A Sibling Sandwich

Bittersweet

Ugh, just when you think that all is well with the world, grief comes up again to bite you on the ass.

Yesterday was Emma's first communion, a first in our family in that both my Dad and my Mom were not there. The events of the past week leading up to this weekend were potentially the most horrific we've had to deal with since my Dad died. But time moves on, our daughter grows, and family comes together anyway.

I see Emma, in the dress my Gram made for me (circa 1980) and my wedding veil, being so serious and thoughtful and joyful and proud. I will probably always be a conflicted Catholic, loving God but not always loving the Church, but the ritual and beauty and importance of the day were really lovely. Plus Henry looked damn cute in a shirt and tie. We were REALLY lucky he slept through most of the Mass. He woke up near the end, looked over my shoulder at the Stations of the Cross, pointed at Jesus and joyfully shared with the surrounding churchgoers, "Look, He's NAKED!" Gotta love that.

Time moves on. My Dad lives on in Henry, I see him in the shape of Henry's ears, in his face sometimes, in the way he looks off to the side. He lives on in Emma, in her stubbornness, temper, her sense of order. He lives on in Lily, in her steadfastness, her loyalty, and sense of family.

Time moves on and we move with it. I hope I can keep up.

Breathe

With the Amesbury PTA Science Fair over and done and the youngest scientists in the house (pictured above) resting their science brains, we took a break. This weekend was the first weekend in a looooong time when we had nothing to do. Our house is a disaster, nobody has clean socks, and we can't find a single thing in all the clutter. Our intention was to clean and put everything in order on this rainy weekend, but instead we got the gift of sun (or a least not rain), and all conscientious plans were scrapped.

We dug in the dirt, planted things, watered things. The kids made fairy houses with our neighbors and by themselves, hooking those lucky fairies up with tasty berries and flower buds. Henry just got plain dirty and walked around with his blue rain boots and a big grin. Sophie rolled around in the grass and hung out with our neighbor on her back porch, sunning herself like a starfish on the rocks.

Danny and I sat on our side porch drinking coffee as the fog rolled in.

Time just stopped and it was glorious. We really just needed to breathe.

Funky-Looking Earth Eggs

I really dislike Easter eggs. I used to like them growing up - the pastel colors, the funky dye, and especially the mess. This mess is what originally put me off - I always rationalized that the kids were too young and food dye too permanent to intermingle with each other. Now I have put them off long enough - this is really the year. Mostly because Lily has a passion and enthusiasm for all things Easter that I have ever seen (mmm...maybe because it's close to her birthday? Could it be the candy perhaps???) Anyway, I can't let the kids go through life without ever coloring Easter eggs, could I? Well, worse things have happened.

The primary problem with the eggs is that I don't know how to hard boil them. I can cook fairly well, create ocean, sun, and firetruck cakes, but I have no clue how to boil eggs. My first mistake was using the organic brown ones from the fridge (unfortunately we are egg snobs). I don't know what I did next, but one partially-cooked one blew up in the water. The others came out okay, with an occasional crack here and there. Then the dye issues began. We are an experimenting family, so we ended up mixing colors, and we never measured vinegar/water/anything we were supposed to (measuring is for sissies). It all evolved into some sort of twisted science project. We now have 4 brownish-bluish-green-speckled-funky-looking "earth" eggs. And we all had fun in the end, right?

Three Is The Magic Number

Henry turned three yesterday - really the first birthday he sort-of gets - and we had some of his buddies over for firetruck cake. I was thinking we'd have a sweet quiet afternoon with just a few folks, but I forgot about siblings...oops, I think we had around 12 kids over. At first, I was a little mortified, hoping to squish these lovely little (and not so little) people into our smallish house, with every small one just bubbling over with excitement - for at least the first half-hour. Then everyone got into a rhythm and it was lovely. Boys played with girls, smaller ones played with bigger ones, the biggest ones joined into conversations happening in all corners of the house, and I stopped for a minute to think about this time last year and how far we've come -

Henry's birthdays have all been bittersweet - his birth marked the beginning of an incredibly stressful time in the life of our family, we celebrated his first birthday in the Hospice the day before my dad died (complete with cake and everything), and his birthday last year was emotional because it was overshadowed by the one year anniversay of the death of my Dad (I know my Dad would hate that). So this was really the first truly joyful birthday for him. I still so miss my Dad but that immense sadness no longer creeps in and lingers. And there is so much more room for joy in our life now - I looked around yesterday amid the chaos and really loved the home and family we have here. I love our family and friends who are family who helped us all roll through the emotional rollercoaster of these last three years. Henry's birth and third birthday are now like the bookends to that snapshot in time that pushed us to make our lives simpler, better, happier. And I am grateful. Three really is the magic number.

Candygate

Valentine candy has been the bane of my existance this weekend. It has been swiped, snatched, snooped, and scooped up somewhat underhandedly. All the kids were guilty of it, but Lily seems to be the one with the almost-pathelogical addiction to it.

The worst thing you can do in our house is to be dishonest - our standing rule is that if you mess up then fess up, you will be in far less trouble. Poor Lily, with her eyes blinded by candy-love, had a great deal of trouble with this. I got a call at work last night from Danny (which never happens unless someone has lost a limb or something) looking for clarification, as I was implicated as some sort of accomplice in what has become known in our house now as Candygate.

I keep thinking of the time I took a dollar from my Dad's dresser (without asking) to get ice cream from the Hoodsie Truck - I was just about Lily's age. I don't remember him yelling, just sitting me down to talk about it, and him being really disappointed. Uggh. That was rough, but it worked for me - I always remembered that. We did the same with all the kids, then just with Lily. She finally fessed up, but it was so hard for her - her worst nightmare is disappointing us and getting in trouble. I'm proud of her that she chose to finally be honest, we'll see how she does with the temporary ban on candy in the house - it is really her first love. As I write this, she is currently making paper Easter Eggs - her favorite holiday, presumably because of all the Easter candy. Oh well. So much for Valentines.

Other adventures with candy - our 2nd attempt at a christmas gingerbread house

We Got Ourselves a Puker Here...

I myself have never been a puker. Not really (at least post-college). But I have a great respect for people who can just upchuck on cue. Emma, for instance, came home yesterday from school as happy as can be. Then moments later, she's sprinting to the bathroom to loose her lunch (or her snack, as the case may be). She is actually a very pleasant puker - all business. And then she sleeps. Really sleeps. Really-most-sincerely sleeps. For hours. And BAM! She's up and wide awake at 10pm, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and no longer sick. How efficient. I wish I could be like that.

We spent some time post-puke-sleep last night dreaming of vacation - not this Febrary break coming up, but camping during the summer. Our camping trips in recent history have been far from heavenly, but the kids don't seem to remember this. When the mention of camping comes up, their eyes twinkle and sparkle. There's talk of swimming and s'mores and sleeping (of you want to call it that) in the big tent. Now I'm guessing that each year it gets a little easier, and truly the toughest part has been camping with a toddler (who shall remain nameless), so this year must be our year to not pack it in early. I'm just guessing.

Henry is now running around without pants, so this is my cue to go. Where is that nanny??? She should be fired.