And then there was Sunday.

5:15 a.m.: Riley's up. He wakes me up. He wakes Maddie up. I try to sleep a bit more, but he and Maddie proceed to argue about anything and everything until I give up, give in, get up, and lecture them both about being respectful of people who are sleeping.
6:15 a.m.: I take a shower.
6:30 a.m.: I lecture M&R more.
7 a.m.: Breakfast. More lecturing. I can't stand to listen to myself even as the words come out of my mouth, yet I seem unable to stop myself. The kids excuse themselves and I actually fall asleep with my head on the table.
8:15 a.m.: Riley does something so minor that I can't even recall what it was, but it's enough to cause me to have a Total Parenting Meltdown that includes yelling. I close myself in my room for a bit.
8:30 a.m.: We do some chores, get ready to go to church. I apologize for my behavior and we agree to restart our day. I warn the kids that I'm exhausted and having a hard time today. I think they've already noticed that.
9 a.m.: We head for church. Riley runs around in the sanctuary, nearly knocking over a few elderly members of the congregation. Then it turns out the kids have chosen seats that had been reserved by someone else, so we had to shuffle around a bit to make things work. Not a big deal except on a day when everything felt like a Big Deal to me.
9:30 a.m.: Church turns out to be just what I needed. The sermon is awesome, about Ralph Waldo Emerson and our place in the world and what we learn from loss and about being true to ourselves. I feel more in control of a decision to be positive about things, more open to yes instead of no, etc. etc. etc.
11:15 a.m.: We head out for a few glorious hours of fun. We see Phantom Meanace in 3D, we eat frozen yogurt, we play at a park. This part of the day is truly great.
5 p.m.: I decide to stop for sushi on the way home. Uh-oh: restaurant's closed. We go to Mexican across the street instead where Riley knocks over a display of soda cans at the register ("Riley, please don't touch those. Riley, please keep your hands off the soda cans. Riley, I've asked you twice now to please not touch those cans." [as I study the menu: CRASH! Sigh.]), Maddie spills a huge glass of water and nearly topples our entire table, and both children complain bitterly about the food. I feel myself getting progressively more annoyed.
5:45 p.m.: We get in the car. I've lectured them the whole way from the restaurant to the car about good restaurant behavior (again, cringing the whole time but yet NOT STOPPING.) Once we're in the car, I yell again for good measure.
5:50 p.m.: I have closed myself in my room to blog and calm down.

I suppose if you average the goodness of yesterday with the mix of good and not-so-good from today, we're still ahead, but the bad of today has just been so very bad that I'm having a hard time not letting it drag me down.

Deep breath. Time to go hug and apologize. Time to read some Harry Potter 4. Time to think back on church this morning and the good things I heard there. I don't like to think the lecturing and the yelling are my true self. Time to go be true.

This, my friends, is a Saturday.

4 a.m.: Still somewhat-sick (since Thursday) Maddie gets in bed with me. She's sick enough to want some comfort, but not so sick that I'm overly worried about her or that she can't sleep. We're both glad for the excuse to snuggle.
5:45 a.m.: Riley joins us. Maddie continues to sleep. I doze.
6:15 a.m.: I kick Riley out because he's clearly not going back to sleep and he's keeping me up. He ambles off and I hear him start in on the LEGOs.
6:50 a.m.: Maddie's up. We all get up. We poke around.
7:15 a.m.: We're downstairs. Coffee's brewing. Maddie and I make cranberry/orange/pecan scones.
8:15 a.m.: Breakfast! Scones, eggs, fruit.
8:45 a.m.: Let Reading Day begin! We are on a mission to finish Harry Potter, book 3.
10-ish: Bathtime for the kids.
11-ish: More reading.
12-ish: Lunch.
1-ish: Bike trip to the park.
3-ish: Home from the park. Cookies and milk. More Harry Potter. Book 3: complete.
5-ish: Movie time: My Neighbor Totoro. So cute.
6:30 p.m.: Dinner. Totally random. Dumplings and fruit for Maddie, PB&J and fruit for Riley.
7:30 p.m.: First chapter of HP4.
8 p.m.: Sleeping twins.

And the last step will be . . .
10 p.m.: Sleeping mama.

We rarely have days like this, that are totally unstructured and involve no one but the three of us. I remember times not too long ago when such unstructured time overwhelmed and intimidated me. Now these are all of our favorite days.

Pent-up

Maddie and Riley are no different from most kids in many ways, one of them being the way they store up negative emotions for release with a safe person: ME. This means that while yes, they were very happy to see me this morning when they got up from school and yes, we had a lovely time telling each other about all the great things we'd done while we were apart, the proverbial shit hit the fan tonight.

It was the perfect storm:

• Saving up of lots of big emotions during our time apart.
• The arrival of a package from John's parents, which is super fun, but which always contains toys the kids want to play with Right Then when there's no time for much of that in the evenings.
• Exhausted kids, exhausted mama.

We opened the package before dinner (dumb move #1). Riley got this totally awesome LEGO kit from which you can build all kinds of Star Wars stuff. He got settled working on that while I got the delayed dinner ready (dumb move #1a, consequence of dumb move #1). Riley quickly got frustrated (tired child = child who has difficulty with LEGO directions). I advised him to wait for help after dinner. He plowed ahead. We had dinner. After dinner, I cleaned up and he plowed ahead some more. Then he waited for some help, but when I got there to help, things had become, uh, rather interpretive in the LEGO department and attaching the cool robotic arm was not really going to happen in a satisfactory way without some backtracking and redoing.

The world pretty much stopped turning for Riley at that point.

He proceeded to rail at me, rail at Maddie, rail at the universe. I told him that I was happy to help when he was in a state in which he could receive help. He railed some more. I repeated my offer of help, to either continue in the interpretive vein and figure something out, or backtrack and redo. More railing. I advised that it was getting into story time and perhaps it would be wise to put the LEGO decision off until morning, opting for some fun! Harry! Potter! instead.

More railing.

Finally, after much sitting and waiting (and a lot of patience from Maddie), offers for snuggles, and reiterations of help, I let Riley know that it was time to head upstairs for pajamas and bed and that there was time neither for finishing the LEGO project nor for stories.

Not really the first night home I wanted. It ended with brushed teeth and pajamas and two quick songs and big, big hugs and reassurances of love, but it was still a very rough evening.

I hate to see Maddie or Riley frustrated. I hate knowing that the frustration is from tiredness and other overwraught emotions, but knowing that such an explanation seems hollow to the frustrated child. I am proud of myself for not getting upset in this situation, but still feel like I wasn't much help. Would it have been better to just calmly go upstairs and let Riley know I'd be reading with Maddie and that he could join us when he calmed down? I feel like she suffered unjustly. I wanted nothing more than to just wrap Riley in a huge hug, but he wasn't ready for that until the very end of it all.

Oh, poor sweet baby. I missed them so much. I am grateful that the vacation gave me the grace to handle that situation kindly if imperfectly, but wish that it didn't feel like the vacation was indirectly responsible for the behavior in the first place.

Ah, the romance.

Hot (and unsurprising) news just in time for Valentine's Day: Maddie and Riley seem to have no understanding of what a romantic relationship is.

I have not consulted The Literature to see what five year olds typically understand about the different kinds of love people have for each other, but Maddie and Riley are particularly and charmingly clueless about romantic love. They know I love them, and they could probably articulate some of the ways I express that: through direct speech (we are a big "I love you"-saying family), through physical contact (we are also big huggers, kissers, and general snugglers), through actions (although this might be too abstract for them to articulate even if they feel it, this notion of taking care of one another). M&R also see how I act much the same with other people I love: members of our extended family, close friends. But Maddie and Riley have never seen the day-to-day interaction of a partnered couple, which for many children is their first resource for understanding a romantic partnership.

This leads to some funny conversations. We've had plenty of talks about who you can and can't marry and why you'd want to or not want to marry any given person. To be sure, this comes up for all children, not just single-parent kids. Maddie and Riley have both expressed a desire to marry me, to marry their grandparents, to marry each other, to marry their friends, to marry their teacher. They've also expressed the feeling that it would be great for me to marry my dad (who is, admittedly, awesome). I've asked Maddie and Riley about why they want to marry certain people; they don't have a very clear answer on that, but it certainly relates to how much they care about the person in question. I've asked them what they think it means to be married to someone, and that's a mystery to them, but their explanations come back to an understanding that many—nay, most—of their classmates and friends have two parents at home, and that those people are, by and large (when the law allows and when then choose that option) married and that it's a thing for parents and grown-ups. For them, the notion of marriage seems to be grounded in a decision to want to spend a lot of time with someone, rendering age, sex, and bloodline insignificant. For now, I've told them that getting married is for grown-ups who love each other so much that they want to be a part of each others' families; that explanation seems to satisfy them and also helps them in some way to understand why they can't marry people who are already a part of their family of origin (no need to get into the genetics just yet, methinks).

Where Maddie and Riley's charming ignorance about romance intersects with our family life is clear: what does it mean for the twins that I am dating someone whose presence in my life—our lives—is slowly become more significant? When, why, and how do I explain that to them?

We are blessed to have many, many friends. We have people over to our house a lot, and we spend a lot of time visiting others. Maddie and Riley have had the good fortune to meet and love many people already in their first five years of life, and they've dealt many times already with the effects of moving, transitioning from one caregiver to another, death. Perhaps because of all this, perhaps because of their general nature, both Maddie and Riley are fairly quick to form friendships and are quite open to meeting new people and welcoming them to their lives. They also at this age seem quite adept at understanding that some friends come, and some friends go. They express that they miss people we don't see as much as we once did (hi, Boston friends!) but they have at every turn seemed less broken up about such transitions than I would have expected. There's a resilience to their dealings with the comings and goings of people in their lives that surprises me.

All of this leaves me at a loss when it comes to how to represent T to the kids. To them, he's a friend like any other friend, and I've just been rolling with that. They have said a number of things that clearly indicate to me that they have no clue that my relationship with him is quantitatively different than any other close friendship that I have, and I'm not sure what I'd say to them to explain the difference that would have any meaning to them whatsoever. The potential for that relationship to have significance in M&R's lives that transcends that of our other friends' is great, but for the moment, their rudimentary—if accurate—understanding of the situation is perfectly adequate. I don't want to make a big deal out of something that for M&R is not a big deal at all, but I don't want them wondering what's going on or feeling confused.

As I write this, I'm thinking, "Who am I kidding?!" Anyone who has met Maddie and Riley would laugh to think that those two wouldn't just ask me what was going on if they were curious about something. I can't quite put my finger on why I'm feeling somewhat of a need for M&R to have a deeper understanding of the situation. I think part of it is seeing their nascent attachment to T develop and knowing that there is a potential for the twins so experience loss there—and knowing that the same potential exists for me. Part of it is logistical: T and I are talking about taking a vacation with all the kids—how will that feel to M&R? We've vacationed with friends before, so maybe it's not a big deal, but T's kids are older and have a more nuanced understanding of our relationship. Will M&R sense that or pick up on that? What will that mean to them? What would they think if I told them T was going to spend the night at our house?

I tend to give information about Big Emotional/Adult Concepts to Maddie and Riley on a need-to-know basis. I answer their questions truthfully and completely, but when it comes to these types of constructs, I try to keep things as simple as possible. They aren't pushing me on this, and it's my instinct not to push them. But I want to be ready when and if they ask.

In their charming innocence of societal constructs around love, M&R are thrilled by the idea of Valentine's Day. They are looking forward to exchanging cards with their classmates tomorrow, and have somehow figured out that Valentine's Day and chocolate go together. They each picked out a box of cards at the store yesterday (Star Wars themed for Riley, puppies and kittens for Maddie) and painstakingly write "to my friend" and "from Maddie/Riley" on each of them. So sweet. I'm planning to make them heart-shaped toast with strawberry jam for breakfast, and I have a card for each of them. T and I aren't doing anything tomorrow, but are going out for a nice dinner on Wednesday. You don't have to know me very well at all to know that I'm not much of a celebrant of Big Days. But I confess that it's nice to be in a relationship that gives me a reason to enjoy the parts of this Hallmark holiday that appeal to me, like the excuse to go out for a nice meal and spend time with someone I care about. Not that I need a reason to do that, but if one presents itself, seems a shame not to take it.

Life. No fast lane.

I've been wanting to write lately, but feeling blocked by the usual: too much to catch up on, not sure where to start, only egocentric and nongeneralizable things to say. That feeling of wanting to write, though, is quantitatively different than the feeling I've had for most of my two months of silence. Most of that time, through the holidays and into the new year, I felt a pretty deep desire to partially hibernate from the digital world. I've been less active on Facebook, again silent (after a brief period of activity) on Twitter, making an effort to leave the computer untouched in the evenings at home. I'm as aware of and conflicted about my online presence and the ramifications of "screen time" as any thinking adult in Our Moderne Times, and I think my hiatus of sorts is a manifestation of the leery side of my digital identity.

A parallel, if equally esoteric and equally unoriginal, analysis is that happiness has rendered me mute. Blogging has historically been for me a way to work things out, a means to find a way to handle the negative, see a problem from a different perspective, reason my way out of a challenge. In the space I'm in now, blogging to share that I'm here, I'm happy, I'm doing stuff, feels self-indulgent and dull. I understand how to frame a post about a problem. It's not clear to me how to frame a post that's an update or an observation. I'm not the person who can in that Seinfeldian way make nothing into something.

I've written this post before, though, and I keep coming back to write it again because I do miss the frequent practice of writing. I'd like to try to find the point of interest in the mundane, or at least find a way to make it seem as though the broader point of interest is there because life is not actually mundane for me, it just seems to me that my life has become mundane as observed by others.

I offer for now, the cop-out, a bulleted list of the past couple of months of happenings, things that have been all manner of things to me—interesting, exciting, scary, fun, productive, creative, sad, happy. All those things that make a life:

• Best Christmas to date with Maddie and Riley, including instructions to Santa to have the reindeer enter through the back door.
• A cat! We have a cat! His name is Hubble, he's six years old, he's black with yellow eyes, and he adores Maddie.
• Trees! We have trees! We had a pear tree and an apple tree planted in our front yard. Someday, we'll even have pears and apples.
• Work. I have the same job. It has ups and downs. Lately, it has more downs than ups. I can't really say more.
• My birthday! I turned 40. I had a huge, crazy party that was ridiculously fun. So far, 40 is freakin' awesome. I think my use of the phrase "freakin' awesome" is an indicator of my advancing age.
• The beach. I went to the beach for a couple of kid-free nights. Fires, reading, hiking, eating, games, pajamas, amazing.
• Las Vegas. I went to Las Vegas for a few kid-free nights. Cirque du Soleil, Red Rock Canyon, Hoover Dam, jogging on the strip, zip-lining, hot-tubbing, amazing.
• Joshua Bell. I saw him in concert again. He's the real deal. Perfect seats, unreal performance.
• Running. I've been running up a storm. I've got my sights on a half marathon at the end of May, and maybe even one as soon as mid-April.
• Skiing. The kids are in ski lessons for the second year in a row. We're one weekend into four Saturdays of this. Riley is more enthusiastic than Maddie, but both had fun last weekend and seem ready for more tomorrow.
• Piano. Maddie and Riley are four weeks into their first round of piano lessons. No one seems overly wowed by playing the piano, but I'm glad they are getting the exposure.
• Harry Potter. M&R are officially obsessed with Harry Potter. We're halfway through book three. It's a real joy to read them books that I love and find they they love them, too.
• My Kindle. I got a Kindle for Christmas. Much to my surprise, I am completely devoted to it. I [heart] my Kindle.
• Mexico. I'm gearing up for a trip to Mexico, a repeat of the trip I took to Mexico around this time last year. CANNOT WAIT.
• Au pair. Having an au pair is the best thing I've ever done for our family. It's a huge gift to me, and a huge gift to Maddie and Riley. Anyone who is interested in getting an au pair, I'd be happy to tell you what it is about the experience that's so fantastically great. Life-changing, truly.
• Our house. I continue to love our house and feel fine about being a homeowner again. We are all capable of change.
  

That list does not include one item that seems worthy of more than a bullet point, although I do not know how to talk about it. I am still dating the same guy. It's totally great. He's totally great. Greatness! The only negative about our relationship is that we don't see each other nearly enough. We're working on that, but it's a long, slow process. We both have jobs, we both have kids, and we don't want to force things where it comes to the family blending process. But we're starting to test those waters and look for ways to spend family time—not just dating time—together. It's a very easy, affirming relationship we have. There are no hidden agendas or crazy emotional upheavals. We're two very busy adults with a lot of logistical complications and the willingness to talk about stuff and figure it out as best we can. We just wish we had the chance to do that more.

I realize that my description of our relationship sounds rather passionless, and that's what I mean about not knowing how to talk about it. The easiest way to explain it is that he makes me feel the way I felt when I was with John. Maybe that seems creepy or weird, which is why I hesitate to describe it that way, but it's true. I said to him (Must come up with nickname! Will go with T for now.) the other day that I could remember so clearly how I felt when John and I moved in together. I felt like I'd won the lottery; I was so excited to go home every day and find John! There! In our apartment! EVERY DAY!!! That thrill never wore off. I get the same thrill now, just not daily. More like twice a week in a good week. But I'll take the thrill when I can get it.

So that is the briefest of views into life right now. It's Friday night, I'm going to head home for a movie and quesadillas with the kids, then pack up an epic amount of stuff to take up the mountain for skiing tomorrow. May the rest of you be enjoying such unremarkable times.

"Let's go out for Korean next Wednesday."

That's what he suggested.

I'd been talking about Korean food a lot since my return from visiting John's family. One of my favorite things about taking the kids to Michigan is eating lots and lots of Korean food, both home-cooked and in restaurants. John was the Korean chef in our house and I never picked up his skills, so I use our time with the in-laws to get my fill.

And so, either tired of or inspired by my gochujang-laced sighs and daydreaming, the suggestion was made and it was decided. Next Wednesday, what is settling in to be our usual mid-week date night, we'd go out for Korean food. Who was I to argue? Most people I know--myself included--need more Korean food in their lives, and his interest in trying new restaurants and new cuisines is one of the many things I find endearing and appealing about him.

What I neglected to note is that tomorrow, the appointed day for the Korean food outing, is John's birthday. My Korean chef would be 39 tomorrow. And now it happens that I will find myself eating Korean food with another man, one who reminds me in many wonderful and meaningful ways of John.

In fact, in the important ways he could not be more like John. He is the embodiment of kindness. He is thoughtful and generous. He brings out in me the things I like most about myself, and being around him encourages me to be the person I want to be.

He's not Korean, not by a mile. Not by a million miles. But there's a bittersweet, unintended symbolism to the fact that he'll have his introduction to Korean cuisine tomorrow. And even better, that tomorrow, as the banchan arrive, I can explain to him the significance of the day and he will appreciate it and value it and understand it.

***************************

John's birthday has since his death been one of the hardest days of the year for me. Much harder than the day of his death. The day of his death seems more of a celebration to me, the end of a struggle whose time had come, even if was not welcome. His birthday, though, marks the days he didn't get to have. Birthdays are for thinking about the year that has passed and the year that's to come, reflections that in this case are hollow.

I'm not very New Age-y or metaphysical, but coincidences around dates and events don't seem entirely random to me, either. I feel John with me this year in comforting ways. I was shopping over the weekend and one of the stores I was in was giving away Charms Sweet & Sour lollipops, a favorite of John's before he had cancer and a help during his treatments as they kept the nausea at bay. I would buy those things by the case and stash them in his briefcase, coat pockets, and car so that he'd have them at hand if he felt queasy. I don't think I'd had one since he was sick, and then there one was, days before his birthday. Last Friday, I learned that a neighborhood friend shares John's birthday. Then I made the realization about the Korean food date. I don't take any of these things as a sign of any type, per se, but as . . . something.

I ate my lollipop today, I'll eat Korean food tomorrow. Maddie and Riley asked about baking John a cake, but he didn't really like cake, so we're not going to do that. I'm going to take Maddie and Riley to school, go running, go to work late. He valued time; I will give some to our children, take some for myself.

Happy 39th, Goose.

And then almost a month goes by.

It's no use, really, to try to update on a month's worth of activities, so I'm just going to jump right in with what's on my mind now. I continue to stew in my contentment and moments of discontentment (those continue to be mostly work-related). But the satisfaction of being where I am seems to be here to stay, and it's most welcome.

One of the last times I posted, I mused about my lifelong lack of long-term commitments. That theme has continued to be on my mind during my radio silence. As someone who married late-ish, then as someone whose spouse died, I've given my fair share of thought to the long-term commitment that is marriage. I have deep admiration for those who sustain a life-long partnership, to be sure, but also the realist's understanding that some of that longevity is circumstantial; if you meet someone later in life, biology prevents you from reaching the milestones that are within the realm of possibility for those who marry at a younger age. Wonderful partnerships meet untimely demises. Other marriages end more by choice or necessity. I proceed with caution in revering those with long marriages/partnerships as somehow inherently more worthy or generally better than those who have shorter partnerships, but understand all the while that to make any relationship work over years and years takes work and commitment and dedication.

It took me a long time to be ready to be in a long-term partnership, and I felt ever the more wronged by having that readiness mocked by the universe when John got his terminal diagnosis. Since John's death, my lack of long-term commitments has continued to grow, and I speak her not only of dating but of life choices in general. I moved out of our condo less than a year after John died, moved to Oregon months after that initial move, and have changed jobs twice in the 4.5 years since he died.

Making the commitment that John and I made to each other was the last time I felt the kind of settled contentment that I've been feeling over the past months. It's no surprise, I don't think, that the experience of John's death made me skittish. But here I am, 4.5 years later, getting it back again. Feeling settled enough to buy the house was certainly huge, and continues to be huge, and welcome, and wonderful. And my job is a commitment in a way, too; it's not perfect, but it's a long-haul kind of job that work every day to have peace with, and I make work decisions with the idea that I'll be there for the long haul, not with one foot out the door.

I'm getting there with the dating, too. I have a loooooong history—a lifetime, really, minus John—of dating Perfectly Fine but Wrong for Me people. To put a finer point on it, before John I dated either Smart, but Emotionally Unavailable or Dumb, but SO NICE! Then there was John who was smart, emotionally available, and nice: I finally got it all. Then he died, and since he died I have really dated Just for Fun. Which has been, uh, mostly fun. But I have found that Fun also gets Unfulfilling pretty quickly, so I've also dated Briefly. I've made nods at finding something real in the Fun, but nothing has been a natural fit to be sure.

But now I'm in this situation that is Fun, but also Real. Or that could be Real. This is a genuine person, not a career-focused guy who's about to move overseas or a bitter, recently divorced guy or a consultant in town short-term. No, this is a guy who like me saw the untimely demise of his partnership (although under different circumstances) and who understands how that feels, but also focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's ridiculously smart, incredibly generous, and funny to boot. Things are just meandering along in a lovely and happy way, slowly and sweetly. We are spending more and more time together, and talking about what that means, and musing about meeting kids. It's really great.

It's in fact great enough that I have been loathe to blog about it or talk about it much. I felt the same way about buying the house. I selfishly wanted all that goodness for me. Plus, I have that jinx-y feeling that comes from talking too much about a good thing and somehow thus causing it to implode. But it's what's on my mind lately, a lot. So I've said what I feel like I can say right now and hopefully it wasn't enough to hex it.

But just in case, I'll end by changing the subject. Halloween was awesome! Maddie was a Pegasus unicorn (thank you, eBay), Riley was a Jedi knight, and I was Princess Leia. Kindergarten has settled down and both kids seem quite content. Both of them are really into art projects now, Riley preferring to work in 3D and Maddie with a love of coloring/writing/drawing. We're going to Michigan on Saturday for our traditional Thanksgiving trip to see John's family; I always approach that with mixed emotions, but I'm always glad we go. We've been to the beach a bunch lately, and there's nothing but good about that. And then almost a month goes by, and we're still boringly happy and living our life or normalcy and about that, I have no complaints.

Language

It was Maddie's turn this weekend.

Like her brother, she was more quiet on this trip than she typically is when in Riley's company. Part of that can be chalked up to not feeling well—she's had a cold to varying degrees since starting school in early September, and this weekend things hit a particularly low point—but some of it also seems to be a phenomenon of not being so chatty when there's no one to compete with. Or maybe when I'm listening to half as much talking it just seems quiet. Hmmm.

We had a really nice, relaxing time. We started with some shopping on the way out of town, stocking up on spices at Penzey's (Maddie is very olfactory and loved sniffing all the sample jars) and then picking up some fun bath stuff at Lush (I'm addicted to the Grass shower gel and we got Maddie a super fun bath bomb. We arrived at the beach to dismal weather, but chose to hit the pool, try out the bath bomb, eat some dinner, watch a movie, and snuggle up in bed together for an early night.

Maddie fell asleep almost immediately. It had been a long day, she was not feeling well, and we stayed up "late" for the movie. As she fell asleep and then throughout the night, her sleeping habits called to my mind the 5 Love Languages. OK, I know: SO HOKEY! I had never heard of the 5 Love Languages until, oh, over a year ago when a guy I went out with a few times mentioned them and the idea kind of stuck with me. I've still not read any of the books, but I tend to like these overly simplistic ways of categorizing emotions, actions, and feelings; I find these broad ways of categorizing behavior useful when trying to identify what's important to me and for gaining perspective on actions of others that seem otherwise without any identifiable motivation.

So the love languages, for those not familiar, are: physical touch, quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, and receiving gifts. I put them in the order for which they resonate for me. The first two are pretty much tied as far as I'm concerned, with the second two being also tied and totally meh, and the last one (gifts) a distant, distant last. But that's neither here nor there. What I started to wonder about, as I was all snuggled in with Maddie, was how early a preference for one language over another might start to manifest. It's clear to me that for Maddie, as for myself, physical touch is very important. Even in sound sleep, that child could seek me out and needed contact with me even if just with a finger. I kept waking up to find a hand on my shoulder, a foot on my leg, her whole body pressed against mine. If I would move away (HOT!!!), she'd fling out an arm, searching for me, or scootch closer, closer, closer, until she made contact.

Riley's pretty sunggly, to be sure, but not at this base even-while-sleeping level. In fact, I'm not sure what I'd say his primary love language is at this point. Maybe quality time? I think all kids love some quality time; that's certainly big for Maddie, too. And receiving gifts! What child does not love to receive a gift!

I'm sure the Love Langauges people have something to say about when and how these preferences develop and how they change, or don't, over time. I haven't bothered to look into that. But it was nice, for two of us who feel emotionally fulfilled by that physical closeness, to snuggle up together and listen to the waves. As another example of that, we sat right up next to each other at dinner, on a bench on the same side of the table rather than across from each other as the menus had been set out.

The Love Languages people say that we are often drawn to partners who do not share the same linguistic priorities. I have seen friend couples for whom this is true, and it can be quite stressful. John and I were totally on the same page about this. We always held hands, and he was especially good at doing things for me that he knew I didn't enjoy doing for myself (acts of service). We were slightly out of phase on quality time (he needed more alone time than I did, which I sometimes took too personally), but we never gave each other gifts and that was fine with both of us. Whew. This all strikes me as a morning person/night person kind of thing: it's super helpful when both people in a couple are on the same page, and when not, it's way more stressful than it seems it should be. Insurmountable? Probably not, but nice to have an awareness.

And so I had a special appreciation of my time with my snuggly girl last night. I reminded myself of how important that touch was to her as she did that typical small child thing of turning herself completely around more than once in the night and connecting to me physically by kicking me in the face. It comes from a place of love, right? It comes from a place of love.

One

Last weekend, I took Riley to the beach. Just Riley.

I think perhaps I had mentioned that I was planning to do this, to take just one child at a time on an overnight trip. This is the first time I've done this. I've long wanted—and still want—to regularly spend one-on-one time with each of the twins, and as they have gotten older, I've started to grab hours here and there during playdates and such. But this was the longest stretch of Mama-Riley time I've ever had, and the longest stretch of hours the two of them have ever spent apart.

It all went swimmingly. Maddie stayed with my mom and stepdad, and by all reports, she was fine and thrived on the attention she got. The same is true of Riley. Both M&R had been a little nervous about the idea, and both felt like the one who was with me was getting the better end of the deal. Riley was more nervous than his sister about it all, and she generously offered for him to be the first one to go to the beach when we initially discussed the idea. I think, in the end, she now sees that she hardly drew the short straw (although she's very excited about her overnight with me this coming Saturday).

A few things about the trip surprised me:

1. Riley was so quiet! He is normally a really loud, talkative kid, but on this trip he was fairly reserved and quiet. Maybe he actually has a deep appreciation of silence but never gets a chance to experience it since he's always competing with a sibling for a turn to talk and have my attention? Dunno. It sure caught me off guard, though.

2. I am a much more relaxed parent when I'm only caring for one child.

3. That said, the things that Riley does that annoy me are still annoying even when there's not another child around.

In other, unrelated, news, I'm still going on dates with the same guy and it's still slowly and steadily great. I still love my house. My job is still chipping away at me, but I'm not completely and totally overwhelmed as I was for a couple of months there. I'm getting an iPhone 4S! Woo! Now that's news.

What's really news, actually, is that I've become a person for whom it is in fact big news to be getting an iPhone 4S. Big news is no longer that my spouse is going on hospice or that I haven't slept in weeks because my babies wake up every 45 minutes. Big news is no longer a cross-country move or a job change months after my spouse died or a six-figure loss on selling a condo.

No, no, no. Big news is getting a smartphone, going out with someone kind and smart and thoughtful, planning our au pair's birthday party, making the decision to let Maddie and Riley watch Star Wars. There is a deep contentment in big news being the stuff of everyday life. I was out to lunch with a colleague yesterday, and in the course of our conversation, it dawned on me that I've never stayed in one place or done much of anything longer than a couple of years for my entire adult life. Sure, I lived in Boston for 10 years, but in 5 different apartments. I did have one job for seven years. Eight? Something like that. But that's the longest I've stuck with anything: a job, a home, a partner. John and I were together almost exactly four years from our first date to his death, my longest relationship by quite a bit, but in sheer time a blip on the radar. Even Maddie and Riley have only been a part of my life for five years (six if you count the pregnancy).

I've been an emotional late bloomer my whole life. I'll be 40 in January. It's just now, after a whole hell of a lot of change and lightning-quick living, that I feel thrilled by the idea of being here, where I am, for the long haul. I know that change will come, and I don't wish to stagnate. But I wish to be rooted and grounded, and I wish to know the contentment that can come from being still.

Upswing

After my latest series of posts in which Everyone Was Out of Sorts, I'm pleased to report that we're all on the upswing.

Maddie is settling into school. It's clearly still tiring for her, both physically and mentally, but she seems more like herself, more settled. She gives positive reports about her days and hasn't asked to bring her lovey to school. She did completely lose her mind on Friday night, falling apart about something tiny and absurd, and she is still seeking control over any and everything in her sphere. But I can see the shift happening, and I'm glad for her (and, selfishly, for me).

My work is evening out. As many kind commenters picked up on and offered suggestions for, the issues at work run deeper than just things being busy right now. Much of the deeper issues are not appropriate blog fodder, but I'm working on them now that I have time to think about something beyond staunching the flow so that no one bleeds out. I think my job is fundamentally good for me, but it's the most difficult job I've ever had and I can find it hard to put the effort into it that it needs. Also, I've learned from this job that management does not come naturally to me, nor does leadership. I'm a slow learner about a lot of things, and those areas seem to be no exception. The growing pains are difficult, and I'm far from hitting my stride, but I want to give it more time. I love many things about my job, and I'm an optimist, an optimist who finally has a few minutes to catch her breath during the work day.

I don't know at what point you say that you're dating someone, but over the past couple of months I have gone out on a number of dates with someone and we plan to keep going out on dates, so maybe we're dating? I don't know. We are certainly enjoying getting to know each other. Past experience would indicate that blogging about dates is often a death knell, so I hesitate to say much, but I'll say this: he is a smart, thoughtful, interesting, and kind person. Being around him makes me feel good about myself and about my life, and it makes me happy. So I'm enjoying that, although we both have busy, complicated lives and so we don't see each other all that much. But when we can, it's nice, and unhurried, and just positive.

In other positive (if totally random) news: Spotify is genius; I've been running more often, faster, and with more enjoyment; I continue to love, love, love my house; I'm not ready for the transition to fall and winter; I'm hoping the recent, more regular blogging settles back into a trend. I don't know that I'll ever have as much need or desire to write as I did during my more intense periods of grief, but I miss the regular practice of writing. May it be so.

And now: gratuitous kid pics! M&R got haircuts over the weekend. Here they are, in all of their five-year-old glory. Riley looks kind of surly, but the notoriously hard-to-photograph Maddie is looking quite sweet and lovely, if I do say so myself.

Back to School Night

I loathe back to school night. Loathe it. Last year, my loathing caught me by surprise; I was quite excited by seeing the classroom and going to the book fair and being courted by the PTA. Seriously! I was! But then I went and it was mayhem. No place to sit for dinner; crowds and lines and stuffy libraries; crazy activities; utter and complete chaos. I do not say this to fault anyone involved in organizing the event as that was all done well. This was the usual chaos of an elementary school, and it's the kind of thing that makes me totally nuts.

This year, I felt like I went in with the right attitude, but I was still snarly by just after dinner. Really snarly. Like, I'm-the-mom-who-yells-in-public kind of snarly. Maddie got separated from me and Riley on our way to the book fair, which made her sob (who can blame her?), but she found an adult who helped her find me and what do I do? Neglect to thank the adult and lay into Maddie about how she needs to stay with me.

Really. I did that.

Then, as we crossed the playground to the kids' classroom, Riley turned sharply and without warning directly in front of me, causing the both of us to flail our arms, teeter unsteadily, and regain footing (me) or do a face-plant (Riley). Here's what I said, in this order:

"Riley! Don't walk in front of me like that! It's crazymaking!"
"Are your new books OK?"
"Wait, are you OK?"

Once at their classroom, I was irritated by the relatively small number of conference appointments available at hours that work for working families, then realized that we're out of town the week of conferences anyway. Got that worked out with the teacher, who was very accommodating. But don't even get me started on how generally working-parent unfriendly public school is. Wow. I mean, I know there are lots of issues to fix in the U.S. educational system and this is not a top priority, but it is a problem.

After my rant regarding conferences, I managed to calm down. The chaos in the classroom was at a manageable level, and I enjoyed being shown around the room by Maddie and Riley and meeting the other parents. We had fun reading the new book club books before bed, and it all turned around. But there were some moments there when I was about to lose my mind.

I'm rarely bothered by being a single parent anymore. Oh, sure, for a bunch of reasons, I'd like to have a partner. But it used to be extremely hard for me to attend events where two-parent households were the clear majority. That's much easier for me now. But somehow, tonight, with two kids talking nonstop and parents talking to me, too, and only one me to take it all in, I felt overwhelmed. It doesn't help that work has been utter insanity. Sigh.

But my best friend will be here soon and we shall have mojitos and debrief, and a big event that has been consuming much of my time and energy at work will take place tomorrow night and then it's OVER and work can go back to normal levels of crazy, and we have fun stuff planned for the weekend.

It feels so wrong to feel so bad about back to school night. I've got lots of years for it to get better, I guess. I hope.

Kindergarten

Tomorrow is Maddie and Riley's first day of kindergarten.

I feel like I'm less nostalgic about it all than most parents. I have many fond memories of early grade school, and I've always loved order and routine, so even when the teacher wasn't great or I struggled with the lessons, I remember feeling comforted by the routine of it all. I often find as a parent that it's hard for me to move past my own memories and expectations, so now, as Maddie and Riley prepare for this new adventure, my instinct is to assume that they are eager for it to begin, as I was. They give no sign to the contrary; frankly, the seem completely ambivalent.

It's true that they are going to the same school they went to last year, but now for a full day instead of a half. Still, I think going to a familiar place with some familiar faces makes the idea much less novel. We met their teacher on Tuesday; she is all business. To her factual statement and no-nonsense delivery of, "I have 28 kids in this class and no teacher's aide. I need parent helpers." all I could reply was, "I'm a single working mom; it's impossible for me to commit to a regular volunteer schedule, but I'd be happy to help with any kinds of tasks that can be done at home." I felt guilty, that working mom guilt, but it passed pretty quickly.

The working mom guilt is strange. I find that my guilt relates less to not being with Maddie and Riley, who have been blessed with excellent caretakers and seem to take my working in stride. My guilt comes when I think of all the parents that are in the classroom once a week, twice a week, maybe more; the parents who run the PTA and teach after-school classes; the parents who host Maddie and Riley for playdates. There is a vast array of unpaid, underappreciated volunteers who have a significant impact on Maddie and Riley's daily life and learning. I take full advantage of that—not in the sense of abusing it, but in the sense of benefiting from it—and yet I rarely give anything back to that system. This is not something I can change right now, and my guilt is overwhelmed by my immense gratitude that others can pick up that slack mixed with frustration about our school system and the fact that there is so very much slack to pick up. Alas.

I remember when Maddie and Riley were babies, when John was so sick and then shortly after he died. I remember thinking how very far away this day was, this day when Maddie and Riley would be in school full time. It was impossible to imagine. I won't say that the time has flown. In some ways it has, but in others, not at all. I think the difficulty of the first two to three years of our lives together makes it easier for me to be less nostalgic about this rite of passage that so keenly marks the end of baby, toddler, and very early childhood into this age of the school years. That is not to say that these years will be easy, or even easier. But it feels significant to say goodbye to a period of Maddie and Riley's life during which it was often hard for me to appreciate all that we had together, and when I was often sad and frustrated and feeling alone despite their presence.

Tomorrow morning the kids are allowed to wake me up at 6:30 a.m. There will be baths and showers and new clothes. There will be a choice of lunch to pack or buying lunch at school. My mom and stepdad will come, and we will all walk to school together. Pictures will be taken, the milestone noted and celebrated. Kindergarten. Dios mio.

Trouble, with a Capital T

. . . and that rhymes with P and that stands for PIANO!

We bought a piano today. I've always wanted a piano. I don't play, but I know how much a piano background would have helped me when I was starting oboe at the ripe old age of 14. The musical fundamentals that come from studying piano are good for any further musical endeavors, and the musical experimentation that one can do with easy access to a piano are also a huge plus. No reeds to soak! No strings to tune (well, not every time you play, at least)! You can just sit down and make music, voilà.

Knowing nothing about pianos, I was daunted by the idea of finding one to buy, then further daunted by the idea of having it moved. I was psychologically daunted by the shopping—I might as well have had sucker stamped on my forehead—and financially daunted by the possible price of the purchase and the moving. It's not like this was weighing on my mind given that at age five, Maddie and Riley are just now about ready for the possibility of lessons, but owning a piano was certainly one of those things that could have just ended up not happening due to my not wanting to figure it all out.

But then, today, we went back to church for the first time since June. I've missed church, but we've had a busy summer with lots of weekend travel or other obligations, and we've managed to go almost two months without going. The church yard sale was yesterday, and there were a few boxes of yard sale remnants around the front door for people to peruse and purchase.

Just inside the front door, at the back of the foyer, was the piano that is now our piano. It was just sitting there, with a sign on it, that was marked $500 with a strikethrough down to $350. I took mental note, then sat down for the service. All I thought about the whole service was that piano, though, and after services I asked around to see who might be able to give me the scoop. Turns out that the church has owned and cared for it for 40 years, and that it was the main piano for the religious education program and building for most (all?) of that time. The RE program has a new piano, so now this one, a Pease upright, needs a new home.

The chair of the music committee has personally cared for the instrument for some twenty-odd years, and he's getting a few things fixed up before it comes into our possession. Even better, it looks as though the director of the choir will be able to transport it for me if I can find some strong friends to help get it into the house. Fabulous.

I have a large piece of furniture that I'll need to get rid of in order to accommodate the piano, but I'll post that on Freecycle tonight and hope for the best. I'm just so excited! We'll have a piano! I would like to take lessons, too. I think it could be fun (and I'm sure at times frustrating) for the kids and I to learn something together. Yay! What a day, what a surprise.

Nature

There are certain things I'd worry about a lot more if I had only one kid. To put a finer point on it, there are certain things I'd blame myself for more if I had only one kid, or if I had two kids who were more alike.

Take food, for example. Tonight's dinner was smoked salmon (served cold), steamed white rice, nori wrappers, corn on the cob, and sliced watermelon. Upon seeing the dinner, Maddie exclaimed, "Oh! I LOVE seaweed!" She proceeded to eat a good number (four or five?) of salmon and rice wraps, most of her corn, and two slices of melon. Riley ate at least ten slices of melon, two servings of white rice, and, when asked to choose some kind of protein, a SmartDog. He's a vegetarian by choice, and his go-to proteins are any and all dairy, SmartDogs, hummus, raw almonds, eggs, and peanut butter.

My point here is that Maddie is an adventurous eater and a combiner. She'll try almost anything and likes all kinds of somewhat unexpected things. She has an especially keen taste for sour and bitter things. She loves to mix things together. When we go out to eat, my best strategy is to just order a meal for myself and share it with her.

My best strategy with Riley is to ask for a refill on the bread basket. He loves carbs, which Maddie could totally live without. He won't eat meat, Maddie's favorite food group. Grapefruit is his least favorite fruit, Maddie's top choice. He's a pretty healthy eater, Riley, but he's adverse to trying new things and he has a fairly limited repertoire.

If I had just Maddie, I'd be all about taking credit for having fed her a variety of foods from the very beginning and for not having catered to her whims when mealtime comes around. If I only had Riley, I'd wonder what I'd done wrong to create someone who is so limited in his preferences and so generally nervous about eating anything new.

As it is, I have them both and they've been presented with the same offerings. My only catering has been to accommodate Riley's preference not to eat meat. Otherwise, what's served is served, like it or lump it. And yet, two totally different palettes, one adventurous eater and one who falls somewhere on the spectrum of "picky."

I choose to draw the conclusion that I didn't have much to do with this outcome. I think Riley could be pickier if I let him dictate his meals and Maddie would try even more things if I were willing to take the time to broaden my quick meals repertoire. But in the end, I deserve no credit nor do I feel any failing.

Sleep is the same. Oh, how I wish Riley would sleep more, or at least later in the morning! But I've tried everything, and in the end, Maddie has always tended to need more sleep and sleep later and Riley has an internal clock like mine, which means he thrives on predictable to-bed and wake-up times.

It's easy as a parent, at least for this parent, to feel guilty about every little perceived negative or problem with one's kid. And it's sometimes equally easy to feel pride for every little positive and success. I certainly think that how kids are parented has some influence on their behavior and certainly on their world view, but having two rather temperamentally different children who have been parented in largely the same way at the same times in their lives has taken off some of the heat for me.

People often say that I'm lucky to have twins, and in many ways, I agree. This is one of the more selfishly practical ways in which I find having twins to be a boon.

And on that note, I shall now go assemble two desks from that pinnacle of consumerism: IKEA. I would make a lame joke that double the furniture assembly is a negative about having twins, but the truth is that I am one of those nutters who actually enjoys putting together IKEA's wares. So I guess it's just another reason to be happy about the twin situation.

Now just don't ask me about the first two years of the kids' lives. Those stories, at least the ones that were not already documented on this blog, are for another, perhaps less positive, day.

Struggling

John's dad has said of John's birth, "He had a hard time to come out." It hardly seems like a memorable quote, those ordinary words, so slightly syntactically off. But something about the expression on his Dad's face, his eyes squeezed shut, his head shaking slightly no from side to side, his hands squeezed into fists at his sides, made the difficulty of John's 10-pound, large-headed entry into the world so real. John and I used to say that to each other when we were dealing with something difficult, "This is a hard time to get through," "I'm having a hard time to deal with this," and so on. I wish John were here today so that I could say it to him, so that he could help me with my hard time, because I am, indeed, having a hard time of it right now.

I make no excuses for my hard time. Plenty of other people out there are having harder times, or would at least like a change of pace in the difficulties they are experiencing. I have my health, I have Maddie and Riley, I have a gorgeous new house, and I have a great job. I have lots of friends, I don't struggle financially, and the sun is shining.

Things are just hard lately. Work is overwhelming. There are projects and people and changes, to the point that it is hard for me to focus when I'm there and it invades my brainspace when I'm not.

It affects my parenting. I don't feel like my best self. Maddie and Riley continue to not sleep enough; they have dark circles and crabby attitudes and whiny voices. Melatonin has been a mixed bag; it seems to help Maddie go to sleep, which is good, but it has no effect on how late they do (or don't) sleep. I'm tired, too. We're all tired, and we take our crabby attitudes out on each other with our whiny voices.

Riley is engaged in an experiment called Truth versus Lie. More accurately, it's called Lie All the Time about Totally Dumb Stuff. Some of it is funny, like when he talks as though he's an expert on some totally random subject, but all of it is disturbing on some level. It's crazy frustrating to me to say, "Riley, did you dry your hands on a towel?" get the reply, "Of course, Mama," then look up and see that his dripping-wet hands by his sides. To my knowledge, he hasn't lied to me about anything big, but I feel like I can't trust his answer on anything, and it's an awful feeling. I've tried to talk to him about it, but he's unable or unwilling to articulate why he is doing this, and I'm flummoxed as to what it's all about. Attention-seeking? Maddie does tend to dominate my time, by sheer force of will. Normal, five-year-old experimentation and button-pushing? Maybe. Something else entirely? Could be, or a combo. It's exacerbated by the fact that my reaction to it appears to be out of line with what is happening, insomuch as it makes me fly off the handle and completely lose my cool.

Meanwhile, Maddie is very clingy and demanding with me. Despite the fact that, to my knowledge, I have never given her reason to doubt that I will return from anywhere I have been, she is obsessed with the idea that I might leave or not return. After she went to bed the other night, I took a bag of trash out to the can outside our back fence; when I got back inside (after an absence of under a minute, with the door left open) she was downstairs, panicked, looking for me. She'd heard me unlock the door and thought I was leaving her and Riley alone. She can't get enough of me; Riley, too, to a certain extent. After spending their whole lives in daycare and/or school, they both in the past month or so beg me to stay home every day.

I don't think it's any coincidence that all of this behavior coincides with our trip to family camp almost a month ago. We spent a week up on Orcas Island in the San Juans, doing nothing but spend time together. We slept in a sweet little cabin, ate meals in the dining hall, went to the beach every day, played games on the lawn, did crafts, stayed up late for campfire, and took naps every afternoon. We'd never in our lives had time like that together before. No work, no chores, no obligations. The night we got home from camp was miserable; I had a migraine, we were all super-tired, and on some level, we all knew that the next day was back to the endless logistical machine of life that seems to allow us little time to enjoy each others' company.

As a person, it can be hard for me to be in the moment; I'm always thinking about the chores that need to be done, what's coming next, what appointments need to be made, what food needs to be cooked, how I can prepare for what the next day will bring. Being a single parent exacerbates this tendency as I'm, for the most part, the only one who can take care of these things. Don't get me wrong: Zulma, family, and friends help out a lot. But the logistics of life fall to me, and Maddie and Riley get the short end of the stick. I'm constantly multitasking and trying to make chores fun. While this is not inherently bad, it does mean that I rarely feel like I give the twins my full attention, and often the attention I do allocate to them is not my best self.

This is not me beating myself up. This is simply an acknowledgment of our imperfect reality. And, to a certain extent, my wish that I could shift to an alternate, if equally imperfect, reality. I'm at a point where I wish I could be home more. As the kids start full-time school, I wish I could be the one who dropped them off and picked them up each day. I love the thought of taking them to their lessons and sports practices, of having more than 20 minutes to cook dinner together on the nights we don't have something else scheduled, of just getting more breathing room than the two hours at night and the two hours in the morning. I don't doubt that part of the reason they get up so early is that they want to spend more time with me. It saddens me that they crave that time even though I'm not much fun at that hour, despite my best efforts.

It's just a hard time to get through. We all seem to be unhappy with our current arrangement, but I haven't taken the space to see how I can try to fix it. My hairdresser said to me last night, after acknowledging similar struggles with her kids, that her mom has called this age the "I hate you, don't leave me" age. Yes, they can be sweet as pie, but they also seem to simultaneously not want you to go anywhere, but want to use you as their outlet for negativity. The literature would say that this is because they feel safe. Great. Age appropriate, perhaps. Combined with other forces, likely. It's just a hard time, a hard time.

Daily Double

Two posts in one day!

I'm back for an update and a question. First, an update on the Leapster2: thanks to all those who provided input/advice. In the end, I downloaded Rabbit River for Maddie and Chicken Coop for Riley, plus I purchased the "Kindergarten Readiness" cartridge for Riley and the "Pet Pals" cartridge for Maddie. Those were about the only games available that did not have a marketing tie-in of some kind: WTF??? Anyway. My issues with marketing tie-ins and marketing to kids in general shall be saved for another post. Ahem. So. The Leapsters have been wildly popular with both kids, and the solution to limiting access ended up resolving itself: they live in the car. Not only has it solved the Leapster access problem, but it has also made car rides with Maddie and Riley so much more pleasant. They have always been relatively awful car companions as they simply require so much physical movement and conversational engagement that we tend to be at each others' throats after trips of much more than 15 minutes in any kind of vehicle. Enter the Leapster: problem solved! They like helping each other out and playing each others' games, too, so those interactions have been positive as well.

Now the question. I never thought I'd *still* be writing about kids and sleep by the age of five, but here I am, wondering about kids and sleep. Maddie and Riley go to bed between 7:30 and 8 p.m. (Early, I know.) They sleep until 6 a.m., for an average of 10 hours of sleep per night, although often they don't go to sleep until later and/or they wake up earlier, so I think they actually sleep about 9 hours/night. Data points on other five year olds? M&R have been begging for naps during the day after two years of no napping, and while in theory I'm happy for them to nap, when they do, they are up awake (albeit in bed) until 10:30 or 11 p.m., then still up at 6 a.m., so that seems like a poor solution and will certainly not be ideal when they start full-day kindergarten in the fall. How much sleep are your five year olds getting, and between what hours?

Bursting

I am bursting with blog content. Bursting! But I have a problem.

I've been sucked into a horrible vortex powered by the forces of a too much work, stressful work, and Netflix instant streaming. So, you see, I work all day, feel behind all the time, get home, get the kids to bed, and collapse in a Netflix-watching heap, thus leaving the blog neglected.

I'm not sure how I managed to remain out of Netflix instant's clutches for so long. I can watch it on my TV via my Wii! On my iMac! On my iPad! On my iTouch! Anywhere! Anytime! It's crazy. I think it will be at least a little better when I get all caught up with Friday Night Lights as many of the next things in my queue are only available on DVD. Maybe then I will blog. Only 14 more available episodes to go.

I really do have a lot of things on my mind, though. So many I can't keep track. Many of them are parenting-related as somehow Maddie and Riley got all growed up and out of nowhwere they are doing things like being totally sassy and refusing to go to sleep and lying and pushing limits and my buttons and WHOA. Of course, they are also doing lots of more positive things like riding bikes without training wheels and scrambling eggs all by themselves and putting together crazy complicated LEGO projects.

We've been in our new house for almost two months, we've been to family camp, the kids have turned five. Five! Five. I've felt myself pulling away from many of my online activities (Netflix excepted), sometimes because I've been forced (no Internet access at family camp), sometimes because I've made a choice. But there's a lot to say. So very much to say.

Bowling Birthday

Riley had his birthday party today. It was at the local bowling alley. Unlimited bowling plus pizza and drinks and balloons made for a very, very fun event.

It was so much fun for me to see Riley with his friends. He invited five boys: four from his class plus a cousin, and then Maddie was there as the "bonus kid." Oh, and Riley invited our former neighbor, his football/general sporting buddy we'll call Indy. No one cried, no one got hurt, the kids took turns without being told to, there was no cutthroat competition, no overly rowdy behavior, and there was lots of camaraderie, support, hugging, and good sportsmanship. It really could not have gone better.

I've heard that these are the magical years, these early grade school times from five-ish to eight-ish. I've also heard lots of things that turned out not to be true about sleeping and tantrums and improvements in attitude or other behaviors that turned out not to be true. But this mythical idea of magical years, golden years, I'm starting to buy it. We have so much fun together now, me and Maddie and Riley. The kids are, for the most part, rational beings. Funny, smart rational beings, to boot. They are personable and curious and unendingly friendly. They are generous and kind and just plain happy. Sure, I'm biased. But they're pretty darn awesome.

I remember reading parenting books and advice columns and such in which people would express concern about how long it took them to feel really bonded with their kids. There's an expectation that if you parent someone that the bond is near instantaneous, the connection undeniable. I was always relieved, if a bit ashamed, to find that I wasn't alone in not feeling that immediately after Maddie and Riley were born. Oh, sure, I loved them immediately. But it's different now, and much, much deeper. I don't know how to explain it, exactly, and I'm way to exhausted to even be trying right now.

So I'll go to bed. Tomorrow will be Maddie's party. This is the first year they are having separate celebrations, and hers is unlimited rides on a fantastic local carousel + sack lunches + face painting. Riley is her "bonus kid," of course.

Everything feels different this year. I like it.

Shiny and New

We have a new house.



(Sorry, no pic with the kids, but more to come.)

It's not the brand-new, LEED-certified home I blogged about months ago. Instead, it's a new old house, with bones from 1910 but delicious, recently added modern amenities. It has four bedrooms and three bathrooms (SO POSH) and a freestanding garage and a castle playground in the backyard (why did I not mention that first?) and best of all, even though we've only been there a week, it feels like home.

I obviously didn't blog about the buying process, and I only minimally mentioned it on Facebook. (I never mentioned it on Twitter because I still can't figure out why I should want to be tweeting.) The short explanation for my silence is that I was overwhelmed by writing about it. I could not figure out how to start, so I never did. And now it's done.

It's not that there wasn't anything to blog about during the process of buying the house. I don't think any home purchase is without some drama. There was elevated radon and contaminated soil and shenanigans with mortgage lenders and city permits that had not been closed. Then my landlord went off the deep end and I had to have some heated negotiations with her around renters' rights. As I am awaiting the return of (some? all? none?) of my deposit, those negotiations may not be over yet. Dealing with my landlord was the most frustrating of any of this ordeal because I think she and I both felt hurt and hoodwinked, and each of us felt in the right. So icky. But mostly over.

So, yeah, the stress of the whole process played into my silence as well. But I also felt, for the first time in a long time, like keeping this one close to the vest. This was a huge thing for me, buying this house. It was an emotional sea change to want to own, a huge financial step, and a logistical mountain. I've never felt so much like a legitimate grown-up as I did when I signed those papers, got those keys, and walked in the front door for the first time. I did this myself, for my little nuclear family, and while I certainly talked about it quite a bit with my nearest and dearest, I wanted to make this decision and see it through on my own, for me and Maddie and Riley. As I write about it, it sounds selfish or fearful or something; I just don't know how to explain it. I was so fully present it getting it all to happen, and so focused on how it was going to change our life that I wasn't able to write about it and evidently I'm still struggling.

Nothing I have done since John's death, even including moving back to Oregon, feels so much like the start of a new life as buying this home does. Nothing made me feel so trapped as owning my condo in Boston, and it's shocking to me that buying this house has given me the opposite feeling. Well, no, not the opposite exactly; I don't feel free. But I do feel grounded. Settled. It's a choice rather than an ensnarement. It's happiness.

Blessings

[Scene: I'm in bed with Maddie; it's her turn to snuggle with Mama until she falls asleep. All is cozy, warm, and dozy.]

Maddie: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I am counting my blessings."
Mama: "Oh, that's a nice thing to do. Do you want to tell me what they are, are or just think about them in your head as you count?"
Maddie: "One, my money."
Mama: [?????]
Maddie: "Two, my daddy, who is already dead."
Mama: [heart busting into a thousand pieces; brain wondering why he comes after the money]
Maddie: "Then, my toys, my school, my window, my breath, everything I like in the world. That's not ten. Wait! Sleeping with my mama. The girls at school. Some of the boys at school. Being outside."

I'm not actually sure where she was introduced to the concept of blessings, or counting them; if it's something I taught her, I do not remember doing so. And it's curious to me, that on that whole largely random list of things, her dad is such a real and prominent feature. I stand by my assertion that she remembers him, and not just the idea of him. The real him. That is indeed a true blessing.