stockpiling evidence that everything is okay {most of the time}

1.  trauma party #gmc #uptoolate

2.  #gorillagym

3.  to what was, to what never will be (Emma Lou Thayne)

4.  he is alive as much as his sister is gone #allthelight

5.  family service in the food pantry
6.  #hunteravenuepool
7.  coffee, a book and a quiet parked car
8.  this might be my most favorite picture
9.  matchbox cars for breakfast
10.  good to be home #sweetdreams

11.  pre Sugar

12.  post Sugar #nationalchamps

13.  snow rescue

14.  winter in the woods

15.  passing along the Woody letter
16.  bone lessons #gmc
17.  not my husband
18.  happy birthday
19.  so much to look at, so hard not to touch it #osubiodiversity
20.  #legacy dinner at the Boathouse

all the happies

No shiny tools, no ties, no soap-on-a-ropes around here.
Just hugs, and handmade cards.  And Ho Hos.

The boys are so lucky to have his arms to run into and his heart to call home.

to be fascinated

It's interesting how the children who keep me tied to the house for naps, tangled up in mundane, routine things, are the same children who help make the rest of the world feel less distant.  Look at the birds on the wire, they say, do you see all the snow melting, can we count all the red cars in the parking lot?

They stick out their tongues and help me remember what snow tastes like.  They notice the late afternoon sunshine rug in the dining room and demand to sit right there, right then, and read books.  They choose the book about children around the world.

When I crave culture and not the carpool lane, they remind me not to worry about being fascinating, but to be fascinated.  They remind me how amazing it is that we exist at all, show me that none of us need anyone’s permission to feel fabulous except our own.

Time to go

What I say:  It's time to go, buddy. We need to finish getting dressed and get out the door fast.

What he must be thinking:  I’ll get my shoes on soon, I just have to park all my cars and then touch every single toy in the house real quick.

polished dreams

He became a kindergartner half a year ago, entering new phases of reading and writing, autonomy and friendship.

He is like a tiny mollusk, but instead of straining calcium from the water he spins the things he learns at school into polished dreams upon his back.

At bedtime now he holds the book and I close my eyes in order to give myself over completely to the pleasure of listening.

He stumbles on a word and I, miraculously, manage to stay quiet for a dozen heartbeats.  When he stops to think his attention floats up, as though he is scanning the sky for something.  Soon his words come again, like music they sink and rise and settle back to earth.

I listen, and feel as if my love for him could outstrip the limits of my body, as if I were merely a not-so-narrow conduit for another, greater thing.
And then my attention floats up too, giving wings to words like thanks.

pretty much a mathlete

As I led the neighborhood group down the hill yesterday morning I needed fingers on all eighteen hands to count the number of times I said, "We'll have to wait till after school to play in the snow, right now we need to keep walking please!"

After school I gathered snow pants and mittens and mentally prepared for the putting on part.  If I guess how long something like that should take and then double it and then add ten, I can alleviate some stress as the mother.

While we wandered over toward the woods Andy and I quickly talked about keeping an eye on the clock and on the boys, about trying to gauge stamina in order to get them back home and inside before they got too hungry or too cold.

I am usually able to calculate timing in order for the boys to do something without a meltdown in the middle of the street, without me having to carry one of them three blocks back to our house.  I have to compare temperature to water consumption and subtract from their last bathroom break.  I must take into account the amount of energy already used that day and divide it by the hours of sleep the night before.  And then I need to compound all that with the fervor in which their last meal was eaten.

I know I'm not the only parent who understands this math.  And I don't always get the right answer.
But today it wasn't until we reached our backyard again that the boys decided they didn't like the snow.

Tollie says

Let’s play hide and seek.  You count.  But first can you cover me up with these pillows so I can hide?

Jets are like giant bees.  But they have huge engines. 

A week or so ago: Where did all the snow go?  Oh wait, I know!  The sun and the snowplows did teamwork! 

That motorcycle has two tires, just like my body has two kid-a-neys.  
I am excellent at making two fingers, look.  Because I used to be that many fingers.  But now I'm three.

My feelings are feeling hurt. 

I really like dinos and trains. But I don’t like flowers. 
You don’t like flowers?!
I do!  No, I don’t, actually.  But I do like babies.  And rainbows. 

That’s a slug and that’s a centipede and that’s a roly poly.  Roly polies can turn into balls that you can NOT throw. 

My teeth are just like a nutcracker. 

I tried to slow down but when I walk I can feel my legs going faster that means it’s time to run.

He does this thing, probably because he used to hear us do it with Tuck, where he repeats words and tries to identify their beginning sounds:  Teamwork starts with ta-ta-teeth.  Pancake starts with puh- puh-pee.  Crabby starts with cra-cra-crap.  Ceiling starts with… what’s my sister called again?

I need to get my freckles off my nose since I am such a bog boy now and I am done with them.  
Also I need to take a haircut, since my hair keeps coming closer to my eyes. 

To Tucker, flying one of his lego “ship” creations: Does it go upside down or upside up?

I went on a trip with Vanessa and Zane. We went to vacation superhero state. We had to walk all the way there.  And we stayed in tents.  But you can’t go there, only cousins can.