The Rest.

You've been on my mind. "You" meaning this blog, it's readers, or perhaps just the Great Void. The point is - I have been wanting to write a post for weeks now. My camera is chalk full of stories to be told, memories to rake through carefully and reverently, the way you rake your fingers through the gossamer hair of a young, sick child. 

While I haven't had time to do the former, I have found myself doing the latter quite a lot lately. This year's cold and flu season has hit our home with vengeance. I won't bore you with the play-by-play details (like I did my very, VERY wonderful Facebook friends) but my oldest was hit hard with walking pneumonia and then an allergic reaction to her antibiotic, then I got a stomach bug, and then my youngest got the stomach bug that she is *fingers crossed* finally over. 

The whole thing crescendo'd last night with a whirlwind trip to the emergency room for my youngest who was beginning to show signs of dehydration. Thanks to some wonderful staff at her doctor's office, the hospital and a magical little pill known as Zofran, she seems to be on the mend.

What I didn't see coming was that following the frenzied crescendo of last night, would be today: The rest. 

I am in awe of today. With two small children who were born less than two years apart, it is rare that they do anything apart. While I am usually with both of them, and sometimes with neither of them, I am very, very rarely with just one of them for any stretch of time. But today my husband drove off with my healthy Scarlett to drop her off at preschool while my still-not-feeling-it Cecilia stayed home with me. Not that I don't miss the sweet, inquisitive presence of my five-year-old, but my is this nice. 

We slept in. After kissing her sister and Daddy goodbye, baby girl turned to me, speechless, and lifted her arms up to me. I gladly complied, feeling her little body mold against mine in a way that deceives me and let's me believe she's still a baby for just a little bit longer. "My belly hurts" her raspy voice whispered into my ear. We snuggled up in bed and while the snow drifted outside our window, we drifted off to sleep. At 10:30 I woke up to her face about two inches from mine as she squealed, "I'M ALL BETTER MOMMY!" 

And I think I believe her. 

We scooped up snow in a bowl and ate it. We made snowballs and threw them out the window. We played with blocks and read books. She painted and played with play dough while Sarah McLaughlin crooned away and brought me into a place of total peace. I enjoyed the feel of my hands sudsy from dish detergent, the sound of the washer and dryer whirring rhythmically behind me. My dishes are done. My bed is made. My floors are vacuumed. And I am *almost* caught up on my laundry (a huge feat given the copious number of loads required to purge our house of anything that came in contact with the devil stomach flu Cecilia caught). And all this without breaking up fights, ignoring my child, or even worse, losing my temper.
I deliriously text my husband, gushing about my love of motherhood and how wonderful it feels to be productive. He response: Lol. I think you both needed this.

Smart man. I feel like today was one gloriously long therapy session and I have purged all the sickness and stress from my home and my body.

Anyway, I am done blubbering about this wonderful place of rest. For now. And I will be back soon with pictures and with "real" posts. Promise :)

Now it's time for me to go get ready to pick up a dearly missed daughter and sister. Looking forward to coming home to a clean house where we can sit down and she can tell us all about her adventures today.

Stay healthy, stay warm, stay appreciative. 

-T

Believe in Magic

Working in a hospital changes a person. You watch life struggle to maintain it's healthy existence - and sometimes fail - on a regular basis. In my short time doing what I do, I have seen young, seemingly healthy people have their world turn topsy-turvy as they grapple with a sudden stage 4 cancer diagnosis. I have observed as a frantic woman watched her husband slip away, and then be revived again. I have seen HIV patients reach their breaking point and turn violent. I have comforted little women and men withering away in confusion, as they plead with me again to tell them who I am and why I am in their home for the dozenth time in an hour.

Most recently, I've seen the mist in a 90-year-old man's eyes as he looked me straight on, challenging and pleading with me to be a better, more attentive, more playful, more compassionate mother NOW because I have no idea how quickly this time will pass and I have no idea how hard I will try and fail to recreate this remarkable time for the rest of my life. "It's unlike anything else in the human experience. Parenthood." 

It's the thing parents hear most often. "Savor it." "Enjoy it." "It goes by too fast." But when I hear it nearly every day from people who have lived out nearly their whole lives and they tell me this is it. This is the best thing you'll ever know. Well, it does something to your perspective. I am, at times, painfully aware of the seconds ticking by. How many more years will my 5-year-old believe that a magical Santa Claus slips into our home with a bag ripe with toys just for her? How many more months will my 3-year-old gladly welcome snuggling in my bed, her hand gently curled around mine as her breath grows rhythmic with sleep?

 We don't know until it's too late. We never know when it will be the last time we hand-make our child's Halloween costume. We never know the last time we will host their birthday party, or play dress up with them, or paint their nails. We never know the last time we pull out the play-dough or use finger paints. 

So Wednesday morning after I got home from work, I woke the girls and I just DID it. I left my phone plugged into the charger and the TV off. A little Pandora played in the background and I kept my camera near by for a quick snapshot here and there. But mostly, I just played. 

It felt good. Scarlett was eager to make sand castles "just like at the real beach!" and Cecilia quickly turned my spaghetti into slithering snakes. I think sometimes we get so caught up in that damn to-do list that we forget to stop and have a little fun. Being a kid is SO. EFFING. FUN. The good news is that as a parent, you get to relive those times. You can build elaborate forts and get lost in a good coloring book. And that's totally normal. You try doing that shit without kids and you can get used to singledom and maybe a room with nicely padded walls. So live it up while the gettin' is good. 

(Check out Zinfindel photo-bombing the Halloween pictures. "This is MY holiday, thankyouverymuch.")

So go ahead and MAKE those rockin' home made costumes. TAKE those blackmail worthy photos. The cool thing about being a parent is that - to an extent - you get to handcraft the memories your kids will have. You get to be the Great Initiator of Traditions. It's a lofty title. Don't let it go to waste. While they might roll their eyes at the over-the-top childhood in their teenage years, I promise that as an adult they will never regret the magical, spectacular ways in which you went above and beyond for them. Reality and responsibility will hit them hard enough, soon enough. Let them be kids. 

I still have time to see if this theory proves true, but I like to believe that we can change the way our children view the world. We can shape their ideas about their influence on the world around them and give them the right tools to believe, even as an adult, in a bit of magic. I don't know about you, but I'm aiming to raise up some idealists. I recently saw a quote online (can't find an author) that states, "The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones that do." I hope my kids are that kind of crazy.

Hoping that your Halloween was as magical as ours, and that Sandy didn't rain to hard on your parade! Stay safe, and don't forget to give in to your inner child. Hell, even if you don't have kids. Build a fort. I won't tell.