"Sean, I can't remember what we argued about"
"when you hit me with the shovel?"
"no"
"when I hit you with the shovel?"
"no"
"when you hit me with the shovel and I cried and I hit you with the shovel and you cried and Mommy was angry and screamed?"
"yes, thanks!"
"okay"
Sean and Will are doing it again. pinching with fury and glazing with the heart-tugging irrationality of two four-year-olds who don't understand why dogs don't eat beads. but they are still ridiculously easy to love. and even if I lose it at times I know I'm doing my best to be a good mom. some days it's not enough. but it's ok.
I spent the last 6 days wearing heels and a fixed grin as protection around bankers who closely scrutinized our accounts. no, they still haven't approved our loan yet. but they know where I buy my underwear now.
we're waiting. again.
I try to embrace the very things that are most important to me. and laugh. taking the boys to the movies for the first time. shrugging off the discouragement and frustration of dirty laundry piling up. and careful not to voice grand expectation.
but the power of I wish, I hope and I dream is getting bigger and bigger every minute. and the waiting. aargh the waiting. it is eating me up inside.
tomorrow we will have a home of our own. or not.
I want to remember everything, to commit every second to memory. landing at Heathrow airport in London grinning awkwardly and shuffling inside my air sickness bag courtesy Air France. Sean and Will stubbornly remaining true to the cause of public embarrassment as if to warrant the prodigious joy of being all together. our family bouncing merrily between food and sightseeing, happily frittering the hours away. my husband hugging the boys so fiercely I couldn't tell where he ended and where they began. and a city so beautiful it hurt to leave.
more pictures here.
I just can not believe it. how paths crossed and aligned. how dreams coincided. and baby twins were born. the insecurities I wrapped myself up in and eventually shelved. and silenced. making my somewhat unconventional self shine among people I respect, admire and love.
today I am 29. ghost still tugged at my sleeves. and my hands still too slippery to hold onto anything. but life getting fantastically better as the years slip by. showering me with love and good people. and a memorable celebration of the day my mom passed out during labor and doctors had to pull me out using forceps.
I am now the member of a health and fitness center.
my husband calls in the middle of the night just to hear my voice.
not enough no longer ambushes my confidence. but adult acne does.
and my happy son is back.
I dwell in the convenience of a fantastically uneventful life. my hands swimming frantically between they need, I want and we have to without much enthusiasm or appetite yet with a great sense of accomplishment. cooking, grocery shopping, vacuum cleaning, taking care of my children alone. the little things, the ordinarily things, the most important things.
children's drawings are openings, portals to other worlds rooted in magical places where sense is a new way of thinking, where thinking is embodied in breathing.
some days it almost plucks out my weeping heart and snaps me up with spectacular guilt. his little soul brimming with too big, too fast, too much, mirroring his sadness, his anger and pain. and I don't know what to do. I pray. I rationalize. I cling to the tiniest particle of smile on my son's face. I embrace, I forgive, I surrender, I understand, I cuddle. I love.
but my little baby still hurts. and it's killing me.
I am really a normal girl with insecurities, hairy arms and occasional bouts with hemorrhoids. never in my life did I imagine that I would one day work my dream job. and I owe it all to you. thank all of you who have been visiting this blog for the past 12 months. thank you for your camaraderie, your unconditional support when everything I tried to conjure from my heart sounded irrelevant and frail when I took it out to read in the morning. for your integrity, and your wisdom.
I believe writing keeps you humble and enables the soul to grow from the beauty and the goodness of people. thank you all for inspiring me to be a better person and a better mom to Sean and Will.
Apr 21, 2006
