What Goes Up

Claire: Mommy, push me higher! 

Higher she went. 

Claire: Mommy, push me really high! 

Another big push. Giggles.

Claire: Higher! Higher!

Swoosh, one big (last) push. 

A gust of wind. 

Hair in the eyes. 

A split-second to brush it out. 

One hand gripping the chain as her eyes met mine. Shock and fear. For both of us. 

Seconds felt like minutes as she tumbled to the ground. As I watched her go head first to the ground, I hoped with every ounce that she just wouldn't land on her head. If anyone can hear me now, I thought, please don't let my baby land on her head. She flipped right before she made impact. 

A scream. Running. Falling to my knees. Holding her. Whispering to her that it would be okay. More screaming. This time, not from me. 

Hush little baby, don't say a word. Finally, just tears. 

---

Yesterday, Claire fell out of the swing. At the apex of the swing, she took a hand off the chain to brush the hair out of her face and in that moment went flying out of the swing. She cried on and off for about seven hours yesterday. After trying once to stand and recoiling with pain, she refused to even try to put weight on it. 

I knew she was tired and hungry (possibly making the situation seem worse than it was) and there was no bruising or swelling at first, so I didn't rush to the emergency room. 

When she still couldn't stand on it this morning, we took her in. X-rays confirmed -- she has a slight fracture in both her tibia and fibula, right above her ankle. 

We started the morning with the pediatrician at 9:30, took X-rays and after lunch headed to the orthopedic folks. 

At about 4:30, we were finally headed home. With a full leg cast. Orange, of course. Because she loves Apple Jack (My Little Pony). 

When the doctor said we would need a full leg cast, I asked what was probably a stupid question "How will she get around?" My mind was quickly scanning the options. He hesitated a moment and said "Well, probably, mostly you." For three weeks. Then hopefully, we'll switch to a walking cast. 

The girls were the most upset that the doctor had to cut Claire's pant leg in order to put the cast on. Priorities, people.

---

It has been an exhausting two days. And I have no expectations of feeling rested for at least the next three weeks. But as much as this really, really stinks for Claire and as much as it really stinks for Grace and as much as it will really stink for Scott and I, I mostly feel grateful. 

Grateful that the fracture is minor. Grateful that they didn't have to set the break. Grateful that next week is Spring Break and I was supposed to be mostly off work anyway. And so, very, very grateful that she flipped right before she landed. 

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.