It's a Person

It started a week or two ago. I saw from afar, as Brooklyn made the unmistakable motion on her paper of a circle, then finished it off with one straight, deliberate line, and then another.

"It's a spider!" she announced.

"It does look like a spider!" I said. (With a little bit of a shudder. Because spiders. Yuck.)

And she went from (mostly) incoherent scribbles to (somewhat) recognizable art. Just like that.

+++++

This past weekend, she had a meltdown. Full-blown screaming, ranting, raving, can't-catch-her-breath tantrum. I let her go for awhile, but with no end in sight, I found a piece of paper and some crayons and walked over to where she was sitting.

"Draw me a picture of how you're feeling," I told her, still not expecting much beyond a mess of scribbles. (Also feeling pretty proud of myself: draw me your feelings? Genius. Parenting win, right there.)

She was so concentrated on her drawing, as I peeked at her working so diligently. I checked in with her a bit later to find this.

I hope you can see it: a large circle for the head, two smaller, fainter circles for the eyes, a line for the mouth. Two vertical lines below for the legs.

A person.

She drew a person.

"That's me sad," she said. Her demeanor had completely changed. She actually wasn't sad anymore; she was thrilled with her drawing. It went from an emotional wreck of a morning to being one of the most exciting moments in all my parenting. She continued to work on her picture awhile longer.

Representational art. Out of nowhere. We have arrived.

Since then she's continued to fill sheets with recognizable artwork. My brother babysat the other day, and when I returned I found a stack of papers filled with stick people. "Did you draw these?!?" I asked him, astounded. "No. That's what it would look like if I did though," he said. So thankfully he wasn't offended. (And still the source of my creative skills remains a mystery in my family...) I mean, so far her repertoire is limited: people and suns. I've been saving every one, slipping them out to show anyone who comes over. Artistic mommy is so proud. The thing is, they're not supposed to be able to do this yet. The human figure is supposed to be a process, and take time, and coordination, and years to get there. I showed one of her teachers at school today, who is interested in how children learn to create art. She's given a talk every semester on the creative process in very young children. "That's something a 4-year old might do!" she said. (Is that a mommy brag? Maybe. #sorrynotsorry) Yet Brooklyn pulled this out seemingly overnight.

Tyson is out-of-town for work (cue the sad cry/screaming emoji), so I keep texting him pictures of her latest creations: "Look at this! Look at this!".

+++++

Sometimes these kids surprise us, in the best of ways. It's amazing to watch her create: deliberately starting with a circle for the head, two circle eyes, a line for a mouth, "two noses" (let's hope she means nostrils), two legs, two arms, and even adding hair, all just in the right spots.

Maybe she picked up on my word for the year? I hope so. I am very, very, very excited for the many creations to come.

A Love Story

Falling in love.  Or, to be more accurate: staying in love.

It doesn't always happen.  Staying in love is a lot of work.  Especially with our children.

Some days - months, years, seasons - are just hard.  We hear about that all the time.  The little years especially, all the struggles they entail.

And let's pause for a moment so as not to minimize the flat out WORK of these years.  It is hard.  Draining.  Sleep schedules, sleep training, sleep deprivation, the cleaning up of ALL of the things, making the food, picking up toys, changing diapers, potty training, carrying those babies in their carseats, getting out the door, soldiering on through bedtime, again, and again, and again.  Wake up and repeat.  Phew.

(It's adorable because you didn't have to clean up the floor afterward.)

And yet.

Sometimes, it happens.  An ordinary day, or week, or month.  But the stars have aligned. Maybe everyone slept well the previous night.  Breakfasts were eaten.  Moods and spirits are high.  Listening ears have been turned on.  The toddlers are filled with cheerful, giggly camaraderie.  A perfect equilibrium.

And you find yourself doing the most ordinary of things: walking down the dairy aisle of Target, in my case.  And you realize...

Hey...These kids - my kids - they're pretty GREAT!

You listen as they chitter-chatter about their favorite kinds of cheese (not gouda or feta, mind you, but the kind that have been branded with Frozen characters).  "Coffee - you need that for your coffee, mommy!" is shouted as they point to the heavy cream in its case.  Hey, I do.  Thanks for the reminder, guys.  They discuss gifts for their new baby cousin (a baby doll "just like mine!" from the toddler girl, a "shaker thing", aka rattle, because "babies love shaker things!" from the toddler boy).  They sit nicely, calmly, making little toddler jokes and enjoying each other's company.  

The baby happily munches on a cracker from his perch inside the cart and you realize that you haven't really been paying attention to where you've been steering that thing, because these kids?  Are kind of awesome.  Look at them - look at us - all out in public and making conversation and giggling and behaving ourselves!  You want to squish them and kiss their cheeks and laugh with them some more, because this?  This is FUN!  Right now you'd be content to just keep on pushing that cart forever.  Of course that won't happen.  There are things like lunches to make, naps to be had, an entire schedule to attend to.  And also you should get that gallon of milk somewhere with refrigeration, stat.

Sometimes the feeling lasts for a moment.  Only until you reach the checkout lane.  Or just until the chaos of bedtime.  Occasionally the stars really align and the feeling lasts for days, or even weeks.

(Like when they discover the joy of entertaining their OWN DANG SELVES.  Can I get an amen?)

It's a simple story, nothing new, tale as old as time.  But every now and then it reaches out and catches you, on the most ordinary of days.  You want things to stay this way, just like this, forever.  This moment, that mood, this feeling, these kids.  For any of it to change, for time to move on, feels like the ultimate tragedy.  And even though they are your children, you realize that you're living what can't be anything other than a love story.

To the Mama of Early Risers

Good morning, mama.

You double-check the video monitor to be sure, but no, your ears are not deceiving you. They're awake.

Brother is awake.  Sister is awake.  Baby is awake.

Everyone but you.  You stretch and roll over - can't you catch just a few minutes more of sleep, please? - but you know that it is futile.  The time on the clock reads an hour that you rarely saw before kids, but is now your new normal.  You were hoping that maaaybe today they'd forget to wake up for another hour or so.  It's been so long since you've had a full night's sleep, much less woken up on your own.  Most of your daydreams now revolve around a night in a hotel.  ALONE.  Clean sheets, fluffy pillows, and quiet.

It's hard.  You're so tired.  Your body is sore and ache-y from never getting a proper amount of uninterrupted rest.  Your cloudy mind tries to mentally prepare for what should be the simplest of tasks: throw back the covers, roll out of bed.

Why is your bed always it's coziest at six in the morning?

Sometimes it seems so unfair.  The fact that your kids,  yes, all of them, wake up so early.  Earlier than any of your friend's kids.  They don't quite understand.  Just the other day one of your good friends complained about their baby waking up "sooo early".  Which was at 6:45.  That day, like many days, you'd been awake since 5:30.  You managed not to punch her.  You are a Christian, after all.

This is maybe the toughest thing you will ever do.  Looking at the long stretch of another day at this early morning hour.  Talking yourself into getting out of bed in the morning can be quite the mental chore.   On your worst days, you start the countdown until 5:00 - daddy's home! - before 8:00 am.

It might not be fair, but it is your reality, so you do throw those covers back.  Contacts in, a splash of water on your face.  Do you have enough time for a whole shower?  Or maybe it's another dry-shampoo-will-do kind of day.  Dab of makeup.  Exchange your nighttime pajamas for what is basically a daytime set.  Thank goodness for leggings.  At least athleisure is a thing now.

Small blessing that this morning there were no potty emergencies or tantrums that demanded your attention before you were even awake.  No pressing needs.  But that's just the thing, isn't it?  How much they NEED you right now.  So many little, little ones.  Too many, it sometimes seems.  Who need you for ALL the things.  To get their food, change their clothes, wipe their bottoms, plan their activities, clean up their messes.  It's exhausting.  Especially when, most nights, you're still up with the baby a couple of times.  Maybe a toddler a time or two, with a nightmare or help on the potty.  You know this is important work, you do.  You're just not so sure that the people telling you to "enjoy it because it all goes so fast!" remember what a luxury their very own quiet bedrooms at 6 am are.

And yet.

This is a season.  I mean, it remains to be proven, but you do hear that these little ones grow up.  They start to fend for themselves more and more.  They don't need so much help on the potty.  They can pour their own bowls of cereal.  Even better: maybe you can train them to make your coffee.   Maybe - miracle of miracles - they start to sleep in a little bit. You're not sure that you'll ever mourn the passing of these early mornings, that can't come soon enough.  But their littleness?  That you will miss.  A snuggly baby.  Toddlers still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, blankie trailing behind, and a sleepy, "hi mommy!". Footie pajamas...what screams "baby" more than that?!?  Yes, you will definitely miss the footie pajamas.

But that day is not today.  Today still requires you to focus, to be present, to do all of the things.  You're still quite surrounded by toy blocks, sticky fingerprints, and, yes, footie pajamas.  

A pause at the door, a breath.  It's the beginning of the day, so (in theory, at least) your reserves of patience, gentleness, and kindness should all be full.  You wing up a quick prayer - HELP will suffice - and move forward to greet your little ones for the day.

And hey, maybe it's not too soon to train them in on how to prep that coffee.

The Year of Creativity

Create.

That is my word for this year: 2017.

It's a new thing for me, to choose a word, a theme, for the year.  I've never been much of a resolutions girl or even a writing-down-my-goals girl.  Resolutions have always seemed a little, I don't know, forced? overly hopeful? just plain cheesy? to me.

But a word?  A word I can do.

For Christmas, Tyson gifted me "The Year of Creativity", put on by the ladies of the Coffee + Crumbs blog.  It's essentially a year long class, prompting (or maybe at times forcing) the act of writing and cultivating creativity.  He knew I wanted to participate, but that it was something I would never gift myself.  (Shout-out to the hubby: you're a keeper!)  This gift, this year of creativity, is what inspired my word this year, and to even bother to choose one in the first place.

Create.

And I mean create in the fullest sense of the word - to create with my writing, certainly - but also in other ways as well.  To create areas of my home that are cozy and inviting and welcoming, areas that have been somewhat neglected since the chaos of moving and then Tyson being gone and surviving our year of #threeunderthree.  To create food, good food.  I mean, I love me some food.  And I love the making of food.  The entire baking and cooking process is so interesting and therapeutic and, yes, creative, for me.  And to create a peaceful, not frantic, schedule for our family so we can soak up these "little" years.  

This isn't a post with a pretty picture.  I don't have such free reign to create during the "pretty" hours - the sunlight streaming in and a clear, well-rested head with a mason jar of fresh-cut flowers nearby and everything arranged just "so".  That's not how this stage of life works right now.

Much of this creativity is happening in the after-hours, the fringe hours of my day.  It's dark, shadowy even.  Blurry.  It doesn't photograph well.  But this is where my creativity is happening.  This is where you will find me for much of this coming year.  

Kitchen table.  Dark.  Tea.  Or maybe a glass of wine.  Pen.  Journal.  On a good day something sweet will be nearby.  Quiet, above all else.

Tonight, I've actually created several things.  I've created a clean home (i.e picked up 1029 toys).  I even created perfect scenes in the twins' dollhouse as I re-arranged the jumble of furniture for the night (#interiordesigner4life).  I finished creating invitations for the kids' birthday party and sent them off to the printer.  And now I've created this.

The year of creativity has begun.