When Parents Fail

Whenever I envisioned raising kids (which wasn't really that often) I never really spent much brain cell activity on thinking of how I would enact the tooth fairy. probably a good thing as I don't need to be all that disappointed in a dream unrealized. right as she turned seven, Lyric lost two of her front choppers. there was some drama and blood and lots of wiggling until we got 'em out - amid exclamation and exhalation and sighs of relief on all sides. I've never been one to play up all the fantasies of pop culture such as St. Nick and co, but putting her incisors under the pillow at night had started out as a fun tradition, and has now promptly ended - thanks to our malaise and her quick wit.

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the first two times we forgot to replace the tooth with U.S. currency, we tried to play it off as a late or absent-minded fairy. perhaps she was extra busy that night, or perhaps she was extra sneaky - putting the money under the pillow right after Lyric got up and was trying to figure out what had went wrong. Lyric was skeptical, but she was enjoying the cash. on the third failed attempt, my 7 year-old daughter decided to lay low. she evidently didn't think Dad and Mom had much to offer by way of explanation.

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when we sat down for breakfast, I could tell something was wrong and upon interrogation, she mumbled dejectedly, "everytime I put a tooth under the pillow, I check in the morning and it's still there. then I ask Mom and Dad about it and then it is there. It's so embarrassing!" she rolled her eyes for effect. I had to laugh in spite of myself, even though I could tell she was downright serious and even a bit insulted. I hugged her teary face and apologized for being such an unreliable tooth fairy stand in. I never was much good at telling lies.

Each Day

each day

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each day has its own death, birth, redemption

its poetry, its Fall

we die daily

some little disappointment rattling

or some tangled, scrambling fall among thorns

we glimpse a zenith at nightfall

when the moon is brightly midair

or at midday

when we drink cold water from a hose

there is reunion and congregation

woven in and out

a prayer shawl that is wrapped and unwrapped

one strand left loose is pulled

until all is undone

unraveled again in a sleepless pile

we tremble until morning

until resting, we breathe a few moments more

Don't Try This at Home (wherever that is)

I suppose there never is a really good time to move, but we always seem to pick the worst possible times. Suffice to say that we've vowed several times in the last few weeks never to move with a newborn, (we've done it twice), never to move and take on a new pet at the same time, and not to move for a very long time. We've reached our 7th place of residence during our almost 9 years of marriage and we've decided that enough really is enough. I know people move more than we, and do crazier things with more kids - but this is as crazy as I care to get. Being experienced in "move" doesn't really help the pain (of, for example, the thirtieth time in one day, "where is that so-and-so? I thought for sure I packed it in such-an-such a box! I know I saw it laying around here somewhere!), it just makes you think that you'll be better equipped for the realities of this current move - which you are in a sense, but in another, you never can be.

we've been supremely dislocated - from big city and small town suddenly spit out onto a 7-acre piece of country with big trees and garden soil. we flop about with pink, gasping gills, breathless and stupidly try to do 9 years of dream in 2 weeks. we alternate between backing each other down in a corner to take slow breaths and save ourselves from drowning simultaneously in euphoria and despair.

I think of these years, with 2 of our 3 children under two, as the bottleneck years of parenting. time (or the wisdom of older, smarter parents) will tell the true tale, but the thought helps me get through the insanely plentious demands of shaping a gangley-legged lump of clay into the semblance of family. between pre-move, move and post-move there have been a zillion decisions crammed into 6 months and the kind of machine gun-rattle on the brain that creats statements from O such as "I really have no idea who you are anymore!"

all this and at the exact same time there is breathtaking cuteness in your kids, as they wring out and trample upon your sleep-deprived-emotion heart. as your futile attempts to keep your dog from frollicking in the overflowing sewage yet again. you stand in a foreign kitchen watching your daughters giggle with a kitten, their faces lighting up again and again with the intense bursts of light like the fourth of July fireworks and a voice whispers urgently in your brain "hold on! hold on to these moments! these delicate, delicate moments! oh, hold on!"

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The Other Reason I'm Not Blogging

In Ohio swimming through boxes
floundering in new space
lots of weeds to pull
raspberries to pick
septic systems to dig
etc.

don't lose faith
will blog again

Why I'm Not Blogging

after six weeks of a 5-person family, I think it's finally starting to feel just a tiny bit normal. after about 6 years, we might even start getting the hang of it. until then, we're exhausted and strung out. not to mention we move (again!) in 15 days. hurray for insanity! raising an infant takes alot more consciousness than I prefer. sleep is precious. without it I can hardly run, can hardly think. this must be how young whipper-snappers turn into adults. but all is not lost. O and I are surprised almost daily how much fun it is to have 3 kids - chaos rules!