Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Enduring through sleepless nights, sub-par dinners and the answer of endless questions...I find myself at the conclusion of an era. Four little ones under seven and all their friends afoot meant creative licence in the kitchen..mediation in the backyard...and moments of thoughtfulness to the purpose of now. If I were to speak to my younger self I would tell me..don't complain too much...it ages you...don't take them too seriously...it ages you too... I would jump on the trampoline every moment I could...with reckless abandon and laughter. Lest I sound morose at not having experienced things....I did. I drank in the smell of a baby as much as I could...and enjoyed the giggles and tickles and wonderment of their curiosity... I see the dimples of my son as if it were yesterday...impish...only slightly defying..mostly just egging me into some melee to challenge his intellect. I recall being wakened by the pull of a single hair... "ooops" she said as I leapt to the ceiling in pain out of my sleep. I was engulfed in pregnancy and terribly sick, but is there a child that understands this? The passing of time has not saddened me at all. The memories are rich and deep. The malaise is more that I did not know the memories I was making. Kimberlee Karen, Jared Thomas Nairn, Samantha Lori and Mikaela Grace you have blessed me with every good and perfect gift. Thank you.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

There is no training manual, no classes, no sage advice that can prepare you for parenthood. You have no idea what you are doing almost every day. Oh sure...some days your confidence soars as you see them behave properly and appear to listen well...but it falls apart the next day when defiance over carrots, or ice cream leave you spent and doubting. I remember this better than I expected. In a moment I am back in clothes less becoming, hair askew, questioning my sanity in the wake of a sleepless night and a crying toddler. In a blink I can see the piles of dishes, laundry, toys and crayons...I see myself, arms akimbo warning or disciplining what now appear to be angelic cherubs. Flour dusts the floor, cookie dough plastered on hands, face, door sash and counter as the communal effort at baking for daddy has become something akin to spreading batter everywhere except the cookie sheet. The smells then were sweet. The smell of dinner cooking, banana bread, bubble bath and baby powder. I recollect the waft of penaten cream so strong from the bathroom only to discover a 2 year old covered from head to toe, including stuffed in nose, ears and mouth. "It tastes good momma...try?" I hope I laughed at that. I hope I had the sense to see that this moment is what I would recall as precious over others. The kids are mostly grown now. All trying to find their way and figure things out. Sometimes they do this well...and sometimes not. I take it all less seriously now. They are a reflection of me, however, even as a reflection others dip their toe in the water and skew the image. I thought I would be their only imprint. They would look to me to have all the answers and knowledge for successful living. I have no idea where such a grandiose thought came from. I am relieved to know that it is a village that raise a child...and the contribution of many help shape and mould them.