Working Through the Madness

I am hurting. Deep hurt. Deep worry. Yet, I walk around and pick up toys, I kiss boo boos, I make meals, I laugh at jokes, and I stare in agony at my children while I love them with every ounce of my being. Oddly, I am feeling more impatient with them than I should be. I want them to quiet down, sit still, and just let me look at them and let me think about what I need to do next. My impulse it to find a quiet cave somewhere, take my children inside and never come out; Take them deep within the earth and shower them with love and knowledge and only reemerge when they are grown men, kind, compassionate, sensitive, and wickedly smart, ready to change the world.

I know I can’t do that. I do know. I know that someday they must know about the world they live in, but it can’t be today. Today I cannot tell my 5 year old son that bad guys really do exist and that we cannot always keep our children safe from them. When I went out with the boys today I kept looking into the faces of the people I passed. I mostly got smiles and nods and warm responses and it wasn’t until I had been doing it for several minutes that I realized I was doing it. When I became conscious of it I also realized that I was telling myself over and over again, “There are good people in the world. There are kind people in the world.” I wasn’t scared to be out, I don’t think that was it; I didn’t expect everyone I passed to be a gunman, I didn’t expect the store to suddenly become a crime scene. I realize now that what was scaring me the most was that my babies are growing up in a world that I cannot control. There are bad people who do bad things and I want to know why. I want to know how these young men, men who had their entire lives in front of them, could commit such horrendous acts. What could have possibly happened to these boys that made them into murderers? How could a 20 year old boy look into the face of 20 children and shoot them point blank? I cannot even begin to imagine how it is possible.

I am so much more afraid of my sons becoming men like that than I am of them being gunned down. Our culture is violent. Our media is violent. Our sons and daughters, but mostly our sons, are playing video games where the goal is to kill as many human beings as possible in the shortest amount of time. They are playing games where murder is glorified. They are watching, with the help of our cutting edge technology, the blood they spill cover the screen and they are laughing, cheering, and congratulating one another. Parents are buying these games for their sons; they are looking the other way while their sons spend all of their waking hours in front of these games. Yet we all ask why. Why would a young man do something so horrific? What could possibly have led him to these actions? What, indeed.

These young men were clearly ill. I am sure that there is much more to their story than video game violence and lack of gun control. I know that of the millions of boys out there playing violent video games, few if any will ever commit such atrocious acts upon real human beings. Yet the world we live in has changed. The culture we have allowed to dominate our country is creating men that are doing horrible, unspeakable things. We can’t pretend not to notice the alarming frequency with which we are being devastated by mass shootings that we tell ourselves are inexplicable. There have always been mentally ill people. There have been guns for more than a thousand years, but this kind of violence is new, this is different.

I found a timeline of mass shootings since Columbine in 1999 (http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2012/12/14/1337221/a-timeline-of-mass-shootings-in-the-us-since-columbine/?mobile=nc) Eight of the shootings have been in the past year. There were a total of 328 deaths, not including the gunmen, and 242 injured. In this particular timeline, sixteen of the thirty gunmen were between the ages of 18 and 32. Ten of those sixteen were between the ages of 18 and 22. The article quotes that “The rate of people killed by guns in the US is 19.5 times higher than similar high-income countries in the world. In the last 30 years since 1982, America has mourned at least 61 mass murders” (http://thinkprogress.org). Here’s another timeline on motherjones.com identifying 61 mass murders since 1982: http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/07/mass-shootings-map?page=2 and a map of the shootings with details for each: http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/07/mass-shootings-map. Another source shows that there have been 16 mass shootings since January 1, 2012, defining mass shootings as “multi-victim shootings where those killed were chosen indiscriminately. The tragedies took place at perfectly random places—at churches, movie theatres, soccer tournaments, spas, courthouses and, now, an elementary school”, leaving at least 88 people dead (http://www.thenation.com/blog/171774/fifteen-us-mass-shootings-happened-2012-84-dead#). That is just in the last year. 16 shootings and 88 people dead in the year my oldest son turned 5, the year my youngest sons turned 2.

I don’t have the answers. I only know that I want my sons to know the value of a life. I want to give my boys a foundation that helps them to navigate this crazy world with grace and goodness. And, I am scared to death of the things that boys are doing to entertain themselves in their most formative years. I have often talked about walking a line that allows balance in our parenting, picking our battles, and fighting for the things that are most important, but this battle seems too important. Walking a line on this one is far too precarious. I need to stand firmly on one side of that line and defend against the other side as if my life and my children’s lives depend on it. And I will. I will fight for them and for all of the children. I will fight for the men we are producing, the next generation of leaders, the next generation of fathers. I can only hope that we will all fight for our children and for their future.

Lessons on Grief

Last night my son learned about grief and regret. It was a difficult lesson for a five year old, but instead of feeling awash with sadness that he was learning this lesson so young, I felt proud. Proud of his capacity for feeling, proud of his ability to evaluate himself and his actions, and proud of his new found compassion.

Our dog, Reef, is 13 1/2 and probably won't be with us much longer. I have been putting off taking her to the vet because she didn't seem to be in pain and I couldn't imagine what they could really do for her at her age. Last night, however, I sat down next to her and put my hand on her and felt her tremble. She has always been a bit of a trembler, but this was different. I realized that she was in pain, just silent pain. I started to think about what that meant and I realized that I would have to take her to the vet and they would likely say that we should put her to sleep. The twins were sitting with me, watching my every move, aware that something was happening, but not sure what it was. I put my head on her head and began to murmur to her and caress her as my tears began to fall. Soon little hands were on my face and next to mine on Reef's head. The twins were bent over, peering into my eyes and mimicking my caresses for Reef. This only made me sob harder and eventually Kyan walked in and asked what I was doing.

I have to admit that, these days, it is a rare sight to see me sitting on the floor petting Reef. She has been with me for more than 13 years, since she was 5 months old. She has traveled with me, she has moved cross country with me, she has flown to and from Hawaii with me, she has been shipped to live with my parents in Ohio briefly when I couldn't find an apartment that allowed dogs, and then back again when I found a new home. She was my baby. Until I had a baby. Then everything changed. The truth is that I was never a dog person, but the morning I found Reef my then boyfriend pulled into the Humane Society in Boulder, Colorado after we had a hungover breakfast at a local greasy spoon. I moaned because I didn't think my stomach could handle the stench of the dog pens, but I reluctantly followed. I remember walking up and down the rows of cages, disinterested, queasy, and unaffected. Until I saw Reef. There she was all cute and cuddly and wagging her tail for dear life. She was clearly out of place and she was BEGGING for someone to save her. I called my boyfriend over and we knelt down to stroke her nose as she stuck it out of the cage and wagged her tail so frantically that I half expected her hind end to lift from the ground in mock flight. We immediately asked if we could take her outside to the visiting pens and bring his dog in from the car to meet her. The attendants agreed and informed us that she had only been put in the pens about 10 minutes before we walked through the door. She had just arrived that morning. We took her outside and the people in other pens began staring at her, whispering, nudging...they ALL wanted her! She was a stand out among mutts. She looked like a dalmation, but with muted spots and a chunkier tail. She was sweet and docile and terribly loving. We fell in love, but I immediately began making logical arguments against taking her home. We were about to move in together, but the move wasn't taking place for about 3 weeks and I could not have dogs in my apartment. He lived in a very small place with his dog and couldn't add another to the mix. We reluctantly handed her over, but had the foresight to put a hold on her in case we could figure out a way to make it work. We were the first hold. By the time we left there were 10 names under ours. We had 48 hours to make a decision. I agonized over it for about 36 hours and finally realized that I couldn't live without her.

I brought her home to my "no dogs allowed" apartment with cream colored carpets and a great view. She immediately shat on the floor. What ensued was a 24 hour battle and in the end I called my boyfriend and told him we would have to take her back. She shat and peed on every inch of cream colored carpet and EVERY time she did I would run her down 3 flights of stairs to the patch of lawn out front and cross my fingers that no one would see us! It was maddening! He talked me into giving it a little more time and I gave in only if he agreed to stay at my place and shoulder the burden with me. Somehow we made it through those first days and decided to keep her.

I used to sleep with her spooned on my bed, ride with one hand stroking her back while driving, cuddle with her on the couch, and coo in her silky ears.

When Kyan came along, however, I had a fairly intense bout of anxiety the first weeks he was home. During that time I began to see her as a threat or a hazard to my sweet, clean, fresh little baby. Her hair was on his clothes, her nails came too close to his eye when she pawed at him in affection, and god forbid she should sit on him! Eventually the crazy wore off, but something about how I looked at Reef changed. She had been the stand in for my baby for years, but now that I had my baby he was my focus. It wasn't a conscious shift, but I see it clearly now.

In the five years since Kyan was born Reef has been shoved aside and neglected, not in a cruel way, just in a  shrug of the shoulders, nothing to be done, these things happen kind of way. I yelled at her more, telling her to lay down, or leave the kids' food alone, or get out of the way while she tripped me carrying multiple babies or knocked a newly walking child to his feet. Kyan watched these interactions without my knowing that he was watching them and he began to imitate them. He began to yell at her and call her names and get visibly angry at her when he was about 3 or 4. He has taught the twins to react to her in the same way, even stopping them when they pet or cuddle her. I take full responsibility for his actions.

Last night, however, when I stopped and let myself feel the pain of losing her, imagining my life without Reef in it, Kyan saw that, too. He stopped and he stared at me and I saw the questions in his eyes; I saw the intelligent rendering of understanding. Then he said, "Mama, are you crying?"
"Yes," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"Well," I began, sighing deeply, knowing that in this moment I might be able to make up for the damage I had caused in his young mind, "I don't think Reef will be with us much longer and that makes me very sad."
Again, the look of startled understanding and searching eyes.
"You know what, when I kicked Reef earlier, I kind of felt sad, too," he returned. I sighed. Another reminder that I had taught him to be cruel and heartless, though he doesn't really "kick" her, he pushes her away from him with his foot when she comes to the table looking for food, and I have NEVER kicked her or hit her in any way.

I called him to me and he came with eyes brimming to sit in my lap. I gave him a kiss on the head and asked if he had any questions. "Yes," he said, "will we recycle her?"
I laughed a little, remembering a conversation we had had a couple of weeks ago about death and his suggestion that people should be recycled.
"No," I said, but then, "Well, I guess in a way we will. Her body will be empty, not alive anymore, so we will bury it in the earth and it will become a part of that earth and she will be a part of everything that grows up from the dirt, part of the trees, the flowers, the grass..."
"So, she'll be a flower?" he interrupted.
"Not really, but EVERY flower in that dirt will come from some part of her, will grow stronger in the dirt that she is mixed with. Does that make sense?" He nodded his head in awe and began to cry a little while glancing down at her with a sideways look as if he didn't know how to express these new feelings toward her.
"Mama, I didn't want to be mean to her, it's just that I didn't really know her that well," he said in a pleading voice.
"Kyan, it's okay. None of us gave Reef as much love as she deserved. It happens. We were all busy and our house is kind of crazy. You know what we can do to make up for it?" He shook his head miserably. "We can give her more love than she will ever need for as long as she is with us, does that sound good?"
He started to sob softly and shook his head yes. I put my arms around him and held him close and kissed him over and over until he jerked away, sobbing, and said, "NO! Love her, Mama, give her kisses." I began to sob softly, too, and we both leaned over her and kissed her head and stroked her ears.

Eventually, I had to get up to tend to the twins' bedtime, but Kyan stayed on her bed, awkwardly petting her and gazing with sadness at me every now and then. Finally, he picked her head up, looked into her eyes and then began a shuddering sob. He ran to me on the couch and buried his head in my chest while I lifted him to my lap. I held him and he sobbed and sobbed. I felt sad, but I also felt so very proud of him. So proud of the change he had just undergone, and the strength and compassion with which he was now carrying himself. I felt like he had matured so much in just a few minutes. I held him until he stopped sobbing and he sat with me gazing solemnly at his brothers while I read them their bed time stories.

Finally, he couldn't stand the air of normalcy and he begged, "Mama, tell Ronan. Tell Ronan." I tried to explain that the twins were too young to really understand, but he kept insisting, so I said, "Ronan, Reef is going to die. Probably soon." Ronan just looked at me and said, "Ok." I looked at Kyan and he turned to Ronan and pleadingly began to explain, "Ronan, that's NOT good. We won't see Reef anymore, Ronan. It is NOT good. Do you understand?" Ronan just smiled nervously. I hugged Kyan tighter and my heart felt full and sad.

While we were putting the twins to bed Kyan went into his room and got his favorite fleece sheet with sheep and moons and clouds and he brought it out and covered her up and lay down next to her under the sheet. Ben and I found him that way and we kissed his head and let him lay there until he was ready for a story and bed.

Today Reef ate breakfast and she seems alright, but I know, I know it won't be much longer. I've waited for that knowing, and now that it is here it hurts more than I expected. Her death will be hard for us all, but she has lived a long full life. She has traveled the country, welcomed three babies, and swum in many waters. She had a good life, even if the latter years weren't her best. Kyan will mourn her and somehow that warms my heart. He will remember this for the rest of his life and I think it will affect him in some unexpected ways. I marvel at his capacity for compassion and remorse and I am awed by his ability to change. I learned a lesson, too, just one more gift that Reef brought to my life.

Living in the Present

My present is as glorious as it is mundane. It is pleasing everyone and pleasing no one. It is poop on the floors, on the patio, on the rug, on the bed, on the tiny little feet padding into the room to say, "Mommy, I poop."

It is moments where patience escapes me entirely and I raise my voice to an uncharacteristic pitch only to be met with three little boy voices in stereo mimicking my tone and teaching me a lesson all in one tiny phrase flowing from the mouth of a two year old: "you bad, Mommy, you bad."

It is cooking dinner with a glass of wine, chatting with a friend at the kitchen table, running out in to the yard to rescue the hose swinging like a lasso and spraying everyone in sight, and then stepping in the poop on the patio and hearing the dreaded phrase, "I poop, Mommy, I poop."

It is wandering the aisles of the supermarket staring at labels, looking at ingredients, calculating the nutrients, agonizing over protein content, separating the toddlers pulling each other's hair in the car cart that barely navigates the corners, and losing the five year old to the display of fruit.

It is waiting like a clock watching fool for the front door to open, relief to come, smiles to gleam, boys to run to someone else and grab his legs, extra hands to change the diaper or clean up the poop that fell out of it.

It is a moment to wash dishes alone that feels like heaven even as I rush to finish before little feet come padding naked from the bath and soon three sets run races around the table laughing and screaming, their towels streaming behind them like capes.

It is reading book after book before ecstatically laying the sweet, sweaty boys into their beds and drowning them with kisses and then breathing deeply as the door snaps shut.

It is stories of antics and successes flying over the mouth of beer bottles and drowning in the glasses of wine, so exhausted that we fight to stay awake an hour longer than the children and then give up the fight and collapse into bed praying that we will stay there all night.

It is an alarm clock that yells, "Mommy!" at 5 am and continues with a cry from the other crib and then is met with a loud, "Hello!" from the other room...it is up and moving and running and dressed and eating by 6 am and wondering how to keep them entertained until the first place opens at 9 am.

It is occasional nights away circling with women who make me feel like I am not alone in the world, having dinner and drinks with my husband and remembering what being alone feels like. It is sneaking away every now and then after a quick and messy dinner, leaving behind naked bottoms that need to be diapered and dishes that need to be washed, so that I can stretch my body in yoga or expand my mind while writing in another circle of women, of acceptance, of creative flow and leaving there exhausted but full of love and hope and pages in a journal.

It is morning play dates with other tired mamas, coffee in hand ,jumping up and down to tend to the children and never missing a beat in the conversation about our next big challenge or the most annoying thing or the way our children have turned us into crazy people.

It is, above all, about love.
Exhausting, fulfilling, overwhelming, magical, unconditional, painful, messy, loud, chaotic, silly, desperate, unending love for each and every person who makes the days pass by on the calendar like water through a funnel and brings me eventually to a tomorrow where I will look back and long for the joy of today.

Two years on the mountain

This Friday, June 8th, Mason and Ronan will be 2 years old. I am having a somewhat hard time processing this event. I have a birthday party planned for which I have done absolutely NOTHING to prepare. I have gifts purchased. I took them to their two year well-check. I have mentioned the event to them and tried to teach them to say, "I am 2 years old" while holding up two fingers. But, that's it. Beyond these simple things (which may or may not have all been performed within the last 48 hours) I think I might be in denial. 

one day old

How can they be 2? I mean, really? and at the same time, how can they be ONLY 2!!?? They still don't sleep through the night much of the time. We get about 2-3 good nights to every 1 bad night. I guess that's improvement, but if someone had told me that we would still be struggling with sleeping all night long when the twins turned 2, I might have thrown in the towel. On the other hand, they talk like a couple of 3 year olds and their comprehension blows my mind. I forgot that when they hit this transitional age you can truly start getting them to understand what you want from them. It's so cool. But, then again, half the time whatever you ask of them results in a 3 minute temper tantrum that cannot be soothed by ANYTHING. Sigh...two. two year olds. TWO OF THEM!!!!

almost 2

When I found out we were having twins I don't think I was capable of thinking this far ahead. I could see VERY distant future, but I kept myself going through the first two years by only anticipating tomorrow. Now I am faced every day with the question of whether or not to stay home (easier physically) and listen to the boys fight, cry, whine, and sing random songs at top volume 50% of the time OR head out into the world (that is, by they way, very ill equipped to handle TWO 2 year olds) and chase, shout, jump, cry, or elbow my way through some sort of toddler entertainment while simultaneously juggling the very specific desires, complaints, and needs of a 5 year old. 

Today it went something like this:

They boys are a bit sick so I figured I would stay home rather than exposing the world to their illness, so I planned nothing. However, at 9 am, after 3 rounds of breakfast, 3 temper tantrums per 2 year old, 1 temper tantrum from 5 year old, 2 knock down drag out fights between two 2 year olds, one fight between a 2 year old and a 5 year old, and 4 recitations of the "clean up, clean up" song in order to restore dumped baskets, bins, or shelves to order, I was DONE. So, I decided we would go to the library. It's always a crap shoot. The twins go in in a stroller, but will no longer stay in the stroller while looking for books, but we go early enough that it's almost empty. So we went. It could have been worse except for the fact that each time I put Mason into his car seat I had to wrestle him down to a sitting position and hold him in said position while simultaneously strapping and buckling the car seat. Same deal for the stroller, which was lovely while IN the library and attempting to check out books to leave. Next we attempted to get some groceries and lunch at New Seasons. This went as well as could be expected. No explanation needed. Once home I wrestled both of the 2 year olds into their room and into bed. Once there it took them about 20 minutes to settle down and go to sleep. That was 30 minutes ago. One just now started to cry. I am SO ignoring him. 

I really struggle some days with staying calm. Something I read said I am not supposed to blame my feelings or frustrations on the kids, at least to their face. So, I can't say, "Kyan, Mommy is VERY frustrated by the way you're acting. OR Mason, that hurts Mommy's feelings when you do that." Yet I find myself saying these things constantly because I have to tell SOMEONE. If I don't talk to another adult between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm I begin to lose my mind. I am ready for wine by noon on those days and I have to count the minutes until 4 pm (which I deem a somewhat reasonable time to commence drinking). I am supposed to keep my voice even and calm. I am not supposed to yell or scream at them. or say, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" or "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!??" Some days I do great at this. Other days I basically follow the above script to a tee while feeling like a horrible mother the entire time. So I figure they are only about 50% screwed up, right?

I had no idea what it would be like to have three kids, which is why I wasn't sure if I wanted to have another one after the second one, but the universe apparently had plans for me. I have been so blessed by my children and I wouldn't change a thing. You know those moments where you try to imagine one of them not being there, you know mostly just to ease the burden, and suddenly your chest gets tight and your eyes start to sting and you can't form a coherent thought for fear that thinking it could make it true? yeah. that's how I feel. I've tried to imagine my twin pregnancy as a singleton pregnancy and I've tried to imagine having just Mason or just Ronan as the second child and having the third child be a question mark in my mind, but it's impossible. The only acceptable truth is that there were two to make three. Life would not be possible or bearable without each one of them. They are the Harper boys; my little train of men following along behind me making mischief and noise wherever they go. I think that sometimes the things that are hardest are the things that make life beautiful. This sure ain't easy, but it sure is beautiful.

A Vision for Pheraby

This week has been a challenging one. The morning of Kyan’s birthday I learned that a beautiful young girl left us far too soon. She was a very special little girl, which is how I see her still even though she was 16, and her beauty and uniqueness were part of what defined the year I spent teaching in the Fire Mountain community. During that year I joined a group of people that came together with the common desire to give their children the best foundation they possibly could; a group that had roots that spanned back decades to an original group of parents with a vision. One of the highlights of my time there was a little girl named Pheraby. This little girl was brilliant, sweet, and unique. There was an awkwardness to her, but it was a sweet and delicate kind of awkwardness. She was a sensitive soul and in her loving community she thrived. She thrived because the culture of kindness and respect that SHOULD be everywhere was alive in her small community. 

The problem is that that culture of kindness is not everywhere and the tragedy is that our world at large continually perpetuates a lack of decency. We are not a kind or even a decent culture. Sure there are kind people in our world, decent people in our country, and in our communities, but these people are like a pile of sticks trying to hold back a tidal wave. We allow our children to be saturated by media that TEACHES them to be unkind. I cringe when I watch some of the media that is considered acceptable for preschoolers. The girls and boys are MEAN to one another. The writing makes it seem funny, normal, and even acceptable to bully someone or insult someone. It is tragic. I watch my son mimic that behavior, even though his media is extremely limited, because he sees it everywhere, it is part of his culture no matter how hard I try to keep it from him.

When I taught at Fire Mountain School I was not yet a parent so I understood a lot less about the parents I worked with than I do now. I was young and I was not perfect, in fact I’m not sure I was even a “good” teacher then, definitely not a “great” one. But, what I did understand then, despite my age, was that there was something very special happening in that tiny little school and that I was a part of it. I would lead parents around on tours of the school and talk to them about the foundation of education and human interaction that Fire Mountain could provide and they would leave as converts, ready to drop everything and join our little community. I sometimes wondered, after those tours, if I would be good in sales, but then I realized that the only way I could be that good at selling something is if I believed in it the way I believe in Fire Mountain’s mission. 

When I imagine what I want for my sons’ education I see them growing up in that community with all of its perfect imperfection. I see them starting a merchant system in the woods using squirrel tails as currency; learning the basics of society through unstructured play. I see my boys holding a circle of kindness around their peers so that each one of them can flourish and grow and become the person they deserve to be.

I don’t know what happened to Pheraby once she left the safety of Fire Mountain and became a part of a much bigger, less perfect community, and I don’t know if what happened to her is because of the imperfections of the world at large. What I do know is that she had a wonderful childhood and she was loved and supported by so many wonderful souls who will carry her with them in their hearts and in their memories for the rest of their lives. 

The other night I had the extreme honor of seeing many of those children from my year at Fire Mountain grown up and glowing. They were glowing with youth, with knowledge, with love, and that night with grief. They were bound together by the invisible thread of their childhood experiences, and now they are bound together by their love and loss of Pheraby. They were already exceptional human beings, but now they may have just a bit more reason to be exceptional, a bit more drive to go out into the world and pass on the lessons they learned in their childhood. Pheraby’s father said to the group the other night, “something good has to come of this, it has to.” I believe it will. I believe each and every one of those young people will fight to make the world a better place, a kinder place, because they are fighting for Pheraby; They are bound to her and she to them and that bond will change lives. 

Dear Kyan,

Yesterday you turned 5. I can’t believe that five years have already passed since you came into my life. A lot has happened in five years, but still it seems like only yesterday!

I thought when you turned 5 things would get so much easier for me because you would suddenly do everything for yourself and behave with great control and politeness. I was wrong, but it’s a good kind of wrong J You are so much like me that it almost scares me. You insist on doing everything for yourself and when you can’t do something that you wanted to do for yourself you get extremely upset. You are a little too smart for your own good and your memory is so amazing that I’ve wondered if it’s photographic. You have a sweetness and a loyalty that you get, at least in part, from your Dad. You love your friends with a fierceness and also with a hint of possessiveness. You are still young enough to love your Mommy and Daddy and to give us lots of hugs and kisses and let us hold you on our laps and love you. I dread the day when you are too old for these things. You and I used to talk about your freckles and how you would get more and more as you get older. You have a smattering across your nose and I love every single one of them!

Yesterday for your birthday we celebrated with a few friends at PDX Playdate, which was your choice. Then we had a lovely dinner in the backyard with just a few other families and with Nana and Papa. You were more spoiled by presents than I expected, but you were so happy that it was worth it! After everyone left, even though it was already past your bedtime, you got to stay up late and watch Star Wars for the first time ever. Now I am no longer the mean Mommy who keeps you from your heart’s desire. It’s nice to give in for once. I think you were pretty happy with your birthday and you felt loved and celebrated.

You have so many years left in your life and it is hard for me to imagine that you will one day be spending them without me there by your side every day. I guess I have to enjoy the 18 years that I know for sure you will be spending with me and appreciate each moment. You want to grow up so fast, just like I did at your age. Today you had to go potty and you walked right past the ladies room and went into the men’s room all by yourself. You were so proud when you came out, even though it wasn’t your first time. You also got three shots today and you were so determined not to cry. I watched your face grimace and you wanted to cry out so much, but you stayed strong and you didn’t cry. I wanted to cry for you, because it was one more sign that my little boy is growing up. You will always be my baby no matter how old you get and how far away from me you may travel. You and your brothers are the best thing I have ever done in my life and I can’t wait to see you grow and change into men. I think every mother mourns the loss of her babies while celebrating the triumph of her children into adults. I celebrate your growth even as I yearn for the little boy stomping around in rain boots and a diaper and dancing to his baby boom box! Happy Birthday, my first born boy! I love you so much!

Love,

Mama

 The twins are almost two and last night during my writing circle this is the story that came to me. I hope that I have written enough about them to make it clear to them that they are and were loved. I often feel guilty because I have not followed their every movement and change the way I did with Kyan and recorded it and bound it and sealed it in a time capsule of love...I hope I remember the most important things, but before I forget I will do my best to write about them!

 Each Enough

He was like a puckered old man; the redness of his face advertising discontent, the bulge of his eyes begging answers, his cry shrill and harsh under the fluorescent lights of the operating room. They placed him in the crook of my right arm and I glanced at him quickly before turning back to the round little cherub with the whittled dimples and shock of dark hair who lay in the crook of my left arm. I turned back and forth from one to the other, feeling more anxious with every turn of my head. I finally began to cry, not the tears of happiness you would expect, though I was indeed happy, but tears of frustration and confusion. I had just spent fifteen minutes bonding with the cherub while pushing out the little old man, who came feet first as if he were already running, and now here I was holding both of my little men and I didn’t know who to look at first. The little old man just kept crying and I wanted to reach out to him, to smooth his wrinkled forehead, to give him a finger, or better yet a breast, to soothe him, but my arms were so full.

On the other side the cherub wriggled, trying to catch my attention again so that I would do some more of that long staring and smooth stroking that had graced the first fifteen minutes of his already blissful life, that is until the screaming old man had come along. I realized for just a moment that he was already learning how things would be, he was already coping with sibling rivalry, but I pushed the thought aside because it was too much to handle in that moment. Instead of gazing in his eyes, I began to cry and my chest heaved and my arms began to ache and the staff of nurses and doctors just danced their post delivery dance around me. At some point I felt the doctor deliver one, then two placentas, and still my arms ached and my heart felt full to bursting.

The old man quieted down and the cherub was taken by his Daddy to find a new window into bliss. I looked into the bulging, questioning eyes of this little old man and I knew him then: he was the trickster that did yoga poses in my womb, the acrobat who moved my sternum up and out more and more each day he lived inside of me, the boy who tickled my ribs with his bobbing head and kicked his brother with his happy feet. There was a fullness of being in him even then, even in utero when so much was yet unknown. He seemed pleased to have displaced the little cherub from my arms and he almost smiled at me then; a smile that said then, as it does still, I know I am loved no matter what I do. I held him tightly and felt the fear slip away, the fear of that moment when I held two and felt that I only knew one. The moment had finally come, the moment that I had worried and agonized over for months while lying inert on my left side watching eight tiny limbs dance circles around my humongous belly. What fear can be greater than the fear that I will not be enough…not enough mother, not enough love, not enough strength, not enough guts…the fear that two will weigh so much more than one.

Finally, they are both together again, bathed and nursed, silent and still, lying on a pillow that circles my still round and mountainous belly. Their heads nestle close to one another, their tiny hands twitch and I think of the movements that are now before me, but were once within me, and again I cry…I cry this time because my arms are strong, my heart is full, and we are, each one of us, enough.

the old man

the cherub

Bliss, Guilt, and Weaving

I did it again...I took time away from the family for my own relaxation and renewal! It was fabulous, but also punctuated here and there with feelings of guilt...Leaving my poor sweet friend with my three terrors as well as her own two kids for five hours, only to hear (in a text that didn't reach me until after I regained cell service on the way home) that Kyan had been playing with knives in the kitchen and scared the bejesus out of her. Then there was this nagging feeling that maybe the reason Kyan has been acting out lately is the recent increase of time I am taking for myself...to which my dear friend (who was joining me for said relaxation and renewal) promptly replied that I was being ludicrous...I hope she's right.

The bottom line is that parenting is hard and we need to take space now and then. I hate to say it for fear of offending working parents everywhere (keep in mind that I once was one!), but that time away from home when other parents go to work is a blessing that sometimes goes unrecognized. I have mornings where I seriously want to run after Ben's car as it pulls out of the driveway and scream, "TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!" It's not that I don't love being home with the boys, trust me, I thank the stars everyday that I am not juggling teaching full time with mothering three boys. The problem is that if I don't take time away from them then I don't cherish my time with them nearly as much. I don't "get off of work" at any point during the day (or the night for that matter), so I need to take some scheduled mental health breaks!

So I set the intention to take some space for myself...I am taking a writing workshop that meets each week and doing a few other day long workshops. I have a book club that meets once a month and actually talks about the book we read (there may also be wine involved). I took two days and nights to go back to Breitenbush and sit around in hot water all day and eat amazing vegetarian food. I even went out one night not long ago to see my beautiful friend sing...It was crazy to be "out" again and of course I stayed out a bit too late and had to pay for it in the world of motherdom the next day, but it was worth it!

I truly believe that taking this time to myself brings me clarity and I am much more grounded in my ability to mother my children...well, at least to mother them well. It is much easier to take this time now that I am home with them everyday. I know that when I was working I felt nothing but guilt when I did things for myself, so I just stopped doing them. Sometimes I want to laugh when I look back at those days and remember how difficult I thought it all was...but, it was...I guess difficult is what difficult is when you are in that moment. Right now I have reached difficult on a whole new level.

Twins are hard. I guess most people wouldn't dispute that fact, so I won't bother defending myself with a paragraph long dissertation about why twins are hard, but I feel the need to acknowledge that they Are. Really. Hard.  They are also amazing. I suppose that is the guilty critic in my head that is apologizing for admitting that I am not a supermom who flies through my days wondering how other people can complain about the difficulty of raising children...I wish I was that mom, but I'm not. They are amazing...AND...amazingly hard.

So, I spent some time soaking and talking and soaking and eating and talking and soaking and talking and eating and sleeping and eating and soaking...and, it was fabulous. I experienced that strange reality where people see me as myself rather than the frenzied mother chasing her three children around various places. It was neat, but it also felt a bit wrong. I felt like I was telling people about my boys whenever I got the chance because then there were people there who could actually see me as who I really am. I am me...that person in and of myself...but, within that person is that frenzied mother and she cannot truly be separated from myself. I suppose that's the point, isn't it? No matter what we do or where we are we will always be both of those people. We cannot go back to a time when we were not mothers and BE that person again. There is a cord that binds us tightly to our mothering self and no matter how far away we may attempt to stray, it will hold us tight. That is easier for me to envision; what's difficult for me to envision is that the opposite is true as well: That self, the one before the kids that we see as just us without the mother self, that self is always there, too. We are also bound to that person and that person is bound to us. Writing reminds me of that. When I write I hear her voice, I feel her pain and her joy, I become her and I weave her in and out of my mothering self.

This is where I think I am going with the intentions I have set for myself. I am attempting to tighten that weave so that I can feel the entirety of myself in everything that I do. If I can weave a big beautiful blanket then perhaps I can hold it tight around myself when I begin to lose my way...

Time Out of Mind

Where has the time gone?

Well, it certainly hasn't been directed at my blog, I'll tell you that much. It is something of a mystery to me that I can look at something I enjoy doing so much (writing) as a chore and ignore it for months on end. I tried to determine what it is that makes me do this and the best I can come up with is that I am so exhausted by being a mother that in the moments of free time that I find myself with throughout the day my only desire is to do things that do not require thinking AT ALL.

Coming to this particular conclusion made me realize something else: the twins are going to be two in 3 short months and I am STILL stuck in survival mode. You know how people tell you that the first year is the hardest and they promise you'll get to sleep through the night eventually...? Yeah, well, Kyan taught me that the first year thing is a myth, but the twins have taken it to a new level:
We still do not sleep through the night. We have one child in bed with us for a minimum of two, but average of 5, hours a night. Our pediatrician actually told me that our family probably accounted for 10% of their business this winter. Ben and I sometimes forget to say hello to one another and don't realize it until the kids are in bed and we walk out of Kyan's room. In fact, Ben and I went on our first overnight date, since the twins were born, a couple of weeks ago. We had a great time, but on Sunday morning after waking up at 8 am (which felt unnaturally late to us) we weren't sure what to do with ourselves. We eventually found ourselves walking around downtown Portland with coffee in hand at 11 am and expressing how boring life is without kids. Ben finally said, "let's just go home. I kind of miss them."

I suppose this also illustrates how much we love our kids. They are so fun and crazy. Our house is a VERY loud, but never boring place to be. Kyan is growing into an incredibly hilarious little man. The other day at Costco he wanted to get another sample of something and I told him that the polite thing to do was to only take one. He REALLY wanted another one, so I told him he could ask the woman if it was okay. He walked up to her while I pretended not to be watching, but he couldn't spit it out. He finally came back to me and I realized that his shirt was backwards. I asked him why and he said, "I turned it around so she wouldn't recognize me." SERIOUSLY?! I was quite amused by his cleverness, though the woman giving out the samples seemed to think it was a tad bit naughty. Oh well...at least he's a clever naughty boy!

So from what I understand of parenthood so far it is a stunning combination of love, excitement, frustration, desperation, and futility. There is absolutely nothing like it in the world...although I did read a very good blog post comparing it to climbing Mt. Everest...It seems to me that, just as in life, we feel completely misunderstood by anyone who is not living the same reality that we are right this moment as parents. I had a woman tell me today that she thinks her situation is harder because her daughters are only a year apart and she thinks twins would be easier. Case in point. Any of my twin friends would understand how wrong it is to say that to a mother of twins.

I love being a mother. I love being a family. I am also learning to truly love and appreciate the moments that I take for myself outside of these things. Though, when I do take this time I feel sort of out of place in the normal kid-free world. I kind of want a sign on my chest that says "mother of three. taking a break.", so that I might attract others who are more like me. It's strange. Someday I am going to look back on this time and I am going to miss it terribly, yet I constantly dream of a time when all three of my boys will be more independent. Yet another lesson of motherhood...love it while you've got it. I think I'll focus on that one this week...