Grover's Corners

Last weekend, I attended a memorial service for my friend Don. He was a writing teacher in my department, someone who taught me so much about teaching, and writing, and students, and living.  On the day I heard that he died, I wrote on Facebook that my favorite memory of him is when I went to his house for a meeting about composition papers that had been submitted for an award--his award that he established to honor students for their writing achievements in their first year of college. I almost said I couldn't go to the meeting, because my babysitting plan fell through at the last minute, and Shay--who was just 18 months--had nowhere to go. But Don told me to just bring him along, so I did. And he got out this busy box, a box with all sorts of locks and latches and secret hiding places--that he had made for his own now-grown kids--for Shay to play with. Shay loved it, and he loved Don, and he wanted Don to play with it with him. So Don got down on the floor, and played with Shay, and talked to us about the essays. He taught me about writing that day, and about teaching, and about parenting, and about personhood.

At the memorial, he was remembered by all sorts of people from all his walks of life, and they all remembered the same Don: the same kind, generous person who made each person he encountered feel listened to, valued, taught, and inspired.  One of those people brought up those last lines in Our Town, when Emily asks the Stage Manager if anyone ever realizes, ever appreciates life. "Saints and poets do maybe," says the Stage Manager--and Don, he suggested.

I've been thinking about those lines all week.  I've been thinking about the indoor theater at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, where I first saw that play performed when I was 13. I can still feel the chills, the surprising chills I felt, so surprising because I didn't expect to be so taken in by a play with so little "production." I've been thinking about Don, and how he showed me how to appreciate the fact that my motherhood was overlapping with my career and not feel embarrassed by that--but just to get down on the floor, play, and also think about writing.

Do we ever realize?

Today, the first day of February, was an unusually warm day. We had chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles in the sun this afternoon, and I realized. And I thought of my friend.

I am writing this to remind myself to remember to realize more often. To realize even without chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

Talking, and Listening

Shay was a late talker, and so when he first started talking, I was documenting everything: "I *think* he said a word! It had a /k/ sound in it, it must be car!" Now, he talks a blue streak, and stuff comes out of his mouth and I wonder how he even knows that word or expression.

"Good gracious, Maggie!  Do you want ANOTHER popover?" (to Maggie, pointing to the tray of breakfast popovers)

"We're going into the dark forest, Mommy" (starting up Highway 17). "The trees took all the sun away."

"I like dump trucks. They're big. They're heavy. They're strong! They dump rocks, gravel, sand, wood chips." (unprompted to give a list; he just seems to like to organize his thoughts in lists)

But my favorite new thing is his interpretation of Maggie's sounds, grunts, and expressions.  Maggie's only "word" so far is "mama" -- and sometimes it seems directed to me, but other times it's just a sound, so I didn't really count it as her first word.  But, then Shay, who calls me "Mommy," not "Mama," started asking inquisitively, "You Mama? You not Mommy?"  I had to explain that I'm Mommy, but baby sometimes can't say it all and calls me Mama instead.  "That's silly, Maggers," he told her. 

Earlier this morning, Maggie was a little restless, wanting to be picked up and then put down, and I was trying to figure out what she wanted -- I was offering water, snacks, nursing, a toy.  I didn't think Shay was really paying attention to us, as he was absorbed in his truck game, but he looked over and remarked, "Maggie wants a hug, Mommy."  He "interprets" her often, though I can't quite be sure if he is really reading her emotions, or attributing his own to her.  

I can't wait to hear her little voice more.

Just who is in charge around here anyway?

"Mommy!! Come look!! I got a skateboard!!" yells Shay through the monitor, 20 minutes into his "nap."  Curiosity piqued, I poke my head into the bedroom, and see that he is standing in his bed on top of a big hardback picture book, arms out for "balance," with a big grin on his face.  "Wow," he says, "that's cool," as though prompting me with how one is supposed to respond. "Wow, Shay, that's cool," I say; "now, go to sleep."  "Shhh," he admonishes me, pointing over at his sleeping sister.  "Be quiet, Mommy; baby sleeping."

The Wheels on the School Bus

One of Shay's favorite songs, it will not surprise you to learn, is "The Wheels on the Bus."  Right now, he thinks all buses are school buses, so we usually sing "The Wheels on the School Bus."  He likes to request specific verses -- he loves hearing "The baby on the school bus goes wah-wah-wah"; I think it helps him work out some issues about the baby who sometimes cries in our house -- and he loves hearing about the Mommy and Daddy on the school bus who go "I love Shay."  But, sometimes we exit the realm of people and sing about the fire truck on the school bus, the dump truck on the school bus, and the digger on the school bus.  He kind of polices the sound effects too: once, in a sort of tired and bored mood, I sang that the fire truck on the school bus goes vroom vroom vroom, and he promptly shouted, "No, Mommy, whee-oo-whee-oo-whee-oo!"

Today, we worked on some construction paper fire truck/school bus creations -- I cut out the bodies of the trucks and a couple sets of wheels, attached some tape to them, and let Shay choose where to stick the wheels.  Then, I got out some crayons so that he could draw on the paper, but he had other ideas: "No, Mommy, more wheels."

Your wish is my command, master.

Rescue!

Shay's play has recently become much more interactive, creative, and imaginative -- really fun to watch and participate in.  He has always liked to have company when he plays, but for a long time it was just "Mommy, sit here!" and I'd sit beside him and he'd drive some trucks around.  In the past few weeks, though, he has been using the diggers to dig up legos and the wooden trees from his Thomas the Train set and some plastic Easter eggs, and then transferring them to a dump truck, or arranging them in the play garage. And, if I'm lucky, he'll let me have one of the lesser diggers and help him.  

He has also been staging crashes with his trains and trucks -- the train cars will all "fall" off the tracks, and Shay will yell out, "Oh no! Crash!" -- or a series of trucks will "crash," ending up lined up neatly in a row on their backs.  I wasn't sure if this was creative or just destructive, but today things got more interesting: I looked at a row of little "crashed" cars, and said, "Oh no, they crashed! Who will rescue the drivers? The ambulance, maybe?" and pointed to his toy ambulance.  "No, eh-yi-copter!" he replied, grabbing the helicopter and trailing it through the air.  "Eh-yi-copter flying through the air! Rescue trucks!" He carefully tapped the helicopter on each truck, and once a truck had been tapped he turned it over onto its wheels.  Then he toppled all the trucks again and handed me the helicopter.  "Mommy, rescue, " he instructed me. 

We played crash and rescue for most of the afternoon. 

And I was thinking that this age, almost two-and-a-half, with all its communication and creativity and imagination and joy in little things, this is my favorite age so far.  And then I was nursing Maggie, and I smiled down at her and smoothed her soft hair, and she came unlatched because she was smiling up at me, and so then she was lying in my arms and smiling and there was milk dripping out of her mouth, and I thought, THIS, this is my favorite age. 

Then, later, I cleaned poop out of someone's belly button and someone else handed me a booger, and I thought, these ages really aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Easter

We had a lovely Easter weekend visiting my parents; the kids got lots of great grandparent time. Shay bounced back and forth between the front yard and the back yard, riding a Thomas the Train scooter thing and a fire truck scooter thing around the porch, "camping" in a tent in the back yard, digging weeds, playing baseball, and I don't know what else -- I was too busy snoozing on the couch. Maggie couldn't believe that there were so many people who wanted to hold her and smile at her all the time, and she was cooing and smiling like crazy.  We had one beautiful morning at the beach, and Shay got interested in and excited about the water -- can't wait to take him to the lake this summer!  And, in the midst of all that activity, we also dyed Easter eggs, sent Shay on his first Easter egg hunt, gave the kids Easter baskets, and ate lots of egg salad.  Oh, and this happened:

Sorry, baby girl.  But you truly didn't seem to mind it.

Rainy Day Snuggles

My friend Becky has a post up about looking at a picture of her children from five years ago, and not being able to exactly remember how it felt to be in the ordinary moments with them then.  I'm sitting here with Seamus, snuggled up on the couch watching the rain pour down outside and watching Cars, and Maggie is napping in her swing, and I'm feeling a little bit teary after reading that post -- and as I looked over at Maggie, I was thinking that it's hard for me to remember exactly what Seamus was like at her age.  I know he was similar to her in many ways, but different in many ways, and I can remember some of that but what I mainly can't remember is exactly how it felt to be his mom, then.  I know it felt more new, and overwhelming, and scary than it feels to be his and Maggie's mom, now.  And I know that every day felt long and exhausting and like I was busy every single moment taking care of the baby -- and now, sometimes my parents or Patrick will take Seamus out for the whole morning and all I have to do is take care of the baby, and I'm all, am I missing something? Because this feels so easy, just having one baby to care for.

And then I was also thinking that sometimes the kids themselves do something to help solidify a moment, a memory, that I can preserve and think of later.  Since Maggie has been born, I have been consciously and unconsciously giving Shay some extra snuggles when I can, especially right after I see a little bit of jealousy in his face or in his behavior while I'm nursing or tending to the baby. I get him on my lap or in my arms somehow in the midst of our hide-and-go-seek game, or at the table where the train tracks are set up, and get in as many kisses as I can before he starts to protest.  And I don't think I really focused on the snuggles in a specific way, until the other day he reached up his arms for a hug, and as I hugged him, he nuzzled into my shoulder, wrapped his arms around my neck, patted my back, and sighed, "Oh, mama."  And I realized that he was snuggling me in exactly the same way that I snuggle him, except that I sigh, "Oh, Shay-Shay."  And I think that moment I will remember, even if I forget exactly how it feels to be Seamus and Maggie's mom in these early days, or how Seamus's little two-and-one-quarter year old body feels in my arms today.