Go, baby, gone.

Somehow when they took those baby soft curls, it also stripped away the illusion once held that I somehow still had babies. Two boys emerged, proud of their new appearance and unfazed by the change. While I had to sit a bit and bite my lip, holding back a surge that insisted they could not grow up, how could I let them? Not that I could stop them.


Owen was born a boy. At 6 months old I understood this feeling, the day he decided to stand up on the edge of the couch unassisted. My dad saw him and called him a toddler, I recall the wild feeling coming up and my snappish reply that he was just a baby, but I realized I could see the boy emerging already. He was taking a stand and this not even metaphorically. I cut his hair at 18 months, collecting curls, sad to see them gone forever as his thick darker hair grew out ruler straight, still silky but without that indescrible baby lightness.

Mace has always been the baby. If I would have delivered natural, he would have been first, nestled in the bowl of my pelvis scratching to get out from the day he could scratch. But they came via incision and Owen was first, pulled into firstborn due to position and size of head. Mace has always been one and a half pounds lighter, his build is slight like his father, and he bruises easier and takes longer to shake it off. And so in my mind he is ascribed baby brother status, though only one minute younger.

I was not truly prepared to meet the boy hidden under that head of wild curls, postponed the haircuts many days over. But also in Owens’s case, I forgot how much boy was hidden behind the too long bangs that obscured his vision. Cutting it seems to have released something, longer sentences and complicated pronunciation, complex play scenarios and even more independence. Or maybe I am just now acknowledging these changes. Forced by an event as inconsequential as a hair cut.



Mamahood can be so much about loss. Initially, you lose control of your body as it becomes haven to a growing being, foreign until they emerge to become your people. Then you lose your time, any moment you once had to sit and think and shower and brush your teeth consumed by the demands of infancy and helplessness. You may regain some of this lost time, but then comes the slow thorough loss of sanity as the new demands of toddler hood and two-ness march in, an endless flurry of messes and challenges.


But I did not quite expect to feel this loss, the one of the moving away of your child. The way each step towards growth brings a small step away from the comfortable bond that is established when your tiny little one only knows your embrace, not your commands and stern looks. I feel a bit foolish describing it as a loss, but it is the way it feels.

I watch my youngest brother Jon pack for his imminent move to San Francisco today, ready to charge into a city, a new life, his first true taste of independent living. And I feel indescribable panic. Because I remember his birth, his infancy, his toddler days….but only vaguely. And seemingly yesterday. And now he goes. And it makes me know my children will too. I want them too. And yet, that mother heart of mine does not.

All this because of a hair cut.

Home Again

Oh, to be back home. Immersed in laundry and boy smells and the chaos that defines our daily life. It was a whirlwind trip that seemed to stand still at times, moments when I realized I had no obligations to meet. It also held a lot of opportunities for photos, snapped here and there to capture the time I was away.

I loved having the chance to meet my Kayda girl in her home, her sweet and lovely person standing out so strongly, so present.


I was enamored of her ways, her differences and the small and sometimes glaring similarities I noticed, had the luxury of noticing as I followed her around and then, she in turn, followed me. I have never been so flattered as when she would come searching for me when I stepped into my temporary room. That made me feel awesome.


And seeing my amazing sister and her spouse walk this road of parenting, united and supported and so very comfortable, that was a gift. I loved being immersed in my sister as Mother, her ways and thoughts and take on all of it. We had a great time discussing the where and how and whys of what we have gotten ourselves into, precious precious time.


And that was only the first half. My other reason for the trip was to lend a hand to our youngest sister in her booth at the Benbow Arts Festival.


It turned out to be a great decision, my natural marketer came to the fore front and I loved 'selling' my sister to the crowd. Her stuff really did sell itself, all of it was unbelievably tasteful and lovely and useful, but I loved being able to tell them about her, her spontaneous ability to create pretty much anything.


The booth was a haven for many, we sat in the shaded and cool area, her choice of bamboo screening a brilliant one, it let the breeze flow through on a surprisingly hot weekend. I watched people gravitate in, drawn by her taste and color. The pride I feel for her grew as her sales came in, encouraging and growing each hour, each day.


The girl killed it, especially in a year when I thought the buying spirit might be dampened. The great thing was that the fair supported only hand made, only those who took the time to invest them Self into their pieces, so I actually did not mind participating in this expression of consumerism. In fact, I participated wholeheartedly, finding soothing hand balm, and pickled olives and a few other lovely pieces. I left wearing more jewelry than a Gypsy woman and feeling much more womanly for it.


In all, it was a long and hard weekend, none of the rest one associates with vacation really came to be. The trip was book ended by 11 hour drives, thankfully the way home shared among three of us. And thankfully, when we arrived sometime last night, I found both of my beauties, flung across beds in their abandoned sleep, murmuring quiet sleep dreams into my ears as I buried my face into the scent, their sleep dampened hair distinguishing their persons in the dark, Mason's soft curls and Owen's close cut straight silk. I lay between them, grateful for the knowing of their utter importance in my life, their total definition of my person.

And four days away from my man, well, it made so many little things come to light. His capable hands and how I feel when they hold me close. His gentle voice, rising in command easier each day as the boys challenge our choices for them. I think I fell in love with him all over again tonight as we finally put them down together and they asked him for 'more story' (actually Owen said 'more doobie'. Hmmmm, is that how he got them to go to sleep?). He has been telling them the story of the "Princess Bride' nightly, the tale of a farm boy and his Buttercup. His Andre the Giant voice was pretty priceless, as was feeling the boys relax into sleep to his cadence of words. And so home becomes Home again, where my heart is as I wander in my mind and thoughts and burgeoning dreaming.

I have always know it was my center but it never hurts to test the theory, right?

More pictures to come...hooping and other festive bits. And some exciting things in the works. And crafts too. And and and....I better go and get some much needed sleep now. And then more.

Fragments :: My Idle Hands

Laying in the dappled sun. No work for my idle hands.

Walking past the children's tent and finding a pull to work my hands. Lift and chase.

Em says I need a shirt that says "I am a Mama of twins (just not right now)".

Where is my badge of Motherhood? Do I wear it in the soft roll folding lightly over the edge of my band of jeans? Or in the voice proclaiming my ownership of them (just not right now)?

I am uncomfortable and yet not. Finding the moments to revel in idle hands and finding that might not be my strength.

There was not much crafting in my hands this weekend, despite packed projects. There was helping and hooping and drinking and sleeping in a tent (rather, not sleeping). There was festival food and pen in hand and dreaming. And now I am just looking forward a bit to the road home. Bonus that Kayda is coming down with us. And both sisters. Mmmm hmmm. That is how to end a vacation. Take the family with you.

Amazing Emmalien

The birthday festivities happened long ago but I need to post about one of the most precious gifts ever. My sister is an unbelievably talented woman. She majored in Ceramics in college (well, double majored along with her Botany degree) (a B.A. and a B.S., of course). She has always been an elegant artist with amazing taste. It goes like this, she can create, middle sister can dress (and West African dance like a pro), and I can copy. And I am the eldest. Hurmph.

Anyways, she has made the boys some wonderful things in their two years, books and stuffies and the like. But she brought it this birthday. I have no idea where she found the time or the energy as she works full time when not crafting. But she made them their very own roadway system map, complete with home, school, park and lake and all out of durable beautiful felt, hand stitched in many places. And along with that came some fun and funny cars and buses to toodle along the roads.


I was blown away when we opened the box and found the cars, I thought the rolled up item was a quilt. And when the boys saw it, it was open season. They spent time running their new cars along the roads, then made it a point to gather all of their other wheeled vehicles and take those for a spin too.


They love touching the little sewn features and naming them... house, tree, birdie, fish, lake, slide, park...it goes on and on.

One of the things that truly strikes me about this and other special handmades is what they say about my children and their impact on people. That they are beloved to people who want to create and hold and play and see them grow. It is an amazing thing to be a part of.




And the piece. It is currently hanging on the wall as art for now until I am certain there will be no willful pulling apart of this love. I mean, I take it down for play when they ask, but I just want to see it whole and free of dog hair for a little while longer.


And then when they are done (like they ever will be) I want to frame it and keep it safe until the next generation can take in all of it's loving expression.


We love you, memes. You are so much a wonderful part of our lives and family. Kisses