Moving

Moving is stressful. It really really is. Letting go of friendships that are sustained mostly by day-to-day sharing of space; facing the reality of how rarely I clean my house; preparing to change the physical surroundings... it's all just stressful.

However, this time around, I've found some true beauty in it. Inspiration. I found and cracked open some old, old paper journals and was... surprised. I wrote that when I was 20? Wow, I was insightful. The lists of qualities I was searching for in a man were particularly funny.

I guess it's a time to reassess, to stir up my inner life and let things resettle, see what is permanent and what will simply be forgotten.

It definitely has inspired me to be tidier, to have less junk. Or perhaps to go live in a cave.

Mixing Clay

I recently discovered these awesome 60-cent tiny boxes of modeling clay, which are great for my 5-year-old (5!).

He was mixing two of the colors in the back seat today while we drove around. What is it about being about to move that means we spend so much more time in the car?

And he remarked about how he loves mixing colors. And I said, yeah, I used to do that too.

Andrew: "YOU used to mix colors? Whoa.."

Not sure why that was a surprise.

Me: "Yeah, your Aunt Sam taught me."

Andrew: "Whoa. She's awesome."

Yeah, she's pretty awesome.

Thanks, Aunt Sam, for spending your week with us!

Mixed emotions

This is such a bittersweet time for us. I'm trying to nudge it towards "bittersweet" and away from simply "sad."

This week is Andrew's birthday, and next week is that emotional process of packing up all our things, from the books and the shelves to the bed and its sheets to the spoons and forks we use every day.

And so, I'm going about the business of closing out utilities accounts, buying paper plates, changing addresses, making cupcakes. All mixed up into one big, sad soup.

Way back when we first bought the VA house, when I was still nearly a total wreck, I walked into the empty, echoing thing and checked it out, with my huge roly-poly 3-month-old boy, a new mom with a new house and a husband out to sea. I remember sitting alone in the empty house in the sunshine, on the floor of the living room, then carpeted in khaki-colored low-nap carpet, nursing Andrew. I was leaning against the wall and staring at the fireplace and the ceiling and the kitchen and feeling hopeful. But thinking, "Wow, we're really doing it! We're finally nursing okay and even with no pillows on the floor like this. Maybe we can make it." After all these years, it seems impossible that I ever felt that nursing while sitting on the floor felt new and strange. But it did.

That was before our strong, generous family came and moved all our stuff in one day, before our gorgeous coral and white couch, before we remodeled the kitchen, before I lost my next pregnancy under terrifying circumstances, before Sam came and spent Christmas and January with us there, before Lily, before I started gardening. Before so much, in that empty house, just me and my boy.

Who is now five. And a big brother. This is making me cry.

I just think of that moment in that empty house, holding him, and how GONE that moment is, how mostly I can't really even remember what it felt like to hold him. How these moments are slipping away.

But I also remember how miserable I was then, how everything was a struggle, how much pain was ahead of me. All the fights with my husband, all the loss and confusion. And how much we've gained, how we've filled our lives with beauty and joy and good food and singing.

In the end, I think it's not so bad that that cuddly baby grew up to be this boy with too many elbows who still wants to fly on the trapeze of my shins, who hugs his sister in the morning just because he's glad to see her, who can already ride his bike without training wheels. It's not so bad that we lost Lily the first time, because then we somehow got her again, managed to birth again so beautifully. It's not so bad that we filled up our empty house with laughter and friends and furniture and tears and little dirty feet.

Liliana, 14 months

Something is happening to you.

You play games with me now. Little, horrible, independent games. We nurse in bed and you roll over, crawl out of bed, stand up, wave your little hand at me, and toddle out of the room on your fat bowl-legged legs. Far too adorable to tolerate, but also torture. "Bye-bye? Already?" I think.

I realized today that I can't even remember the last time I wore you in the sling. This is the saddest thing that's happened to me in a long time.

I put your hair in a ponytail today. On top of your head. It stood straight up like an exclamation point.

You say, "Up!" and "No!" very often now, and "Buh!" which means book, ball, and many other things.

You give kisses.

You follow your brother around and you make us laugh. Something about you is very, very funny. I don't know what it is, but you make us laugh a lot, and it seems intentional.

You love dirt. LOVE it.

Often, when I pick you up, or just when you're nursing or very happy, you kick your legs just for fun. It's adorable.

Also when you're nursing, you often smile and laugh. It's hard to nurse while grinning. Now we know.