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Tuesday, July 28, 2015

a girl and her funny face

What to do when you haven't blogged in two months?  Why, blog about something insignificant, of course.  Don't overwhelm yourself thinking you need to "catch up" or "fill in the gaps" in the family chronicles of the world wide web.  Just start with something small; just go ahead and get your toes wet again.  So, here goes.

Back in April or thereabouts, little miss Marie started making the funniest face on a semi-regular basis.  We got a kick out of seeing her scrunch her face up and tip her head back in these silly grins, and would exclaim, "FUNNY FACE!" and clap when she did it.  So naturally, it became a regular occurrence.  Soon, we could get her to make the face by saying, "Hey Ree, can you do your funny face?"  She would happily oblige.

I've managed to get a few on camera, so that I can now present you with several months worth of Funny Face.  Enjoy!

We love this crazy kiddo.  But you knew that.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

evening ramblings

I seem to keep resolving to write more, and with a real wish to do so, but by golly, how does anyone do it all?

We are the sorts that try to put our kids to bed by 7:00 pm each night, because -- if we're being responsible -- by 9:00 we're getting ready for bed ourselves, and we desperately want those two golden hours of In Between Time.

Even trying valiantly for this, we often fail, and it's more like 7:30 or even 8:00.  But tonight I actually did have them both in bed by 7:00ish, only to have the toddler wail on and off about a variety of ailments for the following hour and a half {she needed a drink of water, she needed her nose blown [x3], she needed the music turned back on again [x2], something scared her, she needed a hug}, and by the time she was altogether quiet, I remembered that the fridge was utterly devoid of sandwich meat to make a lunch for Nathan to take to work tomorrow, so off I went to the grocery store before they closed.

On the way there, I pulled out in front of an oncoming car with a little less time than a sane person ought to leave themselves.  I mean, it was still quite safe, but I realized that usually I would have waited until that car had passed, except for the strange sensation I felt that I must rush and maximize my remaining evening hours of kid-free time, and frankly, buying meat and making sandwiches isn't that high on my list.

Home a little after 9:00, I made the sandwiches and loaded dishes into the dishwasher and took my vitamins and brushed my teeth and then it was 9:30 and I ought to be going to bed right now.

I didn't get to go for a run or finish organizing the kid clothes into their bins in the basement or practice that music taunting me from my stand that I need to prepare for an upcoming concert.  I didn't upload the photos from our all-American evening last night that involved pasta salad, friends, and kids playing in a plastic pool in the yard.  I didn't go through the photos from the girls' recent birthday party or blog about that like I wanted to.  The living room is untidy and the music room even more so.  I didn't do the necessary teaching work I needed to do to finish organizing my upcoming studio recital.

Time is odd when you have children.  Some of the hours in the day go so slowly and some of them go so fast.  I don't think I've ever felt that a quiet evening was just dragging on interminably, though.

Dear, sweet children of ours, if you read this someday: We love you desperately, overwhelmingly, wholeheartedly.  When you fall asleep in the evenings, we weep because we miss your company so much.  We long to have you with us during these evening hours.  But being apart from you for a few hours a day is building character in us, and so, we soldier on, knowing that we will see you again very soon; in the morning, if not before.

Ah, yes, it'll be before.  For I hear the sounds of a restless toddler at this very moment!

Saturday, May 02, 2015

Ree at Eleven Months

This baby girl is turning one in a week!  So I'd better post a few 11 month pictures; I suppose it's now or never.  And can the internet live without these images?  I think not.

I mean, really.

This time last year, I was walking circles around the neighborhood and doing yard work, trying desperately to put myself into labor so I wouldn't need to be induced.

Now I have a busy little girl, crawling everywhere, cruising from one piece of furniture to another, standing unsupported for at least fifteen seconds at a time when she wants to, and walking if an obliging person will give her some hands to hold on to.

Her expertise includes emptying all the kitchen cupboards she can reach in a minute or less, seizing the most delicate hairs at the nape of my neck and pulling hard, and splashing enough to create small tidal waves in the bath.  She stands up in her high chair and the bathtub 7,000 times a day despite repeated admonitions, but understands the word "danger" and avoids steps, bedside edges, and lunging off of couches.  

She adores her Aunt Hannah and Uncle Andrew, but lately seems to prefer Uncle Andrew above others -- including above Mama, at times!  She makes a beeline for people she loves, crawling fast or lunging out of my arms if I'm holding her.  She also tries to fling herself out of my arms to get down on the ground when she wants to be on the move, particularly when we go outside, an activity which makes her all smiles.

Three top teeth and one bottom tooth, she demolishes eggs and yogurt and strawberries and peas and green beans and applesauce and all manner of other delectable items.  

I call her "Goofy Girl," because those top teeth came in first, and, well, two prominent top teeth... need I say more?  

Uncle Andrew calls her "Fluff," because she's so downright fluffy and squishable.

She's using the potty pretty reliably, happy to hold and shred a small square of toilet paper while she sits for a moment, and my diaper pail is happy to be filled mostly with just slightly wet diapers.  We often put the same diaper on and off of her throughout the better part of a day, if she's staying dry.  And no poopy diapers?!  Elimination Communication for the win!

People tell me she looks like me!  I think it's the double chin.

She has a word that's really two words: "All Done!"  She says it reliably and repeatably: "Ahh duhh!"  Used in the context of eating or of using the potty.  Sweetest little voice.  And then she lunges off the potty into my arms, or tries to climb out of her chair, because she is a daredevil.  She also says "Mama" on rare occasion, and "Dada" quite frequently, but we aren't sure she uses either of those specifically or not.  Since she says the latter so much more than the former, it's probably meaningless drivel, obviously.

Oh Ree, my baby!  You're going to be a genuine certifiable toddler any day now, I think.  And warmer weather has finally arrived.  We're going to have a delightful summer, I think, you and your sister and your Dad and I.  But before summer, let's have a birthday party, shall we, sweet girl?  We love you!


Sunday, April 26, 2015


Last night I had an orchestra concert that included Brahms' 4th Symphony.  I had a little moment, as the concert was beginning, where I was waiting for the conductor's downbeat and was suddenly filled with... I'm not sure what, really.  I love the sight of a conductor I enjoy playing for, illuminated in the bright stage lights, clear lines of motion against the blackness of the audience.  I felt my violin and bow in my hands, thought of the skilled artistry and craftsmanship and financial value they represent, and felt lucky to do what I do.  Privileged.

Of course, it's work, and there are many hours of it feeling like hard work for every I'm-so-lucky moment.  This past week's gigs were in NH, so I was driving an hour each way each night.  Coming home most nights, I could barely keep my eyes open.  I'd stop for an iced coffee, even run a quick lap around my car to keep myself alert.  Get home around 11 or a little after, just in time for the baby to start her frequent night wakings for the rest of the night.

I drove home last night with concert warm-and-fuzzies, still enjoying the afterglow that Brahms can provide, but this morning I was dead tired when the baby woke around 6 am.  After being awake at 12:00, and 1:30, and 3:30, and 5:00.

I got the kids breakfasted and bathed and dressed, and we headed into Boston to attend church where Nathan works as music director.  I was So Crazy Stupid Tired I could barely keep my eyes open driving... and this was 10 am, not 10 pm.

Some people get crabby or punchy when they're tired; I tend to get weepy.  A kind stranger on the streets of Boston said, "You've got your hands full!", and then added, looking me in the eye briefly, "You're doing a good job," and I admit, my eyes got a little watery at the affirmation.  

My kids went {somewhat}happily into their respective nursery care rooms, and God must have known I needed that, because I got to sit through most of the church service and hear the sermon, which coincidentally, was on the topic of Sabbath rest.

Rest.  I wanted some, so badly.  And the pastor spoke of it in such eloquent terms, my eyes welled up on more than one occasion.  Somehow he never got to the part about how mothers of very young children are supposed to find this rest, though.

The choir sang a favorite anthem of mine, a text by Peter Abelard, a bit of which goes:

O what their joy and their glory must be,
those endless Sabbaths the bless├Ęd ones see;
crown for the valiant, to weary ones rest:
God shall be All, and in all ever blest.

Truly, "Jerusalem" name we that shore,
vision of peace that brings joy evermore;
wish and fulfillment can severed be ne'er,
nor the things prayed for come short of the prayer.

Now, in the meantime, with hearts raised on high,
we for that country must yearn and must sigh,
seeking Jerusalem, dear native land,
through our long exile on Babylon's strand.

An endless Sabbath rest awaits us.  God's work is finished.  Christ's work is finished.  But my work won't be finished for a very long time, and even though I managed to sneak in a 45-minute nap this afternoon while my children's naps overlapped, the day didn't feel very restful.

But I left the children's things lying strewn around the living room more than I usually would have, pondering the idea that it isn't the work we give ourselves to do, or that others give us to do, that matters.  It's the work God has given us to do.   He is our boss, and He has given us a day off.  This day of rest is manifested differently in different lives; in ours, it usually and quite unavoidably involves work.  It is Nathan's job to work at church on Sundays for nearly twelve hours.  My work often involves Sunday concerts or rehearsals.  And of course, it is work to keep children cared for.  But today I was reminded to take the moments of rest where I can.

It'll be there for me tomorrow, stray socks and shoes, small Sunday-best smocked dresses, and laundry waiting to be folded and put away.  Perhaps, by all reasonable counts, I "ought" to have done some of this work tonight, since tomorrow will have work of its own.  Music to practice for two upcoming concerts this week.  Lessons to teach, a studio recital to plan for.  But this evening, after my girls were tucked in their beds, I ate takeout Thai food with Nathan and then changed into my pajamas, cozy in bed before 10 pm for the first time in too long.