Mama Jar

I was doing bedtime with CJ when AL came in to do his bedtime routine with my husband. When I went in to say goodnight AL asked me if I had found the presents he had left me. I hadn't but said I would go and look right away. When I got downstairs I saw what he had left out on the counter for me. Dear, sweet child.

He is constantly gifting me things. Most of the time it is feathers. Feathers that, mind you, he has found in our living room, having been shed out of our down sofa pillows. Sometimes feathers that are too small to really be held by adult fingers. Throughout the winter, his gifts consist mainly of dried leaves he has found out in the yard or on walks. If there's been snow, he digs through it to find the leaves. I get a lot of rocks and sticks from both AL and BC. BC likes to bring me shells, bits of string, and small wires he's bent into various contemporary art shapes too. And of course they both like to bring me flowers. Every kind of flower they can find in the yard. I keep the flowers and green things in a tiny pot of water that sits in my kitchen window. I spend the spring and summer months constantly rotating out the gifts as they wilt and fade. 

The non-perishable gifts - those rocks, shells, and feathers - I keep in a large jar in my kitchen window. They've dubbed it my "Mama Jar". I'm not sure what I will do when this jar gets full, but I do so love peering into it. It is my constant reminder to be gentle with myself because, just look. Look at how much they love me. There's that saying about parenting young children that goes, "You will never be as loved as you are right now." And I reckon that's true. How I wish I could put these days into my Mama Jar.

Something Right

Dear BC,

Eight years old, eh? And what a birthday it is! The world is changing - has already changed - rapidly and these past several weeks have been hard on the world, hard on our community, hard on our family, and hard on you. Thank goodness for your tenacity. You have been so excited to turn 8 this year. Whenever I asked you what it was that made 8 feel like such an exciting birthday, you never really had an answer. That's okay. You can be excited about turning 8. Or 8 1/2. Or 8 7/8 for all I care.  I'm excited too. I'm excited to watch you grow. You are doing some amazing things around here. Your pallet fort, fairy habitat, fire pit, general yard work, flower tending, make-believe with AL, swinging and chase with CJ, getting lost in stories, books, and songs, gaining an understanding of who you are and, indeed, who you want to be. When you come in covered in dirt, pockets full to bursting with nature items collected that day, I know something is right in the world. I am so glad your Papa and I can provide you with the space and time to do all of those things. I feel lucky in that way. And I know I'm the luckiest because I get to be your Mama.

Happy Birthday, Sprout.

Love,
~Mama

To My Daughter On Her First Birthday

My Sweet Girl,

I have never met someone who knows her own mind so well at such a young age. Today you are one, and what a year it has been. Up until the day you were born, I think, we didn't know we needed you. You complete our family in the most perfect of ways. You have a wonderful laugh. You love animals, and rocks, and splashing your feet in water of all sorts. You are always ready to jump right in with the roughhousing going on and the family dance parties. You love all foods savory. You know millions of words and signs (that's hyperbole but only sorta): cracker, bird, apple, rock, cool, #MILK, #RABBIT, #DUCK, #ROCK... You give kisses to the animals you see and love in books, and know all the animal sounds (except, gosh, what does a giraffe say?!). You run and are trying to jump. You climb and climb and fall off and tumble and climb some more. You are a force. You make BC and Papa melt with your hugs. You make AL giggle with your demands and straightforward expression of glee. You make me shine with your love light reflected back at me in those eyes of yours where I see myself. 

I see you as your own person more clearly than I was able to see your siblings in their first years of life. I think most of that has to do with the fact that I am more experienced at this parenting thing (older and wiser and all of that) than I was 8 and 4 years ago. But also, I know, some of it has to do with the fact that you do you. You absolutely know who you are and do not hesitate to let others know as well. That, my sweet one, is what I hope will never go away. If you hold onto that I won't ever worry about you. I'll only sit back and watch you take on the world. 

Happy Birthday, CJ.

Love,

~Mama

The Happiest

Dear Sweet Boy,

Four. FOUR. Your sweet spirit is almost bigger than you, sometimes. And four suits you fine. You became a big brother this last year, and that suits you more than fine. Your sense of humor, tactile-ness, sparkling extraversion, love of song and rhyme, and ability to find beauty in everything still drive you through this world. I am still amazed by you, challenged by you, and loved by you in ways I will never fully understand. Just as I love you in ways I will never be able to fully articulate. I love watching you grow up and count it one of my great pleasures to do so. I love watching you play with BC and your Little Star, how you listen so intently to long lyrics, how you form those complex sentences, and how you enjoy a good joke (and, okay, also a bad joke). I love to watch you dance. You, my darling, are the sprinkles on this sweet life. Your Papa and I always say that your mantra is "I'm just happy to be here." And you are. And I, my dear, am the happiest to have you.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
~Mama

Resolution: Day One

My resolution is for a stronger light.
That is to say, for quite some time now,
My light has been deprived of oxygen.
My light, the one I was told by all of those people,
On all of those Sundays,
All of those years ago,
To let Shine, Shine, Shine,
Let it Shine, is dwindling.

See this world has got me so low
I cannot draw a breath.
All around me I see darkness and fury,
Claw marks and notes drawn in the dirt
To loved ones.
I hear the distant echoes of people
Calling from other holes
From which they cannot get out.
Their lights are dwindling too.
And here I've sat, for the better part of 3 years,
Just watching my light grow dimmer.

That is done now.

I've got these three souls here
Right at the top
And I can see them.
Their lights are strong.
They call to me and their breath,
Albeit an exhalation,
Is somehow, remarkably,
Light-growing oxygen to me.
I'm going up for them.
But,

I'm mad.

I'm mad at myself
For sinking,
For staying,
For forgetting the Good and
Beautiful Things.
Like my children.
Like fresh baked bread.
Like the first snowfall,
The last spring rain,
A clean kitchen,
A gifted rock or feather or,
God knows, animal skull.

I'm mad,
At myself for not doing
The small things,
The brave things,
The right things.
For not living my values out loud.

That is done now.

I am resolved
To grow my light.
I will cultivate love.
I will live my values
Out Loud.
I will remember what a
Remarkably sweet life I have.
I will love and laugh freely.
I will speak up and out honestly.
I will mourn and grieve openly.
I will heal and hope continually.

Today, I say,
Day One.

By Myself

My friend, MA, is due to have her first baby really soon. Thinking about her and hearing about all the thoughts and emotions she's experiencing as she heads into full-blown Motherhood reminds me of my early days as a new Mama. The immediate postpartum period is incredible. It is like having a first date with someone you've never met, yet somehow already know intimately, over and over and over again. It is so raw and personal, yet somehow also so gorgeous and universal. It is both stressful and peaceful. It is a time of rest and recovery, and a time of joy and exuberance. It is lovely and it is scary. 

When BC was 2 weeks old my husband went back to work (thanks to our country's lack of any sort of maternal or paternal paid leave) and I was alone in the house with my son. He was so tiny and fragile seeming. And I didn't know what to do. I had to figure many things out. I had to figure him out, of course (that is an ongoing task, as it turns out), but I also had to figure out the more practical things like how to make myself lunch, eat, and wash dishes with one hand. I remember vividly that time period, especially the first time I had to take BC for an appointment by myself. 

He had a chiropractor appointment. He had already had a couple of them and had been to my uncle's birthday party, but those three trips were with my husband. He drove and I sat in the backseat of our car with this tiny person who I just knew I had to watch lest he should stop breathing while in the car. This trip, however, that was no longer an option because I would have to be driving. My son would be sitting in the backseat by himself. What if he cried? What if he screamed? What if I forgot the diaper bag, or some critical component of its contents at home? What if he stopped breathing? What if I got into an accident? Or had a flat tire? Or couldn't get the heat to work or ran a red light and was pulled over and he started screaming because the car wasn't moving and so I had to get out of the car to get him out and the police officer thought I was being hostile and I was arrested and... You get the point. 

I tried to put on a brave face as my husband went to work. He asked me if he should call in and come with me. "No," I said. "I'm going to have to do this by myself all the time, eventually. Better get on with it." So he left. Because I told him to. As I was getting ready for the trip, gathering, checking, then rechecking diaper bag supplies, my friend SM called "just to say hi. See how you're feeling." "I'm fine. I'm good." I lied. "I'm taking BC to an appointment today. By myself." "Ooohh," she said, knowingly. "Do you want me to come with you?" 

SM had her first child 4 months before I had mine. So she knew. She knew. Becoming a mother is an experience likened to many things but, for my part, no comparison has quite hit the mark. The trendy phrase "all the feelings" comes close. Maybe "all the feelings through a magnifying glass." is closer still. It messes with your head in many ways. It changes your soul in one profound way. Everything is new. And that newness is scary. And as I held my fear in close, as I tried to not give in to it, I did not realize I was holding onto this insane notion that I should have been able to do it by myself. That I was this baby's Mama so I needed to just be able to be with him, to take care of him, to do everything for him, and be his everything by myself. I shouldn't have. That's not it. We are made for villages, not silos. We are made for community, and fellowship, and wisdom passed down through generations upon generations. We are made for more than being by ourselves. 

"That would be great." I told her. We worked out the details and hung up the phones and I burst into tears. I felt such relief. I felt such vulnerability. I felt seen. And I was. Because she knew. I've never fully thanked SM. So here it is. SM, if you're reading this, thank you. Thank you for being in my village that day, and for so many days since then. I will forever be grateful for your presence in my life. 

And to my friend MA, as the days of your pregnancy wind down and you anxiously await the arrival of your baby, I wish for you a village. And that you never feel the need to do it by yourself. I'll be first in line to join your village. 

Happy Mother's Day. 

~M

Seven

BC,

Somehow, incredibly, you are seven years old. With each birthday I feel as if you've reached some sort of new milestone. Seven feels just as momentous an occasion as six, or five, or even one did. You are growing and becoming in ways I could only have imagined seven years ago. You are a wonderment, my son. I love watching you figure out who you are. You remain a lover of great stories, of language and words, of random acts of kindness, and of nature. You are growing to be a mover, an artist, and a leader. I am proud, oh so proud of your strength of character and the way you know your own mind. Although this "stubbornness" does give me grey hairs, I really do know what a wonderful trait it is and how well it will serve you in your life journey. Stay stubborn. Keep asking me the tough questions. And always and forever know how much I love you and how lucky I am to be your Mama.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
~Mama

CJ

I have a daughter.

CJ (I confess her name choice, although we do love it in its own right, was tipped slightly ahead of the others on our list because we could call her "CJ") was born peacefully, rightly, at home. My only babe not to be born into my actual hands because, as I somewhat suspected she would be, she was tangled quite a bit in her umbilical cord. No distress. She came free of the tangle quite easily. But before she was even in my hands BC, who had been lurking in the hallway, not quite able to come into the room where I was birthing, was asking "is it a boy or a girl??" He had been longing for a sister. He had told me from the moment we told him we were having a third child that he knew it was a girl. He knew he was going to have a sister. And he was right. He has a sister. AL has a sister. My husband and I have a daughter.

I have a daughter. And all I can think to myself, over and over on these long newborn nights, are the opening words of the Sarah Kay poem B, which says, If I should have a daughter...

If I should have a daughter... And so my own "if" shall begin.

Welcome to the world, CJ. You are already loved so very much.

~Mama

Today...

My children today... Oh my. To be fair, we had one hell of an illness hit our home late last week and it left for a slow Christmas Day, as we are still trying to recover fully. Also, it is the day after Christmas today. Much excitement yesterday, but Papa back at work today and an attempt at some semblance of normalcy caused a bit of whiplash for us all. Still. All day today the boys were bickering and picking on each other. All. Day. And when they weren't bickering with each other they were trying to bicker with me. Or else BC was sulking around about every possible thing he could think of and AL was acting like a cat - knocking shit off of shelves and the table, staring at me while doing something he knows to be a no-no. You know, a cat. All. Day. Here's an example of but one of the lovely scenes from today:

BC was sitting on the kitchen floor trying to put together the food processor (yes, I had taken the blade out. No, don't ask any follow up questions). AL saunters up.

AL: What's that?
BC: Go away.
AL: Does this go here?
BC: Go away.
AL: Does this go here?
BC: Go away.
AL: Does this go here?
BC: Go away!
AL: Does this go here? Does this go here?
BC: Leave me alone!
AL: Meanie! Does this. go. here?!
BC: (shoves AL) Leave me alone - go away - get your fuzzy head away from me!
 -tears and shouts simultaneously ensue from both-

Now, I normally try to allow them to work out their issues themselves rather than run interference at every squabble. But this type of interaction over and over and over and over and over again really put me off my game. We started bedtime at 4:15 PM today and I'm not even kidding. Here's the point in the blog post where I'm supposed to switch gears and talk about how I know they really love each other and today was just a rough day and tomorrow will be better and we are all doing the best we can and how wonderful motherhood is. And they do, and it was, and it will, and we are, and it is. Really though? I just want a glass of wine. But damn. Pregnant.

Your Beautiful Soul

My Sweet Boy,

This morning as we lay snuggled in bed, not yet ready to let our feet feel the chill of the floor, I said "Happy birthday!" in a quiet voice. "Is it my birthday today?!" you cried. "It is" I said. "Oh, YES! My birthday is today! I've been waiting and waiting..." and then you were off. Off and running. Rousing your brother and Papa, making the proclamation known: It's my birthday today! 

Today is your third birthday. As the lone extrovert in our little family your soul light has no trouble shining. It is bright and it is beautiful. You still love to sing, still are the most tactile person I know, enjoy plays on words, good stories, play cars and other things lined neatly in rows. You love people and beauty. You. love. your. big. brother. You can't wait to be a big brother yourself to "your baby" next year. Your enthusiasm for life, coupled with your nearly constant stream-of-consciousness-soliloquy, tends to wear your introverted Mama (and Brother) out. But when I sit back and take all that is you in I cannot help but beam. You are the person I always wished I could be. That magnetic personality, boundless energy, and comfort and ease with people is infectious.  I am learning, day by day, the lessons you have for me.

I am so glad I get to witness your beautiful soul. Thank you for making me a Mama twice over.

Happy Birthday!

Love,
~Mama

Parenting Win

A while back I decided I would audition for a local production of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues. I've interpreted the play 4 times and directed it once but, having never actually been able to act in a production, I thought I'd give it a go. The auditions started at 6:00 PM and so I had to leave the house right when my husband got home from work, which was unusual for me. As I was gathering my things to head out the door BC asked me where I was going. I'm going to audition for a play, I said. What's the name of the play?, he asked. I paused, briefly.

I have always been adamant that we call body parts by their real names - all body parts. An elbow is an elbow, a chin is a chin, a bottom is a bottom, finger, toe, knee, shin, penis, scrotum, labia, vagina. They all have names and we use them. So in that moment when I paused it wasn't because I didn't want to say the word vagina. It was because I assumed what his next question would be, and I just didn't have the time to get into the political, social, and emotional themes that made up the play. I didn't have the time and, frankly, I would need to think about how, exactly, I would tell my 6 year old what the play was about in an age-appropriate manner. What words would I use? What themes would I include? Which would I exclude and why? All of this, of course, went whirling around in my brain in a few seconds because there he was, staring at me expecting an answer.

What's the name of the play?

I just went ahead and told him. Matter of fact.

It's called The Vagina Monologues. 

Now it was his turn to pause, briefly.

Huh. Mama, what's a monologue?

Parenting win.

Your Shadow

Tonight, after he had fallen asleep,
While we were having our,
Much needed,
One-on-one time,
I stepped out to grab you a blanket.
I reentered to find you staring,
In utter joy,
At his little face.
What are you doing? I asked.
Then.
Your words came from
Your soul space.

I know it's not always easy,
Being the older brother.
I know having a shadow,
A copycat, an idolater,
Is a rough business.
But, my sweet boy,
It won't always be like this.

He won't always be at your heels.
You won't always be the one
To make up your collective mind,
To be the one to help him,
To set the example
(Responsibility).
In the not too distant future
He will make his own footprints,
Without having to step in yours.
You will turn around and see,
Not him, but the space he once occupied.
He will have gone his own way.
Made his own friends,
Made his own mind,
Helped his own self,
Set his own example.

It's a difficult season.
Fair warning, it will
Get harder before
It gets easier.
But it will get easier.
And you will,
Although hard to imagine now,
Miss this time.
Just as I will miss this time.
Desperately.
So, too, will you miss
Your shadow.

He will always be your little.
You will always be his big.
You have each other in your keepings.
Forever.
You will go through it all,
Together.
You are siblings. Brothers.
Made of, literally
(Yes, in the literal sense of the word),
The same stuff.
What holds you together
Is blood. But it's also bond.
I see it already. It's there
Bubbling beneath the surface
Of frustration,
Of a need for space,
Of endless negotiations,
I see bond.
I see joy.
I see love.

What are you doing? I asked.
Just looking. You said.
He is so beautiful. 
I will never not love him.

Always

My dearest BC,

My, how far we've come in 6 years. You're you and I'm me and we are figuring out this big, wide world together. I am trying, really trying, to be the best me I can, for the sake of you. And for your brother. Thank you for your generosity of spirit. And for reminding me to put those red rubber bands around my wrist.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

Yes. Yes, I have. And I do. A lot.

You sigh. "More than you can every say," you say.

"That's right," I say, "more than I can ever say."

Thank you for continuing to allow me to see your heart.

"Mama, I when I saw AL start to cry I just... I couldn't stand it. I helped him fix his Legos."

Thank you for keeping me laughing and, simultaneously, in awe with your wit.

"Are you ready for bed?"

"Not yet!"

"Why? What do you need to do?"

"Mama, don't ask the question if you don't want the answer."

When I told you about how inside a mother's brain are actual cells of her children, and how scientists aren't really sure why, you told me you didn't like to think about that gooey stuff but that you were glad I'd always be able to know you.

I will. Always.

Six years seems like an impossibility. Didn't we just meet? Wasn't I just feeling your dimpled hands, and sausage toes? Weren't we just beginning to figure out how to be in this new life, this new world, this holy relationship together? Now it's six years gone and, although your fingers are no longer dimpled, and your toes are no longer sausages, we are still figuring it all out. We are still meeting, as I suspect we will forever be. But I will always be able to know you. Always.

Happy Birthday, Sprout.

~Mama

And

"The days are long but the years are short."

It's a new year. A new day. A new opportunity to shape these lives I get to hold as my children. It has been a frigid week here in New England (and, I gather, in many other places) and so we've spent a good deal of time indoors, much to all our chagrins. I'm trying to cut back on my toddler's nursing sessions for personal reasons. My husband has been working late in order to finish a side project with a looming deadline. These have been some long days. I'm not complaining. I'm stating. 

My children are 5, and 2. In truth, my oldest is closer to 6 than he is to 5. When I think about that, I mean really think about it, all I can do is shake my head. How? I wonder. It was yesterday that he was a babe in arms. It was. And it was a minute ago my now 2 year old boy wonder was a babe. And then I blink. And then I think. And then I look at them and swallow the lump in my throat (except when I don't and choose, instead, to let the lump rise to the corners of my eyes in liquid form). And then I breathe and smell the tops of their heads. And I play indoor soccer, and Batman and Robin of Batman, and shop, and I read books, and help with spelling out the words for the sign he's making for his new business, and help with figuring out scissors in his little hand, and blast the music for a dance party, and make spinach pudding for lunch and that's all, and stop short of losing my mind over toys on the floor and instead proclaim a race to pick up and put away and the one with the most things put away wins (and it works), and I scramble to think of what the prize will be, and I realize the only prize they want is a big "Yay!" from me, and okay, maybe an even bigger hug, and... The days are long. But the years are short. This chaotic, messy, sticky, loud, sweet, important time with them is going by so very fast. And, man, am I going to miss it. 

~M

The One With The Hair

To my sweet boy,

You are two, TWO, today. You, son, are a bubbling ball of emotion. You are the epitome of happy-go-lucky, or emotional hurricane, depending on the moment. I'd say 87% of the time you're the prior, which makes life with you pretty grand. When I ask you, "Do you know how much I love you?" Your response, always the same, is "big." So big, my son. So big. Bigger than big. Bigger than this world can hold. 

You have the language and conversational skills of someone at least 12 months your senior (sometimes more), which makes the days with you fly by. You are the sweetest one, the fiercest one, the one who loves your brother more than "big", the one who will take every opportunity to hammer something, the one to make up songs about everything and nothing on the fly, the one to take every parental warning of a hazard as an invitation to try it, and the one to never miss a moment of watching and learning. And, oh my, you are the one with the hair. 

My wish for you this coming year is to keep on being you, to keep on singing those songs, hammering those bumps, watching and learning from those moments, and, even though it will mean more gray hairs for me, trying out those hazards. Be free. I sure do love being your Mama.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

~Mama

The Rest of My Days

I'm not sure why 5 feels like such a milestone, but it does. Five years you've been earth-side. I look at you and see, suddenly, not a little child, but a kid. A five-year-old. You are strong of will and spirit, which challenges me daily, but makes me oh so proud of you. You are sweetness and sharpness all mingled together. Your sense of humor and gift for the nuance of language astound me. You, as your Grandmama would say, miss nothing. I am still learning all the wonder that is you. I get tripped up often. I misread your subtleties, misstep while guiding, and mistake your lack of years for lack of understanding (despite my best efforts). But I am grateful to be your Mama. My gratitude begins and ends with you and your brother. And so it will for all the rest of my days. Happy birthday, Sprout.

Love,
~Mama

Worry

I wanted to get the boys Easter baskets this year that would be ones we'd reuse year after year, like my Mama did for me and my brothers. The past 4 years I've just used whatever I could find: a wooden box, a plain "regular" basket, one year a sand bucket. But this year I was determined to find their "every year" basket for their Easter morning treasures. Then last week I saw online that a shop in-town was selling handmade fabric bins for Easter baskets. Proceeds from the sale would go to support a local mother who was battling non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Sold. I packed the boys into the car and we headed out.

As we were driving to buy the bins/baskets, I told BC where we were going.

"I need to go get your Easter baskets."
"Mama, you don't need to, you want to."

(Had he been paying attention, or what?)

"You're right. It is a want, not a need."
"Can't we just use our Halloween buckets?"
"We could. But the baskets I'm buying today have a special purpose."
"What special purpose?"
"Well, the money the shop raises from selling these baskets is going to help a woman, a mom, who is really sick. Because she's so sick, she can't work a job to make money. Also, she has a lot of medical expenses because she has to go to the doctor a lot."
"Oh."
"So I don't need to buy these particular Easter baskets, but doing so will help this mom."
"Mama, is my bank still in the car? Because I want to give my money to help that mom and her medical expenses."

While choking back tears I asked him if he was sure. "Really sure?" He was. He wanted to carry his bank in himself. He told the woman at the counter why he was there (I expanded/clarified). We got our baskets, she got a bowl. He dumped the contents of his bank into the bowl. I looked at him and could see his mixed emotions.

"Are you okay, buddy?"
"Yeah. It's just a a little hard seeing all my hard-earned money going away."

I waited.

"But I've decided. I'm doing it."

And that was that. My not-even-5-year-old donated his "hard-earned" money to a stranger, because he felt empathetically compelled.

So much of parenting is worry. Worrying about how best to bring up these small humans we are helping to shape. Worrying about whether or not someone like me should even be entrusted to shape a dog, let alone a human. Worrying about the thousands of little decisions that must be made on a daily basis. Worrying about the big decisions. Worrying about worrying too much, and worrying about not worrying enough. But in that moment I felt all that worry melt away. I knew that I must be doing something right. Not that the moment was about me. It wasn't. At all. It was about my wonderful, sweet, caring, big-hearted son, who in that moment worried about a woman he'd never even met.

Not While I'm Around

Nothing's gonna harm you
Not while I'm around
Nothing's gonna harm you
No sir, not while I'm around
Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays
I'll send them howling, I don't care, I've got ways
No one's gonna hurt you
No one's gonna dare
Others can desert you
Not to worry, whistle I'll be there
Demons'll charm you with a smile for a while
But in time
Nothing can harm you, not while I'm around
Being close and being clever
Ain't like being true
I don't need to, I would never 
Hide a thing from you
Like some
No one's gonna hurt you
No one's gonna dare
Others can desert you
Not a worry, whistle I'll be there
Demons'll charm you with a smile for awhile
But in time
Nothing can harm you
Not while I'm around

-S. Sondheim

It is next to impossible for me to fully understand, let alone explain, the depth of my sadness for this country right now. In what will surely go down as the strangest inauguration day in U.S. history, I am gut-wrenched at the thought of the term that is to follow. And the unsettling juxtaposition of the same week ending with this day that started on the day we celebrated the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. cannot, for me, be understated. 

My oldest son and I had talked a lot about Dr. King and the importance of the third Monday in January recently. During those conversations I tried, deliberately, to keep the discussion relevant to today, instead of making it a "back in the day" topic. I was not always successful in doing so, however. Once, when I was attempting to explain again why some people don't believe in equality for all, my son asked me, "Mama, do we still have people like that?" I paused. "Yes," I said. "We just elected one of them president." Now, I didn't elect him president. A majority of voters didn't even elect him president. But I thought the electoral college was too off-topic and a bit much for my son at that moment. He is, after all, only four-and-a-half. 

I did not cast my vote for that man. Never. But I do have acquaintances and even family members who did. They cast a vote for a man who is an adversary to anyone who isn't a rich, white, male (I was going to make a list of those to whom he has shown to be an adversary to, but it's a long list). And that is over-stating it, because even if you are rich, white, and male, you still cannot be someone who disagrees with him. Anyone who disagrees with him is wrong, or stupid, or worse. And I know people who voted for him! And, yes, "your vote, your choice" and all of that. Except now I have to explain to my children why, in 2017 in The United States of America, we have a Commander in Chief who has been an outright asshole to, not just the marginalized, but anyone who doesn't agree with him. Like a toddler. Or a spoiled brat. Or a dictator.

I am at a loss. A loss for words, a loss for joy, a loss for hope. I so badly want to be one of those people who is rolling up her metaphorical sleeves to #nevernormalize and to fight like hell for the next two and four years (please, god, let's not even think of eight...). But I am at a loss. The only thing I can do is hold onto my children extra tight and fill them with all the love and security and hope and joy I am struggling to find for myself right now. I need them to know they are safe with me. They are my Reason. They are why I must, once my voice returns, speak of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and Stonewall, and the NWSA, and the ADA, and BLM, and on and on. Because one day, when my son asks me if we still have people here in the Land of the Free who do not believe that all people are free, I want to be able to say, "Yes, but not for long." 

To My Second Son On HIS First Birthday

My Sweet Baby,

You entered this world in a flash, and I knew you immediately. I confess I wasn't sure I would. My connection to your brother was so deep, so visceral, that it was difficult for me to imagine the same with another little human. But there you were, and there we were, and here we all are. You are one year old and an absolute delight. The key to my heart is in your cheeky grin, your sweet snuggles, and your copy-catting of your brother. 

All three of us - me, your Papa, and your Brother - love you fiercely and freely. Although I haven't spent nearly as much time staring at you (and yes, taking your picture as you sleep) as I did your brother in his first year of life, know that I still know you. I'm your Mama and you're my Son. You're my son who loves all things soft of texture, dogs, lights, balls or even remotely ball-shaped objects, hats, being held so you can observe, learning and using new signs and words, being just like your brother, joining in, This Little Piggie, North Pole/South Pole, whole apples, and all food - all of it. You're a walking ball of light. 

One year is gone, and another just beginning. Because of you I am Mama twice over. Thank you for being you. 

Love Always,

~Mama

Parent-Pro-Tips

"Mama, will you make me a blue light saber?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."

Parent-pro-tip #387: Always save your empty toilet paper tubes.

"Mama, can I get out of the car and be with Papa?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."

Parent-pro-tip #388: Insist on hard hats when your children are around heavy machinery.

"Mama, can AL get in the tube?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. But we need to watch his face and body language so he can let us know whether or not he likes being there."

Parent-pro-tip #389: Babies are people too.

BONUS parent-pro-tip: Babies like shiny.