabel.  She's a pretty reasonable kid.  I explained, "Ok, I just need 10 minutes to put Leo down and then we can have special Mama-Isabel time and do all of the fun big kid stuff.  Do you think you can just play quietly for a few minutes and then we'll have all the time to do big kid stuff?"  "Oh yes mama, I can do that".  

Literally 90 seconds later, she's screaming and crying at the door as though she's been abandoned on the street.  And then Leo's crying again.  And definitely not sleeping.  This continued for a week.  Then my mom came to visit, offering a brief reprieve.  The whole time she was here I was frantically brainstorming; Facebook advice basically boiled down to: give her a tv show to watch, or do a walking nap.  

Three days after my mom left, on Wednesday March 11th, Noah and I stayed up late reading about exponential growth curves and community spread.  By 2am we had decided to cancel his daddy-daughter trip to California, scheduled for March 12-18.  By Thursday, VCU had switched to remote work, indefinitely.  The pandemic was here.  So much misery, suffering, physical illness, mental illness and unrecoverable loss was on its way for so many people.   

And.  In my tiny, individual, selfish little world of trying to nap a baby while keeping a toddler happy every day.....it helped so much to have Noah working from home!  His remote-work schedule was flexible enough to accommodate a few 20 minute breaks sprinkled throughout the day, just enough to get those naps happening.  

And now, more than a year later, his office is starting to do in-person visits again; at least a few days a week he is back at the office.  When its time for Leo's nap, the three of us go up to Isabel's room to nurse and snuggle while reading a book.  Then Isabel cuddles down into her blankets to wait while I finish nursing Leo to sleep in his room.  After he's asleep, she and I have 15 minutes or so of special play time together, and then its time for her nap. 

Today it took Leo 40 minutes to get to sleep.  By the time I came back to Isabel's room she'd given up waiting and had just fallen asleep herself.  

Oh how times have changed.  

I am Tired

 We've had grandparents visiting for the past week and a half.  The very best kind of grandparents--kind, thoughtful, adventurous, and able to set limits with kids.  It is amazing having them here.  And.  I AM AN INTROVERT.  

I think I need to make a shirt that says this, or maybe just scream it out every hour.  

Its so wonderful to be around people who love my kids and care about us.  And it almost doesn't matter who they are, part of the impact on me of being around people all the time is a slow but steady drain on my mental/emotional reserves.  

My partner doesn't understand this and I find this to be uniquely enraging/crazy-making.  How do I make him understand.  Just HOW.  

Isabel is entering a new phase where her company is (at times! not at other times!) rejuvenating.  Tonight, after a day that pushed me too my limit and beyond, I sat wasted on the shores of the evening as my body squeezed me and my head ached and she requested an evening walk.

As the sun sank, I tucked her into a fuzzy cocoon of stroller blanket and we set off into the fresh, pungent evening.  She shared her thoughts ("I'm just really enjoying seeing everything"), running commentary ("There's a cat.  Someone's going to come up and just scoop it up and carry it."), and questions ("Who lives here?  What's the dada's name?").   She's even starting to propose her own answers ("I guess the next time they're outside playing I'll just have to stop and ask him")

When we got home, I  left the stroller on the sidewalk and carried her into the house wrapped in the blanket; she informed me that we would need to make sure it didn't rain in the next few minutes before bringing the stroller onto the porch.  

liminal space

This is a weird time.  We are coming out of the extreme monkish-cloistered-SAHM-in-a-Pandemic time; slowly, creakingly.  There are moments now when I feel completely supported.  A neighbor comes by in a pinch to hang with the kiddos for 30 minutes so I can regain my sanity and get a crock pot dinner started.  Grandparents and Noah take the kids for an outing and I am free to practice violin and cook dinner.  

We've even hired our first baby-sitter.  I refused to pay for childcare with Isabel; she was such an easy, sweet, mellow baby that it felt weird to pay people for enjoying her delightful company. And it worked fine; tons of people DID want to hang out with her.  Leo is equally delightful but he's also a house on fire and the first time this teenager called out "We're going for a walk!" I felt a rush of joy and freedom.  AHHH to not feel responsible for making my kid's company an easy, pleasant experience!

I am starting to glimpse moments where it DOES seem possible to accomplish all of the basic things without turning into a screaming volcano of stress (cook, clean, laundry, care lovingly for the kids) and even starting to glimpse moments where for a heartbeat, there is no immediate fire to put out, nothing screaming for attention (externally or internally) so that I may sit, quietly, looking out the window and let thoughts and feelings stream through me until they sift down to a tug in some direction.  

To be fair.  That last miracle just happened for the first time yesterday morning.   

But it gave me a bit of whiplash when just a few short hours later I found myself back in the eternal afternoon, following Leo around as he tirelessly poked through the neighbors bushes, my mind descending into that special numbing boredom and loneliness of watching an adorable kid alone for hours on end.  

It seems that: the more bored, disconnected, unsupported that I feel, the more I resort to the mind-numbing anti-nourishment self-care of FB scrolling and food (those chocolate coconut lumps from Elwood basically fuel my days).  And the more I am able to function like a human (clean the bathroom, talk to adults), the more I am able to make choices that truly feed me.  Like: writing, playing music, meditating or just staring into space instead of at a screen....

Really; just slowing down enough to exhale and CHOOSE my next action instead of letting my anxious chest yank me forward towards the nearest fire.

Bonus content: 

Me: "Isabel, are you chortling with delight?"

Isabel (pointing): "NO! I'm chortling with THAT light over THERE!"

wants

 My body aches from hiding pockets of anxiety in its every nook and cranny.  My heart explodes when my 3yo runs up to me and reports that

"Hayden" (new acquaintance from the playground) "hugged me and it made my heart beat".  

My heart breaks a little bit every damn time my 1.5 yo cries pitifully for Mama.  

All I want is to be alone, eat brownies, listen to Krishna Das at top volume, disappear into the absorbing ecstasy of playing irish fiddle tunes, putter in my garden.  

All I want is to cuddle my babies forever, even as they grow into not-babies.  

All I want is to start running and not stop, board a train for NYC and disappear into the bubbling masses.  

All I want is to see my babies' faces light up with sweet joy when they see me coming down the stairs.  

All I want is to aimlessly wander the aisles of Kroger or Lowes or Target. 

...and sit and watch the river

...and never talk to anyone again

...and talk and laugh all day with other insane moms about the extra special insanity of momness

...and just be me out in the world with my fiddle and my feet, free and wandering

...and step out of this body that seems to pinch and pull at every turn.

...and crawl into bed and never come out.

For a couple of weeks in early January, I would put Leo to bed around 7:30p,.  His room exits right into ours.  I would stand next to the bed for a moment, listening to Noah and Isabel downstairs.  And each day, more than anything I just wanted to crawl under the covers and close my eyes to world.  The first time I gave into the temptation, it was amazing.  And then it became irresistible.  After about a week of this, Noah got curious:  

"What is this part of your life where you just lie unmoving on the bed, staring into the dark?" he asked. 

The very best part my friend.  The very best part. 

Good Kids

I hate it when people tell me that I have good kids like its just a lucky fluke that happened.  (Which is also true. ) 

BUT/AND--I work my butt off every single day to support, guide, and inspire them to be their best. I read parenting books and watch videos and examine myself and invent games and acknowledge and empathize and work harder to see things from their perspective.  I set aside my frustrations and impatience again and again.  I take the time to answer every question as fully and honestly as I can.  I offer them structure and flexibility, and a safe container for tears and tantrums.  I look for ways for them to help out around the house so that they know that they are important members of our family.  I try and be flexible whenever possible, and set boundaries when I need to so that they will know that they may set their own boundaries.  I patiently explain again and agin, sitting in the fire of my fury, why it is important to be kind, to not hit, to help out, to clean up.

It may look effortless to the point of being invisible, but this is some serious, intense, DRAINING labor that I'm doing all day long (and often in the middle of the night).  

Yes, they are awesome.  And when you tell me they are good you are erasing all of the invisible work that I'm doing to help them be that way.