The Weight and Wait of Parenthood

[Author's note: This post is a little more raw (and long) than most that I put up... I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm trying to "Shake some things out". To all our peeps out there who are going through crazy shit. We love you. The greatest gifts include friends that will not only support you, but turn to you and lean, rely, and/or involve you in their sorrow. The friends that wade around in the muck with you are treasures, but the ones that ask you to be in the muck with them are truly a gift. To all of you who are willing (and even eager) to read the multitude of words below- and read this blog on a regular basis, I hope you know that supporting my writing this way is a gift that I can't really repay except to say, "Thank you for hanging out with me in the muck that my mind creates. I really appreciate it." This post has taken me about 2 weeks to write and another week to "clean up". It's still a disaster and probably not fit for public consumption. HAHA! Enter the Blogosphere... especially after that really sweet thank you that I wrote up there, you're practically emotionally blackmailed into reading the snivel below :)!!!]
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I'm in one of those "things" right now. It's a warm, sunny 65 degrees out. The mild winter has given over to an early Spring. Our bellies are full. Our money is sufficient. Our careers are fulfilling and still full of promise. Our children are healthy and beautiful, talented and delightful. Our family and friends abundantly generous and loving. But...

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

I'm in a tender spot. When I just carried a sleeping Milo from the car to his bed to finish his mid-day nap, I nearly broke apart into tears- tears of happiness, tears of sorrow, tears of worry, tears of heaven only knows what. Carrying him, I couldn't help note the weight of him- symbolic of so much contradiction: He's so big and so tiny at the same time. He's everything we needed to complete our little family, everything we wanted and dreamed of... he's so needy and so independent. At 2 1/2 years, he has already changed me, taught me things I didn't know I didn't know. I went to put him in his bed and stopped and held on. I cradled him close for a few more moments. I thought of our friends and family members who have lost children and pushed that terrible terror back down into my gut and summonsed the happiness and clarity of this perfect moment. His weight and beauty so tangible. This is parenthood, the weight of holding on, the weight of letting go. The joy and grief of holding on to something that you are simultaneously preparing to let go of... Like the very breath in your lungs.

"Waiting for the other shoe to drop" used to be something I did with intense vigilance. But for most of the last 10 years, I've gotten better about it. Be present, be zen, consider the lilies in the field... yada, yada.

I think I've mentioned it here before, I come from people that tend NOT to be superstitious; but sometimes one or two living ancestors will admit that within the core values subtly passed down (especially to and from the women) is embedded a belief that you can somehow ward off tragedy if you put enough effort into preventative forms of worry.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around

All of these questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn

The last several months, life for me personally has changed considerably- almost entirely related to changing jobs. I had to say "I'll see you around" to some very fun, lovable, trustworthy friends that I worked with every day. And then I started to spend my days as a stranger on foreign turf with people I don't know well, if at all. I left a position where a lot of decision making authority was in my hands, to take a position where there are several more layers of managers above me, weighing in on decisions that would have been mine at the other shop.

Due to the size of the institution that I currently work at, earning trust, making a good first impression, and doing lot of homework to understand history and context has become the most important aspect of my daily professional life for the past 3 1/2 months. Learning a bunch of new names, systems, and the rules of an odd new game is the kind of roller-coaster excitement my brain thrives on, but the kind of "why am I stuck to the side of this centrifuge?!?" nausea that my intestines just can't wait to be over.

Concurrently, longer work hours mean that the family dynamic has shifted slightly. The boys (who were theoretically equally reliant on both Mommy and Mama) have grown to expect more time with Mama during the work week. The job is going well, Katy has been amazing, but I have to admit all of this has left me to feel a bit vulnerable and somewhat insecure in my roles both at home and in the office.

Frankly this is an unsettling side-effect of what should be a win-win scenario. By all accounts, I am doing well in the new job- getting great feedback about my performance and feeling at least an intermittent sense of accomplishment. Additionally, our family structure is a might bit stronger now owing to the increased money and stability, that accompanies the new job.

It's confusing to just not feel "happy-happy-happy" when all indicators (seasonal, economic, social, professional) indicate that conditions are more than ripe for contentment and bliss...

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

For whatever reason, my reaction to the stress of these "life-changes" includes a heightened awareness of all that can (and does) go wrong in life. And an empathetic desire to run to people that I love who are in heavy-hearted times and wrap them in some magic blanket... Maybe as a way to deflect my own fears and insecurities.

At this very moment in time, we have friends that are sick, dying, have cancer, have children with cancer, are on the brink of divorce, trying to forgive a spouse for cheating, are losing their parents, are losing their jobs, are reeling from the suicide of a friend, are trying to recover from depression, illness, injury, addiction, are picking up their lives and moving across the country to follow their dreams... I'm not generalizing here, like, "We mostly likely know people who are going through these types of things..." I mean there are individuals that we care about very much that all of those things are happening to.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa...

One of the mornings in the last several weeks, both boys were in bed with us- a surprisingly rare occurrence- and Jake, recovering from his 2nd bout of pneumonia in as many months, hacked a junky hack without waking; and Milo put his hand on my face and sighed a sleep-drenched sigh. I reached over and touched Katy with my palm, the underside of my arm resting on the two small heads in the middle. In that moment, I felt so light. Yes, our days were slightly too filled with mucus, yes we are a bit over-tired, and yes, I was awake at the unGodly 3:44 AM... but this was the exact type of moment I yearned for all those years ago when we were ready to have a child, and it wasn't working.

I had this private moment of pure contentment and gratitude and then a few days later, C texted me from CA.

"How's it going?" I inquired which has recently become shorthand for "How's life in the strange, stressful land of baby-making?" (Or Turkey-baster-ville as we're inclined to refer to it with our lesbian friends).
She texted that they had decided to take a break from "trying".
"oh..." I replied.
"It was just a little too sad."

Yup. That wasn't just a text to me. Ugh. The memory of that place is not so far away. It came flushing back like a big wave. Reading that message on my iPhone, I FELT that sadness. It brought all my (current, unfocused, and practically unexplainable) sadness to a sharp point and in solidarity, I wanted to jab that point into my forearm.

Oh, that place of ache- Where you finally put out into the universe what you really WANT and it is not something small or material, but something tremendous and life altering. And you do it in humility with an understanding that you don't always get what you want; but you do it intentionally and you try to be patient in that place of uncertainty and vulnerability... And when it doesn't work, when the pee stick comes up negative month after month, at first it catches like a hangnail on your psyche, and then it starts to feel like something life-threatening. And you don't know why it hurts that much because you look around and your life is pretty damn good. It's confusing to feel such gratitude and such grief at the same time.

The very same hour I received the text from C, I heard this story on NPR. And I just couldn't believe the timing. I had a little epiphany, and got a little closer to understanding it.

I think the reason it hurts so much is because your kids are out there, and you're worried about them even if you haven't met them yet... You can feel these little spirits out there- the ones that are to be your children. You feel their breath on your neck sometimes, even before they exist. You feel it so real it cannot be mere imagination. And you want to trust what you've been told (what you generally believe) that everything happens for a reason... all in good time, etc... but still, ask any parent... being away from your kids is really quite devastating.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

One of my best friends from childhood, A, is in the last heat of the parenting Olympic trials. The event is a new one called: "You think you've had a bad year? You should see the shit I've been dealing with for the last 12 months!!!" If you turn on the news on any particular day you realize that she's probably not even in medal contention, because there is no limit to the amount of heartbreak in the world. But last May, her oldest son was convicted of a serious crime. After sitting through a trial during which the police involved contradicted their own testimony and perjured themselves, and the "victim" denied the original accusation on the witness stand, she started to believe that everything was going to be okay. And then had to listen to the jury return a guilty verdict that was beyond the understanding of most of the legal experts in the room. Her son has been in a maximum security state prison since he was sentenced and though it's been nearly a year, there is no word on when the appeal will be scheduled.

The physical, psychological, and societal separation from her full-grown (but-still-her-baby) son has been shocking. Yet, as she walks around, people can't even perceive the sadness she has endured. She's one of the strongest, most loving, generous, resourceful, lacking in self-pity, and rational people I've ever known. In the mean time, her 18 year old (second) son has told her she will become a grandmother in a few months. Not a tragedy by any stretch- but still- could we just possibly have dealt with one thing at a time. Speaking to her on the phone, I'm all like, "Don't buy one, single baby thing without checking with me first b/c we are about to unload everything you need from crib to boppy and I even have a whole bunch of stuff you'll probably wish you never heard of..."

I try to talk to her about what she needs, if there is anything I can do. But mostly what I want to ask her is, "How is your heart? Is there anything I can do "mother-to-mother" to help plug up any of the holes in your armor that might leave you exposed and vulnerable?" She tells me nonchalantly that this has taken it's toll on her relationship with her husband. And more pressing, he is finally working on treating his addictions. My heart sinks. Not really surprised at this news, that this has been happening in the background too. I just want to shake a fist at the furies and say, "GIVE HER A BREAK"!!!

"I don't know how you're holding it all together," I tell her.

"As if I have a choice" she says. And then she puts it out there and wraps the truth around both of us: There is nothing that matters as much as these things. This year of razor sharp heartbreak somehow brings with it validity and redemption. Sorrow to better enjoy the sweetness of life. There is no choice but to experience sorrow in life, but if there were, it might not be the best idea to opt out of it.

I do understands what she means. If you've never spent a day clawing out of a cave, or stroking a hand in a hospital room, or anxiously waiting outside of an ICU or a courtroom, it's hard not to pity your innocence. Blessedly rare are those individuals that are able to look upon and recognize actual happiness without the focusing lens of sorrow and heartbreak.

All I can say, to our friends C and L (struggling in Turkey-baster-ville) is, "I know. I'm sorry. Hang in there." I want to leave it at that because in my experience, when you are trying to get pregnant, people offer way too-fucking-much in the way of opinions and advice. But since no one has ever accused me of talking too little (why use 5 words when you can write 2500?) I'll add an encouraging, empathetic, tender-hearted:

"Get used to it".

Barely relying on metaphor, this is the start of parenthood. That negative pee stick, and all the things that will happen before and after you and your children are reunited it's like boot camp for your hearts; for the endurance marathon that follows. Stretch and pull and run, and use ice and heat intermittently to soothe your aches, and start to believe that you can do it, because you can... (but believing that you can is really half the battle).

It's already started, you don't even really have a choice in the matter.
It's both a long wait and a heavy weight.

But you can do it.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Try not to laugh...

Singing a lullaby to the boys tonight, I'm lying next to Milo. He puts his little hand on my cheek and brings his face close like he might kiss me and then shouts, "LOUDER!!!" from less than an inch away.

I could barely finish the song- couldn't stop cracking up. This kid is going to be joker.

Posted from iPhone

Saturday AM

[Setting: The boys and I are laying in the bed together. They are watching a movie on the kindle. I am typing on the lap top. Katy is downstairs puttering and straightening up]

Milo: Doin'? (translation: What are you doing?)
Me: I'm writing
Jake: Why?
Milo: (imitating) Why?
Me: Because I like to write.
Jake: I like to write too.
Milo: Me too.

(sigh)

Groundhog Day

There are so many things that I never really thought much about until I had kids.
It's important to note, I'm one of those people that thought a lot about having kids...
I thought about how I would teach them, how I would treat them, what I would need in a co-parent to supplement my particular hangups, talents, shortcomings, and anxieties. I considered how I would handle raising different personalities and how I would balance the different needs of boys vs girls or boys AND girls. I even thought a bit about what I would do if I had a kid that had ambiguous genitalia or one that looked like a boy but felt like a girl (Thank you, Middlesex).

I thought about how I would teach them to pee standing up (having never done that myself) and how I would teach them to stand up for their beliefs without disrespecting others. I thought about how I would handle the rage inside myself the first time they were bullied or teased.

I mean, you get my point, right?

The "parenting" as a verb catches me so off guard sometimes. Watching and letting them struggle for their own good- even if right now it is only with language and putting on socks and shoes- requires attentive restraint. (Jake's particular nemesis right now: Button-fly jeans. Who at gap thought that was a good idea?!?) But sometimes, I am completely disarmed by how they flip the world around on me, they completely scramble the compass.

Can we talk about Santa?!?
An uncomplicated concept to get behind in theory. He's jolly, he's fun, he's generous, he's magical - "Kid-less Tracy" didn't give it much thought. What was there to protest?

I just didn't anticipate how hard it would be to make up the little white lies required to make that myth work. It's not that I have a problem lying to my kids, per se... I mean our relationship is based on honesty (of course)... but a lot of the stuff I say to them is not so much TRUTHFUL as it is AGE APPROPRIATE: "Soda is an 'adult beverage'," "Everyone loves vegetables!", "Mufasa's brother, Scar, is so silly". Still, the pseudo-creepy, heavy-set man in the Santa suit in the mall?!? Not that interested in plopping my toddler on his lap.

When my kids have the uncontrollable urge and desire to run up and hug Santa, I'll stand 2 feet away and allow it. But trying to convince them to partake in the pre-kids-it-didn't-seem-so-bizarre ritual ("Stop crying, there's nothing to be afraid of... Go sit on that strange man's lap so we can take a picture")?!? Sorry, I'm not playing.

I'm okay lying about the reindeer flying and speaking of magic like it's a real thing (that's called imagination). Leaving the notes to and from the big guy and the treats and cookie crumbs... I start to have some ethical dilemmas, but I see the value.

Then I have to partake in the back-story, and I start to loose interest: Mrs. Clause sitting home doing nothing but keeping his suit clean? The army of enslaved elves making millions of toys? Landing on the roof? Breaking and entering- a man sneaks into our house on the promise to leave us some goods? Wait.. WHAT?!? So this guy just wanders around our home while we sleep? How is that congruent with everything else we are trying to teach about normal social behavior?

Why can't we just update the tale? Example: Kids and parents correspond with Santa's family by email to coordinate requests from the children and advice on good behavior from Santa. The elves have been set free except the ones that were hired (union bennies and wages) by the Clauses to help coordinate money exchanges and purchases from corporate entities (toy making and product packaging has obviously been outsourced from the north pole due to increased transportation costs and an effort to be more Green.) This is such a corporate holiday, but as a parent tied to the increasingly outmoded and ridiculous Santa myth, I can't even bring in a tame lesson on the dangers of commercialization or find easy ways to explain how much harder a lot of our neighbors have to work around the holidays, b/c Santa is the only one getting street cred for upping personal productivity...

All kidding aside, it was a creative struggle in December to find pieces of the holiday story that are not complicated by half-truths and increasingly inane postulations (a deer-drawn winter sleigh when we haven't had snow since that one storm in October???). So we tried to minimize it and focus on the story of the nativity, and teach them to notice the smell of the tree and the enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights.

And then, not all of our friends celebrate and believe in Christmas or Santa. And the ones that do? Their not-so-little white lies to their kids are slightly different than ours. Our kids are like, "that's not what so-and-so said about Christmas..."

Holidays with kids can get complicated.

Last night, Jake and I are sitting on the couch:

J: Tomorrow's Ground Hog day.
Me: (not having thought about this at all) yes.
J: what is that?
Me: (stretching my mind) Um... that is a holiday where the ground hog comes out of his hole to determine if the winter will end soon or not.
J: What?
Me: um... the ground hog comes out and if he sees his shadow, he goes back in and if he doesn't, he will stay out of his hole?
J: Why?
Me: I guess he will get scared if he sees his shadow
J: no. why does he do it?
Me: um... (remembering) it's like 6 more weeks of winter if he goes back in his hole but... (I trail off knowing this is absurd)
J: why
Me: I'm not sure, baby
J: why?
Me: (i knowing I'm beat) yeah... I don't know, really... it's a very silly holiday

Parenting (more often than I would have previously believed) involves mini existential crises, sometimes 2 and 3 times a day.

As I try to explain the world to our kids, I'm forced to decide- often in a moments notice: Am I going to pass on some bullshit that no one believes but everyone repeats over and over again? Am I going to overwhelm them with a depressing amount of realism?

But cutting even deeper, once a previously unnoticed absurdity comes to my attention, how will I handle if from there??? Inside MYSELF???

Sometimes I feel like I'm just noticing things for the first time and when Jake or Milo ask "Why?" I have to shake my head like a visitor to this country or planet and say with true helpless confusion, "I really have no idea, guys... I'm sorry. I have no idea..."

"It's totally fucked up." I want to admit to them, "And I'm sorry to report I never noticed how totally fucked up it is until right this moment..."

(Head in hands) When they are older, we can just watch the Bill Murray movie together, right?

Just so %!*#ing heartbreaking

Happy New Year!!!

*
You would not F#@king believe what my kids are doing right now!?!

They are in the kitchen, 1 room away- playing together. Playing a game of their own mutual, instinctive invention; complete with spontaneous changes of position and offensive/defensive posturing. This game seems to be oddly competitive AND collaborative. There is no scoring, but nameless points seem to be earned by 1) Amount of noise made, 2) Ability to make your brother laugh, 3) Skillful kicking moves to propel a kid-sized yoga ball across the room, 4) Incorporation of kitchen furniture in the field of play.

There are power blocks and time-outs for body poses and setting up the next play. There's a scream during every maneuver and belly-giggles at every play's completion. There's a lot of wordless NOISE punctuated by bellows of "COME! ON! JAY! KEY!" (from Milo) and "YOU LIKE THAT, MI-MI?!?" (from Jake) and "HUT 1, HUT 2, HUT 3, HIKE!" (from both). The game they are playing is nothing like football, but somehow that stance and protocol has an obvious place in their contest.

Katy and I are (watching the Patriots play the game that will hopefully get them back into the Superbowl and) trying to stay out of the boys' game. But at the 37th (or so) minute mark, we are pretty sure there will be a head smacking against a wall and ensuing tears to pause or end the game at any minute. I can't believe my wife is okay with this volume, but the times they are a'changing and it is fairly awe-inspiring to see these little boys collaborating and entertaining each other with such gusto.

It's been a long time since I've blogged. There have been a lot of changes in my life- that can simply be summarized by saying I started a new job. I have been working my ass off, Katy has been working her ass off to support me in this new endeavor. Things have been in motion since the summer when I first interviewed for the position. Getting the job and negotiating the offer, making the decision to leave my old job and then transitioning out of a place that I have been for nearly 8 years- leaving co-workers that had become some of my best friends; starting a new job 7 weeks ago right before the holidays, this has been A LOT. It was the right decision for me, but this weekend, my body cried, "Uncle". I'm exhausted with a fairly significant cold. I spent most of the last two days working up to intermittent bursts of energy that were used to shovel freshly fallen snow, go sledding with the family, and run a few errands. The rest of the time, I have been reading and laying around with a heavy, drippy head and stuffed sinus cavities that left me feeling woozy and weak. I feel a little better now, but not quite ready to start the work week again.

Blogging more regularly was not a New Year's resolution this year, there were too many other New Year's resolutions that had to take precedence, but I really miss it and and intend to pay a bit more attention to it, now that I have gotten my toes submerged at the new job.

If you are still reading and checking in at the GSO, thank you! I've really missed spending some time with you here in this space. I can't wait to catch you up on the boys- they are so freaking cute and amazing... I just don't think I could love them any more than I do!


*Both photos are copyrighted and courtesy of our friend and photographer, Joey Jones. He's a great guy and does great work, check it out

Check your list twice...

While discussing gift-giving, and gift-receiving etiquette, something goes awry...

Jake: I hope Santa keeps a list... Because if I, like, ask for a Batman gift and he brings me, say, a Dora thing, I'll be like, "dude, I didn't ask for Dora..."

On exceeding expectations...

Jake: (As Katy is offering him a sandwich) I. DON'T. WANT. IT!!!

Katy: Try again, Jake, we don't talk like that.

Jake: (instantaneously) Um, Mama, thank you for offering that to me, but I don't really want it right now.

Me: Ten points for Griffindor!

Katy (Under her breath to me) Way to set the future bar higher for yourself, dude... It makes more sense now why he keeps getting all those stickers at school...

Halloween

There was a big snow storm 2 days before Halloween, so it really screwed things up for that holiday. Somehow, we had our costumes all worked out- well in advance... a miracle for these two somewhat-behind-schedule moms. Then it started to snow about 11am on Saturday. Big, wet flakes that accumulated to about a foot of heavy snow and took out a lot of trees and branches. We were out of power for 5 days- no heat, no electricity, and trick or treating was officially cancelled in our town. But we did dress them up: First from my sister's box of "extra dress up" Jake found his cousin, Cam's witch costume from 2 years ago.

(Jake and Cam are the same age- so that's why he looks a little too sexy for his clothes)

Man, he is Purr-dee... isn't he?!? I think he's very handsome, but he also makes a beautiful princess boy when he wants to!!!

Then, not to be outdone, Milo wanted to wear a dress. So, I couldn't resist putting him into this tiny-dog costume I found. It seemed cruel to undress him for it- we're not raising strippers here, after-all! So I put it on him OVER his clothes!

Awwwwww!

Then the main event... we dressed our boys in their "real costumes" and my sister's girls in the play things of their choice and headed out to the THREE houses in the dark that had candles in their windows.

These were taken at school this week...

The cutest panda ever!!!

Sweet-smile, slouchin' Superman...

Jake as "Clark Kent"

Brothers:

BONUS PIC:

I borrowed my dad's leaf blower and it dangled over the back seat a little. When I looked into the back, Jake had grabbed onto the handle. At the next glance, Milo was imitating him. The image made me laugh- as if they were human bungee cords, keeping the thing from rolling out of the hatchback.

:)

It' sounds like a Tuberculosis ward in here, but the state of the family is strong...

Our kids are at their Sat AM events: Jake with Katy to dance, Milo with Papa to gymnastics. I have an hour to clean the house, but first give you a 10 second snap shot:

1) After suffering 6 weeks with a wet, productive, hacking cough Milo has been diagnosed with an ear infection. Three days on antibiotics and the cough is remarkably improved.

2) Jake has started asking every morning, "Can I have a little coffee?" which is his way of asking for a cough drop.

3) Yesterday I went to a "minute clinic" b/c I don't have a PCP (terrible) and I couldn't take my worsening cough and cold anymore. I got myself on some antibiotics and some allergy medication as well. I'm still an allergy denial-ist even in the face of mounting evidence that I have in fact developed seasonal allergies well into the 4th decade of my life

4) Katy caught the kids playing "We're late...we' re late... We're late..." with each other in the living room the other day. (Eye roll). I guess there are worse things we could be imitated for...

5) I gave my notice at work and will be changing jobs this month... Lots of anxiety to get us to this point and the next 2 week are going to be totally full THROTTLE wrapping up 7 plus years of unfinished TO DO lists, but when the dust settles, I'll write a little more about it...

Today in creepy kid wisdom...

I have become increasingly amazed at the introspective power of children in general, but also toddlers in particular.

It's more than that thing that will make a child look at someone with bad acne and say,
"why do you have all those red dots on your face?"

Or size up a person of small stature and inquire,
"So, are you a midget or something?"

I'm talking about when a kid is trying to label and understand the world and they come up with an explanation that is at once S-I-M-P-L-E and COMPLETELY profound. Jake does this over and over again, with such frequency and such little fanfare that I can never even remember the examples or conversations. But I have witnessed him capture the essence of "human fears" and "economics" and "relationships" with dialogue that was not parroting of adult explanations but instead an application of some previously internalized concept to a different or more abstract situation...

Boy: We take good care of our friends right?
Mom: yes!
Boy: And we share with them...
Mom: yes...
Boy: But people we don't know might be our friends?
Mom: yes...
Boy: And we should be nice even if they aren't our friends...
Mom: Yes!
Boy: I would share my snack with anyone that needed it. But if my friends needed more snack, I would have to save some for them and me- and not just strangers...
Mom: well...
Boy: What if people take our stuff and then we can't share with friends
Mom: Um...
Boy: Sometimes people that are mean are just sad...
Mom: huh? (wondering if I ever told him this or if he is coming up with this on his own)
Boy: Like Doc Hudson was in Cars... about his accident...
Mom: (sigh) yes
Boy: He wasn't Lightning's friend, but then he was after...
Mom: Yup.
Boy: Sometimes, it's like everybody is our friend, but also, everybody is not our friend.
Mom: (holy shit!) yes... essentially.

That is a compilation and not an actual conversation, but people wonder why I say things like, "yes... essentially" to my kids. It's because if you are going to give me some Gandhi-esque sound bite, I'm not going to reply, "You're so silly, boo-boo-bear!"

This morning it was a slightly different twist...

First of all, Milo AVOIDED ALL THE PUDDLES IN THE DRIVEWAY!!! Katy and I have been working on this, with (occasionally) painstaking patience. We've tried to teach and show him that there is a time for PUDDLE JUMPING and a time for NOT puddle jumping. This morning, we implored, "Please AVOID the puddles, Milo!" and he did a soft shoe around them walking carefully as if solving a puzzle.

Both moms were thrilled and tripping over ourselves to take credit for teaching him to be this amazing and then we quickly swapped saying, "No, it was you honey... You are the reason he is so wonderful!!!"

At that point while we were giggling with each other near the front of the car, we overheard some absent-minded muttering in the back seat:
Moms: What, Jakey?
J: You know what Syndrome says on the Incredibles?
Moms: No, what?
J: "When everyone is super... no one will be."
Moms: huh?
J: Syndrome says, (with more emphasis on each word) "When everyone is super, no one will be"
Moms: (blinking at each other silently)
T: (to katy) Of 115 minutes of movie, THAT's the line that sticks with him on an average morning on his way to school?!? (laughter)
K: (to me) You're the one that planted your creepy "dark" poignancy in him...

Conversations with kids: Birthday edition

Today is Milo's 2nd birthday.

We've been prepping him for several days:

Moms: Who's bday is tomorrow?
ML: Noooo
Moms: Milo's birthday is tomorrow!!!
ML: No, Mommy... Mama
Moms: Not our b-day... Milo's birthday

This morning, we snuck into his room before his brother was awake and with quiet enthusiasm sang "Happy Birthday" to him. He actually acted shy, smiling but sort of hiding his head with his arm; and then pointing to us and saying, "No... YOU... Mama... Mommy." It was some combination of:
"Why are you guys singing to me? I don't want a birthday, YOU have one..." and
"I'm not completely comfortable with this attention and recognition."

It was cute but confusing- this patten is a few days in the making. Milo, embarrassed?!? Could that be right? What does it all mean? But just so we know were we stand in the order of things, when Jake woke up, he approached Milo. In a sleepy (almost like an over-tired teenager) voice with a vaguest modicum of excitement, he scratched out a single (non-musical) phrase:
"Happy Birthday, Milo."

The response came without any hesitation. Completely pleased with his brother's acknowledgment, Milo gave a full grin, "Thank you, Jake-Jake".

(sigh)

***Doff thy initials

*** Some of you may note, this is the first time I have used the boys' names on the blog.

The truth is, it is just too hard to write about them now using the sterile initials. In real life, they are so 3D and vibrant and textured... AND so much of who they are starts with what we call them.

At least Jake, on occasion, gets called "JB" by me, outside of the sphere of the GSO. But Milo is Milo and writing "ML" instead of "Milo" feels like a big lie. It feels a little too much like creating a clumsy alias "He-who-must-not-be-named"... It feels like having to watch the entire Wizard of Oz in black and white... At this point in time, using only their initials feels like I'm putting a veil or blanket over the heads of 2 of my most favorite people in the whole world.

When they were first born, using initials for the boys seemed like the right way to "protect" them and give them some anonymity. But that does not seem necessary now. These boys are so far from anonymous (especially to the readers of this blog). Continuing to use their initials in place of their names is like trying to explain their personalities without words. Katy and I love the boys' names so much and we think each has grown into their name, enriched the name we gave them beyond even what we hoped it might mean. Each has filled his name with depth and definition and also bent like a moon into the pull of his name. I agree with Shakespeare, that a being would likely be unchanged if it had been given another name. Yet, our boys cannot be separated from their names in my mind. The essence of who they are is entirely intertwined with their names.

We call Jacob- "Jacob", "Jake", "Jakey", "J", "JB", "Jacob Brian". He answers to all of those, but ALWAYS introduces himself as "Jacob". One time, I asked him if he wanted me to call him "Jacob", if he minded that we called him Jake (I held my breath, knowing that this would break my heart a little, if he asked me not to call him Jake. But the first rule of caring for someone in nursing is you ask what s/he wants to be called. If you respect someone, you let him define himself and not impose or omit his name or title... Even if you are the people that named him.) Jake replied, "no, you can call me Jake... or Jacob". He was nonchalant and steadfast. And I felt so relieved that he seemed to really be comfortable with the options we offered him when we named him.

Milo is Michael Logan (yes... like J-Lo). When we named him, we figured, he wouldn't be tied to a "trendy" name if he didn't like or "fit into" Milo. But I would be shocked if he grew to be called anything else. He is "Milo" as much as tree is "tree". "ML" is just off-putting and lame compared to this dynamic little force of light and life and willful opinions and giggles and sweet kisses and musical prowess and hypnotizing stares that we call "Milo".

I love these boys!
I love who they are more than what we call them.
But I do also really love their names.

I'm on the edge of Glory

For those of you that don't know, that is a Lady Gaga song... Edge of Glory - a song that our family is a bit obsessed with right now. I have an entire essay (vaguely outlined) inside me about how much I respect and adore Lady Gaga, and how if I can feel this way (as an older, mature, fairly "formed" female) I imagine you can multiply that by a million and barely score the surface of the desperate adoration experienced by millions of 12-20 year old women.

But that's a story for another day. Currently, I live with a (3-days-shy of) 2 year old who may simultaneously be Lady Gaga's biggest, youngest fan... and the ruin of her in my eyes. Milo*** won't let it go. He loves her. Her NEEDS her. And the little monster drives a hard bargain. When it comes to nagging us to play her music, he has the attention span and tenacity of Jane Goodall in the jungle. All he cares to listen to is Lady Gaga. And he is insistent. And I know you are thinking, "How can he know??? What does he really know about it???" But he does and he gets pissed if we try to listen to any other music. He acts heartbroken as if all other music is a compilation of dissonant chords and harmful to his dance-party way of life. For now, his parents are equally stubborn, and when we can't take another 50 rounds or 50 miles of Lady Gaga at the audio helm, we are getting used to listening to all other music with Milo screaming in the background:
LADY GAGA... LADY GAGA... PLEASE, MOMMY, MAMA... NO... NOW... GAGA...GAGA...WAAAAAAAAAHHH

(It goes on and on).

So, the title of the post also relates to my mood these days. I'm a little off-kilter; not sleeping enough; doing my best to balance. Finding myself needing to write more, but not writing. Finding myself needing to eat less, but eating like cRaZy. Finding myself wanting to exercise, but not turning the machine into high gear.

Despite what you just read, I'm pretty damn content with this life we are living right now. I am full of gratitude. I am amazed by my wife and our sons and basking in their glow. BUT... I am experiencing a fog of apprehension, and that familiar angst that comes with waiting too intently for the other shoe to drop.

The summer is fading, but it has been quite wonderful. Despite the fact that we experienced an earthquake (my first) and a tropical storm in the span of 5 days, we've had tremendous weather.

We’ve spent a lot of time this summer swimming and playing (and eating food) with friends and family… Some of that food has been seasonally fresh and healthy, and some of it char-grilled, processed, fried, and yummy (but very much the opposite of “good for you”- unless you are counting the “good for the soul” excuse that I keep coming back to.) We've had some terrific vacations: Ohio in July, Rhode Island in August...

This last week, though has found me in a bit of an angst-y, Don't-look-down-you've got-too far to fall melancholy.

To be fair, it's about to be autumn and I have a history of angst-y autumns at various times in my life. At this latitude, in this hemisphere in September and October, there is a very specific change in the angle of sunlight. The time of sunset sprints back toward the afternoon. It is still “summer” during the day, but the temperature plummets 20 degrees by a few hours after dark. You can close your eyes and smell the air (before more than a dozen leaves have changed color) and know you are breathing the first breaths of autumn. You could be in 80 degree sunshine, but know that shifting glare on the horizon means that the summer warmth will dissipate after dark.

Today is September 11th. I just finished watching the season finale of True Blood (a totally f'd up TV show that I can't quit) and about 2 hours of 9/11 "never forget" coverage. And I can't help but wonder, who is that slogan for? Isn't forgetting required a little in order to heal. I got my first glimpse of the WTC memorial and I just sort of burst into tears- it was the visual of the pools- water plunging down into the footprint of the original towers. I couldn't help but think of those people that jumped. I'm not one to get overly sentimental, but something about firefighters dying will always cause me to come a little unglued I think.

It's not just Sept 11th...

Last week, a 4 1/2 year old boy (a friend of a friend's kid) drowned in a neighbor's pool. The parents are a lesbian couple. The kids were with a sitter at the time of the accident. Feel the weight of that devastation for a moment.

Next week, the trial is about to begin for the second man who was caught in the act of, and then confessed to, robbing, pummeling, sexually assaulting, and murdering our friends one summer night in their own home FOUR years ago. But until the end of this trial we have to keep saying he "allegedly" did these things. His team of lawyers seems even more desperate and untrustworthy as he has shown himself to be. I know they have their job to do. But this guy is the one that is going show himself to be some kind of real SOB and I know you are going to have to put up with a little ranting from me in the coming weeks...

Then, there's Jake*** and Milo*** with their impressive, end-of-summer tan lines, and their ever-expansive brains and sharp observations of the world, and their little perfect bodies growing out of toddler-hood and baby-hood respectively. I know they are still young, but they are already growing up. And it's hard to imagine how we will continue to keep them safe when we know so much about how things can go wrong in the world.

There was a festival in town this weekend- food, fun, crafts, music (sorry, Milo, that the Marching Band, did NOT have any Gaga). One tent set up by a local insurance company was producing "kid ID kits". While you waited there, they took photos and fingerprinted your children. I wanted to do this because I can't imagine anything scarier than needing this data and not actually having it available. The entire time I was under this tent (probably 20 minutes for both boys) I felt like I might burst into tears. It was so anxiety producing to complete a kit that would help us if one of the boys disappeared, that it was actually hard not to mutter "never mind" and just run away from there. I felt as if someone was choking me and telling me a really sad story at the same time.

But you should see Milo*** in gymnastics class... and you should see Jake*** in ballet and tap and t-ball. It's a trick of the mind to worry about what bad might happen, when there is so much good happening all around. And I think it's a fool's choice to give into worry, when there is so much celebrating to do. These are the heroic lives we lead- planning a little for the worst, but doubting it will ever come and doing so with such loving intention that, that you make your kids feel all the safety the world may or may not offer.

Battin' down the hatches

So we are expecting a category 1 hurricane in 20-33 hours. Or as my sister convincingly announced yesterday, "It's only going to be a tropical storm when it gets here."

The difference (in case you are wondering) lies whether or not the wind speeds are sustained at greater than 73 mph.

The photo to the left is not stock footage. It is an actual satalite image of Hurricane Irene. This storm is 450 miles wide- travelling up the eastern sea coast. Our state is 110 miles wide and roughly 70 miles north to south. Despite all the (justified) press that NYC, the eye of this storm is tracking right over our home (give or take a few dozen miles). So no matter if the winds are 60 mph or 80 mph. The gusts will be close to or over 100 mph and there will be a shit load of rain.

As I write this, ML is singing a chorus of "NO! NO! NOs!" to Katy who is lovingly preparing him a meal of pancakes. His age and general stubbornness are the only things that might stand in our way from having a hell of a good time in the next 30-40 hours. Last night, I was straightening up the yard, bringing everything inside, moving furniture and machines into the shed, cleaning out the garage so we can put our cars in there and I went to put the kids' wagon in the shed. But, I decided against it. There's a chance we won't have power for a day or two or more, and if that's the case, the kids could possibly play in the garage... ML loves that wagon practically more than anything or anybody. I told Katy:

"I was going to put this away (gesturing to the wagon) but then I was afraid that if ML woke up in a a power outage and his wagon was gone, it might be the final straw... That kid might pack a bag and take off out of here."

UPDATE: Hurricane Irene- overblown in this part of the state. We had 12-13 hours of no power, but other than that, not a lick of damage. Thank goodness.