Spring! Mud!

Today was beautiful - we all feel refreshed. And by refreshed I mean totally soaked in mud. We had several changes of clothes today, but it all was totally worth it. Dinner at the park, walk with the family, big soaking bath and much, much cleaner children. All very good for the soul.

A View from the Inside

On Monday night Seamus wasn't falling asleep (he had a three hour nap in the afternoon) and so as I was getting into bed, he kept calling to me from his room. "Mom, the Knight book is really cool." "Mom, can I have some water?" "Mom, is it alright if I go potty?" Finally when he saw my light go out I heard his feet scurrying along the cork floors. "Can I have a cuddle for one minute, I'm chilly." The kids know that they can sneak in bed with us if they promise to stay for only "one minute."

Earlier in the day we had been talking about uncle Tom and what the boys remember about him. It was a lovely conversation and heartening to think about all of the aspects of Tom that Seamus has internalized - I'm not sure how much is in natural memory and how much is our habit of reminiscing, but in any case he believes he has some lovely memories. It's also interesting to me but he remembers the funeral pretty clearly and he has some clear memories of the blue condo and flying the pirate kite on the beach with Grandpa. He remembers cuddling in bed with Grandma and Grandpa and worrying about how sick Finn and I got. He also remembers the blue sleeping bags and asked if Connor had them now.

So he when he crawled into bed and snuggled up next to me (James was still in New Jersey) he must have still been in a nostalgic mood. He took some deep breaths and I could feel him settling down. After a few minutes of quiet, he said: "Mom, would you like me to tell you about what it felt like before I was born, you know, when I was in your tummy?" And I of course said sure. "Well, it was cozy and warm and I could hear everything you said about me." I laughed about this and even though it was totally dark I could feel Seamus smiling. "And I could see these things, oh what are they called?" And I said I didn't know, since he was the only one with an expert opinion on the subject. "Oh! That's right. I saw lots of potatoes! There were potatoes everywhere."

Now you have to understand that I've told Seamus numerous times that when I was pregnant with him I ate a baked potato every day for lunch. It was just the only thing that always sounded good to me.

There was something so funny and unexpected about this that I laughed for a long time hugging and kissing his forehead. And as I was falling asleep I let him stay cuddled up next to me because I couldn't get over how fast its all gone. From James reading Horton Hears A Who to my belly in San Francisco to this thoughtful, wonderful little person who in no time will be too big to cuddle in bed. I slept soundly, grateful for this gift.

Thin Places

Last week in an effort to get myself out of my funk, I decided to join the Minnesota Zoo and take the kids for the afternoon. I was thinking that a fun, family day would be good for my soul. We picked Seamus up from school, dropped off his best buddy Jack at his home, and headed for 35E south towards the Zoo.

Me (cheerfully): "Who wants to go to the zoo?"
Finn (not loudly, just in his regular voice): "Not me. Let's go see aunt Helen."
I pause, a little surprised at the lackluster response. I had been thinking the Zoo was going to make me mother of the year in the kids' eyes. I was totally expecting cheers. This did not help my mood.
Me: "Not today buddy, we're going to Helen later in the week. Today Mom wants to have some fun with just her kiddies."
Finn: "No mom, I want to go see Helen."
Me: "Buddy, do you just want to get McDonald's? Because I though we could go out to lunch today too. We'll go see Helen on Thursday."
Finn: "No. I want to go see her right now."
Me: "Not today. I told you were going to the Zoo."
Finn (a little more firmly): "But I don't want to go to the Zoo today. I want to see Helen."
Me (trying to sound lighthearted):"Well, I'm the mom and I'm driving the car, we'll go see Helen on Thursday."
Finn (huffing quietly): "That's stupid."

Pause. I take a few breathes and think through this conversation. We arrive at 35E and I get on heading North to St. Croix Falls, WI where Helen is now living.

Me: OK buddy, but we have to get gas."
Finn: "Yes! Thanks mom, you're the bestest."

So when we finally arrive (with McDonald's) at the nursing home, we make our way into the common room, set up lunch and go find Helen. There is another resident who is in very good physical shape, but who has some sort of serious dementia. We see her and interact with her every time we go and lately, I purposely avoid setting up in the common area where she is. She can be sort of aggressive and frankly after this many visits I had lost my patience for trying to figure out what she was trying to say. I have about an hour before the kids melt down (this place is moderately kids friendly - but pretty soon MJ wants to check out every one elses private rooms) and so I try to spend as much of that really engaging Helen. On this visit, Helen was as good as she's been since she moved into this place. We had great conversation and the kids behaved like angels all through lunch. MJ and Finn sang her a little song and everyone doled out hugs and kisses.

The kids had all finished their lunches and were playing near the fake fireplace with a fake sleeping puppy. MJ and Finn were petting it and Seamus was just watching - he'd been sort of quiet the whole trip. This resident whom I've been avoiding came up to the kids and told them to leave the dog alone. She sometimes speaks in gibberish so I can't tell exactly what's shes saying.

Woman: "You're going to get sick, very sick. Stop touching the dog.
She mumbles something else I can't understand.
Woman: "Don't touch the dog."
Seamus is silently watching this woman with a funny look on his face - I can't tell what he's thinking.
Me:"OK kids, that's enough let's walk Helen back to her room."
It takes me a few minutes to gather our things and explain what we're going to do to Helen.
I turn around and see that Seamus has walked over to the woman and they are talking. He slips his hand into hers.
Seamus: "Mom, can I take a walk with her."
(clarification: I know that he means "a walk" around the nursing home - it's laid out in a circle and residents can't leave without setting off an alarm).
Me: "If she wants to - that's fine with me. We're all going to walk back to Helen's room now."
The woman begins walking hand in hand with Seamus and I watch Seamus realize she wants to go one way around the circle and Finn and MJ have already set off the other direction. He looks a little nervous, but he smiles at me and they begin their little stroll. They take two laps around the floor which takes less than 10 minutes. By now we're all in Helen's room and I'm getting coats and boots on MJ. The happy couple appears at the door and the woman ushers Seamus into the room.
Woman (looking me in the eyes): "You have the most handsome, nice little boy. (Looking at Seamus) Thank you honey, I'm going back to my room now. See you next time."
Seamus (with a broad smile): "See ya later."

I stood in the doorway and watched her walk towards her room, a little aghast at my own ineptitude. She didn't even seem like the same woman.

The Irish idea of "thin places" centers around places or moments where the mundane and the ethereal meet - those moments when we see flickers of the Divine on Earth. During the long drive home, I thought about how surprising it is when you see clearly that God's hands are often very small.

Two years ago today, Tom died. I feel oddly hopeful for the thin places where we can see and feel him again. Andie tells a great story about being at the New Jersey beach the summer after he died. We had all been telling Seamus a story about when Tom spent an afternoon digging an enormous hole in the sand for him to play in (under a sun umbrella of course). I think we all wanted Seamus to remember how much fun he had with Tom that trip (though he wasn't even a year old at the time and we knew he wouldn't remember it). The next day Andie and James got up early with all the kids and took them down to the beach so the rest of the house could sleep in a little. She was walking with Seamus. The beach is quiet and empty in the early morning, the tide cleans everything up and the sand hasn't been stampeded by sunbathers yet. As they were walking they came upon a huge hole dug out in the sand and Seamus hopped down into it. She told me later she felt like it was Tom telling us that he's still around, watching out for us.

He is, I know that he is.

Voting Has Closed!

The economy it is!

But let's be honest, it would probably be easier (and more effective) if I just sent MJ to Washington (see previous post). Look out Rahm and Nancy!

Reepicheep, Retiring & MJ Strikes Again.

One of my favorite pastimes is eavesdropping on the kids' playtime. They go from playing with Playmobile guys (and animals) to fully costumed fantasy lands. It seems as if sometimes an action figure or a plastic army guy just can't satisfy the creative spirit and the kids just have to burst into character themselves (how could you expect Mattel or Fisherprice to get it right anyway).

We've now finished all of the Chronicles of Narnia (a few of them several times) and so often the kids like to pretend they've found new lands through a closet or in the space underneath the stairs. Most often they like to pretend to be Peter, Edmund, Eustace, or Caspian - historically they kept to pretending to be the humans in Narnia (or where ever they were imagining themselves). For the most part, MJ just follows behind them growling and watching eagerly. Sometimes they tell her that she's Lucy or every once in a while she's the White Witch and they run from her, but usually she's just part of the imaginary entourage (along with stuffed animals, the green giant and the rocking horses).

But the other day I caught Finn in an unusual character, charging with a pretend sword up the basement stairs: Reepicheep the noble mouse from several of the adventures. If you haven't read the stories, or if you cannot remember them, this doesn't mean much. In essence, Reepicheep is obviously small (since he's a mouse in a land of lions), but very highly regarded for his loyalty and honor, his courage and commitment. And I must confess, he is my favorite character from any of the books. The sight of Finn (all 30 pounds of him) and the sound of his happy, high pitched voice shouting "Charge! For Narnia!" up the stairs was almost too much to handle.

I've been so crabby (sorry James) lately that the kids have been the only thing to cheer me up. Seamus told me last week when he could tell that I was still sad about the U, that he thought it was time I retired anyway. I shouldn't have to work anymore, he said. Thanks, Buddy.

So as many of you know (thanks Hewitts) MJ bit Owen a few weeks ago. And even though I know how rough and tough she can be, I was still very surprised. It was a big deal at our house.

This kicked off what I'd like to call "MJ The Vanquisher" phase at the Dougherty house. I think we have come to the end (I'm knocking on all the wood in the house right now). I went to the gym with the kids on Saturday and at pick-up time the staff regaled me with the tales of who she beat up and how. I did not find this amusing, because while I hope she grows up to be tough, I'm not trying to raise a brute.

At the gym on Monday I told the staff that if she did ANYTHING aggressive I wanted to be paged so I could discipline her myself.

"Anne Dougherty to childcare. Anne Dougherty to childcare. Anne Dougherty to childcare."

Was basically the anthem of my week working out. The straw that broke the proverbial camels back was when she swung a toy vacuum cleaner at a little boy, knocked him onto his back and then (wait for it, wait for it) jumped into the air and body slammed him. He was probably ten pounds bigger than she was, but its hard to compete with an agile opponent. I snatched her up and we left.

She has had no problem saying sorry and seems to be remorseful once she realizes that she is in trouble, but we had a solid two weeks of pushing, biting, hitting and apparently body slamming. Yesterday and the day before, she went incident free (small victories), and I think (fingers crossed) that she's starting to learn how to control herself. The words are slowly coming and that helps (when I'd get called to the childcare center at the gym, I'd say "Were you naughty?" And she'd reply, "Yep." I'd say "What did you do?" and she'd say "Hit him."

Someone said not to worry this was just the precursor to flirting, totally natural. Good God, I hope not.

By the Way...

I appreciate that no one is voting for the nervous breakdown...