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!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Cry in the night

A mew and a rustle and I knew.

I shot bolt upright and in a flash it was upon us. Finley spent the wee hours with a not so wee stomach bug. She and I are home making like a mama and baby koala bear, clinging and cuddling.

It is all over again as if I am a first time mom. Piercing. Dire. Profound. Consuming. Exquisite bliss with excruciating ache. Back to hand-wringing and brow-kissing, hopefully we'll be toe-nibbling and belly-laughing again soon.

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Thursday, January 22, 2009

Edges— blurred and sharp

Time has been treacherous lately, whether it's managing the preschool snack responsibility schedule or just keeping bread in the house, I seem to be on a wheel spinning faster than I can carry my feet. We haven't had any complete busts, but there have been forgotten backpacks and tardy arrivals. My nights, once long enough to fit blog entries and tv, have become a startling whoosh of checking the mail to chucking the night's unfinished dinners into the trash after a lengthy bedtime routine.

Sean and I are working together, literally in the same office, yet our rhythm is off, taking me back to my hurdling days— stutter steps to avoid a spill from misjudging distance or awkward lunges to try and catch up. There is no anger, but unapologetic exhaustion and disappointment fill the air.

The girls are a carousel; alternately gay and inviting or cacophonous and harrowing. They spin round and round, their braids and pigtails unravelling and their necks longer with each passing moment. I pause to track the pattern, to find my way on, to at least be upon the same wave of time, but as I prepare to leap there is a crescendo—a tooth.

A word.
A triumph of autonomy that nearly mocks me with its finality.

My weariness, a growing awareness of this passage of time, of the inevitability of their growing. Leaving. I see myself, the lines of my body beautiful and strong, the architecture of my face familiar and forgiven. I want to live in this moment, throw back my head and leave the dishes for another day while I spin with Sean, deep romantic dips by moonlight in the kitchen. I want to sprawl along the floor and frolic with the girls. I am desperate to explode within now. I want not to look back even a year from now and think, "Why didn't I just do it?"

And yet, as he rubs my shoulders or as they beg for a story, I find myself tragically frozen, wistful for what has already passed, devastated by the time tomorrow will mark as gone. I throw this out now to startle myself. A jump start. No more ruing what I haven't done. The prick of aging and missing can be caresses of achieving and choosing, if I only forgive myself my mortality. My imperfections.

I just want to catch up to my now.


My now just woke. A howl from upstairs, my order back from my reverie. We do this day by day, don't we? By the time I get up those stairs I am going to have forgiven myself, because not to, well that's just unforgivable, isn't it?


Monday, January 12, 2009

D'lurk delovelies

It's a jolly holiday with you Burt...

Been watching lots of Mary Poppins at Chez Wink. Seriously people, I flit, I float, I want to slit my throat. That's awful isn't it, but it's so bad I am missing Yo Gabba Gabba. Sure, it was sweet at first, sort of Little House on the Prairie, squeaky clean, "My kids are singing along with Julie Andrews while your kids sit, eyes glazed before the golden bangs of Hanna Montana," righteousness. Now? Well, now I fear that I may end up a bit like the jolly uncle, floating on the ceiling laughing at god knows what.

I now totally get this:

So, as I sit gently rocking myself in the corner willing the dancing penguins to waddle off and take Mary and Burt with her, I'll brandish the Delurking Flasher and ask you to show yourself.

C'mon, it won't — a spoonful of sugar and all that...
Let me know that I am not alone, that you are here. Anything to get me to stop singing...did you realize that I actually included a Sound of Music song? Know why? Because when they aren't watching Mary Poppins, it's the Sound of Music. Clearly they dig Julie, think I should try Victor Victoria?


Today my sister is 30. No names, no teasing, just this— I love you, Abs. Happy Birthday!


Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Sea Change

I am admittedly bad with history and geography, like Leno-stupid-people-bad or "Are you smarter than a 5th grader?" bad. It's embarrassing and something that needs to be remedied before the girls are old enough to realize mom's kind of a ditz. Luckily little things like floor size puzzles of the United States I no longer imagine Wyoming and Montana being reversed. Next up, maps of Europe, South America, with Asia and Africa to follow. The history thing is going to be a wing and a prayer and a whole lot of, "Hmm, ask Daddy," I think.

I used to be proud of my celebrity knowledge. It was my thing: who dated which star, what movie starred which actor etc. I still follow some of this, but lately Perez Hilton has lost a bit of its allure. I don't really care to spend time checking to see what state of undress Amy Winehouse is stumbling about London in, or how hard it is for Jessica Biehl to get people to understand that her relationship with Justin is sacred.

Last night a promo for the Golden Globes came on, it was a blur of flesh, bling and excess. I was shocked by how visceral my response was, never one to sort of decry the inappropriateness of something, I flinched. I remember after 9/11 they were canceling award shows, stating that to celebrate seemed disrespectful. Now I find myself wondering, how, in a time when so few of us can even afford a movie ticket, they can think this is respectful.

I want no part of this celebration. For once I have no interest in gawking at dresses, with their plunging necklines and million dollars jeweled accessories. I don't want to root for this person or that person. I want to turn inward and be thankful for what I have. As that show airs I'll be sitting with my girls, likely in a pair of jeans and unkempt hair. The only fancy frocks will be on the girls as they twirl and giggle on our kitchen floor. We don't have a villa in France and I haven't played any role other than mom, wife and a friend, but we have plenty to celebrate and we'll be doing it in the first person, rather than in some virtual audience.

I'm surprised, not sure if this is fueled by my age or my situation, but I think we have some re-evaluating of values we need to do. A little less idol worship and a bit more self-awareness and presence in the moment. I think ten minutes listening to five minutes of your kid theorizing on the ingredients in a cucumber (no, really, five minutes) will sustain and delight you in ways that five minutes of Jessica Alba blathering on about the art of whatever never could.

Go ahead, ignore the drama of the pampered, polished and privileged for a moment and just live in your own story.

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Friday, January 2, 2009

Crack'n the addle

Back in the saddle seemed so dull, so you get crack'n the addle or jumping into 2009 with a clear head, an open heart and a touch of the smart ass. Oh, and another thing as I come into the tail end of my 35th year, there is going be a bit more self-love, self's ass love that is. No, that's not a slam toward Sean, he's a smart ass with a fine ass, but he's not an ass. I mean mine. No more sniveling about this or that, just 100%, grade A, all-American, organic Manda-ass*.

*Because this new self's ass love is a new resolutiony thing I was clean out of Amanda ass shots ;)

Are you still reading?

Seriously, I've been bobbing and weaving, and while it's a fine exercise, it doesn't really get you anywhere. I want to, like so many moms, begin to live smarter. Make each move count, each word be spoken with purpose, love or joy, or maybe all three.

I am going to match every impulse to nag or fret with at least one playground embrace.

I am going to trust that I can conquer anything because, yo, in this house we rock satin and snowboots for to kick ass and take names...and dance like princesses with daddy.

I've been studying some of the great connoisseurs of life, noting just how one must operate to extract the most delight.

I am no longer afraid to slip inside a hug, disappear into a moment leaving camera, phones and computer behind.

There is more than one lens, the most important thing is remembering to keep my own trained on who's important.

It's not just about love; it's about strength, courage and convictions...and lots of wise-assery also makes for more interesting people.

Shoes aren't as important as who is walking with you. I really just liked this picture, but if I squint my eyes and wince, this sounds a grade above glossy inspirational calendar drivel.

The bottom line for me, this year and in every year that follows, I want to live a life that makes me proud, makes me feel as if these lives that I have brought into the world, have been given a bit of magic. I know that when I sift the memories of my own childhood there are grains that shine with the intensity of the most precious of jewels. I don't yet know what will sparkle for my girls, but I do know that I am doing everything I can to give them a house filled with light.

Here's to a 2009 filled with magic words and potent moments. Happy New Year.