5 Years or Some Ridiculous Amount of Months

It has been awhile since I visited here, tonight I was prompted to come to say hello to my (almost) 5 year old boys. 5 years ago on the date I went into Huntington Hospital for a fairly uneventful and much held off c-section that brought our two people here. 5 years ago we all irrevocably changed in the minutes of 1117 and 118 p.m. when our small people were pulled into the world. 5 years .... how, how could that have happened 5 years ago?



I sit now alone in our temporary home in our newly found place called Home and my heart twists a bit because they are down with their daddy, finishing touches on the Old Home to make it ready for a new family. We spent 5 days together there to revisit, reconnect, reaffirm and celebrate what we are, where we have been with them. I laid with them in their once-ago room on an air mattress and we talked ourselves to sleep. We woke to the same light that bathed them so many of the photos in our archives, light I know, light I love.

I sit feeling a little bereft that I am not there with them but work duty calls me and I must be here. And they, they are with their Grampa and Gramma, enjoying the feel of once familiar rhythms before they change once again, back in they chrysalis of their Old Place but ready to test the boundaries of their new one. The things they say; about the infant phase being a blink and that they woke up one day and their babies were in college and that they didn't really know when it happened, those conversations you overheard when you were younger? They are all right. There will never be enough time with our littles but you can only realize that when they are not making shrill demands that skitter into your addled brain looking for a place to land.

The last 5 years have altered everything; our wants and needs, our goals and focus, our dreams. They have strengthened and weakened bonds, they have broken bonds. I have felt joy, guilt, completed, undone, unraveled, ashamed, free, bound, afraid and then fearlessly able. I have never felt more myself and more questioning of what that Self actually is, what she is to be, become.

I know some things now though. I know I was meant to be their Mama. They chose me, they chose to come to me and Tim because they are our People and we need them. We need them like air, like manna, like beer.

We are their parents because we are the only ones that could do this. Respond to their cries and then their questions; hold their limbs, fragile still but forming into the bones that will carry them, carry them far and wide, carry them well.

I am not always graceful or kind, I am no template for a Mother. I am brusque and sometimes too honest, I can be short and never focus correctly when instructed on Lego placement or Batman's attributes. But they trust me enough to ask me about everything, anything: where we come from, where we go, why food grows and every night it is my turn to do bedtime I hear this

 "Mama, I love you this this this this this this this...... MUCH!!!!!!! .... two tanks of love just exploded all over YOU!!!!" And I feel it, in my core. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my Soul.

Because I was meant to be YOUR Mama, my boys. And your Mama loves you more than anything, no tank could contain it, no world, no Universe. Happy 5th Birthday.



  xo, your mama.

39th Month

I don't really count the months anymore...they are just three to me. But in keeping with those early times when there was one every month...well, here it is. My latest musing on the mothering of my twin boys.


Sometimes I feel like a broken record when I start to talk/write about my twins. I know I have said before that they are so grown and different than ever before. I know I have said I thought I understood what it would mean to watch them ‘grow up’. I know I have said that before my very eyes they have become boys. But I really had no idea.

I am starting to realize that this is the way it is always going to be. Because you cannot catch and hold your children with words; fingers can never type fast enough, shutters can never click as quickly and as often as they should, video will let you glance at the moment but not let you slide a finger over the baby softness that does not disappear so much as shift…shift…shift.


So, now I will repeat myself like the record needle that stutters over the same gap. Because what I once thought was ‘boy’ has been disproved and now I see a new version of boy daily. The ones I watch are able to tap into an imagination I had misplaced for awhile where every view is a vision of something other. Reality rarely intrudes or is flexible enough to bend to their will. And I see that slowly accumulating body of knowledge inside of their heads filling in spaces that make sense sometimes only to them.


The world of storytelling is theirs now, their unique voices tell night time versions of their days that morph into emergency adventures where they drive fire trucks and lock up bad guys in small jails, securing them with tape. They begin each oral story with the words “Laaaaast tiiiiiiiime…..” syllables drawn out for effect. They do this because every story I have told begins with the words ‘Once upon a time’ even if it about fire station 144 just down the street. I find it beyond endearing that they adopt my practices in their own ways. And so for our evening bedtime ritual now I listen rather than speak, I listen to them occasionally compete, then complete, then complement each other as they spin out their yarns.

And the singing, oh the singing. Gone are the days when I sing the lullabies to them. Now they sing along to Twinkle Twinkle and Teapot. And once Owen made up his own song, his little voice ringing sweet and clear as he sang, “’Nana, ‘nana, monkeys call on the ‘nana phone” (his own idea and lyrics, I swear).

That one is a study in contradictions. All sweet clear voice, then growling lashing out anger.


He can cradle and crush with the best of the three year olds and though I find it hard to deal with his wild swings when they happen, with his overt meanness and goading of his brother when he is off his game…well, it is always hard to hold onto the frustration. Not in it, but right now as I try to find it. It is not there….all I find is him, Owen, my boy, a boy that will keep growing stronger in will, in his challenges to us and the world.


But as he grows his empathy does too. I watched him sit next to a friend at the park the other day, a pouting sad/mad friend and ask her what he could do for her. And then he just waited. And then asked her again if she wanted to play. And she did. No prompting brought him there, just his internal desire for things to be right. In those moments I see the way he will grow, the depth he has.

And Mace. Oh, the Mace.


He is like wild sweetness all over the place. Like a naughty cherub or a grinning pixie. His eyes hold such a sparkle, a desire to tell stories and let his words and world run wild. He talks and talk and talks, gives us as many words as we ask for and more. He never holds back the words, tossing thank you and I love you with abandon at anyone that will catch them. He has a wicked laugh and pout now that he uses to full advantage.


He is easily wounded by correction or my freak out moments. And I find him alone, playing in his own world, no need for reassurance from play friends, just creating them as he goes alone. Mace is always willing to join me in my gym trips, open and willing to go to the kid’s care without his brother at his side.

But on the way home he asks for Owen, and Owen is looking for him. Because that it how is goes with twins. I am starting to see just how intertwined their lives are, will be.

It is fascinating and beautiful and I am struck by the privilege….of having children, of having twins, of mothering, parenting. It ain’t easy…hell, no, three has had some really rough days, hours, minutes…and in those moments, three feels almost unbearable.

And then those moments end and I find myself playing at legos, ridiculously entertained as I try to piece together a floating spaceship that will navigate the waters of their small pool. Drawing silhouette tow trucks and police cars with sirens just so and spelling out letters as they demand more words and pictures and sirens. Or snuggling between their sleeping bodies at 1 a.m. because I cannot sleep and their sweet deep regular breathing brings me such peace. And as I settle into my own sleep I feel so clear in the knowing that they are my people, some of the most wonderful things I can claim to be part of.

And I am sure you know what I will say next, my loves, if you are reading this. Your mama loves you, loves you so very much.

Version 2.58 :: and Notes of Thanks

So, these have been few and far between. I thought it might happen this way. The time slips and slides, weeks and weeks and months and months, and now you are both checking in 2.58 years of age and almost 30 pounds.

Why is it so important, do you think? The tracking of this time. Why try to be so vigilant about the changes, the advance and, yes, the regression? All children do these things, they learn to talk and walk and move and create and destroy. Why do it?

For me, it is for memory. To coax a poor memory system, a faulty hub in my own head, that loves to skew and embellish and elaborate on every memory until it is almost unrecognizable. That very same memory system loves to abolish thoughts and ideas too. And that is why I do it, to create a powerful though still biased memory of you two.

Also to leave a paper trail that I am a good Mama, that I mess it up frequently, but that I essentially find this to be the best. Just the best. And this is true of the two of you too.

So far, things I have to be thankful for this year…

Verbalization :: Words and conversations and spontaneous thought and recollections, ideas and opinions, stories and snippets of songs, reports on your day all couched in the terms of “me” not “I” as this word seem to be absent from your every growing vocabulary. My favorite :: “Me so happy”.

Creation :: Watching the crafts come home, eyeballs placed carefully, placed willy-nilly, paints and glitter and construction paper, the smell of glue and the shreds of paper and scraps from scissor, real Christmas crafts shaping up. The joy and possibility of a clean sheet of paper.

Reading :: To you, from you, book choices, library exploration. I feel almost high when your giddy laughter explodes when Sam finally get him to admit Say! He does like them, those green eggs and ham. It is a delight and I hope that you continue to love reading and I continue to remember this is one of the methods of calming the raging beast that can be 2.58.

Independence :: Am I glad for this? I think, yes. The double edge sword of independence has always been something to be thankful for. You can find your underwear and put it on most days…underwear. That is a trip, that you wear underwear. You can choose a route, a plan and path and follow it; train or car play, park or store with Mama. You can choose, and my, do you make that clear.

I love it, the freedom of my hands when we are engaged in activities. I am thankful for the time to use those hands for dinner or sewing or creating. But there are times when those hands feel empty. That is when I grab you and hold you tight, find a soft part to squeeze gently, a cheek to kiss, a show of affection that brings you close, brings you back.

And there are some things that certainly do not fit into the Thankful category.
-The night wakings and need for some extra love and help almost every night from one of you.
-The meltdowns, the insanely loud and extremely aggravating meltdowns that make me want to find a hole and hide in it.
-The challenges to our requests, that immediate slight shake of head, turn away of attention, willful ignorance.
-The dreaded H1N1 that struck us all down, gave us fevers and night sweats and a terrible croupy cough. And reminded me just how fragile your growing and sturdy bodies can feel when they are not well. And just how little control we have over things when it really comes down to it.

Despite the not so thankful things, and the days that feel desperately hard as we wade through the thickets that can be two at two(.58) I have to weight in heavily on the side of thankfulness.

So, thank you, boys. For the challenges and rewards, the losses and the gains, the ways you bring Thankfulness into my life, ways I never knew before, never imagined.

Version (Just Shy) 2.5

I wonder sometimes about the validity of these recollections when it comes down to it. It seems that Time assumes a new bending as you both grow up. Time, it just seems like there is not enough of it. And yet I look forward to the 7:00 o'clock hour when we tumble through bath and night time routine and we all fall exhausted onto the bed.



Why yes, I did say 7 p.m. Seems awfully early, right? Not if we take into account the latest twist in twin development, that of an almost totally dropped daytime nap. The horrors. It all started about a month ago, nap time started to become a struggle, especially for Tim. Shrieking and running in the small enclosure of the room became frequent, actual sleep started to become rare. When we both realized we were spending as much time going in and out, trying to get some type of settled sleep, some moment of peace but rarely finding it, well, we just said f-it. If they do not want to sleep, what is the point of forcing nap at gun point (well, not really, but you know what I mean).

And the other factor was that when naps did occur, bedtime was usually 9 p.m. Mind you, they were in bed at 7:30, maybe 8 p.m., but asleep? Nope. So, we had to face facts and realize that their nap was fading into oblivion, the sweet sweet oblivion of 2 hours of daytime freedom.

Sporadic crashing occurs every few days, but for the most part they hold it together well and bliss out in bed by 7. Ah, it can actually be nice somedays. We have much more time to ourselves after they fall asleep. The days can be rough sometimes, but with the new addition of school and the increase in working hours, it all feels like it races by.

Changing the routine usually makes me feel off kilter, but not this time. This time, I have given a gallic shrug to the lack of napping, brought them into a semi-dark room and laid down to watch Nemo for the 15th time.

Speaking of Nemo....here is a thought. When you as parents are planning on going away for a long weekend and you think it would be nice to surprise your kids with a new movie (since CARS has been in unbelievably heavy rotation and you just cannot take it anymore), I suggest you do not buy 'Finding Nemo". Because the story is about a little boy fish who is violently separated from his father (after his mother is snapped up by a toothy predator shark in the first scene) and there are plenty of harrowing experiences that occur throughout. Yes, they are successfully reunited, but not before sharks, explosions, failed escape attempts that almost grind Nemo to bits, and a fake death scene unfurl. This proved to be a bit much for the boys and my Mama reported abject terror during the movie with lots of plaintive crying for 'Nemo' and 'Daddy Nemo' and 'No Shark, no boat, no no no'. Whoops. We have spent the better part of the week watching it during the blazing afternoons and explaining that despite it all, the Daddy finds Nemo and they are okay. Whew.

Now, of course, we are finding the heavy rotation of Nemo is the new norm. It is almost comical how much one can grow to like a movie when one has no choice.

Time has brought us close to the half year mark, I am looking at it as a testament to our fortitude that we are still alive. Yes, two has been the struggle I feared, but with challenge there comes reward. Some of those rewards come in the form of abundant affection, our new ritual is "Kiss, Hug and Hi-5!". It happens all day and makes my heart turn to gold. And then there is the night time ritual when you now tell your favorite stories along with my voice, finishing sentences. Or better yet, when you tell me a story, unique in its lack of phrasing or timing, made up for by your enthusiasm...it sounds something like this...

" Nemo! Fish...school...Daddy!!! No boat, no boat!!! Oh, no, Nemo. Nemo okay, Daddy find (reassuring me). Daddy, blue fish...Shark! Shark! Light! Go. Nemo okay (reassuring me)." This can go on a bit, but I love it.

(That would be Owen telling stories).

School has made its mark also. You willingly sing 'clean up' and help with toys. We practice your friends' names and talk about activities. I get art projects sprinkled with glitter and you come home covered in paints. It has quickly become a lovely place for you to go and I think you melted Mrs. B's heart when you ran up the walkway into her arms the other day. The rough parts are smoothing out and I think we will all be just fine. You kids are the best-est.

See Original shots of hat here.

Of course, we have had to explain the shiner Mason has been sporting (Thomas Train chucked to corner of eye...two has brought a heightened level of brother on brother violence at times). And we are still hanging on by the tips of our fingers sometimes. But I still would not trade it for the world.



Remember, boys, your Mama love you very very much.

The videos are for you, Nona Mona.

The Boys :: v2.2

Here we are, venturing deeper into the territory of two, no turning back the clock. It feels as if their birthday was eons ago, that time blurring slightly. It was the ‘golden time’, so easy to hold in memory as a day and age when things ran smoothly and they listened and they did not defy and they were happy. Sure, I know, this sounds a bit dramatic, but so are the changes that have come to us in the time between now and then.

There are days when I wake up and wonder who these little boys are that live in our house.

Sometimes I wonder because they are so difficult, so ornery and mischievous and challenging. There is the immediate thought that someone stole my child and left a changeling, but I thought that only happened with newborns. Then there are the days the thought occurs because they are so charming and loving and lovely.

Owen, you went from a quiet-ish child with inquiring deep looks but little talk to a screaming banshee in the last two months.

I love you, baby boy, but Oh My God, what happened? I thought you would be the one that would breeze through two, instead you dug in your heels, laid down the line and started to tantrum. Tantrum if you wanted something, if you needed something, if you were denied something. Ack. And the whining, child, that is an inhuman sound. I know in part the molars finally coming through had a bit to do with it, you seem to get super annoyed with prolonged pain, as I am sure any of us would. But it is also a personality thing.


And yet, yet, your nurturing side exploded too and you want to take care of babies and doggies and your Mama and your Daddy and your brother. You still observe our actions so carefully and mimic them days later. I watch you gently wrap a baby doll in an old washcloth or diaper your Spaceboy and see the potential for such depth of caring. It makes me feel so loved when I receive a spontaneous morning kiss, or when you touch my dry cracked hands and say “Mama, wash booboo?”. You have the memory of an elephant…one day we put an old paper bracelet on your wrist and told you you would need it later to ride the train at the train park. You did not like it on and promptly removed it, but much later that day you walked up to the ticket booth at the park and told us “Train, star, on?” and held your wrist out for your bracelet (um, which, had nothing to do with the train park. You will come to find your parents are weird in some ways, like telling spontaneous white lies. Sorry). You were very concerned about the lack of it and kept asking for quite some time. A good reminder that we need to be careful of what we say and what we do as you watch with a keen eye and apparently can hear with your keen ears. Could have fooled me with the hearing thing as there are definite times when they seem not to work at all.

Mason, oh, my Mace. I was terrified when I thought about you turning two. I mean, you are the wild child, always were. Sp punk rock. Born kicking and screaming and looking in all directions.

And then those first years were doozies, a lot of coaxing to sleep, so hard for you to find a way to go down at night. It seemed like sleep would be forever elusive in your case. And then, wham, two comes and you are content to sleep in a bed, as long as it is with your brother. You willingly go to bed at nap and at night, you tell Owie to ‘shhhh’ and you pull the covers over your head and wrap yourself up and snooze away, well past Owie’s waking and sometimes through his tantrums. Guess keeping you in close proximity of each other all this time is really paying off.

You are fearless, but then you always have been. Whether it is you jumping off a 10” box or trying to do a flying 360 degree turn off the couch, you charge, head first (literally) most times. The big change is in your behavior and your ability to consider others. I love to watch you curiously study other kids. There was that one time at Kidspace when a much older boy was totally freaking out over your desire to share a puzzle. No coaxing by his nanny would help and his behavior started to escalate. You watched him wail and carefully set down the puzzle piece and backed away. What I loved was the mixed look of bewilderment and pity on your face. And I loved that a few minutes later you walked over to gather the now abandoned puzzle, free to explore as you pleased. You remind me of me. I think that is a good thing.


Together we are growing and I can feel the tension and stretching that is growing up. I can sense the ways you both have changed but cannot put a finger on it. It is less tangible than the early years, full of growth spurts and milestones. Now it is underneath the surface, synapses in your brains firing, connecting, recalling. You can form memories now, though some would argue that even baby infants can do that. But these are the ones that stick, that will flit on the edges of your acute memory when you are my age. I watch as you lightly touch your fingers to the whirlpool created as the tub drains and sharply recall doing that when young. And though this challenge set before us, this moving into to has been hard, I want it also to be memorable. To be beautiful.


But I may ask for a few conditions to achieve that…

Can we ditch the whining please? No. Hmmmm, then….

Can you concede that you might be too young to attempt to fix your own breakfast, lunch and dinner? No. Hmmmm, how about…

Will you surrender your very effective weapon of running in opposite directions and when caught becoming either limp or too squirrely to manage (consequently reactivating an old shoulder injury in your Mama and throwing out Daddy’s back). Was that a no? Thought so…

I will then settle for you halting at once the new practice of doffing your pants and diaper in any public space when the urge to pee hit you (ahem, Owen especially). Agreed. Thanks, kids.

As a concession I promise to stop threatening to bring you to the gypsies when things get to be too much for me...and I will stop showing you YouTube videos of said gypsy families in order to scare your pants off. (They only seem to delight you anyway....the strategy could likely backfire on me and then I will find you grow up to go and join the circus).

And you are kids now, right? It just seemed to happen. And took my breath away when you stood proud and tall declaring all our names and telling me all about your days with your Daddy. There is nothing like the two of you.

And your Mama loves so so very very much.

.

Twenty-second Month

This month has proven to be a rough one. Not because of development or challenges by the two of you, but because of the dreaded flu and our first real experience of the two of you sick, in tandem, while Mama And Daddy battled their own snot demons. Never before have we seen the two of you stopped by illness and it makes me realize what vibrant independent souls you are at the top of your game.


Mama feels bad because it dawned on her that at your 15th month check up, Dr. L mentioned they were out of flu shots and that we could come back any time in the following weekend. To which I nodded, and then promptly forgot. Until a few days ago. This is a mistake I will never ever make again.

It was a lesson in patience, both the having of and the loss of. There were many times when I felt like I was going to lose it, up and leave, or cry in exhaustion and despair. I did a little of the last but managed not to resort to the first two. It was tough on my body and mind with the constant carrying, the constant needs. Countless hours spent shifting one from arm to arm, lap filled with sad little boys that needed to be held on shoulder, protesting if we sat when you wanted standing, stood when you wanted sitting. Watching how your little bodies shrank in light of food refusal. Not my favorite month, but still, I guess I want to remember it all, don't I?


And of course, interspersed in the days of sick and ick were plenty of things that I can smile about. Games and new skills, smiles when you could manage or when the coughs eased up a bit.


One of the best is the new story time when I ask you both if you remember .....this _____, or that ____. And you listen with rapt eyes and attention until the end and then Mace, you say...'uh-huh' or 'yeeeah' excitedly. The video shows it much better.


My favorite is when I ask if you remember the times when you were inside of me...and you still say 'Uh-huh'. Who is to say you don't?

And Owen, you are my little sous chef now.

The way you drag your chair to the counter and rearrange the food items out for dinner prep, place them bowl to bowl, stir them and whack them and salt them...oh, you do love salt, kid. Though I have to say, maybe the zucchini bread did not need those extra shakes on the top. Your liberal use of salt is endearing, but not very tasty. I love the way you concentrate on the task at hand, stirring carefully when instructed and adding the ingredients when told. You are learning to cut, to mix, to pour and I see the love for it in your eyes. It is just that when I turn my back sometimes, well, you get a little crazy on stuff.

And that can require a little more in the clean up in the kitchen area than I like.

Daddy has assumed the role of 'God night Moon' reader and I think the three of you would spend hours finding the mouse and the various assorted other items in that book. I love listening to you talk to your Daddy and tell him what is next, what you see, what you love. Mace, every time you see the page with the little lone mouse you giggle. The best giggle ever.

And I am training you to say ..."mama's knittens" instead of "pair of mittens" because that is just better, you know? But something happens to my heart when I hear your Daddy reading you 'The Lorax' or 'The Places You'll Go', hear your voices say 'more?' when he finishes. It seems you really can fall more in love with someone, for the most wonderful reasons.

We started teaching you the 'I Love you this much' game that I played with my mama when small. I hold my fingers together so close then stretch my arms out wide to finish. And Daddy does his different with a clap and stretch. And you laugh and laugh and say 'more?. Tonight, as we played, I think we both realized this is how much our parents love us, and that you may never really understand how much that is. Until you have your own.



So, you two, let us leave Month 22 with its yucky noses and wheezing lungs and welcome Month 23 with clear bright eyes, loads of fun and much less drama, shall we?
I love you boys. So very much. Slow it down a little, huh?

And props to the husband that took the majority of the shots...you are so good, love.

Twenty-first Month

Do you know what I started doing this month? Planning your second birthday party. Why so early, you say? Because I know this Time now, a bit sneaky, a bit like sliding down your favorite tall slide at the park...it accelerates. Last year, we passed on a first birthday celebration, I just could not do it, try to harness the energy to get it all together. At the time I figured it was okay to pass. At one it seemed every day was a celebration to you and a big old party would have had little significance except for us grown ups. Still feel a little guilty about it, though. So this year I am on it with a vengeance.


And it stops me then, that I am talking about your birthday, your second one. The one that ushers in the unutterably hard times (so I have heard) and opens the door to three then four then grown up talking five. And I am not sure about this Time thing, feel like it is starting to snatch things from me even as it provides newness and opportunity. It is both good and scary, how this Time is working now.


But back to the birthday, I decided with your Daddy on an idea for the party, a theme you might say, and I am so very excited and the possibilities for creation keep unfolding and spinning about and making me feel like I am a little child, getting ready for a party of my own. It is a simple idea, one I will not reveal just yet, but one that we can all be a part of, all be unique in, have a say. Because it revels in that which no one can take from you, your imagination.


This imagination has sprung forth, appearing out of no where, as imaginary things do, and playing with us daily. It started with your bread, chewed and bitten, that you started 'playing' with, pretending the bread was a car or a lion or gorilla. I know, I know, children should not play with their food, that is what the grown ups say. But then I watched as you played pretend, made it up, and I could not stop that. It was too precious. And so now, we make things from other things, lateral transfers of knowledge and interest. Focus and fun. It is like that all day, exhausting and entertaining and enchanting.


And the talking, oh my lord, the talking. Maybe it was Oregon as you played with your older cousins, watched and listened.

And then tried it out yourselves. It is almost impossible to stop the words, the near constant conversation, with us and each other, your toys and the plants and anyone else that will stop a minute to listen. There are the funny words, Mace says 'doodles' instead of noodles. Owen says uh-oh and ouch every thirty minutes. Then the phrases that stop me dead in my tracks, like Mace with the 'I no doin' anything'. Right. And how did you pick that one up so early?


Trying to remember the month just passed is getting harder, trying to imagine the changes to come even more so. I know there is so much ahead, but could I ask you, Time, to slow for just a few moments everyday so I can better savor what is? Better catch that which I feel I need to remember as it flits away? Would that be possible?

Just some things this month brought to you:

Running without falling, kissing without slobbering.
Linking railroad tracks and building bridges.
Going up and down stairs without the help of our hands.
Jumping (I wish I had captured your first 'attempt' on video, Mace).
Tantrums in public ending in puddles on the ground.
Fake innocent looks when caught scribbling on walls.
Real looks of indignance when accused of above though you are not.
Naming everyone in the room correctly.
Showing kindness to each other daily.
Showing brute aggression to each other hourly (well, not that frequently).
Reading full Dr. Seuss books with Mama.
Breaking my heart open with your smell, your feel, your strength and fragility.


And to you, my boys, baby no longer unless you are asleep on my shoulder in surrender to the other world, the only time you are still, the only time I can breathe in your scent of boy and dirt and sweet and spit and love, love love. Do you know your Mama loves you? So very very much.

And in honor of your 21st and The failure of our iFlip to function, I have now gone back to earlier months and found videos and started to s l o w l y upload them to Flickr. They will be here. Get a load of those alien like early months. Oh, those boys.

Twentieth Month

Oh,my beautiful baby boys. When did you do it? When did you go from babies, held and cuddled and needy, to boys? How did the change happen in front of me, was it during those hours I stepped away to work, those minutes I stole on the computer while you played together, those seconds I glanced outside and wondered what we would do today? Was it when I breathed in your scent and laid you down for the night, only to walk in to your room in the morning and let in the bright sunshine to find two little boys, little people eagerly gesturing and talking and pointing and urging me to get the day started, to free you from your cribs so you could run down the hall to the Legos that hold you captive day after day.


How my heart squeezed this morning when Owen, you came running down the hall with 2 of my shoes. Me, sitting on the hearth with my coffee and daddy doing wake up duty, so my first sight of you was this while you yelled "Hi, hi, hi' in that excited way, that way that says anything is possible today.

Any day. Every day. My heart squeezes a bit every day now because it whirls by and no journal, no tweet, no post can truly catch it properly. How do you catch the magic of watching people grow. How? I need to know.

When we do things there is a running commentary, I would call you the peanut gallery, but you sound more like monkeys. You jabber and then out of nowhere say very clearly some witty phrase that makes me want to pee my pants. You talk with each other and conspire and plot my downfall, or at least where you think you might find the cookie stash. You notice everything and are starting to parrot all words we say. Little parrots with the ability to help me reflect on the things that tumble from my mouth without censor.

Like, watching you, Mace, mutter 'dammit' under your breath when you drop your dot or cannot carry 9 match box cars at once. Very clear, it is very clear, indeed, that I need to stop with that one. Stat.

There are no limits anymore and you love to be free of any and all restraints anywhere. You are mildly wary of the occasional stranger, but charming nonetheless, offering pretzels and cars, only to snatch them back and grin your grins, a little wily but so genuine.

You both love running, charging up and down hills on our hikes. Owen, your stamina is impressive for your size. Mace, what is impressive in you is your determination to stop when you are done. Face down, laid out, no coaxing will get you to go further, the only thing that will do is carrying.

Pens, pencils, chalk and crayons are now your obsession, decorating the floor, walls, table and chairs your passion. Thank you for the magic eraser, world of advanced technological stuff, I would wither in the face of the scribbling without you by my side. We are working on the concept of appropriate places to write, but sometimes I see your wonder in producing this scratchy lines and I wish you could color the world as you would.

You saw the movie Ratatouille a few days ago, it was raining, we were trapped and I got caught up in the HD. I loved it, and so did you. Owen, you watched a scene where a few rats wrestled and at the conclusion, you went to your Omi and demanded a match, ready to roll. You seem to have an instinct for the take down and specialize in the shirt collar move. Mace does not like it at all.

Mace, you now kiss every mouse in every book, even blow them kisses on the screen. You are generous with your affection and just as generous with your aggression. Headlocks have become a favorite as has ganging up on former friend/playmates. Now, I see you team up to take them down and I am more than a little scared. I have a few new names for you since the last update : "Professional Dismantlers" and "Team Hooligan" come to mind readily.

We are working on the hair pulling, the tackling, the hugs that go south and turn into strangulation attempts. But these are all interspersed with good times, laughing times, and those times when I see out of the corner of my eye that connection, that kindred connection that you share.

Out of nowhere I have been hit my a deep longing to do this again. Shocked, I felt shocked when I realized I really feel this. So convinced at the beginning that I would never, never do this again. My mama must be chuckling reading this after all those early days when I professed that I would give up my uterus willingly if the hormone thing was not such an issue. Shocked, Tim was when I mentioned this desire I have. And he looked a little green too. But for now I just sit with it, think on it, consider it, and cherish the idea just a bit. The possibility just a bit.

I have never know Time like I do now. Never felt it so acutely as we move through growing and change each day with you two. You break my heart daily and mend it even faster. Writing this feels a bit bittersweet, as we let go of the babyness and embrace the boyness. As we move closer to the letting go and further from the having to hold. It goes so fast, my boys. My beautiful boys. Merry Christmas. You are my greatest of gifts.

Things I am already Forgetting

The way you both...

} Say weird stuff: like 'he fall down' or 'do it now' or 'b-b-ball'
} Pour stuff : a cup and a cup are the greatest of toys
} Build stuff : mainly lego walls
} Hoard and run as if we cannot catch you

} Play hide and seek with your blankies, the curtains, the kitchen island, each other
} Give a cheesy grin on request (Owen)
} Pretend: you demand to take care of Mama, lay her down and put her blanket on then snuggle her
} Glare indignantly when corrected : how could you both inherit your Daddy's silent and deadly look (shudder)?

} Show empathy : give each other hugs and kisses and bring something to each other when upset (thought we would never see it).

I feel like Alice in the Looking Glass and Time feels like it is flying away.

There is no way to slow you down except when we lay with you before bedtime with your milk. I watch you grow and want to freeze the moments, turn them into palpable memories that I can hold and hug later.

That is why I take your picture.


Mama loves you, my precious and heart breakingly beautiful boys. So very very much.

Thank you for ever and ever, whoever you are that gave them to me. Thank you.