good - not a poem, but center alignment sure makes it look like one

It is good to feel warm sun

good to see the one I love

good to hold small bodies close

it's good to eat donuts

good to smile into trusting eyes

good to ignore the chores and play

it is good to know the truth

and to jump with all your might

it is good to be present

and to get presents, too!

These were a few good moments from the last week or so:

Taking a walk

sisterly fun

Genevieve told me that she wants to sleep in the tree

Rowan giggles

my nephew Moses supervises Jude's piano lesson

poor little bubbers

So lately my Jude has been a bit of a roller coaster. Beastie brute one minute, and the sweetest honey-pie the next. Never saw such a moody little peanut. He's working through some things, I guess. But tonight he lost his pacifier. Now, I've been meaning to get rid of that thing. The girls got theirs taken away at 12 month, so he is 3 months overdue, and I have just been avoiding the issue. As I have mentioned, he can have his cantankerous moments, and he has been sick on and off... honestly, I just don't want another battle on my hands. But he lost it. So I call that providential, and put the little fella to bed sans binky.

It took him about 30 minutes to get to sleep. I don't know how I ever got through letting the girls cry through their nighttime wake up period, 'cause it was a longish half-hour. But at any rate, I felt good about it, and so when he started up again, and more fiercely than before, I gritted my teeth and finished the blog post I was reading. When I went in to settle him down, he was on his knees, facing the wall, just screaming, and he didn't turn around when I came in. Then I tried to pick him up, and realized that the poor child's arm was stuck in the crib rails. Jerk Mom that I am! Fortunately, it wasn't wedged, it just needed a little room to straighten out, so as soon as I pulled the crib out from the wall, he pulled it out himself and stopped crying. So the pain couldn't have been too awful, but the poor dude!

I picked him up and cradled him as he settled, but it broke my heart to hear how his breath caught in his throat with each inhale, that sad sad mark of having cried too hard for too long. I distinctly remember that feeling from my childhood, how I wanted so badly to just stop crying and move on, but my physical body was so disturbed that I had to wait through that cooldown phase, when even my breathing bore the evidence of recent trauma. His deep breaths were the pitiful multiple catching ones. His puffy little face took me back to that nearly 10 pound newborn that I brought home from the hospital over a year ago. I could see him so clearly in this big guy's vulnerability.

I kissed his little twitchy face, his marshmallow cheeks, and his perfect full lips, and as he drifted back to sleep, his brow still slightly furrowed, I ached for his baby sensibilities, as he had had a bad night all around. But as I laid him in his crib and he made his little adjustments of comfort and habit, he reached down and felt around for his belly button, stuck his index finger in it, and looked completely peaceful. I guess he's already found his new pacifier.

sometimes you unravel...

Seems like the minute you relax and say,

ok, I think I've got this... Thank you, God, for getting me to this point!

that's the minute that you start to unravel again.

I let my guard down, and gave glory to God. That's a good thing, don't get me wrong. A really good thing. It's just that those moments are the ones that really serve to piss off the darker forces at work, the ones who HATE when you feel good, and then give God the credit. Is 'piss off' a swear word? Anyway, life is just a lot of up and down, I guess. Unfortunately, I am a person who likes the easy times to stick around, I like a manual to be written out for me to handle certain situations with my children, times in which I am at a loss for words to explain the reason behind something, or when I might be speechless with anger or frustration. These times are frequent enough with 3 toddlers.

I feel, often enough, that I don't deserve these 3 cute little people, that I am going to scar them. I want them to retain this beautiful blush of innocence as long as possible, and I don't want to be a part of ruining that. I am human, of course, and they realize this, maybe. Just maybe, they understand that I make mistakes, too, but that I love them so much also. They certainly do forgive me. They gaze at me in adoration still, they go around the house singing, they hug me and kiss me, and tell me they love me, spontaneously, and sweetly.

I enjoy them. They love olives. They turn the lights on throughout the house with long handled serving spoons. They snuggle each other, and giggle under forts. They dance, and their eyes light up when they hear certain songs. They also put their feet in the toilet and track their pee around the house. They hurt each other, and watch how their teasing and grabbing can elicit a reaction. They are human, too. I am trying to be patient with them, as they repeatedly forgive my over-reacting.

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.