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.

And the Question Came

It was bedtime last night and I was laying down between the boys. We were huddling under the blankets, slowly finding the bedtime rhythm of a late night. We began the familiar routine of question/answer/story as we worked through the day and then they asked : "Mommy, where did we come from?". I was startled but I also understood they were asking me Where We came from. Not the question of the womb or the home but the Question...

I didn't say God put us here because I don't believe that. I said I didn't know. I explained a bit about evolution and Earth and the Big Bang, about the Universe being so so large and about every beautiful thing that exists had some path, some place and evolution to make it so. But that I also didn't really know.

The conversation wove about, to volcanic action and back to the time of Dinosaurs and why they became extinct, or dead, as Mace will clarify every time. We talked of food and starvation and legs mired in tar (Mace's theory) and eventually the words slowed down, the bodies I lay between became more and more still and then their breath fell into that rhythm, the one that instantly makes me feel at one with them, at One.

I want them to ask that Question again and again. I want to explain about the miracle that Life is. In the simplest of ways; by showing them a shoot growing, or their lungs exchanging gases with that shoot, or the stars that spin through their own cosmic dance.

I will not be able to tell them that they were put here by the choice of some Other thing because I don't know about that. But I can tell them that they are Here. And I can tell them about what I do know. And about Love. That seems a very good start.



* Thinking of Susan, a brilliant star with a valiant warrior heart and a voice that spoke to hundreds, thousands, millions as she lived. She is missed on this day.

RIP Steve. From the Eye of a Little.

Do you let your children play with your iPhone? We do.

It is a great babysitter. Well, not babysitter. But, it is great, you know? They, with their facile minds, just get the iPhone. It was made for them, for their small swiping fingers and lateral thinking. For the last year my small ones, the ones I swore would never have their own cell phones until 35, have usurped, explored, played. I know Steve Jobs; the man maker genius, is gone. But oh god, what he left us.

Mace has fingers that fly. I am constantly amazed by his ability to process the way the iPhone works. He inherently 'gets' it and I barely keep up when he is teaching me just how to beat the next level of Angry Birds. But he also loves the camera. I would like to think we have encased our precious little babies (read:iPhones) in steel so we regularly turn them over for their exploration.

Mace takes pictures. 100s. When I tap Camera Roll I am simultaneously dismayed and amazed. I love his eye. Follows some of the pictures I found today on my Roll, eye by Mace, processing by Mama.






Thanks, Steve. For giving (much more) facile minds a way to express themselves. Your Stanford speech resonates in me in more way than one.

*** Used the Cameramatic app to 'enhance' Mason's photos/ which is even more evidence of the lasting impact of Jobs/ that y'all know what that means.

Mothering :: Lessons

Last night I did the unthinkable. I withheld my love from my children. They had completely dismantled a handmade necklace, scattering it in every direction. When I found them it was too late to salvage the piece, bedtime was minutes away and my head was going to explode. Fuming, I yelled for them to get to their room! and then went into my office to try to settle myself. It was Tim’s turn for bedtime and I decided that I was just going to get my yoga things together and leave the house early, give myself a few extra minutes to calm down.

One thing led to another and the early start to class did not happen. But I saw one of the boys run by the window on the outside patio and started to see red again, knowing they were drawing out the already arduous process of bedtime yet again. I yelled, telling them to get back! to their room and get in that bed!. I turned off the light, shut the door and went back to find the ever elusive pieces of yoga that I need for classes. And then I heard it … from their room.

I could hear him crying. Racking sobs, so loud. I knew Tim was in there, that they were not crying out of fear. But even more, I knew exactly what I had done. In my anger I had diliberately ignored our bedtime ritual, the kiss-hug-high five and repeat that happens every night unless we are too far to touch. I had ignored them racing past the window which was the two of them looking for me to say sorry and get that hug-kiss-high five. I had let my anger get the best of me and was hearing the result of it.

I opened the door. Mason was there, devastating tears and deep sobs, Owen just staring at me, closed face and shut down. Both looked at me and I opened my arms and they came into them. I felt their still small bodies burrow into me, I apologized for being so angry and also for being so mean. I apologized for letting my hurt hurt them and then we cuddled and laughed a little and said a proper good night.

Yoga last night was like a purge and a prayer. I have been at the end of my tether in so many ways lately. There are times when being stretched so thin in so many directions feels like it will never end. Sometimes the hardest tether to take is the one of Mother. There is no rest from it, it is a ceaseless demand and a challenging position. Sometimes the tether feels like a noose as they refuse to eat this or cooperate with that or take 10 minutes to usher from car to house or house to car. It is no matter that I have to work or launder or cook or clean, always the Mother part comes first now because it should, because it has to, because they are and so that it how it is.



It struck me as I thought of writing this post that so much of it has to do with what I am mothering. They are children now, unmalleable in many ways. They are assertive and have desires and wants and wishes and ways of giving and holding back now too. They challenge us daily to think of new ways to entice or engage or just get away. They make me worry in a different way as school and reading and learning and Life starts coming in. I am feeling a new fear, unacknowledged until this moment, that I cannot do this. That I don’t know the right way to do this. That I am hurting more than helping, that I am fucking them up.

That feeling has not gone away as I write this, my fears still sit at the back of my throat as we contemplate huge life changes, knowing they will have to go along with any ride we choose. But I know one thing. I am not going to with hold my love from them, no matter what anger sparks from whatever is happening. Because that was a scary thing and it left me feeling empty and them feeling so sad, so sad. Chalk it up to another lesson in the land of Mothering. A good one, an important one, an essential one.

Going to go hug one of my boys now. Lesson learned.

An Open Letter to the Father of my Children

Hey there, pardner.

I apologize in advance as I am feeling kinda' sentimental today. Also, I didn't get you anything for Father's Day so I want to make it up to you...


Your Birthday 2011

So, a few years ago you became a dad. Let's make that capital DAD, and it has been more than a few years. Four, to be exact. And you came into it with twins so therefore it was with guns blazing. From Day 1 you have done 50% and sometimes more. 2 years ago you became a Stay At Home and there has yet to be a moment that I have had doubt.

You do it differently than I, this parenting thing. You do not yell as much but you also do not cook as much. You take them to the park for three hours while my limit is 60 minutes. You teach them about tools and wood and outside stuff. You eschew routine but get them to school on time when I cannot. You hold them gently when they need and they turn to you at least 50% of the time if not more.

You have always been my equal in parenting but no one else can be their Dad. You were meant for them and they for you. You teach them daily what it is to be male, to be a good man and they learn by your very example. They learn to be kind and quiet, withholding judgement and anger. They learn to lead by example and be strong in a different way than they might learn from another man. And I know these lessons will serve them well as they walk into life, they will become men that hold deep respect for their lives, their wives and their world. And you teach them that.


Boys June 2008


All my boys 2008


I had no idea what kind of father you would be, you the young guy that would never hold the babies I thrust at you to help you 'practice'. You told me once you did not feel comfortable because they were not yours. And yet, the day they handed you a 4 pound child you just did it, myconium dipe and all. And have never stopped. You can kiss any booboo, wipe any butt explosion and do bedtime and storytime better than the rest. And now I can watch you hold your nieces, look these new babies in the eye and show all that you have become in the last 4 years in those moments.

You are better than me, you are more than I could ever ask for, you are beautiful in your ways, in your unique and perfect ways. The only thing I would wish for you is this; remember you are important. You are their Father but also more than just that. You deserve time for Yourself, time on your bike flowing with your trails, time in your shop making your beauty, time to be You. Tim, not just dad. You have the job down, boy, and you will never ever be laid off, I promise. Remember your promise to me, 21 days on your bike. Remember that you are loved no matter what.

And last but certainly not least, remember that I know these things every day not just today.


Boys June 2011


All my boys 2011

I love you, MCD. You hold more than just my heart now. You hold theirs.

They turned 4. They turned four and they care so much about good guys and bad guys. They want to defend and rebuild and shoot something. They want to make things and do things and ignore requests and sometimes dance, and sometimes fight and almost never eat.


Mason laughs like me. He also yells like me, with these immediate sharp excalmations of purpose that make everyone jump and run to see if everything is okay. His laugh, his giggle, it is like a silly sunshine that makes your stomach hurt it is so cute. He cannot pronounce 'L' so it comes out like a "y". He wants to be every superhero there is which includes spiderman, batman, green goblin (he is easy on the superhero definition). Also light saber man, trashman and stripeman (his favorite pair of pajamas).

Owen is a force. Of will, of good, of purpose. He can literally disassemble a picnic bence without direction. He can shift a mood from good, to insane, back to good. Because he wants pizza. He understands that people can be good and bad at the same time and he already understands that about me. He cannot stand watching someone be hurt. He also has no compunction about doing the hurting when he is pissed. Which is a lot like me.

They did it. They went and became people despite the fact that we were not sure that we could make people. Well, ones that we like, anyway.

They are lovely and funny and like to pretend that they can save anyone and like to wear three shirts at the same time (especially if those three shirts layer int his order :: batman shirt, spiderman shirt, dinosaur shirt). Mace likes bok choy and told me it makes him strong enough to carry the laundry basket. Owen hates bok choy (or anything green or meat) but will eat the hell out of a peanut(almond)(sunflower) butter and boysenberry sandwich three times a day.


Something somewhere decided that Tim and I should be given two souls at the same time. Two souls encapsulated in the small oddly shaped little people that arrived 4 years ago. Two boys that chose to come with each other because that is what they and we needed. I remember my first reaction was not exactly joy. I think I was kinda' pissed. Something along the lines of 'shit, did not sign up for this'.

They grew on me.

In every way possible.

They have made me. Not better, not mama, not parent. Just made me. Because all that I was before is still here. But all that I am because of them is so much more.

I love you boys, so very very much.

The party was fun and consisted of kids, sugar filled eggs and Legos (and a sweet bebe to squeeze and pass and a Costco sheet cake because of a failed cake experiment at 10 p.m. the night before that included whipping egg whites until stiff and the resulting 3/4 inch tall cake).


I love the way it seems like they are looking at each other in these photos even though the photos are a bit crappy ...



Until next year ... signing off the birthday posts now (with a little sentimental swipe at the eyes).

A Precursor

They had their birthday party today. They requested waffles and pajamas. So that is what we did. Well, some of us did it. My boys? The ones that have worn their super pajamas for the last three months regardless of time of day or temperature? Today they chose to wear real people clothing (they didn't even layer the pajamas under their real clothes which is bizarre).


I think I am now sold on a 10 a.m. waffle party because they cake was cut and everyone went home after hours of play and it was barely 2 p.m. And we had time to do our run and get some beer and then we sat down with the boys to assemble the latest in their Lego (life) acquisitions. (Everyone needs beer after a morning of 10 or so littles doing what 10 or so littles do).




Ask me tomorrow on their real birthday how I feel about having four year old boys. Right now I feel awfully melancholy and gut-punched as I listen to my little people figure through their new Lego stuff.

Happy birthday (in approximately 24 hours) little guys. Love you so much,

mama

To Boyhood

We went for a hike yesterday afternoon. It was a lovely day, a well known trail. Top of the aptly named Mountain Avenue, long fire road that can take you for miles and miles if that is what you want.

Yesterday we went up with our boys, no stroller. We have done it before and had to turn around after the first big hill. This time was different. Slow, yes. Water stops for Mace every 15 seconds or so (he seems to love sucking on the Camelbak tube, reminders of bottle days?). There were a few complaints and carrying for a minute or two. But it was a hike.



Mace asked if we could climb the 'yoop' trail so we did, up a steeper single track to a singular view of our valley. Blue blue, green green, dusty rocky brown trail. And the boys were such boys. They were talking and laughing and pulling out some sass. They were watching stink beetles and sticky spiky caterpillars and making the occasional poop and pee remark. And all of a sudden it struck me hard how much they are going, growing, going.

This month they turn 4 ... a few weeks away. I don't know why but I feel like I am losing that last bit of baby, watching them turn total boy on me. I know that they have not been babies for a long long time but now it feels solid, irrevocable. Boys. They can walk the trail without a stroller, handle dressing and potty time and navigating via their makeshift maps.


I don't talk about them much here anymore, certainly not in the ways of past. Not weekly, monthly, hourly even though they are all things to me that they have been. I do not take pictures of their school art often, throw away a good portion of it. I wonder sometimes if I will regret that piece of paper I tossed that they carefully (and not so carefully) painted/glued/scribbled/cut. I do still marvel as their abilities add up, it is just harder to find the time to write it down.


So back to the turning 4. It is freaking me out. It is like a repeat of my freaking out when I turned 35 last year. So I think I just have to let it go. Cuddle them, listen seriously to them, do increasingly more difficult puzzles with them, correct them as we read books and they hit or miss guess at some of the letters, then cuddle them again if they let me.


I don't want to be that mom that mourns the loss of her babies over and over. I want to be present and a mom to the little people that they are becoming. But I will admit to that twinge in my belly, that little bit of sadness I felt as I watched and listened and observed them yesterday on the trail. And coming to the realization that this is parenting ... learning to let go in little and big ways. I may have realized this before in the last almost 4 years but I have a feeling that it will feel new every time it comes ...


I was wondering why I still come to this place to blog. Sometimes it feels as if I toss bits of dribble and dross here and hope for the best. But then there is this feeling and I am glad I have a place to put it.

Today? I put them in the stroller and we walked to the market and taco 'store' and I pushed them both and listened to their chatter and felt better because they are still mine, boys, yes, but most importantly mine.

Your mama loves you, boys. So very very much.

Long Weekend of LOVE

Last year I actually pulled off 7 days about things that I LOVE. This time around I am aiming for the long weekend (little stomach virus messing around with our innards and other distractions being what they are).

Thought I would start off with a set of things, my Thing 1 and Thing 2 (Cat in the Hat has been Mace's book of choice for over a week now).

They had a Vday party at school today and we sent them all decked out, shirts and valentines and hair combed into place (gasp).

They are total hams when it comes to camera time but I think I like that. Also I have noted Owen is the hugger and Mace is usually the huggee, with the occasional stranglehold result.

I plan on sharing the homemade Valentine's tomorrow, easy peasy and fun to make.

Then we'll just have to keep finding things to LOVE for a few more days. One thing I know is that we do NOT love the stomach virus. (Yuck).

Thanks.

Nothing new, but I am so thankful for these boys.





Moments like this, when it all seems possible ...



Or like this when doll stuffing becomes Santa's beard (the same Santa he shunned just hours earlier.



And that I live in a place where one Sunday we can be at the beach and the next Saturday facing the prospect of being snowed in for a day or two.



Happy Thanksgiving weekend, folks. Hope I feel the same way in a day or two of being trapped with kids in a cabin. While watching fresh powder fall knowing there will be no boarding on said pow involved.

But sledding, well, we can still do that.

A Month of Me with a Segue

Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.

I am hitting these up combination style because somehow the days just keep flying by and I laugh a little at the idea that I could even try to blog daily.

So, 11 :: People seem to like my smile. And my kids.

I get multiple compliments on both. Which is really nice. The kids more than the smile.

Which lets me segue into talking about my kids. Actually not about them but other people liking them.




This has turned into a very tough year financially and the things we took for granted have slowly fallen off as we tightened the proverbial belt. There is enough for mortgage and food, etc. There is just very little else. This hurts a lot less since we have been practicing at buying less and using less for some time but it still can hurt.

Some things are just not in the budget this year. This includes things like school tuition. Tim and I were very disappointed in this but 'school' for three year olds falls more into 'want' vs 'need' at this time.

The really disappointing part was that their teacher broke away from the small preschool the boys attended last year to form her own even smaller school with a focus on learning her style (which is an awesome style, believe me). She and her teaching partner are a wonderful and dynamic duo and it was exciting to hear them form the idea for their own school but we realized that we would likely not be able to be a part of their inaugural class.

Well, in September when classes started they approached us and asked us if we would please please put the boys in, that they could waive tuition for us but they did not want to lose the boys. They were so eager to have them participate in the program and I was totally humbled and thankful for their generosity. We formed our own agreement as to how to approach the next few months and in they went.

The one hard thing to do was not give somehow so I asked them to let us know if there was anything we could do trade wise. This month they approached me with the request for sewn capes that the kids can incorporate into their letter play.


And so that is what I have been working on instead of daily blogging. And I have to say, it is both rewarding and fun to know these will be a part of their school for a long time to come. I've always wished to live a little outside our monetary system but it feels cool and surreal to actually be doing it.



So, yeah, people may like my smile but I am really really happy they compliment me on my kids in this way. It makes me feel like I am doing something right.



12 :: As for something people never compliment me on ... I think that would have to be my ability to swallow what some may call pride (but I tend to think of as ego) to allow these things to happen, to allow our lives to not be dictated by what we lack, but shaped by that which we have, and those who are willing to participate in it.

I know they say it takes a village to raise a child, but I also like to think it takes a village to help us as adults find ways to function when things get tough.

And if I get the chance, I will post up a quick tutorial on the making of the capes. It was fun and easy and involved a lot less sewing/seaming than one would expect.

Just Say NO.

Last week my Mom found a great library book for the boys titled NO DAVID! It is about a little boy that hears a litany of NOS! from his Mama for his every action and the boys love it to bits. They insist that we read through the scenes page after page while they inform us of every wrong David is doing, all the things he does that gets him into big trouble.

They tell me David should not come over because he does some pretty 'bad' stuff. They do not get the irony of telling David to "Stop that this instant!' on the page where he is picking his nose... while they are picking their own noses.

Every single thing that David does is an action that the boys have somehow incorporated into our daily lives... climbing for cookies (or in Owen's case, the giant bag of M&Ms my Dad poorly stashes in their room), tracking in mud after a session in the backyard, running naked down the sidewalk (this one really gets the to the boys because though they are down with the naked, they know it does not happen in the front yard. God forbid...)

I take a perverse satisfaction while reading it in the sheer amount of NOs I am allowed to say without feeling guilty. Because there are a lot of NOs involved in the raising of twin boys that are three. Like, double the usual. And that is okay.

What I really love is that the author of the book re-wrote this book as an adult. The first edition was made by him when he was a little boy and had the same basic premise. He heard NO a lot. But I love that what stuck with him when he viewed the little booklet from his youth was not just the NOs but the love that his Mama had for him in the end.







You should find it. It is a great book. And believe me, if you have boys you will get it. And if you want them, well, don't say you haven't been warned. They really are little heathens.

And, totally unrelated, but I love this shot of my Mama. She is the coolest. Also, she finds really great library books.


Love you, 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.