Catching Up On Lost Time

Time has gone so fast these last few weeks, I hardly know where to start. Maybe I can pause to tell you a little more about who you are today.


MJ,
You are officially a toddler, forsaking the crib for the big girl bed, walking and yabbering like a champ. There is nothing delicate about you. This morning while we picked up Finn and his friend Will from school, another little boy pushed you down. The offender's mother leaped up to scold her son, but you only brushed off your pants, hipped checked him and went to find your brother. I looked at the woman and said:

"She's got older brothers. The only way she would cry, and really it's more of a piercing scream than a cry, is if he took something away from her. If he had succeed in getting anything away, she would have headbutted him as if she starred in the WWE."

Nice. Nice. You love to laugh (and scream). You and Finny have a screaming game that happens most often in the car (One screams. The other laughs. The other screams louder. The former laughs. Repeat endlessly until mom and Seamus's heads explode). You also stripped down nearly naked on the beach in Isle of Palms. A group even stopped to ask Dad where we were from - because obviously we must be from someplace VERY cold - if we let our children run half naked on the beach in November. You loved the beach. You also love aunt Katie. For someone who plays pretty hard to get most of the time, you often throw yourself at Katie. Yelling her name, jumping off the sofa to get to her, after all this love, she is now your number one fan.


Finn,

You are sweetness and light. I can't believe I'm saying that - because you were really our brooder for the last year - but now you are all about affection and whispering sweet nothings. I wake up almost every morning with your warm little body snuggled up next to me, and the first words out of your mouth are almost always I love you. This is the way everyone should wake up. Now, you are not quite as nice to dad. In the mornings, you are mine. For the rest of the day, you worship your father. If dad doesn't hug you at least ten times before he heads to work, you swear he never said goodbye. We have had to call dad at work so you can scold him about this. You still love your animals - you pull them together from all over the house - different sizes and collections - you have your own ever changing menagerie. The thing that amazes me most about you, is how content you are to play on your own. Your imagination requires very little to keep you occupied. On the days when Seamus goes to school, the house becomes so quiet. You and MJ will play uninterrupted for an hour with toys on the floor of the office. I love listening to your voice, your little songs. MJ loves playing near you and for the most part you let her have her way. When you wake up from your nap (as you just did) you often need a few minutes of extra hugs and love to help you ease back into play. I think this is a little gift from God especially to me.

















Mr. Seamus,
You are the biggest of boys right now, and you are relishing your role as big cousin to Connor and ruler of the Dougherty children. No one loves "Daddy Adventures" as much as you and you talk about them all week long. This weekend dad took you and Finn (and aunt Katie) to a Gopher hockey game. You now want to play hockey (without the skate part) and have told me often "how cool my school is." Today we read an entire Encyclopedia Brown book and afterwards you asked if he played hockey. You only nap a few days a week and so now more often than not we have "homework" time in the afternoons. I sit at the computer and you sit at my writing desk working on your laptop or writing in your notebook. Your printing is getting so good - I am terrified of the day you won't need me to read to you anymore. It is one of the joys of my life.

As for the rest of us, well, I'm enjoying school. I would not be enjoying school without the unbelievable support that James has offered me. He's risen to the occasion and simply has become super dad. The kids are thriving with all the attention and he's starting to look like his old self again. As busy as things have been, we all feel pretty at peace with the schedule and arrangement of things. Writing has been good for my mental health and that in turn has helped me stay motivated and organized. We aren't entertaining as much as we used to - and we both miss that - but for now its been smooth and satisfying to try something new, turn a new page (so to speak). I'm taking the GRE next week (Joy. Joy.) and getting my formal application in order. In all I've written about 5 new short stories and few essays so whatever happens in the next few months, at least I'll have a fresh start on some new work. My fiction class had dinner with Ethan Canin last week, and he said that writing was 80% misery. I find that the act is not for the most part misery, but revising truly is. I told James last week, that at one point in my life I thought that if I didn't finish a book I would be disappointed in myself. At 33 years old, I've learned that I've been blessed enough for five lifetimes, and that while writing is a passion for me, it does not define my success or failure in life. I looked at James, his wonderful, warm, familiar face, and I knew for sure that I would never be disappointed with the choices I had made. Canin starts one of my favorite short stories with the line "Let me tell you who I am." And I find that every day of writing helps me to define for myself what that means. In essence each time I sit down to write, I rediscover that I am a woman who is blessed by faith, friendship and family, and in the end nothing else really matters.