My Heart, My Spirit

My Heart

Claire is known in our family for her whole-body hugs. She will wrap her arms and legs tightly around you and squeeze you until her whole body shakes. She emanates love. 

She wants nothing more to love and be loved. She will never turn down a hug -- even from people she doesn't know well. She gives her classmates hugs almost every day and just yesterday she hugged a nice man who we frequently see at  our favorite restaurant hangout. I don't even know his name. But she hugged him goodbye. 

When we stroll the aisles of the grocery store, you'll find her waving and saying "hello" to nearly every person that walks by. In a matter of minutes, she had elicited  smiles from an elderly woman, a middle-aged man and a 20-something with a jet black mohawk and a nose ring. In that moment, I could not have felt more proud. You could tell the surprising show of affection from this little girl took them off guard. Their smiles were genuine and as they walked away from us, I like to think they kept smiling. 

She was spreading joy one aisle at a time.  

My Spirit

Grace radiates an essence that I can't quite describe. She is full of life -- experiencing all of its ups and downs with passion. This essence draws you in, entangles you and leaves you feeling like you are in the presence of something truly delightful. 

When I found this picture the other day, it struck me. Arms wide open, welcoming us into her life that is so full of … well, life. 

Her mind is so unrestricted -- she sings the way she wants to sing, makes up her own words as she's creating a story about her "other mom" and "mami the cow," dances the way she wants to dance. 

She's always been so true to herself. She doesn't let her differences make her feel less -- she wears them as a badge of honor. It's a quality I hope she keeps forever. 

In fact, the other day, we were reading the book "Chicka, Chicka 123" and at the very end, there is a list of every number from 0 to 100. Claire sat there and with minimal help pointed to each number and counted to 100. Grace, who has little interest in counting just to count, cannot count that high. But she wanted to give it a try. So, she started at zero and after #13, started singing the rest, something to the effect of "4, 2, 4, 5, 10, 11, 3." 

After she was done, she beamed. So proud of herself. 

The glow of that smile reached deep into my heart and I couldn't help but smile at my spirited, radiant little girl.  

On Death & Dying

The topic of death has been prevalent at our house lately. We're fortunate enough to have not had any recent deaths (at least ones the girls are aware of) in our immediate circle of family and friends, but it's still a topic that Claire brings up at least three times a day. 

After our dog Izzy died, we talked at length (or as much at length as a 3 year-old mind will allow) about what it meant to die. Of course they didn't really understand, but as the months have passed and they have repeatedly asked to go see her -- I think they are at the very beginning of understanding. 

Grace has no interest in the topic except to occasionally play dead while acting out some dramatic scene. 

Claire, on the other hand — the much more serious of my two girls — has many concerns about her death, my death, her great grandparents' deaths and most random dogs' death. 

She asks how I would feel if she died. She has demanded that I never die. She worries that her cats will die and what will happen after they do. Just this morning, she asked if all her class friends were going to die. 

I haven't hid the truth from her - or at least not much. I told her that everything and everyone dies eventually, but it isn't something to worry about for now because it will be a long, long time before it happens. I can only hope and hope and hope that is the case. 

A day will come when they will have to understand death in a much more real, less philosophical way. Maybe all of this discussion will help. One can only hope. 

Time For Contemplation

Yesterday I was in the car by myself, heard a song I liked and turned up the radio. It occurred to me then that I had been driving for about seven minutes just thinking. Thinking about whatever I wanted. And other than the radio, it was silent. No fighting. No shrieking. No endless questions. 

How I relished that moment. 

About three minutes later, the van was again filled with fights, shrieks and questions. I wouldn't want it any other way. That noise is what fills my heart even if it drowns out my own thoughts. 

I spend very little time by myself these days. Whether I'm with the girls, with Scott or both, I don't often have time to just think. I work from home, so I don't even have the morning and evening drive. 

It's something that you don't really notice you're missing until it hits you while you're turning up some catchy pop song. And in that moment, you close your eyes (figuratively, in my case) and soak it up because it never lasts long. 

Are You Still My Friend?

Lately, when Grace gets in trouble, she'll find a corner or hide behind a curtain and mutter to herself. "Mommy doesn't lub me anymore. Mommy isn't my friend anymore." 

I wasn't sure how to handle this at first. Is she wanting reassurance that I still love her? Is she just wanting me to make her feel good after I made her feel bad? Was it both?

So, I talked to her about it. I told her that no matter what she did, no matter how mad or disappointed I was, that I would always still love her. No matter what. This isn't a new theme out our house. I probably tell them I love them 413 times a day. But I thought it was worth repeating -- that whatever mistake you make, whatever bad choice you choose, I'll be here. Always. 

But every time I reminded her of this, she would give me this smile that said "I know, I just wanted to hear it." 

Fair enough. Sometimes, we all need to hear it. 

Let Them Dance

Dance has always been a staple of our family. When the girls were babies and I was only working afternoons, we would spend a good chunk of every morning dancing round and round their room. Sometimes, it was just Grace and I. Sometimes, just Claire and I. Often, all three of us. When Scott would get home, the four of us would sway and twirl and dip until our heart's content. 

When the girls were two-ish and they heard the theme song from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (Hot Dog, Hot Dog, Hot Diggity Dog) they would let loose, bouncing and shaking and spinning. 

And now, we have pretty regular dance parties. We crank up the music and dance till we are all laying on the floor, catching our breath. 

So, last fall after we went to my niece's dance recital, the girls were begging to take dance class. We had to wait until they turned four (and the new session began), and tonight was their first class. 

Grace was to-the-moon-and-back excited about it. She couldn't stop squealing when she realized that it was the big day. 

Claire, on the other hand, was apprehensive. She asked several questions about where Grace was going to be, where Scott and I were going to be, who the teachers were going to be. On the drive over, after Grace once again exclaimed her excitement, Claire said "I'm not. I'm nervous." 

We talked about how it's OK to be nervous, but we just try to be brave. We walked through who would be where and how when I was four, I went to the same building and danced in the same room and that she could be brave just like Mommy. 

To avoid distractions, parents aren't allowed to watch, but I could hear everything. I was nervous for her -- was she feeling apprehensive still? Or loving it? Then I heard the teacher say "Are you girls twins?" They said "Yes!" and she teased, "No! I don't believe it!" Then giggles, lots of giggles. 

After the class, they both came running out, beaming with pride and joy. Claire ran right to me and said "Mom, I loved it!!" 

Tears sprang to my eyes. I was so proud of my nervous little girl who braved the unfamiliar and was pleasantly surprised. 

Grace, of course, also had sooo much fun. And they both can't wait to go back next week. 

Sometimes their milestones are bittersweet - a mix of joy for their accomplishments and nostalgia for the passing time. But this one wasn't. Watching them climb this mountain was so, so sweet. 

Taking Nominations for Parent of the Year

The flu hit our family last week. It started with Grace, then Claire a day or so later. Then I got it almost immediately after Claire. The jury is still out on Scott, but with how fast and furious this thing seems to be spreading, I'd be surprised if he makes it out untouched. 

When it hit Grace, she was more than happy to take the Tylenol I was offering. Sometimes I had to bribe her with a chaser of pop, but most of the time, she was eager to take the meds. 

Claire, on the other hand, refused it every single time. Despite all of my efforts to convince her that she wouldn't feel nearly as bad if she just took it, she was adamant. She did not want, under any circumstances, to swallow that medicine. I even tried my best Mary Poppins impersonation. She wasn't going for it. 

This kiddo has never liked pop, so I knew that bribe was out. We didn't have any candy, cookies or donuts in the house, so my options were limited. 

Then it came to me. 

"Claire, if you drink this medicine for me, I'll give you money to put in your piggy bank." 

After approximately four seconds, she agreed to my terms. 

I just convinced my kid to take some much-needed medicine by bribing her with fiscal responsibility. Now, that's what I call a win-win. 

To The Moon And Back: Four Years Later

Dear Grace & Claire-

Last Thursday was my favorite day of the year. December 26. While others were recovering from the holiday madhouse, we were celebrating the birth of two of my most favorite people. 

It's hard to believe it has been four years, but it's also hard to remember a time without you. I have a vague memory of sleeping in till noon on the weekends and going to a movie whenever we wanted. And although there are days that I yearn for that freedom, I couldn't be any happier. 

Four years ago, we drove through heavy snowfall to reach the hospital. Ten days later, we brought you home as snowflakes were flying all around us - the second wave of the 2009/2010 blizzard. Last week, we built a snowman with a carrot nose and eyes made of grapes and called him Frosty. I will always think of you when it snows. 

There are days that I wish I could hold your tiny little baby hands and tickle your tiny little baby feet and snuggle all day long with your tiny little baby bodies nestled against me. I will always miss you as babies. That was such a magical time --- it was almost like the world stood still while the joy of the both of you was sinking in. 

Even though I miss those days, I wouldn't trade you in for your younger versions. You are quite possibly the most hilarious people I've ever met. For instance, Grace, you are currently running around the house with your hair wild as orphan Annie's, wearing your Christmas jammies and a sparkly blue and purple tutu. Not an hour goes by that you girls don't make me smile or laugh. 

Well, maybe the hour before bedtime. But that's a story for another day. 

You're getting smarter by the day. Claire, you are a writing machine. You can write your name, Mom, Dad and as long as I spell it for you - just about any other word. The other day you were experimenting with your letters and wrote "tote." You weren't sure what you had spelled, but still I was impressed with your curiosity and determination. 

Speaking of determination -- I can't wait to see you channel it into your future ambitions, but seriously, I wouldn't mind if you'd ease up in our day-to-day lives. Claire, you are especially "determined" or, more accurately, obstinate. You disagree with just about everything I say unless it's something you already wanted to do. You refuse to negotiate which means all forms of bribery and/or threats are out the door. If I added up all the time I spend trying to outsmart you, I could take a week-long vacation. Which does sound nice, by the way. 

Grace, you are also determined, but can be negotiated with. Your favorite phrase is "maybe morrow?" which is your optimistic view that if we can't do it now, maybe we can later. Your respect for authority is much like my own -- you never, ever, ever want to be in trouble. In fact, lately, when you think you've done something wrong, your eyes fill up with tears and you start repeating, "But I don't want you to be mad at me." And usually, your transgressions aren't even really transgressions, but you're afraid to disappoint. 

You both are growing like weeds. We rarely have fights over eating any more. We've reached a balance of us knowing what you like, encouraging you to try new things and you knowing you have to eat what we give you. Thank goodness. The food battles are ones that I'm glad we are no longer having. 

When you were babies, someone told me that the challenges of parenting never get "easier" -- just different. As babies, we were exhausted from the physical demands of caring for two infants. As toddlers it was challenges with communicating and learning boundaries when none had existed before. And now, although those physical challenges are much easier, navigating our way through parenthood is certainly not "easy." We're trying to teach you right from wrong, the importance of being kind, sharing with others while maintaining our sanity as you throw your 32nd tantrum for the day.  

Things we loved doing in 2013: Going to the zoo, the library, early morning snuggling, watching My Little Pony (7,000 times), going for walks in our neighborhood and our secret trail, spending time with family (especially many, many sleepovers with Bella and Cambri), going to preschool, playing at the park, swimming, sledding, going to the movie theatre, our weekly trips to Gambinos pizza and playing endless games of chase/tag/monsters. 

It has been a truly joyous year with you two. And although you continue to challenge us daily, there isn't a day that goes by that we don't count our lucky stars to be on this journey with you both. 

Love you to the moon and back,

Mama