The Wink is a labor of love, occasional source of ire and constantly influenced by the toddlywinks in my life- my daughters. There's also the HunkyWink. You'll read all about them as The Wink unfolds. Please feel free to wink back!

Monday, June 30, 2008

This Ass Loves You

Umm, there's really no special way to put this: We forgot out anniversary.

June 28, 2003
Rock City Falls, New York
The Mansion
My grandfather was there playing piano.

Here we are now*.

Five years. Three daughters. And a whole lot of heart ache and wonder later. I love you

*That bit of black is not a tuft of chest hair, despite the weird shit that goes down with pregnancy, it is, in fact, a daughter.


Thursday, June 26, 2008

Being this smart hurts

I've been a bit of a Twitterholic of late. It's like friendship without strings, no hurt feelings, no having to stick to plans (I am quite literally the queen of gasping and saying something sounds fun and "Oh, shouldn't we do this? Let's!" Only to have the scheduled time arrive and think, "Oh my god, I so do NOT want to do this.")

Trading little morsels, not quite blogworthy, but ohmygod, my kid has been wearing her Dora helmet in the house for 3 hours! is too good not to share with someone, and so, I Twit...Tweet...Twa--sorry, got carried with Twitterreverence.

Anyway, Sean has noticed my interest in Twitter and sat down while I clicked around on my laptop.

"So, you know Twitter has really penetrated things," he said.

"Hmmm, how so?" I asked not really looking up.

"Well, there is actually a Twitter account for the Mars Lander." He was looking over at me.

"Is that like Zoolander?" I asked looking at him expectantly.

Wait, it gets worse.

"No," he said looking at me a little bit frightened, "the Mars Lander, it's a probe that--"

It was like I was a 15 year old boy. I began convulsing.

"What? He asked. "What? Is it..."

"You said probe."

He's a freaking saint, I'm an idiot savant:

"Is Josh Groban the new Yanni?" he asks.

I respond, "I have no idea, all I know about Yanni is that he was married to Linda know of Dynasty and Big Valley fame."

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Killing flies and fly writers*

Greetings once again from the sticky Adirondacks, the black flies have left, but the regular old house flies have all take up residence in our house...wherever my bug-phobic Briar is.

Pad. Click. Pad. Click.
Pad. Click. Pad. Click.
Pad, click, click, pad.

What is it?


Pad. Click. Click. Click. Smack.

Pad. Slide. Slide. Grunt. Pad.

Each of these exchanges is of course peppered with the unbelievably pathetic sounds of Avery making her valiant, but gimpy way along on her pudgy foot and purple cast. So far I've exterminated 4 of the little buggers with a dish towel, one particularly wily fly continues to elude me and panic Briar.

Luckily, amidst all this stuffy, sticky, stinky heat there is a bit of undeniable cool, seriously. I'm a channel editor over at Blog Nosh - my category is "Family."** What is Blog Nosh you ask? Well, consider it a brightly colored, methodically categorized place where you can go to get turned on to great bloggers, people you maybe haven't found yet. Looking for great writing, but daunted by the vastness of the blogosphere? Have no fear, Blog Nosh is here...go on, try a nibble. Just click that purty lil button down below!

I've got a fly I have to slay...Briar tells me, "Mom, the fly, he is right there. Why can't you get him?"


*Sincere apologies for the lame title.
**Thanks to Flutter for reminding me to include the channel :)


Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Calling for back up

Finley, little dark-tressed nugget of love that she is, has a dark secret. She has within her wee ten pounds of self an insane capacity for shrieking with indignation. Her preferred hours of rage are:

1) The precise moment in which Sean and I try to catch up on the day and on through the news, pausing before dinner to cruelly suggest we might eat in peace.

2) Just after the girls have been successfully read, coddled, cuddled, chided, coerced and threatened into sleeping.

3) During any episode of The Last Comic Standing.

4) Throughout the 7.5 minutes I take to wash up before bed.

It isn't usually a problem as I realize how fleeting this time really is, before we know it she'll be a year old and this sort of inconsolable and inexplicable carrying on will be but a distant memory that we look back on with the twisted fondness one has for escaped agony. The other night though, oh the other night...

There was a different pitch to her cry, a piercing tone and unrelenting intensity that was nothing short of an ice pick Macgyvered up to a an air compressor being sent again and again like some sort of medieval battering ram into my ear. I tried everything I could think of to soothe her, but she twitched, jerked and screamed herself into such a state that we reached the point of no return. I did something I have never, ever done before.

I called for back up.

I think the times in a marriage when the balance shifts precipitously, whether it be for vulnerability or anger, you recognize it in that moment and make a split second decision. Sean's reaction was lightning fast. He was home and carrying Fin out into the cool night air in less than five minutes. He handled it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, no judgement, no worry. I had no shame, no guilt, just an overwhelming sense of peace. I had not screamed, had not cried, and had not been made to feel helpless.

I had always been too embarrassed to ask for help or to admit defeat. Who knew doing just that could make me feel so triumphant?


Monday, June 23, 2008



When someone is impatient and says, "I haven't got all day,"
I always wonder, How can that be? How can you not have all day?
George Carlin

May 12, 1937- June 22, 2008


Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Convalescent Daring

And we thought it would stifle her enthusiasm...

Granted, she's had her moments of misery, whimpering to be held. And set down. And held. And set down. And held by someone else. And then set down again. But all things considered, Avery has been a complaintless heroine.

And I have been an unapologetic fool in my bid to entertain and delight.

Thank you all for your incredible words of sympathy, advice and humor. We've used it all. And, in true headstrong, do-it-myself fashion today, Avery has decided to walk. That's right, down for less than two days. The doc said as soon as she was ready she could walk on it...


Monday, June 16, 2008

Purple Thigh-High

My baby got the boot, it's purple, waterproof and here to stay for 3-4 weeks. The it's-ok-that-you-can't-run-walk-or-climb distraction baton will be passed frequently between mom, dad and grandma (Yes, Grandma! Score!). And hey, we sprang for waterproof so bring on the garden hoses and swimming pools!


Sunday, June 15, 2008

Oh, my sweet baby, be still.

When Avery cried from the warming table, just moments after being born, it wasn't from shock or fear, it was simply that she wanted to do. To go. To feel wind in her hair and accomplishment in her belly. Every day since has been a sprint to mastery.



Getting her everything dirty working with Dad.

Last night in a run-of-the-mill, pre-bedtime romp with Bri, my sweet, strong, do-it-myself Ave fractured her tibia.

How will I ever keep her still enough to heal?***

*This isn't hypothetical people, lay some wisdom on me.
**Grandma may be coming to help!

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Friday, June 13, 2008

Repeat Offender

It all started with a simple question, "Is she good?"

I can't remember who was asking it or where I was, but I do remember thinking, "Does anyone say no to that question?"

The person was referring to Briar, our first daughter. The idea of saying, "No, as a matter of fact, I am so glad you asked because let me tell you, this kid does not sleep. Ever." was just too horrifying to consider.

Briar slept in bed with us until she 14 months old. I won't say that there weren't times that I didn't revel in the closeness, but honestly, 14 months is a really long time, longer still if it is by necessity, not choice.

Here's the thing, I lie, or at least I bend the truth. It feels as if saying "No," to the constant inquiries about if an infant is good would somehow be a criticism of my baby or an admission of my own failure. I don't know where the middle ground between honesty and social appropriateness exists. When people ask me if Finley is good I say yes, because of course she is good. Of course we adore her, just like we do Briar and Avery, but there is more.

Many nights, beginning sometime between 4 and 7 and continuing until between 9 and 10:30, Finley is inconsolable. She scrunches her little face, digs her feet in and screeches into a multi-hour tantrum. There is no amount of nursing, burping, cooing, bouncing, walking, begging, bribing, weeping or praying that changes it. She is simply not done until she is done. To say that it is maddening or that it makes us feel like total failures doesn't even begin to describe it. My god, I close the windows for fear the neighbors will think I am doing her harm.

We have had similar trials with Briar and Avery at different times in their lives, but really, who wants to say that? The truth is Briar barely slept for the first year and a half of life, Avery has a will so stubborn it could plug leaks in battleships and Finley, well Finley has a maddeningly intense fussy time.

There are other truths too--
Being a working mom is f*cking hard.
Marriage can be exhausting.
I feel like I am failing as a mom as many days as I feel I am succeeding.
Small town life can be a bit like a prison sentence.
For all the stronger body image talk, I'd love a tighter ass and different hair.

Despite all of those things, and forgetting that last night was another one of Fin's bad nights, I do love being a working mom and wife in a small town. I wouldn't trade it, nor am I ashamed by any of it, but I'll be damned if I am going to open Pandora's box of complaints every time someone coos at the girls and looks at me expectantly as they say, "Tell me, are they good kids?"

I may ask how tight that person's ass is though, think that's fair?

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Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Outfit options for Blogher '08

Ave and Briar have been helping me figure out what the fiddleybop to wear at Blogher. I mean it's San Francisco, people are so chic there, ok, people anywhere are chic compared to what you find in the Adirondacks (Apologies to Raeanne, Amy and Trina, ya'll are super chic!) Now my cheeks are flaming because my god, who says, "Chic?"

Anyway, back to the conference. It'll be a mere 2.5 months since I had Finley. Let's be honest, even the most confident of us are struggling a bit at 10 weeks postpartum, the impatience with things going back into place (Shut up! They will too go back into place!) And, while this isn't prom, you also kind of want to look your best when, after months and months, or even years, of reading someone's writing, or of them reading yours, or after envying the casual hippness of their tweets you kinda want to look good...or something. I've been struggling because the whole underwear and tanktop thing was really working for me, but something tells me that without the cute belly, no matter how dazed my expression, it might not be so openly embraced.

Briar's been cooking up ideas, but I can't pull off pink and violet together.

And while I am bringing Finley, I don't think I'll be bringing a stroller and this is slightly more "bag lady" than I had hoped.

They raise a good point here: dress up or dress down? I think my answer is somewhere between Cinderella and a hoody with Huggies, no?

Avery does headwear better then I can, so this look is out, though I may take a cue and pack Daddy's wallet.

And while I love the idea of preparedness, galoshes for rain, tank for heat, I think I'll take my chances.

My waffling has worn on the girls, they tag teamed me last night with this headgear-heavy look. Perhaps the message is that I ought to go to the salon before July...

Are you going? Any suggestions for me?

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Tuesday, June 10, 2008

For Serenity

The other day I received a comment from Adria Sha. I visited her blog and loved the title, A mile in my birks. I stayed and read for a while. Today I am posting this so that you'll visit her blog. One of Adria's children, Serenity, has been diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia.

Because I want to do something and because you are my greatest hope of actually having an impact, I am asking you to visit her site. Leave her a comment, if you are in the position to, please make a donation to Help Serenity.

I can't imagine that anything short of her daughter's recovery could make life right, but maybe, just maybe your comments will provide some degree of comfort as she navigates the road ahead.



Saturday, June 7, 2008

Funny, it doesn't ride like a mini-van


Friday, June 6, 2008

Another kid, another home video

Seriously, the title was fair warning, a third daughter translates to a third video subject. I'd say it's because I know how tedious viewing other people videos can be, but honestly, I've not posted any in a while as I've had a heck of a time trying to figure out how to hold the camera now that I have three girls. If you'd rather not watch video, might I redirect you to an oldie but a goodie of mine?

Without further adieu, the footage.

Avery, our ham, willing to go to any length to get us to laugh.

Briar, sweet and angelic as the day is long, bringing out the damn-I-went-too-far jokester in me.

And Finley, 50+ seconds of cooing, arm-jerking, and inane babbling from me in awe of her 1 month old perfection.


Tuesday, June 3, 2008

She asks, she scores

We return to the Wink girls and their mom and the never-ending one-upmanship of toddler logic.

Briar: Mom, let me ask you a question.

Long pause.

Briar: Why can't I have chocolate on the toilet?

I smile.

Briar: Is it because you are afraid I am going to throw it in the toilet?

I smile again, not really sure how to answer.

Briar: Yes! It is! You're afraid I'll throw it in the toilet.

She walks away so satisfied that once again, the point is awarded to Briar.


Monday, June 2, 2008

Score another for the kid

Sitting and nursing Finley I watched Briar saunter across the room in her butterfly wings running a piece of silverware along the waistband of her underwear.

Me: Get the spoon out of your underwear.

Briar: It's not a spoon, it's a fork.

And, scene.


Sunday, June 1, 2008

Grandparent Cheer

Gimme a "p"
Gimme an "a"
Gimme a "p"
Gimme another "a"

What's that spell?


What's that mean?


**Please note that the absence of deliriously excited little girls is due to the mad dashes they made to find things with which to jam-pack their new digs.

Thank you, Papa.