Worth a Thousand (curse) Words

There will be crying. There will be screaming. There will be bribery. There will be pleading.

There will be grown adults leaping through the air, bursting into song & dance.

But one thing's for certain: There will NOT be smiling. Or posing on cue. Or even fleeting eye contact with the camera.

Oh, yes, it's holiday portrait time!

This year I took both kids --solo-- to 3 different portrait studios in as many weeks and also enlisted a friend to take in-home shots. That is the labor intensive reality of managing one sitting-still-looking-at-the-camera-and-actually-smiling photo when the subjects are aged 1 & 2. I wistfully recall taking 9-month-old Joshua for Christmas pictures --my beaming baby, clad only in a red diaper cover and Santa hat, cooperative, charming, and oh, so adorable. The photos make my heart leap to this day. Ah, those were the days --photographically speaking. Fast forward to last year, when I took a rambunctious 1 year old and a colicky 2 month old --alone again (Eric's no fool) for Christmas pictures. Because Cara screamed continuously when not being held by me, the photographer ingeniously placed me under a black cloak so I could cuddle Cara on the sly. Said sheet did not cover my ever unruly hair, which jutted out from under my shroud of darkness in every direction. Nothing says Noel like a frizzy headed mother holding a howling infant. Wearing a burqa. Oh, and I lost my purse that day in the parking lot. Good times. This year's photo didn't have quite the drama --unless you count my fruitless pleas for smiles --Come on! I grew you from seeds! 35 hours of combined labor! Or Cara's blatant insistence that her red hair bow be tossed continuously across the room. In the end, I emerged from Target, unscathed, with still-happy children and 108 adorable holiday cards.

Because, really, when the photo involves this much effort, it should be shared with the masses.

Brotherly Love

He pushes her. He screeches when she so much as looks at his newly constructed block tower. He gives her a "haircut" with pliers. He tackles her and sits on her neck. He swings her to the floor by her head. He persuades her out of her crackers every chance he gets.

But... he holds her hand in the car. He tries to put on her shoes. He says, "I love my sister!" without provocation. He brings her her sippy cup. He says, "Carrraaa! You're so silly!" over every little thing she does. He comes into her room while I'm trying to put her down for a nap to holler "Have a good dream!" He fishes the confiscated paper towel roll out of the trash for her because he's "sad when Cara cries." And when he heard her guttoral cries of early infancy he would quietly say, "It's okay, Cara, I'm right here."

Big brothers. May they always be right there.

WAY BACK MACHINE, circa 2006 -part deux

Before Joshua, I Never Knew... (the flip side!)

...that it could take until noon to find time to eat breakfast.
...that I could simultaneously operate a double breast pump, rock a baby to sleep and do my taxes.
...that breastfeeding a baby is a full time job.
...that the fact that my son is mesmorized by the lines on my headboard is NO indication of his intelligence.
...that there comes a point when you just don't care how many "lactation consultants" squeeze your boobs.
...that being vomited on at 2am is just not as much fun as it was at age 21.
...that baby boys actually take great delight in urinating all over their mothers.
...that two hours of consecutive sleep would be considered a victory.
...that an 8 pound human would necessitate a continuous stream of laundry.
...that the human nipple can stretch beyond your wildest imagination when something startes your baby during breastfeeding.
...that a trip to the bank or post office can feel like a vacation.
...that it is all (even the stretch-marked skin that is still hanging down to my knees) worth it.

WAY BACK MACHINE, circa 2006

Before Josh, I never knew:

* That my heart would swell, Grinch-style every time he smiles at me.
* That I would be secretly pleased when only Mommy can stop him from crying.
* That sometimes I would look at him and burst into tears because I'm so lucky.
* That feeling your baby roll and flutter inside you is an indescribably joy.
* That seeing your husband hold your baby would make you fall in love with him again.
* That your parents have been waiting their whole lives for this!
* That true contentment is an infant nuzzled against your chest.
* That it would be so much fun to say "Boo Boo" and touch your baby's nose a thousand times in a row.
* That I would thank God every night.
* The wonderful feeling of tiny fingers grasping mine.
* That I really would love him more each day.
* That hearing him laugh and watching him learn new things would be the greatest moments of my life.

Thanksgiving

This year I am thankful for sleep piercing cries. For jelly on my couch. For the need to tiptoe after 8pm. For "one more story". For matchbox cars in my VCR. For a tantruming toddler under each arm. For runny noses wiped nonchalantly on my pant leg.

Because it means that I have them.

(Stir) Crazy Days

Picture it. The Trickle kitchen. 10:15am. Josh and Cara are whining in unison while making every attempt to actually climb up me while I nosh my breakfast --a handful of Saltines-- over the sink. Dishwasher: unloaded. Floor: unswept. Eyebrows: unplucked. Dogs: barking in triplicate. Seems I have broken the cardinal rule of being a SAHM: failure to plan a morning outing. And I'm paying the price. Although I don't recall my own childhood being racked with constant rendezvous into the community, it is my finding that for my kids and me, these outings are a prerequisite for sanity. And with the weather barely creeping past the 40 degree mark these days, creativity is a must. A trip to the dump will suffice: Ooohh, look! Mommy throws in the paper --mommy throws in the plastic. Watch me save the Earth! The Post Office can also be a real treat, what, with the thrill of pushing the button to activate the handicap-accessible door! But it's cold outside today, and we're staying in, I decide in feigned authority. In an attempt to settle into our morning at home, I flick on a Motown CD, grab another cracker and scoop up both kids for a whirl around the kitchen. As her way of saying that she, too, would enjoy a Saltine, Cara bites my face. Ouch! OK, everybody in the car...

I Wear Legs

A Conversation with my son, the fashion plate

Mommy: OK, Josh time to get dressed. Let's put your pants on.
Josh: No! I'm not wearing pants. I'm wearing legs.
Mommy: You have to wear pants on your legs. It's cold outside.
Josh (escaping from my clutches): No, I want to wear short pants (Joshese for shorts).
Mommy (wrangling him into the pants): Shorts are for summer, it's winter.
Josh (pushing the pants up to his knees, then holding them there as he goes about his business): It's not winter!
Mommy: OK, here is your hat.
Josh (still holding up pants in flood fashion): I'm not wearing a hat... I'm wearing a head!

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