goodnight and I love you

For the last two or so weeks, Mo has been putting herself to bed. She’ll turn on her bedside lamp, shimmy herself down and manage to get situated under all twelve various layers of linens and lovey’s still holding strong from babyhood. We’ll hug and kiss, she’ll crack open one of her chapter books, and I leave the room while both saying our GOODNIGHT AND I LOVE YOU’S in hushed unison. I’ll quietly shut the door and then realize that I have no idea what to do with the thirty extra minutes I am now in possession of.

It’s weird.

I distinctly remember a time when the mere thought of our bedtime production gave instantaneous anxiety and filled me with existential dread. I positively loathed it and I wanted to punch every parent before me who ever said “Oh, bedtime is my favorite time of day! Well, other than bath time, of course!!!” Well, you fucking lied, Susan! Maybe, Susan, maybe you just have less stubborn children who won’t literally hold their eyelids open in bed in the dark if it means staying awake for even just three more additional seconds. Now, many years and many stages later, with Marlo no longer needing her mom laying beside her in order to fall asleep, I’ve come closer to truly understanding the duality of parenthood: to spend so many years being needed and touched out and wanted so incessantly to the point of debilitating annoyance, all the while, knowing that the mere objective of the game is to one day not be needed at all.

Like I said.

Weird.

I have friends who completely lose their minds and have full-body, ugly cry, heaving sobs when getting rid of yellow shit-stained Gerber newborn onesies and I get it. Even an unsentimental soul like myself can understand and appreciate the bittersweetness of childhood chapters coming to a close just as I’ve felt the rather unpleasant sting upon realizing that I am no longer my child’ North Star. But when I think of my almost nine-year-old laying safe, warm, and content, legs long and lanky, body awkwardly taking up the entire bed as she spends the next thirty or so minutes off in whatever world her book transports her to, I am filled with so much joy. And maybe even a degree of pride. I’m not entirely sure why but maybe this newfound independence feels like an accomplishment— not one of grave consequence, I suppose— but an accomplishment nonetheless. For me and for her.

It feels like a win.

A weird one. But it’s a win.

Bad Santa

“I’m way too old for this shit.” -Marlo

“Anatomically speaking, I’m rather concerned that this fluffy man will find himself stuck in someone’s chimney in a couple of weeks. Hey, Edie? Should I tell this guy that his days are numbered? Or should I wait until after he drops our toys off?! ” -Knox

“Psssst. Psssst, Bubby. I have an idea so shut it and listen up. How about I cut his ass real quick while you snatch the sack of toys and make a run for it? We’ll have to play along and do the whole thing and tell him what we want for Christmas but he’ll never see it coming. What’s that? Oh. Yeah, Mo presents an issue. Well. It’s a big, bad world out there, Knox, and only the strong survive. May the odds be in her favor today.” -Edie

five things | the same, but different

This current season of life— both literally and figuratively— has gotten the best of me. I’m not sure if it’s the weather or the specific stages my kids are in, but I’m struggling to find the joy in the average day. So, here are five things bringing me joy this week:

1. My kids— even though they’re the ones who are simultaneously making it difficult for me to see the joy right now. But, yes. The kids. It never fails to blow my mind how incredibly different each of my kids are. Marlo is showing signs of the teenage girl she will sooner-than-later become. She’s a deeply-sensitive feeler of all of the feels and believes everything in life should be fair and is quite the budding idealist. *le sigh* Edie Cooper, the wild middle child, is as unpredictable as she is cheeky and never fails to make us laugh. Waking up every morning is as good a reason as any for her to be happy and her disregard for negativity is contagious. To know Edie is to love Edie. And my lone baby boy? Dude is as brutish as a Neanderthal yet also as loving and affectionate as a Labrador retriever. He lives for his next meal and has the same almond shaped eyes as his sisters but with thicker, darker lashes. He rocks a man-bun/mullet coif that requires some real confidence to pull off. Which he does. He also has the largest ass I’ve ever seen on a baby and watching it jiggle as he runs away from me during a diaper change gives me life. This chapter of parenthood is hard but also full of magic.

2. My friend, Megan, just ignited my soul by introducing me to Dani Shapiro. I started with her most recent book, Inheritance, and holy hell. It’s a page-turner. As soon as I finish it, I’m going to dive into another of her novels. Have you read her books? If you have, which one should I pick up next?

3. I just ordered my second pair of denim overalls in one month. Today, I bought the blue denim version of the same black denim style I purchased a few weeks back because 1) they are alarmingly cozy, 2) they require little thought because all you need to add is a t-shirt and you’re done, and 3) they serve a utilitarian purpose by holding all of my kids little useless things they insist on carrying around only to refuse to hold any longer so they end up in my resistant possession. I will add that whenever I wear overalls, all I can think of is the line in Clueless when the spectacularly bitchy Amber looks with disgust at newbie, Tai, and says, “She could be a farmer in those clothes.” Amber is not wrong. I could be a farmer in these clothes but, you know what? I am HERE for it.

4. I’m trying to cut out coffee again. I’m currently sitting here drinking a coffee so, clearly, my willpower is standing strong.

5. It’s cold as fuck. *What does …as fuck even mean, by the way? I have no idea but it really gets the point across of how fucking cold it is. Should out to all the mid-westerners. God speed.

she’s got this

How to parent.

Those three little loaded words are what I obsess over, worry about, and critique myself most hours of the day I spend doing said parenting and often continue long after the parenting portion of the day is done. But very rarely do I arrive at an answer because, as we all know, nobody— parent or not— actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. No matter how hard we try to convince everyone otherwise, we’re all blind, simply throwing darts and just hoping to god that something sticks. But on the rare occasion, like this past Saturday morning, when Mo was faced with worry and fear, instead of allowing her anxiety to win by talking herself out of giving the unfamiliar a shot, Marlo chose to be brave and believe in herself.

“I am going to try something new… And I got this.”

So, no, we don’t always know if our parenting will stick. But on that day, our first born hit a bullseye.

normal

"Just a normal day. A normal day? It’s a Jewel! In time of war, in peril of death, people have dug their hands and faces into the earth and remembered this. In time of sickness and pain, people have buried their faces in pillows and wept for this. In times of loneliness and separation, people have stretched themselves taut and waited for this. In time of hunger, homelessness, want, people have raised boney hands to the skies and stayed alive for this.

Normal day — let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may — for it will not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth or bury my face in the pillow,  or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want more then all the world to return to you, normal day."

-Let Me Hold You While I May, Mary Jean Irion