There is no excuse for the lack of posts in 2015, except that I found myself in a guilt spiral. I'd think, it will take hours to cover what happened in the past six months; I'll wait until I have a lot of time of my hands. I always think Winter Break, or a three day weekend, or a day you're out with "T" and Alby will equal numerous free hours for mommy to write a blog post, but that time is quickly eaten up by both "to do lists" and the desire to just breathe and "be" for a moment.
Last night, we put on night time diapers (you are now in big boy underwear all day), turned off Tumble Leaf, brushed our teeth, and Daddy read you Good Night NOLA (which I got for you during my conference in New Orleans). Lying on the carpet with my head resting on one of your stuffed animals, I sigh and smile when you both yell "beignets!" when he reads "Good night cafe De Monde," then say goodnight to each of the different colored fish surrounding the illustration of the New Orleans Zoo.
Once you were settled in, and no longer negotiating for "one more kiss and one more huggle," I went through my usual routine; while your dad takes out trash and recycling or boots up or packs up his workstation for the next day, I pick up the living room, choose your clothes for the morning, prep your meals for Lonee, make the kitchen and playroom/sunroom presentable, etc. And as I was carrying laundry up the stairs I momentarily resented the long list of "have tos" my life entails.
But then I remembered two things:
#1) When I started my professorship at DCCC you were three months old and still up multiple times a night. I was still breastfeeding and pumping, bottles constantly needed to be washed, diapers continually changed, feeding and burping punctually performed, and laundry more hurriedly pushed through. Your dad and I never slept more than three hours in a row. Three years ago I was standing on the same basement stair thinking, "If I fell and just hurt myself a little bit, maybe I could be in the hospital and just sleep...." (I know it sounds drastic, but sleep deprivation will pull your mind into the dark spaces!)
#2) Even if I hadn't known such heightened levels of exhaustion and stress, how could I resent these mundane aspects of "adulting" when I consider the joyous moments you've brought me over the past two weekends:
- My friend (and former student) Aubrey came over with her charismatic and adorable son Landon (also three) and my heart glowed as I watched Alex name each of his Thomas trains as he handed them one by one to Landon, and Jack explain the mechanics of (then steady) the foam rocket launcher so his new friend could have a turn blasting it into the ceiling.
- Overhearing your conversations with each other; I even enjoy eavesdropping on your arguments. (ALEX: "Jacky, dat's my chair! Daddy will be so angry!" JACK: "No he won't Awex!")
- While it's heartbreaking that you've both discovered a fear of "night time monsters," seeing Alex look into Jack's eyes and say "Don't worry Jacky; I will take care of you" was a moment I'll never forget. And you both were comforted by the suggestion of getting into bed together when you're scared, though neither of you has yet acted upon it.
- Even a recent grocery run became magical. Daddy took Alex, and I had Jack in my cart. Jack, you talked and entertained me the entire time, asking about the balloons, pointing out the different colored pears and grapes, telling me which kind of tomato soup to buy, and randomly saying "I love you mommy." (You know how to work the words my son, often telling Lonee or me "you're so beautiful" when you're in the thick of a timeout!) When we exited Giant, the pink sky had turned black, though the blinding streetlights blotted the stars. And Jack, you said, "Mommy, the stars are too dark; you need to wipe them off!" Could you possibly say more wondrous things?
- On the drive home, Alex you pointed out different kind of vehicles, and when I asked if you were going to be a truck driver or a pilot, you replied with your standard response: "No Mommy, I'm a train engineer." I think we've all kind of accepted this as fact, rather than three-year-old whimsy.
- And at bedtime, despite you're being 40+ pounds, Alex, I love that you always insist "I pick you up?" meaning of course "you pick me up?" (you're getting the pronouns right about half the time now). You love the train blankets Grampy & Gram gave you and ultimately roll into them like a burrito, your stuffed George monkey locked in your arms. And every night I kiss and hug you both individually, saying, "Good night little prince, I love you," to which Jack now responds, "Good night big prince," with the utmost sincerity.
And despite the heartbreaking loss of Pop-pop last weekend, you brought me such joy. We were snowed in, and I got to watch you wrestle with Daddy and giggle until you couldn't breathe. After the snowplows came through, and Daddy was using our neighbor Bob's snowblower to rediscover our sidewalk, the three of us explored the winter wonderland of Nancy Drive. You reveled in watching neighbors shovel, asking them about their cars, and petting their dogs. The three of us spent half an hour at the empty cul-de-sac at the top of the road where you giggled and squealed as you chased me with snowballs and then intentionally fell into the giant pillows of snow surrounding us.
So I'll gladly accept the banality of this nightly 'mommy routine' for more of these magic moments; they are sparks of joy that shine into my heart so intensely that I can't wait to lie down and night and recount them all as I drift off to sleep.
