There is so much to love about this parenting job - the free hugs and kisses, the adulation, adoration, and simple surety of love. But there are one or two things that are on the OTHER list. The list of things about which there is considerably less to love. Or at least, I thought there were. Vomiting probably tops this other list - though so far it's been far worse in my imagination than in reality - thankfully a reality I've only dealt with three times between two kids. This last one was the worst but much more so for the poor teenaged workers at the Jamba Juice than for me. All I had to do was console and change the crying and bewildered little fox and then myself before driving us home. Those poor teenagers got the rest. The vomiting isn't so bad because it's so clearly worse for the child and the adult goes completely (or, I think and am grateful that this is what happens to me) into reactive triage mode.
"Let's play Pretend", however, is an easy number two on the list. I have no idea why I fear it so - why it fills me with dread and why, when I hear those words, all the fun drains out of me. After swimming at the gym, the Bug loves to put the suits in the spinner and count to ten while she holds down the lid and whips the water out of them. That's me. Within ten seconds of hearing the "pretend" word, all the imagination and excitement I have inside has been magically disappeared, leaving a deflated sack of a mother.
I'm a professional actress, for goodness sake, a writer. But this, for whatever reason, is hard for me - or I always think it's going to be. Perhaps it's the change of gears, just simply getting out of my own head. Jordan started asking us for stories in the car and since we're twenty minutes from everywhere, there is ample opportunity for fantasy multiple times a day - and I used to dread it. Now, I know if I grit my teeth and get through the initial shift into storytelling gear and just start, I'm okay - in fact, it's wonderful to look in the rearview and see her rapt, waiting to hear what happens to the mythical Jordan of the stories, or the ponies or pandas or alligators or whomever the protagonists are. I guess it's because I get out of whatever I was thinking in my own head - usually the constant editing of the laundry list of to do items - and then I go back into another mental room and actually indulge some fantasy for a while (the stories often happen in places I'd like to revisit or visit, last week it was a trip on the Orient Express, so it's not like it's too much torture).
For playing pretend, however, it's a little more of a struggle - I have to get out of my own head and stay there in communication not with the daughter whom I adore but with all of the ponies and the Magical Fairy of the Ponies or the monsters, the dragons, the lost little children. She's four, so "Let's Pretend" is how most sentences begin these days, and even when (and perhaps I should be worried by this one) some of them begin "Let's pretend you're the mom and I'm your daughter", I shudder.
Tom isn't all that excited about it either, truth be told, but man did I enjoy listening when it was his turn a few nights ago. He'd been gone all day and after dinner I was cleaning the kitchen while he played with Jordan - Pet Shop Lila dolls (ask a girl between the ages of 4 and 12 who Polly Pocket as and you'll understand). He had to put darling little outfits on the miniature dog and cat and help Jordan change the outfits her two Lilas were wearing. There is nothing quite so amusing as watching all six feet of him folded into one of the kid table chairs trying to use his big woodcutting/chainsawing/manual labor hands to put tiny little outfits on tiny little dolls. Pretty special. He loves math jobs, word jobs, dominoes, games, whatever, but for both of us, it seems, playing pretend is a little more painful.
In the end today, I just gave in to it, let myself not think about what I could be accomplishing and instead played pony hide-and-go-seek again and again. And again. Jordan gets to be in charge and even though she does imaginative play all the time on her own or with friends, I know it's important for us to go there with her, too. It wasn't so bad, in the end. It's always good to get new perspective by role reversing, being bossed around by hte little creatures you brought into the world. Mostly, it felt good to just do what the little bug wanted to do, to let that be the best and most important thing for those twenty minutes. She's already been four for a month and a half, and I'm pretty sure she's going to be taller than me someday so while I can still hold her perfect little self in my arms and while she still lets me in to all the places her mind goes, I'd better go along for the ride. I don't think I've turned any corners in terms of LOVING to play pretend, but I'm going to remember to stop and smell the roses in her little world a bit more often - and willingly.
Now on Sawyer's OTHER list, I'm pretty sure that no matter how much pleasure he gets out of the raspberries we blow on his belly once he's clean, changing those poopy diapers is going to rank in spot number one until he masters that potty-going skill. What I sometimes think of as an easy number two (no pun intended) on the list is often a chart topper on the other list for both of us - the blissful agony of waking up with the little fox when he first rises, and getting him back to sleep for another precious hour or two of sleep.
It would help if Tom and I didn't like spending time with one another (we've rediscovered Boggle after I condemned it to the game cupboard for a few years after a string of particularly humiliating defeats), and if Netflix didn't exist. We'd get to bed earlier and not need so desperately those last few moments of slumber. But this is inevitably what happens: Sawyer cries out sometime between 4:15 and 6, waking up Jordan. Jordan runs towards our bedroom, "Sawyer's crying is keeping me awake" being one of the only reasons she's allowed to use to come into our bed. One of us passes her, bleary eyed, on the trek from one end of the house to the other, lifts Sawyer from his crib and carries him into Jordan's now empty room where the Queen sized bed is. It used to be we'd lie with him in the extra twin bed in his room, but our backs are honestly getting too old to hold us in the necessarily contorted position, afraid to stretch out or move lest we wake him from his fragile slumber. So now it's the queen sized bed where we rub his back to soothe him to sleep, sometimes more than once while he employs tactics like tweaking our noses or pulling my hair to keep sleep at bay. But the bliss of lying next to so small a little creature, so sweet breathed and warm is so worth it.
When he's slept long enough, he wakes up happy, usually stands up and lifts the shade to look out at the new morning, or grabs a book and makes his little "uh, uh, uh" pleading noise. And we read stories or play peek a boo until the kitchen is too big a draw for him and he slips out, needing food or water and running with his characteristic little waddling motion into the lmain living room where we start on building a fire, making breakfast, and ushering in yet another jam-packed day. Whoever is with Jordan wakes up to her sleepy smile and her usual desire to have the non-present parent "come and find us" and we 'pretend' that the game is new, the day is new, and will be filled with the wonder and joy of whatever list they choose to pick from.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Remember when I told you all about how funny it was that Jordan couldn't ride a bike? Simply couldn't muster up the energy to pedal along at the park with her friends and so Tom and I pushed her along in an back-achingly persistent show of love and support for her getting it at her own speed? She was so advanced with swimming so we didn't care about the biking? I don't. Remember it, I mean - because yesterday as I was chasing her around the park, her on a brand new red bike, me running after her and just thinking "She's getting so far out in front of me, going so fast" and then realizing that it was pure
metaphor for what's happening with her as it is.
Jordan outgrew her green and black Crocodile bike. So we went shopping for a new one. Go to Costco, Sports Authority, and Target and look at bikes. Girls bikes are obscene (and so are many of the boy ones) - Barbie, Princess, BRATZ, even Groovy Girls - full of pink and glitter and just too damn much STUFF in the wheels and on the handlebars and just everywhere. Though I did think the zebra seat cover on the Groovy Girls bike was pretty badass. We got the red one so Sawyer could ride it when he gets big enough (which should be in about, oh, 5 minutes at the rate they seem to be growing). The bike was a boys model because apparently unisex is completely a thing of the past. It had a "Major Damage" theme with stickers saying so all over it, which luckily peeled right off. I mean, major damage is just not something you want to associate with your child on a two-wheeled vehicle as it is, so Jordan put some good butterfly and ladybug and fish ones Matt gave her on it and she's set. Angelina Ballerina for her birthday got an awesome plain red bike as well, according to the book she picked out at the library last week - thank goodness!
So she's biking around with two different shoes on (I was sad when she gave that one up so I'm always glad when she reverts to it now and again) and a cute valentines day outfit from her Ama on, and pedaling too fast for me to keep up with on foot, occasionally slamming on the brakes and looking back, saying "Did I make a skid mark, mama?” and making exercise walkers cower in fear on the sides of the pavement. Then she started in with the "Pretend that I'm a _________ and you're
a ___________ and I ___________________ and then you _______________ and then a dragon______________ and then you had to save me and then I ______________" while she's riding further and further away from me, down the steep part that used to have me so fearful, now it's barely a blip on her radar, and she's still talking, still dictating a story, still riding away from me and her little once-a-baby self and into some world of her imagination that is at once exhausting and enthralling.
Tom and I have been playing Boggle and she wanted to learn and, sure enough, writes away these lists of words zigzag and wood (wod) and red and on off and just blows us away. She works hard at home and takes it easy at school. Lucky teachers. Oh - and Tom will be one for a few months, don't remember if I mentioned it, but he's taking over for a teacher going in for chemo. It's ridiculous pay, but a great opportunity to be with Jordan and help out.
Sawyer and I will keep on with the lessons - he learned how to say, "quack quack" when you ask him what a duck says. It’s pretty damn cute, ask Mattie. Call if you want a taste, he'll say it on the phone after he sends a few quiet face-plant kisses to you first. We cut the feet off of Jordan's ballet tights and he loves to put them on his feet. We call them his ballet slippers - he sits outside her class, looking in through the sliding glass doors, so forlorn and sad that he can’t be in there as well. He'll grab his slippers and bring them to me and stomp around the house in them - not too far off from what a couple of Jordan's steps look like... Jordan is in a new class, one with a "recital" - 3-minute dance - at the end of three 6-week sessions. For which they want us to pay $50 for a costume. I came to my senses and thought, no. She's 4. It's really not that hard to drag the pennies out of parents. Guilt is a great motivator, until you remember she has the long-term memory of a goldfish about these things. That she still has fifteen pounds of Valentines Day candy left is a huge surprise each day - and this is with Tom and I helping out once a day or so on the volume...
In keeping with the follow and imitate the sister theme, when getting ready for the pool today, Jordan changed into her suit before leaving for the pool and Sawyer ran over with one of her suits and insisted I put it on. That's the attached picture. He was pretty stoked. He likes his little wetsuit as well, but he's pretty into his sister's things.
There's been one very sad happening in our community this week, if everyone can pray for these people, that would be great - our friends Tom and Shannon (Tom was in the Men's Journal article with Tom years ago), both former river guides who live and work in Davis but whom we see a few times a year, have a little girl whose 2nd birthday party we were meant to go to next weekend. She went to the doc feeling bad and the next day went in for brain surgery - they thought she had a tumor at the base of her spine, it turns out she had a few in her brain and a few in her spine. She had surgery but will now undergo intensive and experimental chemo. Her name is Ella and they call her Ella Bella! So send healing thoughts her way. She has a website similar to Ryan's, I'll forward it along. Tom and Shannon guided for us one early 4th of July, you may or may not recognize them.
I forgot to tell you my favorite part of the weekend for all my book-loving family to enjoy. Tom gets Sports Illustrated (thanks, Dad!) and every year we look forward to (kidding) the Swimsuit Edition. This year, their attempt at making it special and different (models in swimsuits, I mean, c'mon) involved a pair of 3-D glasses. Jordan got hold of the magazine and glasses and loved looking at ALL the pages with the glasses on, all the while saying 'ooh, this page is REALLY beautiful, Mama, look at this one!" And she was right, there were beautiful pictures of beaches and boats, and sand and more sand and more beaches and probably someone riding a horse or something, I’m not sure. (And, come to think of it, I'm sure she identified with the scantily clad models - after all, we're talking about a girl who asks every day if she can wear a skirt and short-sleeved shirt, and when I point out the frost on the ground outside she says "but I don't see the frost". She wakes up naked, sheds as many clothes as possible throughout the day, and prefers to swim in the bottoms only of a bikini that is likely a size or two small for her. She's got the exercise regimen of a swimsuit model - the hours of swimming and the daily sessions on either the bike or the trampoline or both - she is a fitness princess, that one. Jordan's comments didn't seem at all to be about the girls, except when she turned to one page with an especially pouty girl and exclaimed "oh, poor girl! She looks upset! Poor thing." And when she pointed out one picture as beautiful and showed it to her papa who said "Eew, that's gross", Jordan did a double take and said, "Oh, yeah. She’s got mud on her, that's gross, right?" Of course, said mud in question was strategically placed sand and while I tried to explain that getting dirty wasn't gross but fun, Tom was trying to cover his tracks (nothing spoils the Swimsuit Edition like having a girl) about why the picture was gross. Fun for the whole family! Jordan and I had a favorite page - the pullout of a very hairy Tom Selleck or who's that other mustachioed guy who looks like him - poised in cheesecake position laid out on some fur rug. A hilarious ad for HDTV, I think, we laughed a lot at that one. So we were sad when Tom threw the magazine into the fire. After all, Jordan had said, "Oh, Mama, this book is WONDERFUL! I love it sooo much!' Sawyer's favorite book right now is "Tails" that Mom and Dave gave him; he wants to read it all day long, first thing in the morning.
metaphor for what's happening with her as it is.
Jordan outgrew her green and black Crocodile bike. So we went shopping for a new one. Go to Costco, Sports Authority, and Target and look at bikes. Girls bikes are obscene (and so are many of the boy ones) - Barbie, Princess, BRATZ, even Groovy Girls - full of pink and glitter and just too damn much STUFF in the wheels and on the handlebars and just everywhere. Though I did think the zebra seat cover on the Groovy Girls bike was pretty badass. We got the red one so Sawyer could ride it when he gets big enough (which should be in about, oh, 5 minutes at the rate they seem to be growing). The bike was a boys model because apparently unisex is completely a thing of the past. It had a "Major Damage" theme with stickers saying so all over it, which luckily peeled right off. I mean, major damage is just not something you want to associate with your child on a two-wheeled vehicle as it is, so Jordan put some good butterfly and ladybug and fish ones Matt gave her on it and she's set. Angelina Ballerina for her birthday got an awesome plain red bike as well, according to the book she picked out at the library last week - thank goodness!
So she's biking around with two different shoes on (I was sad when she gave that one up so I'm always glad when she reverts to it now and again) and a cute valentines day outfit from her Ama on, and pedaling too fast for me to keep up with on foot, occasionally slamming on the brakes and looking back, saying "Did I make a skid mark, mama?” and making exercise walkers cower in fear on the sides of the pavement. Then she started in with the "Pretend that I'm a _________ and you're
a ___________ and I ___________________ and then you _______________ and then a dragon______________ and then you had to save me and then I ______________" while she's riding further and further away from me, down the steep part that used to have me so fearful, now it's barely a blip on her radar, and she's still talking, still dictating a story, still riding away from me and her little once-a-baby self and into some world of her imagination that is at once exhausting and enthralling.
Tom and I have been playing Boggle and she wanted to learn and, sure enough, writes away these lists of words zigzag and wood (wod) and red and on off and just blows us away. She works hard at home and takes it easy at school. Lucky teachers. Oh - and Tom will be one for a few months, don't remember if I mentioned it, but he's taking over for a teacher going in for chemo. It's ridiculous pay, but a great opportunity to be with Jordan and help out.
Sawyer and I will keep on with the lessons - he learned how to say, "quack quack" when you ask him what a duck says. It’s pretty damn cute, ask Mattie. Call if you want a taste, he'll say it on the phone after he sends a few quiet face-plant kisses to you first. We cut the feet off of Jordan's ballet tights and he loves to put them on his feet. We call them his ballet slippers - he sits outside her class, looking in through the sliding glass doors, so forlorn and sad that he can’t be in there as well. He'll grab his slippers and bring them to me and stomp around the house in them - not too far off from what a couple of Jordan's steps look like... Jordan is in a new class, one with a "recital" - 3-minute dance - at the end of three 6-week sessions. For which they want us to pay $50 for a costume. I came to my senses and thought, no. She's 4. It's really not that hard to drag the pennies out of parents. Guilt is a great motivator, until you remember she has the long-term memory of a goldfish about these things. That she still has fifteen pounds of Valentines Day candy left is a huge surprise each day - and this is with Tom and I helping out once a day or so on the volume...
In keeping with the follow and imitate the sister theme, when getting ready for the pool today, Jordan changed into her suit before leaving for the pool and Sawyer ran over with one of her suits and insisted I put it on. That's the attached picture. He was pretty stoked. He likes his little wetsuit as well, but he's pretty into his sister's things.
There's been one very sad happening in our community this week, if everyone can pray for these people, that would be great - our friends Tom and Shannon (Tom was in the Men's Journal article with Tom years ago), both former river guides who live and work in Davis but whom we see a few times a year, have a little girl whose 2nd birthday party we were meant to go to next weekend. She went to the doc feeling bad and the next day went in for brain surgery - they thought she had a tumor at the base of her spine, it turns out she had a few in her brain and a few in her spine. She had surgery but will now undergo intensive and experimental chemo. Her name is Ella and they call her Ella Bella! So send healing thoughts her way. She has a website similar to Ryan's, I'll forward it along. Tom and Shannon guided for us one early 4th of July, you may or may not recognize them.
I forgot to tell you my favorite part of the weekend for all my book-loving family to enjoy. Tom gets Sports Illustrated (thanks, Dad!) and every year we look forward to (kidding) the Swimsuit Edition. This year, their attempt at making it special and different (models in swimsuits, I mean, c'mon) involved a pair of 3-D glasses. Jordan got hold of the magazine and glasses and loved looking at ALL the pages with the glasses on, all the while saying 'ooh, this page is REALLY beautiful, Mama, look at this one!" And she was right, there were beautiful pictures of beaches and boats, and sand and more sand and more beaches and probably someone riding a horse or something, I’m not sure. (And, come to think of it, I'm sure she identified with the scantily clad models - after all, we're talking about a girl who asks every day if she can wear a skirt and short-sleeved shirt, and when I point out the frost on the ground outside she says "but I don't see the frost". She wakes up naked, sheds as many clothes as possible throughout the day, and prefers to swim in the bottoms only of a bikini that is likely a size or two small for her. She's got the exercise regimen of a swimsuit model - the hours of swimming and the daily sessions on either the bike or the trampoline or both - she is a fitness princess, that one. Jordan's comments didn't seem at all to be about the girls, except when she turned to one page with an especially pouty girl and exclaimed "oh, poor girl! She looks upset! Poor thing." And when she pointed out one picture as beautiful and showed it to her papa who said "Eew, that's gross", Jordan did a double take and said, "Oh, yeah. She’s got mud on her, that's gross, right?" Of course, said mud in question was strategically placed sand and while I tried to explain that getting dirty wasn't gross but fun, Tom was trying to cover his tracks (nothing spoils the Swimsuit Edition like having a girl) about why the picture was gross. Fun for the whole family! Jordan and I had a favorite page - the pullout of a very hairy Tom Selleck or who's that other mustachioed guy who looks like him - poised in cheesecake position laid out on some fur rug. A hilarious ad for HDTV, I think, we laughed a lot at that one. So we were sad when Tom threw the magazine into the fire. After all, Jordan had said, "Oh, Mama, this book is WONDERFUL! I love it sooo much!' Sawyer's favorite book right now is "Tails" that Mom and Dave gave him; he wants to read it all day long, first thing in the morning.
Monday, February 05, 2007
The Fox is an injury prone little dude. Much like his dad. Tom's mom told me he'd been in the ER some ridiculously huge number of times before he was two. Were we prone to thinking that might actually do some good (not a big fan of our local ER I must say - they've been extremely unimpressive), Sawyer might've been in a few times...
Yesterday he bit his tongue and he bit it hard. Slipped from his stool and bam, mouthfuls of blood. He's had a few good shiners (and given me at least a couple as well, the last one just disappeared), a bandana arc of bruises generally across his forehead, and some minor injury on one or both of his hands. "He's an active one" been-there-done-that older parents say, pityingly. But he's a blast, truly. Loves the dog, loves his sister, adores his papa, loves me plenty. Always smiling, usually while doing something naughty. He's got the most hilarious little run, from his hips - as though he hasn't yet realized that those quads can do the work of lifting the leg. And he runs everywhere, so we laugh at his special little signature movement all day long.
I was looking at pictures of Jordan this morning, trying to clear space off the hard drive but totally, irrationally unable to delete copies of pictures I have actual hard copies of - their youth is just so damn fleeting! Such different children, but both possessed with the same total joy in being. Maybe it's all kids, but these ones just grab hold of each minute. Jordan's been in a wonderful place for a while - loves school, loves ballet, loves swimming. She's learning so much,. advancing so quickly with her studying, and yet is still so... free - she's not trying to grow up fast, her appetite for everything is so huge. She wakes up in the morning and wants to do "a job" - practicing writing, drawing, painting, cutting, dressing up. She hasn't wanted a video for a long time - too stagnant. Sawyer adores her, follows her, grabs her toys, her work, tries to get her attention by bugging her as only younger siblings can. She's a very directed learner, and he's a wanderer. She walks with purpose, he wanders one direction, looking the other, and collides with life - thankfully with humor mostly. Sometimes there's blood. Stealthy, though, that boy. He is quiet like a fox, sneaks outside (usually with something he's not supposed to have) and runs.
Jordan needs to be in constant dialogue during the day. Such the bug, the constant buzzing that happens with that one. Her vocabulary overwhelms me so often that I forget to remember certain instances and am more just generally bowled over these days - I'd better start writing things down. When she doesn't know the definition of a word,she makes it up herself. Last week, "international" was a noun. Something to drink, I think, and then something else - oh yes, an adjective. "Have an international day," she told me. I'd like to, that's for sure. I tried a few times to tell her what it meant, but she wasn't in the mood for what I had to say. She's drawing pictures now - people in triangle dresses, animals with ears. "Guess what it is", she says, and it seems so dangerous to answer - I was always so sadly unconfident an artist. She's been sending pictures to a 5 year old boy, Hayden. He's someone we love, a boy with beautiful manners and a happy, peaceful presence. We met them at a friend's house for dinner and he'd brought along a valentine for her. Parenting is so bizarre - you want them to stay small, but you can't wait for the next surprise of what they'll do, how who they are will emerge. We can't stop ourselves from wanting to stay with her in her room while she falls asleep, wanting to go to Sawyer when he first cries and snuggle with him for a half an hour. Every day is like the last day of a vacation that you don't want to end. (I say this even after Sawyer barfed all over me and himself and the floor in a Jamba Juice last Friday.) They're at such good ages. Even though Sawyer screams anytime he wants something and we keep trying to get him to say more or please or down or food. Even though Jordan gets waylaid by her imagination on the nine steps down the hall to her room for socks and emerges five minutes later in costume instead of simply with socks on so we can get to school for once on time, dammit. They are good eggs. Or bugs. Or foxes.
Have an International Day.
Yesterday he bit his tongue and he bit it hard. Slipped from his stool and bam, mouthfuls of blood. He's had a few good shiners (and given me at least a couple as well, the last one just disappeared), a bandana arc of bruises generally across his forehead, and some minor injury on one or both of his hands. "He's an active one" been-there-done-that older parents say, pityingly. But he's a blast, truly. Loves the dog, loves his sister, adores his papa, loves me plenty. Always smiling, usually while doing something naughty. He's got the most hilarious little run, from his hips - as though he hasn't yet realized that those quads can do the work of lifting the leg. And he runs everywhere, so we laugh at his special little signature movement all day long.
I was looking at pictures of Jordan this morning, trying to clear space off the hard drive but totally, irrationally unable to delete copies of pictures I have actual hard copies of - their youth is just so damn fleeting! Such different children, but both possessed with the same total joy in being. Maybe it's all kids, but these ones just grab hold of each minute. Jordan's been in a wonderful place for a while - loves school, loves ballet, loves swimming. She's learning so much,. advancing so quickly with her studying, and yet is still so... free - she's not trying to grow up fast, her appetite for everything is so huge. She wakes up in the morning and wants to do "a job" - practicing writing, drawing, painting, cutting, dressing up. She hasn't wanted a video for a long time - too stagnant. Sawyer adores her, follows her, grabs her toys, her work, tries to get her attention by bugging her as only younger siblings can. She's a very directed learner, and he's a wanderer. She walks with purpose, he wanders one direction, looking the other, and collides with life - thankfully with humor mostly. Sometimes there's blood. Stealthy, though, that boy. He is quiet like a fox, sneaks outside (usually with something he's not supposed to have) and runs.
Jordan needs to be in constant dialogue during the day. Such the bug, the constant buzzing that happens with that one. Her vocabulary overwhelms me so often that I forget to remember certain instances and am more just generally bowled over these days - I'd better start writing things down. When she doesn't know the definition of a word,she makes it up herself. Last week, "international" was a noun. Something to drink, I think, and then something else - oh yes, an adjective. "Have an international day," she told me. I'd like to, that's for sure. I tried a few times to tell her what it meant, but she wasn't in the mood for what I had to say. She's drawing pictures now - people in triangle dresses, animals with ears. "Guess what it is", she says, and it seems so dangerous to answer - I was always so sadly unconfident an artist. She's been sending pictures to a 5 year old boy, Hayden. He's someone we love, a boy with beautiful manners and a happy, peaceful presence. We met them at a friend's house for dinner and he'd brought along a valentine for her. Parenting is so bizarre - you want them to stay small, but you can't wait for the next surprise of what they'll do, how who they are will emerge. We can't stop ourselves from wanting to stay with her in her room while she falls asleep, wanting to go to Sawyer when he first cries and snuggle with him for a half an hour. Every day is like the last day of a vacation that you don't want to end. (I say this even after Sawyer barfed all over me and himself and the floor in a Jamba Juice last Friday.) They're at such good ages. Even though Sawyer screams anytime he wants something and we keep trying to get him to say more or please or down or food. Even though Jordan gets waylaid by her imagination on the nine steps down the hall to her room for socks and emerges five minutes later in costume instead of simply with socks on so we can get to school for once on time, dammit. They are good eggs. Or bugs. Or foxes.
Have an International Day.
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