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, September 29, 2009

Welcome Encumbrance

I had planned to write last night. Sean was going to rehears with friends, the girls were bathed and asleep earlier than usual and I had no pressing work things to handle. I pounced on the couch and smiled as flutters of excitement erupted. My fingers twitched and I felt a huge weight lift as I let go of the guilt of not chronicling or pausing in these last weeks.

I cruised Twitter and then Facebook before opening up my blog. I heard mewing upstairs, but imagined it was standard issue tossing and turning. Wrong. Before long the whimpers became full blown screams and sobbing. I set the computer aside and flew up the stairs.

Briar lat crumpled in a ball at the very end of her bead, her face was ashen and her eyes were clenched shut.

"Briar, Briar honey, shh, mama's here. What is it?" I cooed as I rocked her in my arms. Her cries would not stop, and in fact as her little shoulders trembled in my arms, her crying just grew stronger. I kissed her brow and blew in her face, "Honey, it's mama, shhh. Honey, shhhh, what's the matter? What was your dream?" I murmured as I carried her out of the room.

A full five minutes passed before she would open her eyes. She kept searching my face and clenching her eyes shut. I wanted to tell her I was ok, imagining that she had picked up on my recent preoccupation with dying. I wanted to reassure her, in this moment when I had the power, that I was ok, no dead.

"A ghost," she said. I looked at her and knew she was fibbing, offering up what little she could and the ensuing silence her plea that I ask no more, just rock her. And so I did. After reading a few pages from a book to shoo away lingering fears, I wrapped her in my arms. She kept one hand on my face and the other beneath me, as if the weight of my body protected her.

She trembled and sighed, tossing an turning, all the while keeping her hands and yes on me until she finally gave in to sleep. My laptop lay forgotten on the couch, my earlier excitement replaced by need. Hers to be comforted, but mine, perhaps stronger still, to be able to give her as much as she gives me.

I didn't write, but I did live inside that moment, which, in the end, is what it's really all about, right?





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Sunday, September 20, 2009

Is it just me?

Our house is on the market.
I am growing my hair out.
Briar has started kindergarten.
Avery is in pre-school.
Fin keeps flirting with weaning.
I am at home part time and at work part time.

It feels a bit like I am chasing my own tail, with each day bleeding into the next. Lunches to make, clothes to fold and put away, projects to finish, promises to keep. I am never done. I keep trying to determine if it is just the inevitable fatigue and subsequent acceptance that it can't all get done, everyone can't be made happy, or if it is something else.

Am I missing something? Pursuing the wrong thing? Fighting the wrong battles? Or, am I simply slipping into a chapter of my life where I am more aware of death than birth, more drawn to arriving than pursuing?

I rapture in the girls and long to do the same with Sean. We are never not working, parenting, cleaning or chasing a deadline.

Does it slow down? Can we slow down? I mean, if we do slow down, will our lives follow suit, or will we just fail?

I sputter and start, vowing to view things from this perspective or that, but the truth is, I yearn for winter. I want the dark shadows of snow and shorter days to give me the license to pause. I want to stir soup and match socks, tuck little girls into downy blankets and cuddle in for the night with Sean.

Melancholy laps at my feet when I get this way, knowing that I am wishing away today for the perceived promise or relief of tomorrow. I don't want to miss anything, don't want to rush through a phase, but lately it feels as if something doesn't give I am surely going to stumble.

Am I alone?




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Wednesday, September 9, 2009

So that you know

Yesterday I wrote about my emotions regarding Briar starting school and today, though no less intense, I am writing about someone else's. I don't presume to know how Briar feels as I write about our lives, though sometimes I imagine I might. I hope that one day she and her sisters will look back on this space and be grateful for the things that have been recorded, if only in some instances to shed light on why we are the way that we are.

Today I knew how her dad was feeling—

Briar was indisputably radiant.



And ready.



And her dad was more in love with her than ever before.




You have been taking our breath away since the day you were born.



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