"Gray or Blue..."

{Song clip}

I'm a bit too bossy.

She's a drama queen.

And he's a little mess maker.

But, despite our faults, you keep on smiling.

You keep on trying to see the best in us.

And, somehow, that makes us the best possible version of ourselves.

Good times or bad.

Gray skies or blue.

We three crazy people sure love you.

Happy Father's Day.

"I can't give you anything but love..."

{song clip}

As parents, Jake and I get a whole range of emotions from Maren. We get the sweet, the sour and everything in between. But Rhys? He is completely and utterly doted on.

Constantly entertained.

Cooed at, kissed and cuddled.

Brushed, bundled and kissed some more.

So, how does Rhys feel about all the constant attention?

Well, I can't be certain but...

I think he might like it just fine.

"Never grow up..."

{song clip}

Almost exactly a year and a half ago in England, Jake got a black eye playing rugby and I photographed the progression of his bruise during the week that followed. So, when Maren got her first shiner last weekend - in the exact same spot as her dad's! - we all thought it'd be fun to take photos of her bruise as it changed. 

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

You may notice in the last two photos that Maren had started to lose interest in the photo series. So, on day five, we stopped. But, just so you know, the bruise has now faded and is, essentially, all better.

This post - like all my posts - is titled after a song. But, rather than one that I know, as they usually are, this is a song that I heard for the first time during the week of "the shiner series". It played at Maren's dance studio, as I held her sleeping brother and watched her doing shuffle steps and pas de chats and giggling with her classmates. It played as she turned around and shot me an "i love you" in sign language. It played as I wriggled a hand free to shoot her one back and watched Rhys stir in my arms, flash a gummy smile and go back to sleep. It played as I looked back and forth from one of my children to the other with tears filling my eyes. It played as I realized the warning that having a second baby would make time go by twice as fast was absolutely, heart wrenchingly right. And I play it now, as I look at these photos. Seeing a young girl rather than my quirky baby or traveling toddler. It is playing as I see that Maren's bruise is not all that is changing.

This year's dance class was the first activity Maren attended without me or Jake by her side. Summer camp will be the first time she will be away from home for a few hours each day. Half days at preschool will come next and, in the years to come, those short classes will give way to full days of schooling, new friends and after school activities. Once she finishes school, she may decide to move to another city or even another country. She may go on to get a job or start a family or both. Whatever she chooses, ever so slowly and yet all too soon, new interests and new people will begin to fill up her days. All too soon, my days of leaving surprises for her to find when she wakes up or hugging her when she gets hurt or reading her a favorite story will end. All too soon I will become a voice on the telephone, a letter in the mail and a visit that passes before I'm ready to say goodbye. 

Nursing, changing diapers, napping. 

Playdates, potty training, travel. 

Painting, reading, playing.

Answering every question in her active little mind.

Loving her so very, very much.

It all snuck up on me but here we are. After four and a half years of holding her close, it is time to slowly begin to let go. A bittersweet process that will last the rest of our lives.

Letting go of a hand I've held each day since it first touched mine. 

Of a face I know every detail of by heart.

 Of a person whose mind and heart are simultaneously my most precious gift...

and the most sacred thing I have to share.

As Maren takes these first steps into the world on her own, I think about who she is right now. She's a girl that wears Thomas the Train underwear under her pink leotard. A girl that genuinely fuh-reaks out with happiness that a new friend's name starts with the same letter as hers or that they both love the color pink. A girl that loves avocado and sunbutter sandwiches. A girl that takes the time to notice the flight of a flock of birds or the way the sky turns dark before a storm. A girl that hugs her Dada in front of her friends, shouts "I love you" to her mama across the playground and tells everyone she meets that she has the best little brother in the world.

She's a girl that falls down, gets hurt and tries again without a second thought.

She's a girl that shows up for her dance class' year end photo with a black eye and smiles without hesitation...feeling every inch as beautiful as she is.

Maren is four years old.
She is innocent and confident. Hopeful and curious. Brave and kindhearted.
She knows just who she is. And just what she likes.
She feels no pressure to be "cool" or "right" or "mainstream".
And she knows, without a doubt, that the people she loves most in the world think she's fine just the way she is.

In fact, they think she is more than fine.

As she steps out into the world, I hope three things:
That she never grows up to be simplified or watered down or made hard hearted.
That she always feels as safe and as treasured, as strong and as free as she does right now.

And, most of all, I hope that she never forgets the love and the fun and the magic in our first four years together...even if the details grow fuzzy in time.

 

"Running..."

{song clip}
Maren: "Dada, how old will Rhys be when I am 6?"
Jake: "He'll be 2."
Maren: "And how old will he be when I am 9?"
Jake: "He'll be 5."
Maren: "And what about when I am old enough to drive?"
Jake: "He'll be 12."
Maren: "And when do you think he will run?"
Jake: "Probably by your next birthday, I bet."
Maren: "Yea, but he won't run as fast as me, will he?"
Jake: "No, probably not. He'll still be little."
Maren: "Well, don't worry Dada. When we run, I'll make sure to slow down so he can catch up. And if he falls, I will pick him up and dust his hands off and hug him if he is crying."

All the tears. All the doubts. 
All the growing pains in the last three months.
They are worth it.
Every single one.
So, so worth it.

"Shine..."

{song clip}

Last night, I took Maren for a spin on her new scooter and I watched the day's last sun rays shine. 

This morning, Jake took Maren for a ride on her new scooter and he watched her get her first shiner.

Never a dull moment around here...

{PS: Many of you have let me know that you can't comment on my blog anymore due to a recent change with blogger. I'm so sorry! I'm trying to figure out how to fix it, but until then, feel free to comment on the blog's facebook page. You can find it by clicking here.}

"Mother Nature's Son..."

{song clip}

Me: "Rhys seems to be grumpy no matter what we do today. Well, except when we are outside. He's always happy outside."

Maren: "Yeah."

Me: "Why do you think that is?"

Maren: "I think it's because it amazes him."

Me: "What does?"

Maren: "The outside."

Me: "What do you think amazes him about being outside?"

Maren: "He likes looking up and seeing things. Like the green leaves and the tree bark. And the blue sky with the big white clouds. He sees birds and butterflies. He sees all that stuff and it amazes him."

Me: "You know...I think you are exactly right. All those things are amazing."

"No ordinary love..."

{song clip}
Three months ago today, my second child was born. Since I had been a parent for four years before his arrival, I expected to be a seasoned, confident mother with my son. And, in some ways, that has happened. I have skipped over many of the new parent blunders and anxieties. But, in other ways, I still feel very much like a new parent. With days full of adjustments, chaos and learning all about this little person I spend my days taking care of.

"Hey, who are you calling little?"

My first child was intense. Maren cried a lot. Slept very little. She hated the car, the stroller, wasn't interested in interacting with anyone but Jake or me and wanted to be held all.the.time. She was beautiful, clever and utterly exhausting.

"You better be bringing your A-game, Pops, because I am ready to rumble."

To parent her, I had to throw out everything I had ever learned or heard or even hoped about mothering a small child. I had to study Maren. Learn her. And chart a new course that would get us through her infancy. So, when I set out on this parenting journey for the second time, I expected to use the hard won strategies from Maren's baby days with Rhys. The trouble is...he isn't like her at all!

"She thought it was going to be that easy? Sucker!"
Rhys is mellow. He smiles and sleeps easily. He loves going for walks in the stroller. He likes to be held but is equally happy (sometimes more) to sit in a bouncy seat and observe. He enjoys his parents but doesn't mind being held by others. The only thing about his babyhood that resembles his sister's is his hatred of riding in the car, his off the charts growth and his love of sleeping by my side. Other than that, I've had to start all over. Studying him. Learning him. Finding our way.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I'm easy like Sunday morning."

While pregnant, I remember worrying that there wouldn't be enough room in my heart to love a second child. It's a normal enough fear for many mothers transitioning from one to two children but it is such an alien thought to me now! As soon as I laid eyes on Rhys, my mind and heart were as full of love, worry, hope and fear for him as for his sister. I can no more imagine our life without his smile or his kissable cheeks than Maren's curious eyes or indefatigable energy. My worry about loving them both was completely unfounded. My worry about mothering both of my children at the same time, however, was right on target. For me, this hasn't been easy.

On the good days, I feel like I am clawing my way up the sheer, unforgiving face of motherhood - fingers bleeding, teeth clenched but still hanging on, determined and strong. On the bad days, I feel myself in an endless free fall - hair stuck to my tear streaked face and weighed down by guilt, resistance to change and the fear that my children will only remember the frenetic person I am right now rather than the one that takes the time to adore and enjoy them. Some days this makes me, a person not prone to crying, finish (or begin) the day in tears. Some days, even when I don't cry, I'm thisclose and am only saved by a handful of graham crackers, a well-timed hug or an early bedtime. Some days, I get so mixed up from wanting time to speed up or slow down or reverse entirely that my head swims. Some days, I am pretty sure my heart will shatter into a thousand pieces. And, some days, it does.

This emotional roller coaster feels so wrong. It makes me feel like I am failing. Like I'm just not "getting it". But, I'm starting to think that these feelings are...just normal. I'm starting to think that no matter how you do it, motherhood - new or not - is just one of the hardest damn things you will ever do. Like childbirth, it is full of tearful moments. Little losses of dignity. And the overwhelming fear during transition that you are just not.going.to.make.it. But, you survive these fits and starts. This stretching of your self. You bravely cast off your old lifestyle to welcome with trembling hands your new, terrifyingly glorious life. And, in the quiet of your mind, you marvel at the fragility and the durability of it all.

As a new mother of two, I've had to accept that the dinners I make are boring, that there is a pile of laundry constantly waiting to be folded, that some days (weeks?) we don't leave our neighborhood and that taking a 3 minute prison shower while singing to entertain my children is better than not washing at all. I've had to accept that my daughter is going call out for help on the potty the very moment my son falls asleep in my arms. Or that my son is going to cry to nurse or wake up from a nap the instant I sit down to read a book to my daughter. Or that both kids are going to meltdown when Jake and I try to have a conversation beyond the quick exchange about diapers or groceries or who fed the fish. Loving three people is easy. But, meeting all of their needs, at the same time, is not.

"Oh, Dad. You can talk to Mom when you are old. Just snuggle with me."

But, I have created two people. Grown them inside of me. Fed them from my body. Watched their little lives, so healthy and strong, unfold each day. And, that is no small thing. No wonder to be overlooked. No miracle to be overshadowed by a messy house or an ill-timed need.

I have made someone a sister. Someone a brother. Two people will share a childhood - and maybe a few expensive therapy bills - because of me. I have given two people a gift that no one else could: each other.

I am caring for young children. And, as much as I'd like to, I am not doing it right every day. No one in this house is getting as much of me as they want. Or as much as I want to give them. And I struggle with that. I wrestle with that. Sometimes, I get a roundhouse kick to the face by that. But, I know that I am starting to win more rounds with that than I lose. And I know that I am trying, with every beat of my heart, to be someone they can look up to, even when the chips are down. 
Especially, when the chips are down.

"Nobody better be givin' my mama any roundhouse kicks. I'll go all Chuck Norris on that fool!"

The extraordinary difficulty of the last three months will not last. Just as quickly as the tiny clothes my boy is outgrowing have been packed away, these tough moments will soon be distant, even funny, memories. And, with any luck, from them a lasting bond will emerge. I catch glimpses of it in Rhys' face, as it lights up when he sees Maren. Or when Maren bursts into tears because she is worried that brother is crying. Or when all four of us have a laugh together or quietly read stories together in bed. In split seconds, I am filled with the love that is here in this house. And, out of the corner of my eye, I have visions of the love that is yet to come. 

It is no ordinary love.

It is a love that makes me happy.

A love that makes me thankful.

Grateful for the gift these two have given me.

By breaking me down, they are building me into something better than I was before. 

Something bigger than I ever could have been without them.

These two have made me their mama.