The Middle

 "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end." 

— Ernest Hemingway

School starts soon. In just a few weeks, I will be back in college for what seems like the hundredth time. Three classes this semester, three the next, and I'll earn my associate- if, and it is a very big if- I can pass all my classes, which are mostly math. Still, it's so close that I'm beginning to get excited. I've put a lot of time and energy into chasing it, and now, the end is almost in sight.

And I think that's what I like about it. The beginning, the (long) middle, and the end. Wrapped up with a bow. Or a cap and gown. A handshake, a diploma, and a closed door on the work it took to get there.

**

Millie has been a challenge for me lately. I was tempted to write "a handful", but that is what you say in smalltalk to strangers, not friends. It's not the excess energy of a three year old that makes me laugh and shake my head at the end of the day. It's work. It's tears. It's frustration. It's things that neither of us understand. And it is so hard.

I run out of patience just about every day. And after another early bedtime, I tear up and ask myself why. Why am I not getting the hang of this mother thing yet, after nearly four years of practice? Why is everything I try failing? Why can't I figure this out? Why can't I do better?

And I'm beginning to realize that there will never be a leap across a finish line into the arms of cheering onlookers. This isn't a college degree with a notebook closed and a walk across the stage. It's not a recipe, adjusting spices by a half teaspoon until that first bite tastes perfect. Motherhood doesn't have an ending point. It's a day by day by sometimes grueling day. Some of those days will be heaven sent. Some of them will be a test of how many times I can take a breath and count to ten before I speak.

Maybe labor fooled me into thinking that the hard work would come, but it would be followed by an immediate reward. Instead, it's a million, tiny bits of happiness, interspersed by a million more prayers for help and guidance. I would give anything to earn the badge of "finally got this down", but I know it's unattainable. Because even when they are fifty, I won't be done being their mama. And thank goodness.

I like when I can be done, when something is complete, nice and tidy, and I can dust off my hands. But this is the middle, and it always will be.

Maybe motherhood will be like a good book, one that we go back to re-read certain paragraphs because they are magic. One that we begin to mourn when we've made it to the next chapter, to the final pages. One that collects wet tears on the last few sentences, because we want it to go on and on.

 I've got a lifetime of practice ahead of me, but thankfully, I still have some great paragraphs to re-read.

Coffee With You : 2

"Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords." 

— Richard Brautigan

It's been a while since we've had coffee together- virtual coffee, that is. In fact, the last time I wrote a true update on our family was in November, and I've had coffee every morning since then. So I'm linking up with A Mama Collective, and summing up what has been happening since we've had our last heart to heart.

Sky-
He was gone for over two months this year- his AT (annual training), usually 2 weeks long, was 3, and then at an ASQ (additional skills qualifier) for another month. I'm starting to think the Army just randomly selects initials, throws a time table on them, and makes me explain to Millie why Daddy is gone for "289SOIHERTIJLKAERH". He got back a couple weeks ago, and as far as we know, he won't have to leave for an extended period of time until next year. So he's back to his civilian job now. They give him a generous amount of vacation time (both in the summer and from Thanksgiving to Christmas), and I am daydreaming of being able to take the kids somewhere close by, like St. Louis or Chicago, for a weekend vacation. However, we're saving up every penny we can for a new car next year (ours are 20 years old), so I'm not sure if we can afford to do that. Every sweet thought of taking Millie to a zoo is interrupted by another sweet thought of being able to buy a car without getting a loan. We'll have to see how the summer goes.

Millie-
She learned how to write her name. She can write 'Millie' completely by herself, and can write a few other words with spelling help. I bought a Razor scooter when they were on sale for about half price, and thought about giving it to her for her birthday, but that's at the end of summer and I wanted her to enjoy it this year. We decided that if she could write her full name, she could earn a surprise. She looked at the big box from Target sitting in our bedroom, got extremely excited, and worked so hard for several days until she could do it. It was the first time she's really worked towards something like that, and it was fun to see. She was wild with glee when she opened that box! She ended her first ballet class, and loved it, so we signed her up for a few weeks here and there during the summer. We can choose which weeks we attend, so we left room in the schedule for other fun summer things like garage sales and the farmer's market. She cannot wait to turn 4 in July, adores Mr. Rogers, and sings more than she talks.

Walter-
This little pudding is cruising on furniture, as well as walking with a push toy and with Millie. He babbles often- lots of 'b' sounds, mostly- and is on the verge of so many things. I will miss him being this small and baby-ish, because it is fading more and more every second. I haven't talked about this on the blog before, but he is in physical therapy for torticollis. He was diagnosed with both torticollis (a tilted neck) and plagiocephaly (flattened head) when he was four months old (although he's had the torticollis since birth). His head shape looks perfect now because we had to hold him or carry him constantly until he could sit on his own. He goes to therapy every other week to strengthen it, and is making some progress, but still has a way to go. If you look though all his photos on Instagram, you'd probably be able to tell how his head always tilts to the right. We'll have to see what his doctor says at his check up next month. And speaking of next month- he will be one! This year went even faster than Millie's first year.

Me-
I've been thinking about school again, nearly every day. Maybe it's because a significant portion of Champaign Urbana is renting cap and gown sets this month and moving away. I think I'm only 5 classes away from my associate now. The problems are 1- I have three math classes still to take, which is akin to climbing Mt. Everest for me, and 2- I'd have to take it in person instead of online (which I dread, because I adore online classes), so I'd have to have a babysitter three nights a week for at least four months. I'm going in to the college to speak to an advisor in a couple weeks, and will get it all figured out.

I've been reading a lot more. It started with a book I won. I didn't even love the book, but I got such a reading high. I haven't read a book through, other than school books, since Millie was little. After that, I bought a Kindle when it was on sale for $75 off. I thought I wouldn't enjoy it much, but I have had a ball with it already. Borrowing library books on the Kindle is easy, and more importantly, free, so that's how I have been reading so far. (It's terribly hard for me to pay $10 for an ebook when I could buy a used physical copy for 50 cents!) So in the last three months, I've read Notes from a Blue Bike by Tsh Oxenreider, Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, and today, I just finished One Summer: America, 1927 by Bill Bryson. It feels so, so, so good to read again.

I'm also starting to think a lot about turning 30, which happens this September. I realize, while probably sounding incredibly cliche, that I'm starting to figure myself out a bit more. It's made me think about priorities, life goals, and where I'm at right now. I'll have to write a post about it.

None of this is monumental or even incredibly significant outside our little family, but a couple friends have asked me for details of these things, so here they are.

And now, it's time to close the laptop, and open a new library book while the kids are still napping!

A Star is Born

"There are shortcuts to happiness and dancing is one of them." 

— Vicki Baum

Finally.

She'd waited patiently since December 25, when Santa Claus gave her a little gift box with that pink uniform. But it was such a long wait.

And at last, it was time to become a ballerina.

She slipped on her tiny leotard and tights, and pink leather shoes like a real ballerina wears.

I whisked her thin hair up into a little knot of a bun. As I swept up a section here and there, gathering it into my hands, it seemed as if every movement made her a little older. As if she was growing up three times as fast this morning.

And yet, when we arrived and she stepped into line in that chilly studio, she found herself the smallest of the other girls, despite being so tall. They must have been the four year olds. But Millie held her own.

After we pinned on the name tag to the front of her uniform, she tried chatting with nearly every student, even though most were too shy to respond. She shook the teacher's hand, and giggled to me once she had. After all, it was like meeting a celebrity. A real ballerina.

The class began, and I could only watch through a little window crowded with other parents. Every few minutes, she would remember I was there, turning to give me a big wave and a smile. It's the kind of moment I imagined the first time I held her. I just didn't imagine such a small gesture could make me cry.

I watched her stretch and spin, skip and clap, and take a big bow with the rest of the class.
My heart was bursting through it all.
She was a miniature Degas painting, twirling in pastels.

I write so much about her brother. But this special day was Millie's day. 

I want to remember that time won't stop for her, either. To remember that she's still little and to treasure it while I can. I want to celebrate her. To encourage her. To show her grace. To find the grace in her.

And to be proud of this little girl in pink- the one with the impish grin and the hand waving desperately for the teacher's attention.

And to be so grateful she belongs to me.

I Love You Like This

For my two little loves-

You warm me like my morning sips of coffee, saturating my rib cage with comfort and my lips with sweetness.

I love you the way the flowers love new spring days, pushing past dark soil to find sweet breezes and pale sunshine.

You frightened and delighted me as if I were on the edge of a diving board suspended high above a blue pool. I unknowingly inched closer and closer, finally taking a leap into something large and deep and consuming.

I love you the way the fragile stars love the night sky, clinging to it to keep them above the sadness of the world.

You give me the feeling I've only ever felt the first time I saw the ocean, my landlocked soul breaking free into the coldest water and most enormous crashes of sound.

I love you the way my name was fitted to me, or I was born in the middle of this great, wide country; I was meant for it, and you were meant for me.

Bigger than any poem I've ever hoped to write.
Better teachers than any professor in front of a dusty chalkboard.
Sweeter than anything else this world could ever offer me.

You make me believe I was meant for a life I've only just begun to live- the life of being a mother to you.

Another Visit with Santa in Chambana

Every year, a library down the road from us hosts an evening with Santa Claus. It's a chance to speak with the big man himself (and a very convincing one, I might add), get a picture and a candy cane, and make some fun Christmas crafts afterwards. It was something Millie looked forward to for days, and, of course, it was Walter's first year, so we dressed in our finest and went to see the man in red.

It's become a tradition in our house, although it's a bit of an accidental one. (Here is the first year and the second one.) It's the same man every year, and he does a great job. Millie stood in the short line, craning her neck to see him as if she were about to visit a celebrity. When it was her turn, she bounded up to him, climbed up on his lap, gave him a huge hug, and said, "I love you, Santa Claus!"

Needless to say, she was not shy. She asked him for ballet lessons and they discussed tutus for while.

Walter didn't cry or put up a fuss. He kept his eye on Santa, though, and studied the beard a little.

These last two photos are from the professional photographer there. Walter's expression is my favorite!

(courtesy of)

(courtesy of)

We had a ball at our visit, and Millie made a pretty candy cane ornament and paper plate wreath, too. 

But now I want to know: what are your favorite Christmas traditions in your house? Either the ones from your childhood or the ones you've started as an adult. We have a few little things that we do every year, but I'd like to build some new ones. I'd love your ideas!

Coffee With You

{Walter on the left and Millie on the right.
Most of the time I don't think they look much alike, but in these pictures? Oh yes.}

"Everything in the world is here, in my room, 
in a great closet, named and orderly,
and I am here too, in front of it, 
hardly able to see for the flash and the brightness-
and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing;
and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees.” 
― Mary Oliver

 I feel like I'm often better at talking about the small things than I am the big picture. But if you wanted to come over one afternoon while the babies slept, sit next to me on the couch with a cup of coffee, and ask me how life has been- really been- since the last time we talked, I would take a sip from my mug and tell you something like this...

Walter was dedicated at church on Saturday. He wore his most adorable outfit to date- suspenders and a bow tie. I didn't think I would have much fun finding adorable boy clothes, to be honest. But while they are much harder to find sometimes, they melt my heart every bit as much as poofy dresses and sparkly headbands. Millie tried to climb on stage in front of the entire congregation while the pastors prayed over Walter. I'll be a little shocked if she's not a singer or comedian on stage someday.

{All dressed up for church}

Sky began his new job last month. He works for a military-style program for at risk teens, and has a sort of "nice drill instructor" role there. Everyone with his job has to have current or prior military experience, so he has a lot in common with the other instructors. So far, he seems to like it much better. There is quite a bit of overtime, but he'll actually have time off for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. He's doing well in the Reserves too, and will have some training coming up that will keep him away for at least a month after the holidays.

We're gearing up for Christmas and already put our tree up, shockingly early from tradition. I asked my parents if they would mind helping with a ballet class rather than buy lots of toys this year; Millie's room is full to the brim, and I'm wanting to concentrate more on building memories and having experiences than just piling up presents. This year, she'll unwrap a pink leotard, tights, and the sweetest ballet shoes. She starts class right after the new year. We'll be giving her a few other small things to open, but they'll be second hand. Walter will be getting a couple second hand toys and books, but mostly useful things like containers for food when he starts solids in a month or two.

{Finding his feet}

I'm in awe that Walter will be six months just about on Christmas Day, and that Millie is 3 1/2 already. Most days are are still the coffee-fueled blur of every day tasks that really do get done even if I don't feel like they do. I'm doing better at seeing the miracles of mundane because if it's enough for Sky, Millie, and Walter, then it should be enough for me. We eat, wear clean clothes, have a reasonably tidy house, and make it to church most weeks. Walter is happy and Millie is learning the meanings of words, manners, and how to love God. That sounds like I'm setting the bar very low, but really, those things are my main job requirements as a stay at home mother. I have so much room to improve, but I'm not being as hard on myself as before.

{Millie set the table for the first time}

Marriage is...not good right now. I so long for it to be a place of comfort and good things, but it seems to be the opposite much of the time. I am tired of building only to have my work demolished. And my heart's been hurting a lot lately. That's really all I want to say about it.

My mom and stepdad went completely overboard for Christmas this year, and sent me a present early this year- a Kitchenaid mixer. I am surprised someone didn't call the police from all the screaming and jumping up and down when I opened the door and saw a huge box there. Five years ago, I could only bake a little and couldn't cook to save my life. Now, I make meals every day, and usually have some sort of dessert on hand. I can't wait to use it for all kinds of Christmas baking. As I told Mom (after I'd stopped hyperventilating), a Kitchenaid is one of those things I've always wanted but never (ever ever ever) thought I would actually own. I look at it on the counter sometimes and wonder if I'm in the wrong apartment.

{Airplane baby}

I planned to go back to school in January, but keeping up with the babies and the house, and on very little sleep, is much more draining than I expected it to be. I will go back, but it may be another semester or two before it's a good idea. Besides, Millie will need to start homeschooling soon enough.

Walter is miles away from sleeping through the night, but he's started stretching times between feedings just a little. He has had the same routine since birth, so this is very welcome. I don't feel more rested yet, but I know he'll get there someday. He's still the happiest baby I've ever seen, and that makes my days so much better. Millie is behaving a little bit better, and she is still a sweetheart even with a rough day here and there. I love how kind she is towards Walter, how concerned she gets if someone is upset or hurt, and all the silliness in her made up songs or off the wall anecdotes. I'm so grateful for these two.

{the sweetest ones}

Goodness. If you were still sitting there beside me, still listening until I trailed off and bit into my gingerbread cookie, I would apologize for talking so much. I would ask how you are, where you're going, what you're reading, how your heart feels. 

And I hope you would tell me, trading stories between us like the gold they are.

Ripening

“Love isn't a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun, like struggle.” 
― Fred Rogers

They told me it would get easier.

When Walter was first born, and I had to begin learning how to live with two little ones, they said it would get better. The days would calm down a little. I would find a routine and settle into this new life.

It hasn't happened. 

Yes, some days are good- the kind of days I imagined. The kind when Millie looks at us and says, "You're my best friend. You're my beauty!" and Sky and I giggle to ourselves later and repeat it to each other. The kind when Walter smiles and laughs those beautiful baby belly laughs all day long. But most days lately are the ones that challenge me. The kind when I keep looking at the clock and hoping it's almost bedtime. The kind when we're always late to church. The kind when I'd be tempted to hit a fast forward button if there was one.

It's difficult to write about. Because being a mom is what they told me it would be: so amazing, more life changing than anything, awe-inspiring and full of happy tears and sweet moments. And yet there are seasons- some lasting a few minutes in the day, and some lasting weeks or months, or maybe even years- that are just hard. They take everything in us, more strength, patience, and perseverance than we ever knew we possessed. Parenthood is about growing, but no one told me that I would have to do as much growing, or more, than they will. For every play time of drinking water out of plastic cups and calling it tea, or every time loading buckets of sand onto a toy dump truck and spilling them onto dirty laps, there are plenty of the other moments. Down in the trenches moments. Times when he cries and can't be soothed. Times when she doesn't listen and I'm tired of repeating. Sleepless nights that roll into sleepless weeks and sleepless months, until I forget what sleeping two whole hours together even feels like anymore.

So this is the season we're in. Wake up, get through the day- sometimes with sweetness and grace, sometimes with struggle and enormous effort- go to bed, and then do it all over again. And I've been feeling a little lost in it.

It's easy to be thankful for these two; I love them beyond all words. But no one likes losing sleep, and no one likes trying to reason with a toddler who doesn't prefer reason. I think it's okay that I don't adore those things in the moment. Because, in the moment, it's really hard. I'm trying to remember that they'll be precious days to me later, even if I can't see the forest for the trees just yet. Some things have to ripen before they're good.

Millie might understand this better than me. She begs for a bunch of bananas every time we're at the store. After we bring some home and they sit high on the counter, she asks me every day, "Is the green gone? Can I have one now, Mama?" They don't taste how they should until we wait. It's the wait that brings goodness.

Maybe it's like that. One day, when I watch my grand kids play, I will tell Millie and Walter about it. "I think you fussed that whole first year," I'll laugh to her. "And you," I'll say, looking at him, "I had such high hopes for you to sleep through the night, but the older you grew, the less you slept." They'll nod because they've been through it with their own babies. And I'll choke back the tears, because finally, those times will be so long ago that I would give anything in the world to get them back.

The Red Leaves

"O, to be sure, we laugh less and play less and wear uncomfortable disguises like adults, 

but beneath the costume is the child we always are, whose needs are simple, 

whose daily life is still best described by fairy tales." 

— Leo Rosten

Fall has finally come to rest comfortably here in Illinois. The air stays cool all day despite the sun's attempts to shine onto the vast, plowed fields dotted with forlorn trees and occasional houses. The nights are cooler still, making the moon a little more mysterious when it hangs like a white pumpkin over our home. There will be no more walks this year without jackets, and maybe a funny knit hat- the kind of walks that always end in rosy cheeks and a hankering for something warm to drink.

It suits Millie and I just fine. We've spent most afternoons rubbing our eyes after naptime, then pulling coats and shoes from the closet to wander the neighborhood for an hour or so. Walter's eyes widen as he rides along in the stroller, watching everything above him. He usually begins to nod off until a bump jolts him awake again.

It was on one of these walks that Millie and I found the longest stretch of fallen red leaves, scattered on both sides of the sidewalk, looking as if the path was set on fire.

She walked carefully down the strip of concrete, not veering too close to either edge. I watched her navigate it with caution, and suddenly heard myself asking, ""Millie, can you run through the leaves?" She turned around, probably wondering why I would want her to do such a thing. "Can you go through and make the leaves crunch?"

I pushed the stroller to one side, and kicked my boots into the piles, sending a shower of red confetti up into the air. Millie looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. And then, her face broke into the most excited, devious grin. She began dashing through them with wild, dancing leaps. "Like this, Mama? Like this?" Whirlwinds of fall colors swirled around us. A jogger ran past us, smiling. We paused for a second while he passed by, then laughed as we continued feeling the crackles beneath our shoes.

You see, I'm the mom who believes in bibs. The mom who hates Playdough and finger paints. The mom who cringes at mud or spaghetti sauce-splattered shirts, dowsing everything in stain remover. The mom who enforces room cleaning before bedtime, a clean face after lunchtime, and please hold your fork over your plate for the love.

But on that walk, it felt so good to embrace the imperfect. To not stay on the sidelines. It felt good to simply not care- stomping, making a mess, and returning home out of breath and with a story. Because I won't remember it as the day I had to scrub our jeans a little more, or the time it took a bit longer to get back home.

I'll remember the time Millie and I made the red leaves spin 'round and 'round us, floating up and then down again. I'll remember, between her shrieks and giggling exclamations, the time I let go enough to make a memory.

The Life We Write

"There either is or is not, that’s the way things are. The colour of the day. The way it felt to be a child. The saltwater on your sunburnt legs. Sometimes the water is yellow, sometimes it’s red. 

But what colour it may be in memory, depends on the day. 

I’m not going to tell you the story the way it happened. I’m going to tell it the way I remember it." 

— Mitch Glazer

Millie and Walter. These two little souls are mentioned quite often on this blog. It's because I love them. It's because they matter. It's because they are who I spend more time with than anyone else on earth. They are my story, day in and day out.

But sometimes I forget that Sky and I are the stuff of theirs. I forget that we're authoring their childhood the way our own parents authored ours.

Hopefully, we'll take them on a vacation someday. We'll pack suitcases, stuff the car full of snacks and pillows, and set off for far away lands, even if those lands are only Chicago or St. Louis. And they'll say, "Remember when we got lost in that one tiny town with the funny sign? And we ate those sandwiches? And we found that little shop?" We'd come home with a sticky car and lots of laundry to wash. We'd come home with trinkets, brochures, and souvenirs. They'll lose those, of course, but they'll have the stories.

And they'll say, "Do you remember the way we used to go to that greasy spoon diner for breakfast sometimes, and we'd sit at the counter to watch them crack eggs open and sizzle on the big griddle? We'd watch the pancake batter spill into perfect circles and turn a delicious shade of gold. Dad would always flip through the Thrifty Nickel and talk about the cars he wanted, and Mom would spend the the time handing us more napkins and reminiscing about how much we'd grown since the last time we were there. She gets so emotional."

And they'll say, "Remember when the power went out during that big storm, and we all cuddled in the living room, watching the flashes of lightning shine briefly on the ceiling and then disappear with a boom of thunder? Remember how we lit a few candles, staying up extra late just to make sure the world was calm again? Remember the stories they told us to make us feel better, like how it sounded as if God was going bowling?"

And maybe they'll think about the time we went ice skating and they finally got the hang of it. The times the training wheels came off and they wobbled down a bumpy sidewalk while we cheered behind them. The dress up in my shoes or Sky's uniform. The lectures and menacing looks we gave to boyfriends and girlfriends. The way their dad always wrestled with them and their mom always wrote about them. The frantic search all over the house for birthday presents they just know I bought and hid somewhere. The disgust at seeing their parents kiss. The times Sky and I were oh-so-unfair, and they would promise each other that their own kids would have it better someday.

Millie may never recall the nights Sky and I stood next to her bed, smoothing her hair from her forehead and whispering about all our memories of her. And Walter will never know of the times he leaned against me in the rocking chair, my tears sprinkling in his hair as I whisper prayers of thankfulness for him. They won't know how tired they made us, how worried they made us, or how indescribably happy we are to have them.

But they'll remember practicing songs from music lessons like they were giving us a concert. And homeschooling. Neighborhood walks in the late evening, dashing far ahead of Sky and I and finding treasures on the sidewalk. Stories about the days they were each born, told elaborately and with the same jokes every time. Trips to the pool where they accidentally swallowed the water. And homemade birthday cakes, the biggest Christmas tree that they helped pick out, and the sleepovers with friends when we knocked on the door and reminded them to keep it down. Those small, everyday moments, made large and legendary by all their retellings.

I have always wanted to be a writer, and dazzle the world with beautiful poetry and prose. How silly of me to forget I am already penning such important stories.

Sunday in the Park

"At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell,

the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, 

bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. " 
— Rainer Maria Rilke

One of the first responses I had to my pregnancy with Walter was that I wouldn't take photos of him the way I have with Millie. I was promised that I wouldn't have any time or energy to pull out my camera. And while I don't have much time, and I certainly don't have energy, my Facebook friends will tell you that there is not a shortage of pictures. In the least.

Last week, the four of us ventured out to Millie's new favorite park, and took her 3 year photos and Walter's 3 month ones. I'm glad we waited until the brink of September tumbling into October. It was a gorgeous day with the slightest breeze, and the park was filled with sunshine. 

While it's quite obvious they aren't professional shots, I still love them. Walter is so debonair, and Millie reminds me a little of Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird. I had two happy babies, great thrift store finds (Millie's plaid shirt and Walter's itty bitty corduroy pants), and a lovely afternoon. It doesn't get much better than that.