A Birthday Celebration

No matter where I'm coming from, there is a certain way to get home. A certain twist of roads, familiarity of trees, brush of the same pavement that shrinks down shorter and shorter until I'm here. Home. Usually when I'm coming home it's the time of day when the sun nestles into the crust of the Earth and blasts one last shriek of shimmer before starting a new day somewhere else. The road, the twists, the trees, the pavement, the shriek---

There is nothing else like the way home.

Today I felt like I was gliding home. Racing, but gliding. Because today was Tom's birthday. He showered and wore a new shirt, I sprayed a few extra spritzes of perfume, slid some lipstick onto my lips and I even took extra attention to listen to the stories he was telling me while we got ready instead of elbow fighting him for more room over the bathroom sink. We were getting ready for a celebration, a birthday night out with our babies and my parents. A celebration.

The birthday boy chose the restaurant, we crowded in against the mass of hungry Friday night eaters and waited for a table.

That birthday boy...isn't he handsome.

Eventually we settled into our table, ordered our food, and got to celebrate this guy---

Bub was antsy, Teebs was fussy, but it was a great day to celebrate a great birthday with great food and great family.

When I think about home and what makes it so soothing to come back to at the end of every day---I know it is Tom. I know that when I am a wild fire just itching to rage, or the boys are prickly and on edge, just looking for trouble---there is always one thing in our home that is always constant. A constantly firm and loving daddy. A constantly bending, compromising, understanding husband. A constant very subtle, very convincing whisper that we can do better, try harder, enjoy more. That is Tom. That is what I come home to.

And as if I needed more reasons to love him, there are these two characters. These two little miniature men that are slowly churning into that same excitable, loving, consistency, with a deep well of exploding laughter. Just like their daddy.

Happy birthday to the man who fills our home with so much joy and strength, we love you!



*************************************************************

You can support this blog by purchasing my greeting cards here

What I Love About Babies

Hello, Fall.

This evening we had a quick, effortless dinner. I microwaved a hotdog. Just one, for Bub. Tom was working on our basement bathroom remodel and I wanted to make sure I had time to say "yes" to Bub's only request this evening: a scooter ride. So I had one goal---feed these children and go. Every day is shorter than the last, and too many days recently I've had to tell Bub that we ran out of time and daylight to do the things he begs to do. So one hotdog, a scoopful of vegetables and fruit later, we burst out of the house and straight into Fall for a scooter ride.

It was just barely on the cusp of chilly, just barely. Mostly, it was warm, but seeping out of that effortless breeze was a sliver of chill that almost made me wonder if Teebs was really freezing and just too stoic to tell me. He clung to my hip, right in the indention above my hip bone and below my ribcage, and together we chased Bub the scooter rider. Before we left I thought about slipping Teebs into his little umbrella stroller and saving my back and arms the ache of lugging him, but I just wasn't quite full of snuggles yet. I needed more closeness, more warmth, more aching from lugging. So I lugged, Bub scooted, Teebs gripped my love handles, and we were off.

It just takes those few moments of breaking away from the chores calling from the house, and the phone that I left on the kitchen table, and the tasks begging for my attention from the computer, to really give me room to breathe and think. And this evening with one lump of Teebs on my hip and one feisty Bub racing ahead of me I really just couldn't stop thinking about what I love about babies.

What I love about babies is that they don't care how long or tiresome a day was. They beg to go on a scooter ride because they need to go on a scooter ride. And they are going to drip with high pitched whines until someone breaks and says "yes." In that way, they kind of just know what is best. Tonight a scooter ride was best, and Bub knew it.

What I love about babies is that the farther away they seem, the faster they go and harder it is to keep up, the more I feel closer to them. Because I made little babies that turned into big babies that have enough confidence and ability to go farther and do greater. When Bub is only a little fleck on my camera screen, he is my big baby, with big confidence, and even bigger ability. I helped make that.

What I love about babies is the ears that suck in my teeniest of whispers. Anything I whisper into a little baby ear, anywhere, even in the middle of the driveway after a Fall scooter ride, is vacuumed in like it is a little gem of wisdom. It is not, it's just a silly whisper, but to a baby it could be anything, and they are going to keep that whisper just in case.

And really, at the end of the day, I just can't get over bath time.

I can't get over the way babies smell, or the way they interact with the water like it is a mesmorizing, magical toy. I just love that about babies.

 The wonder---

The courage---

The joy---

The feet---

The gentle rub of the heavy, tired eyes when enough is enough---

I just love that about babies.

What I love about babies is they can be anything they want to be. They can be a frog, a real one, sitting in the living room speaking only in "ribbits" and moving only in hops. They can be whatever they want to be. They can be meek and gentle, a quiet frog---

Or with a moments notice they can attack and be a tickle giving monster frog, not satisfied until mommy is helpless on the floor in giggles.

But what I really love about babies, what really creeps into my soul and really makes me weep big, fat, mommy tears, is that babies want to be babies. They want to be small and cumbersome and playful and persuasive and full of wonder and joy and imagination for.ev.er. Babies want to be babies.

Tonight after Bub's bedtime story was read, and his bedtime songs were sung, and his bedtime back scratches were scratched, he said in the tiniest of bold voices "I don't want to get big." 

"But why, baby?" With my head next to his on his pillow and my hand gently scratching his back, I urged him to answer. "Why don't you want to get big?" His reasoning was simple: "I just don't." My heart aching, I did what any good mother would do. I lied to him. I told him he could stay my little baby Bubby forever and we would play all day long and he would never, ever, ever have to get bigger. And as my mommy heart gushed all over my insides with burning love for this baby, he laughed a sigh of relief and agreed that yes, he wanted to be my little Bubby forever and everything would be alright.

And that is precisely what I love about babies.

He will change his mind, he will beg and plead to get bigger. Faster and sooner than I could ever imagine. In his haste he will forget that I lied and push me to help him grow up. But right now, in this very spot in our lives, he is my little baby Bubby. My little Bubby who sleeps with his door open just a little crack, with just a little whisper of his Glow Worm music oozing out of the darkness in his room as he rustles under the covers to get to sleep after he has exhausted himself saying my name to tell me just one more thing before going to sleep. That is my little Bub.

And that is what I love about babies.

*************************************************************
You can support this blog by purchasing my greeting cards here

Chaos and Color and Holiday Celebration

Saturdays during football season our living room turns into five different kinds of chaos. Tom wants to watch t.v. and commentate on the commentators. He wants to explain to Bub or me or anyone within earshot the importance of this game, how that game effects our game, how the game is going to shape everything for every game. Or something. At least that's how it sounds when his football talk enters my ears.

But Bub wants to watch cartoons. Or settle for computer games instead. And Teebs wants to be everywhere, all over anything, every time. And I just want to leave the house, go out, see something. Do something. It's chaos. Five kinds. Ten kinds. It multiplies.

To sit back and watch it though, it's really kind of captivating. Instead of pushing, pushing, pushing, everyone to get up and go, today I captured Teebs and we tried to watch football commentators with Daddy and Bub. Tried being the operative word.

Together Teebs and I agreed: it was pretty silly.

But we waited patiently until Tom got enough of his football fix. We planned on going to a pumpkin patch today, but the sky was gray and leaky and the last thing we needed was to get stuck in a corn maze, rained on, and miss the game. So today this was our pumpkin patch---

As usual, Bub didn't care about the specifics, he wasn't disappointed to dig his pumpkin out of a cardboard box at a grocery store, he was simply thankful in the purest of ways and ready to have some fun.

A few weeks ago I made the mistake of telling my mom I didn't like holidays. My mom has been playfully making fun of me ever since and I've been thinking a lot about it. And I have to recant. I do like holidays. But I struggle with winter, and I swear if the holiday season blanketed steamy June and sweltering July I would be obsessed with all things celebratory. But I dig my heels so much for this snowy season that some of that dread leaches onto the Holidays. So to change that, we are starting holiday traditions. Things to look forward to and look back on. Things that morph into magical memories. Today, we pumpkin painted.

We used painters tape to cover up an "R" shape on the Big Bubby pumpkin. And while I wasn't brave enough to set Teebs loose with a sponge saturated in accrylic paint, the Tiny Teebs pumpkin was painted in his honor.

Bub was so excited he literally could. not. stand. it.

Bub chose red---

And after a quick tutorial---

I opened the flood gates of chaos. And we were off.

Bub painted with the beautiful concentration of a three year old. Overlooking the imperfections, embracing the challenge, soaking up the excitement.

The paint drizzled onto the driveway in a speckled mess, skin was layered in smudges, and Daddy couldn't help but join in.

Beautiful Holiday Traditions

Each wipe of the sponge multiplied the color chaos. The rainbow turned into a tidal wave turned into a brush fire turned into a volcanic explosion.

I love that kind of chaos. Love it. I have always been a color-outside-of the-lines, just-try-it-and-see-what-happens, kind of girl. And to set my Bub free with a sponge and huge globs of paint makes my mommy heart swell HUGE. So much so, that I hated to tell Bub that we had to wipe away this drooling cluster of paint and spread it around. If it wasn't going to take ten years to dry I would have left this blob, exactly the way Bub intended for it to be. ----

We thinned out the blob and kept going. But an amazing thing about Bub is that he knows when he has had enough chaos. He is the creator of paint blobs, the oozer, the wipe-it-on-your-pants-for-later, the paint-your-shoe-red-and-then-ask-if-it-is-ok, but when his hands are too caked and he has had enough, he is not ashamed to say so.

Bub handed me his gooey sponge and boldly said "I'm done." And that was that, he was done. I managed to wrangle him for a grand finale picture. But really, he was done.

I set the pumpkins out to dry while the boys napped, but finally my curiosity got the best of me and I tiptoed outside to tear the painters tape off. The final product---

I call that a success.

It's always those little victories that matter. Mastering this chaos of paint into an artsy pumpkin creation. Adding one more memory into Bub's tiny little mind so that one day he will think of them and know with certainty "my mom cared." And of course, celebrating these holidays for all they are worth. Bring it Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. Bring it. Because the Rassettes and their chaos are ready to celebrate.

*************************************************************
You can support this blog by purchasing my photo greeting cards here

Am I Doing Enough?

As a mother the question I ask myself the most is "am I doing enough?" Like a million times a day. Am I doing enough?

When Bub pulls Teebs right out of his pants in the middle of the hallway and between giggles and wails their skulls clunk together because for another day I've failed to teach what "playing nice" means---am I doing enough?

When Teebs' morning coos turn louder and coarser until he is demanding to be taken out of his crib this instant and I pause for just one more long blink thinking maybe Tom will get up---am I doing enough?

When at the end of a long, heavy day I put my feet up on the edge of the coffee table and for an instant I begin to feel relaxed and just then Bub asks "Mommy, want to play?" and I say "Just a second..." and that second grows so much longer than it should---am I doing enough?

When the floors can stay un-vacuumed
and the tops of the televisions can stay un-dusted
and the to-do list can stay un-checked
for just one more day---am I doing enough?

Am I doing enough?

Since Teebs was six months old and belly scooting across the carpet he has been a wild lion, untamed. To hold him, even for a few minutes, takes strength, persistence, and balance. He can wiggle and writhe his way out of the tightest arm clamp. And I find that the more I try to hold him, the more stubborn he his, the less he wants to be held. But lately Teebs has been doing this weird thing in the evenings. He doesn't want to be set down. I plop him on the floor with toys and a brother to roll with him so I can make dinner---and he cries. It's a popcorn cry that starts as a few bursting whimpers and builds into an all out explosion of despair. My Teebs, he wants me to hold him. So I do and I prop him up on my hip and together we go. And he is so still and unmoving, so soft and deliberately slow, that it is barely my child. And I love it.

This evening I took a quiet minute to have a snack before making dinner, but Teebs began popping into despair. I scooped him up and when I should have been cooking we sat on the couch with Bub. So soft and deliberately slow, Teebs began stealing my snack and nibbling my string cheese as if it was his own. Bit by bit he munched it to a nub.

Bub chatted lightly, we all watched the silly cartoon on the un-dusted television, no one was raising their voice or getting in trouble, no one was making dinner or preparing the house to take on another day but the string cheese got smaller and smaller and in a tiny way my boys and I were getting closer and closer---and in that one blink of a moment, I was doing enough.

I have to believe that those string cheese moments far out weigh anything else. I have to believe that in the years to come my babies won't remember the times I said "wait" nearly as clear as the times I said nothing and sat to be with them. I have to believe that as long as I am scraping out every last part of me that I have to give to these children, like scraping out the guts of a pumpkin, and even if after all of the scraping it still doesn't feel like enough, I have to believe that if I'm really trying then it is enough.

After Teebs finished my snack he slid off of my lap and onto the floor, confident and ready to play. He played and giggled while I made dinner. Just before dinner was ready Tom came home from work, tired and weary from the day but ready to embrace his family. Teebs wasn't wearing pants, of course, because Bub had played too rough and they had slipped off in the hallway. But no one was crying, everyone was smiling, and we had one of the nicest dinners we've had in a while. We ate tacos, Teebs used sign language to say "more" by himself for the first time, Bub told us story after outrageous story, and Tom and I looked across the table at each other and laughed. Tonight, everyone was doing more than enough.

*************************************************************
You can support this blog by purchasing my photo greeting cards here

Leaf Puddles

As the temperature is steadily chilling I feel like a mama bear nesting for winter. Today we went to the grocery store and I stocked up on two of all the things that I didn't need in the first place. More wipes, just in case. Extra cans of extra vegetables. Another toothbrush. Frozen vegetables in case the canned vegetables run out and then we eat all of the extra canned vegetables. Because you never know.

And the chores around the house are nagging me for preparedness also. Suddenly I can't stand any dishes in the sink and put all of the dirty dishes one by one in the dishwasher until finally it's full and can be started at a moments notice. Sheets are clean with extra sheets waiting in the closet. Closets and dressers are cleared of breezy, short sleeved shirts and sweaters and jackets are hung firmly in their place. These things just nag at me, it started as a lowly whisper but turned into a raging mama bear roar. "Get ready, get ready" it urges, and the more I listen and the more accomplished I feel; the more I feel like this winter is absolutely no match for us and we are going to be just fine. 

This weekend at Bub's request we attempted accomplish one very Autumn chore.

Since the first crispy, fallen leaf crunched under his sneaker, Bub has been pestering me to "build leaf puddles." On Saturday there were finally enough leaves in our yard that making leaf puddles was not only possible, but also needed to be done.

And let me just start by saying that we made a very solid effort. At a glance, we looked very convincing that we were professional leaf rakers and determined to finish the job.

I had the big mommy rake, and Bub had his little Bubby rake, and even when his rake snapped in two from raking far too vigorously, he found a little dirt toy that made a great makeshift miniature rake. We were determined. And with Teebs supervising us with a watchful eye from the front doorstep there was no way we could go wrong.

We pushed on. For about ten minutes. I'll admit I was the first to get distracted. But Bub was ready and willing to pick up where I left off.

For about ten seconds. But something was calling him, and he too got distracted.

The crunch and warmth and space was calling him to be breathless and worn out. So he ran around the leaf puddles like they were a baseball diamond. And I tried, I really did, to stop him, because I'm certain I said at least three times "be careful! don't ruin the leaf puddles!"

And maybe I did encourage him to throw the leafs as high up in the sky as he could reach...

But I also told him he could only do it one time, and by the tenth crinkly toss I was seriously considering making him stop.

And by the time Teebs was jealous of all of this Fall fun and had to join in, I was really ready to teach them about work ethic, and dedication and finishing what you started.

We thought about finishing. The rake was right there, right where we dropped it. We could have picked it up at any time. And there was a very real moment or two where piling up the rest of those leaves and shoving them into bags was absolutely the right thing to do.

But this just seemed more like the right thing to do---

So we did.

A lot.

And while it didn't really get us any closer to clearing the yard and preparing for winter, it did prepare us in a different way. Each time we get to set ourselves loose outside it gives us one more fun memory to look forward to and one more reason to get through this winter.

The yard has been unchanged since we went in for nap time on Saturday. The rake, even Bub's snapped-in-two rake, rests nestled in the very spot it was dropped.

I was really planning on finishing today during nap time, surprising Tom when his work van rolled home after a long day, but the air is one big chilly block of cold. And I'm tired. With a runny nose. And really, if Bub and Teebs can't be outside playing with me, then what's the point?

I'm trying hard not to look at the weather forecast, but I'm accepting that this weekend may have been one of the very last outside afternoons we have until Spring. But on the inside of the house, we are ready, and on the inside of our warm, summer loving souls---we are ready.

And with that, I am sorry to Tom who has to clean up our landmine of leaf puddles, I'm sorry to the grass that is being matted down by our piles, and I'm sorry to our lonely, bare tree that has to stare at its poor little leaves scattered haphazardly over everywhere. We tried, we really did.

*************************************************************
You can support this blog by purchasing my photo greeting cards here