Everything AND the kitchen sink

It's been a long couple of weeks, making the most boring part of winter feel even longer, darker and colder than usual. And although February is right around the corner, with the corner being this Friday, I sometimes feel like the months of January, February and March will go on and on forever.

We began the year with an emergency trip to the hospital which turned into an overnight stay. Along with an ear infection and bronchiolitis, Robert managed to pick up RSV and the next 10 days were filled with steroids, antibiotics and breathing treatments. Although I began to honestly believe that I would never see him as a healthy, happy, smiling child again, we actually reached the light at the end of the tunnel and this is what we ended up with:


Of course, that lasted for all of a week and half and we are now back to snot encrusted noses, difficulty sleeping at night due to some major stuffiness and a lot of whine. (Not the good kind of wine...) Oh my, the whine that comes out of this child. I don't know if non-stop crying would be
easier to listen to but when you're stuck with this noise - well it's just far too difficult to describe.

See the shine above that paci? The return of the SNOT!!

On Friday, I walked into the school extension program and found Megan with a bright pink cheek and nice little ding under her left eye. One of the boys was throwing something in the trash and evidently Megan's face happened to get in the way. She says he was throwing out some pasta but I've never known rotini's to be quite so dangerous before. So who knows what the real story is...none-the-less, she ended up with her first black eye.

Kind of difficult to see in this picture but honest, Ronzoni left his mark

And then there's Matt...always Matt. The kid who is forever entertaining us with his crazy and sometimes questionable antics. Here he is sitting in Robert's Bumbo chair and looking like he'll prove us right after all about riding on the short bus someday!

Lounge lizards

Loose teeth and boyfriends

Megan lost her first tooth a little over a week ago at Grandma's house and no one even knew it was loose to begin with. Apparently she was eating a lollipop at the time which got stuck on her teeth and as she was prying it loose discovered a missing tooth. She stuck out her tongue to show Grandma and there it was. Sitting right on the tip of her tongue.

Amazingly, our drama queen handled this with flying colors and is now the proud owner of not only one little gap in her bottom front teeth but also, as of last evening, a second loose tooth right beside that one. She has been wiggling it like crazy in anticipation of another visit from the tooth fairy.

She also proceeded to tell me last evening that she has a boyfriend. Ricky, is his name and she says that she likes him because they went to pre-k together, they talk all the time and because he wears a cute hat. (All very legitimate reasons to have a boyfriend these days.)

In trying to understand how my little kindergartener thinks when it comes to this little boy, I inquired about how they "became" boyfriend and girlfriend. She said that while talking to him yesterday he said to her that she was his girlfriend. So I asked how she responded and she replied, "I said, well I guess that means you're my boyfriend then."

So there you have it. Nice and easy. No passing notes like we used to do in elementary school stating, "I like you. Do you like me? Will you go with me? Yes or No. Please circle one." (And by the way, where did the phrase "go with me" or "going out" come from? Where did we think we were "going" back then? To the lunch room? Maybe to the playground?)

Oh, and about that cute hat that Ricky evidently sports to school every day...it's brown and white with a little brim on the front like a baseball cap, but it's not a baseball cap, it's a different kind of hat. And it's cute, as in cool cute, not baby cute, so let's just make that clear right now.

Second Skin

-From A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul

My favorite pair of old jeans will never fit me again. I have finally accepted this immutable truth. After nurturing and giving birth to two babies, my body has undergone a metamorphosis. I may have returned to my pre-baby weight, but subtle shifts and expansions have taken place – my own version of continental drift. But that’s okay, because while the jeans no longer button, the life I exchanged for them fits better than they ever did.

For me, this is a barefoot, shorts and T-shirt time of life. I have slipped so easily into young motherhood; it is the most comfortable role that I have ever worn.

I love the feel of this baby on my hip, his soft head a perfect fit under my chin, his tiny hands spayed out like small pink starfish against my arms. I love the way my 8-year-old daughter walks alongside us. On gorgeous spring days, the breeze lifts her wispy ponytail, and we laugh at the way the sunshine makes the baby sniff and squint.

I am constantly reaching out to touch them, the way a seamstress would two lengths of perfect silk, envisioning what might be made from them, yet hesitant to alter them, to lose the weight of the wholeness in my hands.

On those rare mornings when I wake up before they do, I go into their rooms and watch them sleeping, their faces creased and rosy. Finally, they squirm and stretch themselves awake, reaching out for a hug. I gather them up, bury my face in them and breathe deeply. They are like towels just pulled from the dryer, rumbled warm and cottony.

My children curl around me on the sofa in the evening, often falling asleep, limbs limp and soft against me like the folds of a well-worn nightgown. For now, we still adorn each other, and they are content to be clothed in my embrace. I know there will be times that will wear like scratchy wool sweaters and four-inch heels. We will have to try on new looks together, tugging and scrunching, trying to keep the basic fabric intact. By then, we will have woven a complicated tapestry with its own peculiar pattern, its snags and pulls and tears.

But I will not forget this time, of drowsy heads against my shoulder, of footy pajamas and mother-daughter dresses, of small hands clasped in mine. This time fits me. I plan to wear it well.