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!

Friday, February 27, 2009

Dreadtime

Three kids, you'd think I'd know better. I mean Briar was a nightmare, granted we didn't know it, but in the bedtime territory she was a nightmare. Then came Avery, she wasn't hard, but she wasn't easy. Now Fin, my little Fin-diddle is such a riddle.

One day she sleeps, down at 9am with coos and sighs, up for giggles and cuddles again until 1 or 2. The afternoon is spent napping in her crib, then up again for more playing and eating, Dad walks through the door and they nap through the news. Dinner, then bed. Following a day of routine naps she might wake up at 4am, but I really don't mind that.

What I do mind, dread really, are the days when she doesn't want to wake up with the rest of us—it never ends well. Today was just such a day, when we got home at three Erin told us, "You guys, you guys, ok, listen to what Fin did. I put her down at 9:15 and she slept until—" (she looked at the clock and did some math) "she slept from 9:15 until 1:15. Can you believe that?"

I could. I looked at Fin and she gave me a placid look. I shivered. Lately it seems like when my normal allotment of sleep deprivation is tweaked, be it adding more or restructuring its composition, I suffer. Breakouts, breakdowns, you get the idea. Last night was bad and I knew after the nap that the night ahead was not going to be easy.

Sean is upstairs with Fin, the fifth time one of us has gone to her since she was put to bed. It is nothing short of relentless to go up and down, hopping this way and that to avoid the familiar creaks on the floor, the groans of the stairs. Just when you think you've made it she rouses, first a new and then a scream. Or you settle in for a cuddle and just as you feel as if you are done, free to just laze about, she wakes again, or somebody needs water, or a snack, or to pee or to just randomly wake up a sibling.

We groan a bit at each new cry, the passive aggressive game of bedtime chicken, until one of us finally pops up. I hate not wanting to go up, hate the sensation of just wanting peace. The irony is in the peace I find when I scoop her up, the intensity of her relief, the way she scoots her legs up as she wraps her arms around my neck. The warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair take me back to the delivery room. We had all three girls in the same room of the hospital and I can remember the way each head felt on my chest, the first time they nursed, the way their bodies fit into my arms.

I am grateful for this connection, because I promise, without the reminders of love and wonder, bedtime could effectively end the human race.

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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Yo-ga Abbie Abbie



Ok, so it doen't totally work, but if you have toddlers and you watch Yo Gabba Gabba, perhaps you can give me a little credit for the title of this post about my sister, Abbie, the yoga instructor...No? Fine, it was enough that I enjoyed it.



Ab left a comment the other day about how awesome our recent visit was, and she was totally right. Imagine, if you will, a family trip that exceeded your wildest expectations. No melt downs, no unexpected periods, no breakouts, no breakdowns, no lost luggage or gained pounds. Ok, I'm stretching here, but seriously, it was perfect.




Abbie dazzled. She is radiant, happy where she is in life, which I always find to be a contagious kind of joy. I loved how delighted she was by her nieces. The feeling was quite mutual with the girls calling out, "Look, I'm doing yoga." Their interpretations broadened what might actually be considered yoga, but I bet they would have been able to get their heels down in the mopey dog pose that Abbie had me in for a long, long time.



Sean and I are both converts, eager to incorporate yoga into our routine, so comprehensive were the benefits physically and spiritually. We are checking out places locally now, though I fear they'll pale next to the memories of private lessons.



Seeing our girls with Abbie and the rest of the family was a revelation. The pace of our lives makes our circle seem tiny sometimes, but after time spent with the rest of the family, we see the fell breadth of our circle, so filled with light and love. Cribbing shamelessly from the show we saw with the girls (Thank you, papa!):

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life


Our place, like the memory of the trip, is golden.

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Sunday, February 22, 2009

Broken, but not worthless

My camera is broken, otherwise I'd show you proof that my dryer is broken. It's beginning to look like a cross between performance art and a housekeeping walk-out— wet laundry languishing, unwashed laundry mounting, folded laundry permanently stationed in hampers so as not to encourage the gathering of more dirty laundry which cannot be washed.

This morning as I tried to assemble an outfit after being out of town for over a week, I looked like one of those dogs that is relegated to turning in hysterical circles as visitors approach.

I walked to the dresser— nothing.
I circled back to the closet— nothing.
I knelt down and pawed through a hamper of folded clothes— nada.
I rifled through the still-not-unpacked-suitcases— zilch.
I returned to the closet— still nothing. This went on and on, until...

"Mom, can you get me dressed? In my red, reindeer sweater with the zipper that I love 'cause it's my favorite?"

And the circling began anew.

I made it to work, dressed no less. I am not wild about the outfit, but it is more than jeans and a tee.

I am dreading the mountain of clothing that is begging to be washed, the sheets on the bed that I want to change, but hesitate to remove for what it will mean to the great, unwashed heap, however the kitchen is clean.

If you follow me on Facebook you saw that this weekend revealed just how far the cat hidden in our attic went to to claim the space as his own. What I didn't share is that I cleaned it and while I was at it I purged a bunch of stuff, organized and reclaimed the space.

The girls have me going non-stop and yet there was a moment this weekend that was nothing short of perfect in its oh-my-goodness-I-have-three-daughters sweetness.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying that despite the state of disrepair of many things, my life, my personal state of affairs, is beautiful. I'm almost grateful I don't have the camera to try and capture it, this moment in time.

My beautifully broken, dirty, wacky and haphazardly dressed life.

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Friday, February 20, 2009

Haunted.

Sorry, were you looking for something profound? This isn't it. This is straight up coveting.

You know when you see something and know you have to have it? I wasn't quite there. Now I am. It's in-your-face-yellow and covered in graphics. I want, oh how I want, want, want.



Oh, Lulu Lemon, you are my kryptonite! Special thanks to Karla for introducing me to LL and igniting an addiction. And thanks to Mom and Abs for finally getting me there at a time when I could appreciate it.

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Thursday, February 19, 2009

Hope Swings Eternal

I've been away, literally and figuratively. I've been finding my wings. I'm thinking about coming down to earth, down from this buoyant perch filled with giggles and whispers, skipping and laughing, exclaims at dawn and smiling yawns.



Thanks for waiting.

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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Decorating the days

Through the window I can see icicles suspended beneath branches, silver droplets casting rainbows and carving bowls in the snow. There are cardinals and blue jays, bunnies and tom cats. Ribbons billow from the birdhouse, hangers-on from a summer party. The sheer curtain, with its lacy border, flutters as the furnace blows, Cheerios skitter on the floor and the pages curl. Sparkle paint and colored construction paper upstaging the winter scene beyond. My life inside, my girls and the exquisite mess that comes from playing and loving, dazzle, pressing on my heart and stoking my soul— I am alive. Here, in the midst of what I can only describe as heaven on earth.

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Sunday, February 1, 2009

A splash in the morning

Remember the other day? That whole, "Cry in the night" post? Take a look at the title up there, I'll wait.

Splash


Yeah, turns out that as delicious as this was:



It wasn't the best way to stay healthy. A mere 16 hours after this kiss I found myself in the all too predictable porcelain embrace. I was devastated. And empty. Quickly.

She was sorry.



But not that sorry since she had me to herself.




"Try some cookie, mama?"



I passed, and eventually so did the bug. The big girls were distressed to not be able to hug or kiss me, but managed to keep their distance. I thought the whole episode was behind us and that my predawn upchucking had gone unnoticed. That is until I heard what's kept them so busy in the doll house.

It seems that the princesses have a raging case of the sicks. The girls have them taking turns retching off the back of the house. Big, loud, dramatic gagging. Seems baby Cinderella has it the worst. I think the sheep is ok.

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