the magic of ordinary days

So, yeah, there happens to be a Hallmark movie playing at this moment by that name, but I like it, it describes accurately what life can be. Not always, but sometimes. There are moments. Like the moment I captured earlier today, of my two little nymphs, sitting on their brand new toy shelf, watching the snow come down.

My Dad brought this wonderful shelf that he made for the girls' room today, and we promptly filled it up with books and toys, and I am left wondering what on earth we did with all of this stuff before?! I think that after two difficult pregnancies, in somewhat quick succession, I am finally nesting. Ridiculous, I know, but I think I was too sick to feel that nesting instinct that pregnant women are supposed to feel at the tail end of their pregnancy. I kept waiting, hoping for a burst of energy, a little motivation, but it never came. Now that Jude is over one year old, I am finally feeling like I understand how to juggle 3 babes and cooking, laundry, and housework. This actually excites me, and I have been accomplishing small tasks this week that have been on my to do list for a year and a half.

Anyway, all this to say that when I knew that the shelf was coming, I fantasized about which toys would go where, how we could get most of the kid's toys and books into their room and out of the living room. So in about 15 minutes flat, I had that thing filled up, and arranged to my liking.
Yes, I am BORING. My heart is delighted by small feats of organization. And butterfly wings. It's been a good day. A good week.

midget news

The baby boy we call Jude is finally becoming a bit more independent with the walking; he will now walk across the room... this is a relief to me, because, although I have been told that 14 months is the average for walking, it just feels late to me. Mostly because since about 6 months, the doc kept telling me how he was definitely gonna walk early, so I started waiting for it. But poor child, he is tall for his age, and chubby, and he has rather diminutive feet... so he had his work cut out for him. He's like the Hippo ballerina on Fantasia, and if that sweet lady didn't have animators making her dance, I'll bet she would have had a hard time making a go of it, even on 4 feet!

The girls are saying the most hysterical and insightful things. Rowan told me that Mary was going to give me another baby in my belly (no, no, nuh-uh). Apparently she is catholic. She then proceeded to explain, "Jesus' mommy was Mary, and God is his Daddy". Well, I guess if you are three, it would make sense that Mary would have a hand in all things baby-related. I in know way mean to say that catholicism is silly or juvenile, just that I understand how my child drew her conclusions.

Also, less sacred, more profane... As I changed Jude's first diaper of the morning, I mumbled, to myself, "Boy, your butt smells like fried chicken." Genevieve promptly added, "Mommy, my butt smells like french fries!" She was very proud. We all are, actually. This age is difficult, as the twins wish to challenge every rule, but it is great fun, too, because their comprehension is really improving, and they are incredibly enjoyable to talk with and listen to. They don't quite understand why their wants can't dictate their behavior, and we are working to instill in them a sense of self-control. This is not always successful, but I do see from time to time, that they are starting to get it. I guess many of us could still stand to learn this lesson.

vacation is over, and we mourn

Yesterday the students returned to campus. Ah, the end of our blessed winter break. This means that now Dan is back to working two full time jobs, back to running from day job to traffic, to office, to meetings, to office again, with scarcely time to eat dinner or shower. It means no more long naps on the sofa, not quite left alone. No more dinner and bedtime with the family every night. It means that I will go back to eating a bar of chocolate every night, because I am antsy and bored and missing the company of my very best friend. Of course, there are other things I could do... I just really love dark chocolate.

This is the time of day when we all want to sleep... from about 1 to 4pm, we all struggle to find things to do to keep alert. If the girls crash, they won't sleep at night, even if it is only for half an hour. But all we really want to do is snuggle up on the couch and close our eyes! Jude is napping, and the girls beg for a movie and their pillows. My sleepy mind begs to give it to them, so I can crash along with them. Ahhhhh, it is so tempting to just allow it! But really, these girls will be up until 11 if I do that, and I will be cranky and frustrated that the evening time no longer belongs to me. So we struggle through, pull out new clothes, get our bodies moving, anything to distract ourselves from the afternoon lull, and the soft couch, and the warm lazy light.

a roll of film

Yeah, an actual roll. As in 35mm. Adjust the actual aperture and shutter speed, capture an image created from light, and an old-fashioned kind of magic.

Jude makes a beeline for a certain drawer of miscellaneous junk anytime my bedroom door is open. The things he finds! Today he handed me a roll of TMAX 100 speed b/w film. Instantly, I was having flashbacks.

Pitch black zigzag hallway into the darkroom, pupils slowly adjusting to the dim red light. The smell of chemicals. The magic of a blank white sheet of paper with the right cocktail of light exposure, developer, stopper, and whatever else we used to use in there, suddenly reavealing an image captured by a little black box. Locking myself into a pitch black closet, and learning to assemble and disassemble a film canister, and loading the precious film into it, realizing that if I were blind, I could find a way to make it work. Not that it would be easy, or anything, but being able to do something complicated with hands only, and no eyes, is a strange and potent confidence builder.

Also, there was something else. Something that at the time, I did not notice, or even value. Freedom. Just complete and utter freedom. I mean, yes, I had a part time job, and classes, and work to complete, but oh my. I served coffee, goofed around with coworkers, and made people smile by remembering their usual drink. And my homework was pottery, taking pictures, making paintings, writing essays. But really, I could go where I wanted, when I wanted. I did not really answer to anyone, and my mind was self-absorbed, uncluttered with the cares of other lives for whom I might be (AM) responsible.

That was another life, one that it's actually hard for me to believe I ever lived. If it were not for these vivid memories that surface every now and then, I wonder if I would forget all about it! They were good times, fun times, crazy times, and there are certainly aspects of those time that I miss now and then, but the truth is, there is a lot more weight in what I am doing now. Yes, there may be a frustrated artist inside of me still , but I am finding tiny ways to let her out, small outlets, and I rest in the knowledge that those tiny ways will find eventual expansion. Ok, so maybe I don't always rest in the knowledge; sometimes I squirm and writhe and fidget restlessly, but it passes. After all, those small outlets are holes that will stretch with use, changing shape, grow into actual windows, out of which my soul will pour. Or maybe ooze. My soul may be a little congealed from long stillness. Wait. No. NO. My soul has not been still, and it took me just writing that to fully realize it.

Even this little space is a small aperture, where I can squeeze out a bit of soul goo. I can't even bring myself to post without an image, that should tell me something. That's why I called it "fingerpaint" - If I have to paint with my keyboard, then so be it.

Wonderful things

My niece made this nativity scene for me a while back. A good while back, at least 8 years ago. But it has been a while since Dan and I have fully decorated for christmas, and I was so happy to be able to put this up. There are things that bring me back to my childhood Christmas experiences - certain ornaments, certain smells, but this is a new classic. It is one of the few things that as an adult, puts these new Christmases on par with the ones sweetened by nostalgia. Just read that inscription held by the angels, written from memory, the perfectly imperfect memory of a sweet little 6 year old!
It has a place of honor on our bookshelf, in the middle of the living room. The kids love it almost as much as I do. The expressions on these little faces just put me over the moon. The close-up of the 3 wise men didn't come out very clear, so I skipped it, but goodness gracious, I practically cry they make me laugh so hard. It's really one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given, and Dan has given me some really good gifts, let me tell you!
These figures have become part of what makes Christmas, Christmas. I love that they will become part of what my kids remember, they will be for them what a certain little dancing lamb with a golden tinsel tambourine ornament was for me...

We did not have a "normal" Christmas this year, since the twins were sick. The house became a hole of messiness, and we ate peanut butter crackers for Christmas dinner. None of us really had time to think about things; we put most of our energy into fever reduction efforts, so it's only now that I am getting a chance to reflect a bit. "Forever rest" kinda sounds good right now, but it also sounds a little ominous... how cute is that, though. Childhood misunderstandings and mispronunciations are just so wonderful to me. It's still Christmas, right, until New Years?

leaky Christmas, and feverish, but still sweet

Oh, my, what a Christmas. Fevers raging, we skipped the traveling from house to house and stayed home. Poor girls, being sick on Christmas is no fun, but they did have a good time opening their presents. It was probably better to have it quiet and calm, them being the age that they are.

I have wonderful memories of Christmas, all ethereal, insubstantial memories: the smell of a candle just snuffed out, the mysterious shimmer of gifts in shiny wrapping under a lit tree, anticipation pleasantly gnawing at my stomach, and the odd feeling of it all being over too soon, almost as though it never happened... except that I would have a treasure or two to remind me that it did. The look on the girlies faces this morning showed me that they were feeling the magic and wonder, too, and that made me happy. They also sat quietly and sweetly, while we read the christmas story together and prayed before digging in and tearing up.

Tonight, after a dinner of crackers and the administering of Tylenol, we put the girls in their beds and found water bubbling the ceiling and walls in their bedroom. Super. Dan called our upstairs neighbors to make them aware of the situation and ask permission to go in and check things out, as they were out for the evening and he has a key. They responded by laughing. This did not sit well with me. My kids are sick with a 103 degree fever, and they cannot even sleep in their own beds on Christmas night. I know, though, that these people don't have children, much less sick ones, and can afford to be careless about things like this. It isn't their fault that the leak in their apartment was not given the attention that it should have. Grrrrr.

like sandpaper and bare...

ass. yes, that's what I said. It's from a movie, as many of you may know. Referring to 2 people who can't get along, an alternative to "oil and water". But I am using it here to describe a general soul chaffing. I have been rather up and down lately, have you noticed? Perhaps I suffer a bit from depression, or possibly bipolar disorder. or, maybe it's just this stage I am in, where I popped out 3 babies in two years, and I have not quite managed to get a handle on myself, my relationships, and my strategy for getting through a day. I am not trying to be flippant about chemical imbalances, I really am just wondering what the source of all this angst might be.

I am a fundamentally insecure person. Sad, but true. I second guess just about everything that I do and say. It is rare that I come out of a situation and feel that I handled it well, whatever it might be, from an interaction with one of my kids to a simple evening out. I mean really, I recently got out of the house for a couple of hours, with some friends, and a couple of days later, I find myself thinking about the way I acted, or something I said, and I am embarrassed. I think to myself, wow, you are such an irritating person. Ok, while I am writing this, a few things pop into my head that were perhaps good things that I have done recently. Ways in which I have handled myself well. But it doesn't make me feel any better.

Someone recently said to me that it isn't feelings that matter, it's results. But I find that I simply can't agree. If I accomplish something, but I don't like the way I've arrived there ( for instance someone's feelings got hurt, or I lost my temper), it just doesn't add up. The ends don't justify the means. And maybe I failed to accomplish something that I had set out to get done, but ran into some roadblocks... wouldn't it be better to try another way around than to smash my way through, doing damage along the way? Or is that my insecurity popping up again, telling my that I just don't have the confidence to make things happen?

Ok, I know this is an odd, slightly disjointed, and vague post. I'm sorry, truely. But my thought are very scattered. However, my children are all asleep before 8:30! Hooray!