Absence

The truth why I haven’t posted here, is that nothing has felt quite right for a really long time. Nothing felt interesting or even worth writing about. I know now that that is simply not true. Writing about my kids and their lives are interesting, to a select few, I understand. It is a chronicle of their growing up, and no matter how much I think it inconsequential, it is fun to look back on when they are older. To reminisce and cry over how much they have grown. So, I am back. Some days I will be kicking and screaming, but no matter, the chronicling must go on. Last night my niece Jillian sent a video message to us (she isn't 2 yet, so I guess she didn't really send it). She was in the tub and her parents were asking her who was her best friend. She said Wy-Wy. It made us all teary eyed. Brett and I want nothing more than for our kids to be close with their cousins. To love and laugh with one another and build strong bonds and a sense of unfaltering family ties, which, lets be honest, is pretty challenging when you live in another state. The fact that friendship can grow over those 272 miles across the Arizona/California desert between an almost- two-year old and a 5 year old is proof that distance isn't a death sentence, but a hurdle easily cleared by love.

Just a warm cup of Wyatt

Sometimes I don't think about writing. When life gets hard, as it often does with two boys under 5, as it often does with all of us, I don't write. I stress. I eat. I punish myself. I vow to be better- to do better. I set myself aflame. I try re-birth.

Then, when I am the middle of a place I can only call "trying to survive", my Wyatt shakes me up and does something that reminds me that this moment I am in needs not be more than what it is. The moment when you: Stop, Listen, and Breathe, you see yourself and your life through bigger glasses. Or, maybe you are able to take off the maginfying glasses? No matter. It is existencial.

I had the opportunity to sit completely uninterupted with my 4 year old tonight. Do you want to know what we talked about? Of course you do. Who wouldn't? We talked about being a first born, naturally. We talked about first loves, naturally. We talked about making people feel important, naturally.

Wyatt knows that he was my first born and that there can only be one first born. We talked tonight about how Daddy, Mommy and Wyatt are all first borns.

"I am your first born and your first love, right?" he asked.

"Of course." I replied.

He beamed.

"Jack Jack is your second born, huh?" he smirked.

"Yes, but I love my first born and my second born the same." I want him to feel special, but the golden child syndrome is a sneaky one.

"I came in the mail, right?"

Really? Who feeds him this?

"No. And that makes me sad that you say that. Because I made you a really nice home in my tummy. I made it extra cozy for you to grow in. You were not in some cold mailbox. I made you." I pray he realizes that he wasn't mail order.


"Yeah. And I wasn't mean to you. I didn't scratch you. I was so cozy in there and I was praying."

There he goes again with the praying. This kid is uber-spiritual.

"You were so cozy in there and super polite. You had a great time swimming and dancing, not scratching. What were you praying for?"

"For you." He points at me with a gun gesture, so very sauve.

"Really?"

"Yeah and for Daddy. Guess who I came out looking like? You (insert more gun gesture here)."

"Wow. Really? Like me? Not Daddy, like everyone in the entire world suggested?"

"Nope. Like you wif long long hair."

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Later we discussed not paying attention while someone was talking because you were engrossed in that show that both your daddy and my ex-boyfriend used to watch. The one with the Japanese fighters and a lot of drama and no fighting, just the promise of a fight next episode. Why is my life punctuated with this same show? I demonstrated how it was to try to talk to someone while this show was on. It goes like this:

"So there I was the other day in line at the grocery st.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................What? What did you say?


"At the store and I was buying the day old bread and it looked a little gr.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................


Wyatt kept trying to get my attention, and I stared fixated at the TV. He patted my shoulder.

"Mommy. What about the bread? What color was it?"

I explained that this is what he does to me everytime a show comes on. I asked him how that made him feel.

"Really sad," he replied as he hugged me.

We talked/hugged it out. I think he gets it. He is very intuative.

So tonight I realized that I am connecting. I am making a difference in my kid's lives. It sounds stupid, really. Sometimes you don't feel like you do much but play maid and martyr. Tonight, when he talked to me, he used my inflection and my gestures. He used my words. Nothing in the world could have made me happier tonight than seeing myself in him. The parts I like. The parts that aren't running out of the preschool front door and acting all crazy town, like we first borns like to do.

Holy Terror

This year Wyatt started Preschool. We didn't think about it at the time, but he actually came in at the end of the school year. I assumed there was no end of year in year round daycare and didn't even contemplate whether or not we should put him in at this time. Such a big mistake I now fear.

My larger than life little boy, also has a larger than life behavior problem at his new school.

My sweet boy has turned into the "sometimes sweet boy who occasionally loses his mind, screams, hits people (including the director), and runs out of the building" boy.

Yeah... runs out of the building... and hits the director... on multiple occassions.

Now, he doesn't do this all the time, only on the days he decides he doesn't want to listen to authority.

I know this comes as a shock for those of you who know Wyatt well. We cannot figure out if it is something to do with the new school itself or his age or our parenting. In truth, it is probablly a combination of both. In truth, it is the most embarassing, horrfying situation I have encountered as a parent.

My hope in writing this is that I can release the shame I feel about it all. There you have our dirty little secret, our kid has become a part-time Holy Terror.

As Brett keeps reminding us all, Wyatt is not a bad kid. I cannot help but feel that is a line you feed to the friends of drug addicts. "It's not him talking when he is like this, it is his addiction." But in this case, there is no addiction to blame, and the fact seems to remain that we don't know who this little guy is yet, and I pray that this is not the Wyatt I will come to know talking. That might be a bit harsh, but it is a thought that keeps running through my head. "Please don't let him always be like this. Please don't let him turn into a monster." Because we all know that kid. I just never in a million years thought I might have that kid or any version of that kid.

I hope this is a phase and that we are able to redirect, praise, and reward him out of this. But at what point do you start thinking that you have to punish your kid? In the "make your life miserable for a few hours" kind of way. It is hard to know what to do. It is hard to worry that you might be screwing up your kids. This is the part where parenting gets hard- is not fun.

I understand what people mean now when they say that your children will bring you the most joy and the most heartache. For all the heartache and sleepless nights spent worrying about this for the last few months, the joy Wyatt brings me still wins.

He still melts my heart when he says he wants to marry me after I am done being married to Daddy. When I look into those eyes, I know he has a heart of mushy gold. I hope those teachers at school see that too. I hope they never give up on him.

I wish there were two of me...

Wyatt sits on a guest bed in Arizona with his grandmother, his baby cousin and me.

"Momma, I am not going wif you when you leave. I am gonna stay here in Erinzona."

I looked at Grandma questioningly, who told him he could stay?

"Daddy, did tell him he could stay," Grandma whispers.

I realize I have to be delicate with this situation, as Wyatt is not good with change of any sort. If he is there he wants to stay, regardless of whether or not he cried that he didn't want to go to get there in the first place.

"No, Baby. We work in California, so that is where we have to live," I hope he will agree.

But, no such luck. He looks defeated and puts his head down on the bed. I look at Grandma wondering how this will play out. Wondering if there is a small storm brewing in that tiny body of his.

"Momma?" he says.

I look over at him. He is on his stomach with his hands pressed together. He looks like he is playing that game, how does it go? Here is the church. Here is the steeple.

"Momma, I am praying," he wants me to ask for what.

"What have you been praying for?" I ask.

"To God." he says through squinting eyes.

"What were you saying to God," I ask, wondering who has taught him to pray.

"I wished that I could live in Erinzona and California," he says.

I pause, waiting for him to continue.

"But, I can't split myself," he shakes his head and shrugs.

All I can do is cry. I didn't think that my three-almost-four-year-old would be grappling with the same issue his father and I have everyday. Wondering how to be in two (or three) places at once, and how to spend time with our loved ones who are so far away.

I hope God answers his prayer. I hope he can split us all.

Brain Rot

Way back when, before we had kids, when we had just moved out to California, we moved into a lovely house with a pool and a beautiful backyard and we did stuff. I mean we really did stuff- took advantage of all of our free time, and boy was there a lot of it! I cannot even fathom the endless hours we had to spend doing what we wanted and thinking only of ourselves and each other, what a glorious time it was!

And for that first full year in Palm Springs, we went on walks downtown, swam in the pool, ate dinner out, worked on art projects, painted and sewed. And guess what we didn't do? Watch TV.

For a whole year we didn't have any sort of cable. Eventually we got smart and started renting dvds of certain shows and watching the full seasons in one weekend. We were so productive during that time. We were able to actually talk to one another without the boob-tube on. We listened to wonderful music and got out of the house. Did I mention how glorious this time was?

Then, we moved into our new house and had a kid. We turned on the subscription to the rest of the world and got a cable DVR box. Life was glorious in a different way. I suddenly realized what "Katrina" was (I seriously missed the WHOLE thing during the no TV stint and couldn't figure out who SHE was!) I started my love affair with all things reality tv. I secretly loathed myself for doing this, but it was just too hard to resist! After the first baby our free time was cut in half (or more), and we also had to squeeze in TV. How tiring this all was.

Fast forward three years and another baby later, and we are in another new house. We are once again without TV, only because we couldn't decide which provider to use. In the last few weeks without TV, I decided we don't need it. Because guess what? I love not having TV. I love not fighting over the remote and lossing brain cells to The Real Housewives of Crazytown. I love playing all night with my kids and having a movie as a treat. Brett marveled last night about how the nights just seem to be flying by. Because we are busy, in a good way. We are getting are butts off the couch where they have been for 3 years. This, my friends, feels glorious again!

3-1/2 going on 40

Today you started preschool.
My little Bean, three, almost ready to turn four.
When did you loose all that fat I worked so hard to put onto your bones?
When did you learn the subtle art of sarcasm?
When oh, when, did you start feeling like a person I once knew- a small glimpse of the little me I remember.

You sat tonight at the kitchen bar and asked, over a bowl of spaghetti, that I tell you two things. One, a story of you when you were a baby, and two, a story of your daddy when he was three. Your love of the past and history astounds me. You moved on to your dessert of grape tomatoes- sat there eating them whole. Reminding me of your great grandmother, who used to eat tomatoes like apples. I told you not only of yourself as a baby, but of your great granny, daughter of a tomato farmer, who ate tomatoes like candy. You told me you wanted to be a gardner like your great great great grandfather. You mixed up gardener with farmer. Ironically, his name is actually Gardner. Your slip made me curious as to whether it was a slip at all- you old soul you, you little me re-incarnate. You are a marvelous mixture of all the best of your daddy and me and every wonderful person from our family that have touched our lives.

I love you my new preschooler....my un-little boy.

It's all about the Willie!

This is one of the wonders of raising boys!