Our First Job

 By: Claire 

Hey its me again I know i've been posting a lot but here is a post about me and graces first job. We knew we had wanted to do babysitting for a while we just never got around to doing it but finally we got the courage to design our own posters. So after that we posted it on Facebook and got a couple of bites but never ones that actually came through, after a while of waiting we finally got a offer from the UU church to watch the little ones in the nursery if there happen to be little ones there that day. We just had our first day last Sunday and it was a little boring because there were no kids but on days that there are kids its gonna be really fun. Here are what our posters look like 

Kitten Updates!

 By: Claire 

I love, love, love our kittens there, like our babies, our pride and joy, but sometimes they can be a bit of a handful, like today I came upstairs, and the kittens were sitting on the counter -even though they know they are not supposed to be- with the most innocent look on their faces. I walked over to the counter and there was shredded tissues all over the counter. sometimes they'll do small things like my kitten (Sparky) got on the rim of the toilet and fell in, or when Grace's kitten (Asher) falls over when he's tired, or when Henry's cat (Crookshanks) jumped from the upstairs landing through the bars and landed on the downstairs landing. here are some adorable kitten pictures:

You Gotta Be Kitten Me

 By Claire 

I love dogs more than anything in the entire world, but Mom hates dogs so I thought I could change her mind by writing a two page essay on why I deserve to get a dog. after I finished reading my essay to them with a finished picture slide show as well mom started crying. She said she loved it but then told me all the reasons why I couldn't get a dog. she asked me if a kitten would " scratch my itch" of getting a pet and I told her that it would be like a mosquito bite you can itch it and will help a little but never fix it all the way. 

After that she told me to look on FaceBook to see if I could find any kittens, I found some kittens but they were all longhaired Maine Coone kittens and mom didn't like long haired animals so I looked on the animal shelters website and I found a litter of four kittens Eenie, Meeine, Miney, and Mo. Grace fell in love with Miney as soon as she saw him,  the runt of the litter, and mom said that she would think about it! that was the closest we've ever got to a pet of our own. 

after school the next day I looked on the website again and it showed maybe six orange kittens fitting our criteria. when I showed them to mom she told me  "I will die without those kittens" I had never seen her be so excited about any animal that i had offered her so she called the shelter and asked if those kittens were ready and the lady on the phone said we could come look at them and just like that, we were getting in the car and heading for the shelter. when we walked into the cat room I knew that this was the right cat for me so Mom called Dad and Henry to come meet us at the shelter to see if Henry liked the other orange kitten, but before he got there another family walked in they had a little boy so i started talking to mom [a little louder than what was needed] "Mommy I want this one" and grace worked on the other orange kitten and just then the little boy told his mom 'I want the orange one" but his mom got what we were laying down and left. 

when we finished the application the lady told us the kittens would either be ready by Wednesday or Thursday. On Wednesday we were at Joanns buying fabric for me to make blankets and mom called I had just brought my hopes down that we were not getting kittens today and then she called and told us that the animal shelter didn't call us, she had to call them, so Mom and Henry brought the cat carrier and we got to get our two orange kittens, but grace was still wanting Miney from a different litter but we had just learned that Miney wasn't going to be ready for another week because she was still in a foster home. so in conclusion Grace had to watch us play with our kittens before she got hers. keep watching for more kittens updates.   

Two Huskies

When you’re young, with no concept of how your world will change in the future, it feels like your life will continue on like it is in that moment forever. You don’t give thought to what may come or how life will be different. When you’re young, it takes no effort to be mindful of being present … for you, everything is in the present. 

This morning on my walk, I saw an older woman and an older man, walking together with two huskies. The sight of those dogs immediately took me back to my childhood home, our two huskies in the backyard, both of my parents young and full of life. As I walked and let the memories of those days flood through me, it occurred to me that back then I couldn’t even conceive of a time when my Dad wouldn't be here. It was an odd reconciling of my youthful self who couldn’t imagine him being gone (and never contemplated even a world in which that would happen) and my current self who lives that reality every day. A self that only lived in the moment but thought that moment would last forever and a self who desperately tries to live in the moment because she knows that’s all we’re guaranteed. 

In the months following my Dad’s death, it felt like I was submerged in a sea of sadness. The grief was inescapable. I remember thinking there is no possible way life could ever feel like it did before. The innocent hope and joy that lived inside of me would always be tinged with the sadness of losing him and the frightening knowledge that I could lose anyone at any moment.  

I wasn’t wrong. 

I am no longer submerged in grief, but all of my joy and hope and excitement carries with it a streak of sadness. A beautiful new home he’ll never see or sit in. A hilarious, clever little boy and two smart, creative pre-teens he doesn’t get to laugh with. A wise, confident and grateful daughter he didn’t get to witness transforming. 

I also carry the knowledge that the line between life and death is razor thin and I could lose anyone at any moment. Except that knowledge isn’t as frightening as I imagined it might be. It’s actually quite comforting to feel mortality’s presence. The flip side to that knowledge is immense gratitude that accompanies me wherever I go — grateful to see another change of the season, grateful for my health and the walks it allows me to take, grateful to hug and love my family, grateful to see beauty of the sunrise and the sunset. 

I find it exceptionally beautiful that life’s greatest heartbreaks are inextricably intertwined with life’s greatest beauties. You can’t have one without the other. 

Another Reckoning

I gave Henry the five-minute warning. We’d be leaving the park soon, so he needed to get in his last swings, last slides and last climbs. 

After the five minutes was up, I walked over and told Henry it was time to go. I instinctively braced for impact. Any second now he’ll be shouting, “No!!” On a good day, he’d cross his arms and scowl at me. On a worse day, he may cry, kick his feet or try to make a run for it. What angry response will it be today? 

Instead, and much to my surprise, he said “Okay, Mom,”  and hopped up, leaving behind the Tonka trucks and tractors another kid brought to the playground. He walked right to me and I held out my arms. He jumped up as we’ve done since he was tiny, and he wrapped his arms around my neck. He let his feet dangle as we walked and hugged. His shoes gently bumped against my shins. 

Then the tears came. But they weren’t his. 

This isn’t a new feeling for me (as I'm sure you know). Over the years, I have felt these feels — the feels that come when you realize your wee ones aren’t so wee anymore. Lately, it’s been a bit more intense. My girls started middle school this year and are stretching their umbilical cords. They want autonomy and freedom, and rightfully so. But it’s a reckoning for me as I come to terms with this next phase. 

I was in Target the other day. It was a Tuesday morning. As I leisurely scanned the aisles for what I needed, I saw a mom pushing her kiddo in a cart. A few minutes later, another one passed by. As I walked past yet a third mom pushing a cart with her wee one buckled in, it hit me — I’m not a Tuesday morning Target mom anymore. In the old days, after the girls loaded up on the school bus, Henry and I would make plans for our morning. We’d often go to a park or on a walk. On Tuesdays, you'd likely find us at Target. Sometimes we had a purpose, other times we were just meandering. But the other day, as I walked alone through the store, I realized gone are the days of me pushing that cart with the wee one buckled in. There are those tears again.   

I’m not romanticizing things (well, maybe I am), but I remember CLEARLY the struggles of the Tuesday morning Target mom. The whining, the tantrums, the incessant talking, the desire for just two minutes inside my own brain. It wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. But there were many rainbows and sunshine, and lately I’ve been missing those moments.  

I’ve come to learn that these moments of reckoning come and I’ll process my way through them, but until then, you’ll find me scrolling through old memories. 

The Season of Tween

When the girls were little, and doing something sweet like telling me how much they loved me or wishing we could be “beff friends” forever,  I remember closing my eyes and silently moving those memories to the long term memory lockbox. Not only were they worthy in their own right, but I knew one day I would need them. I knew someday they’d roll their eyes or slam their door or scream at me to leave them alone. I expected my future to hold at least a few cold, silent stares.  

Y’all, the time has come. 

This morning’s drive to school: 

Me: I hear you. And I understand. But just another perspective: we are only going to be two minutes later than if we left when we intended. You won’t actually be late to school. 

G: Uggghh! You don’t understand! 

Me: Can you help me better understand? 

G: NO! You just don’t get it. 

Me: So, you don’t want to talk about this anymore right now? 

G: NO! 

Cue the memory of her crawling into my lap with her triplet baby dolls. She’d snuggle her little head right into the spot under my chin, the spot that seemed to be made for kiddo snuggles. She’d whisper, “I love you, mommy.” 

*Sigh* 

All better now. 

Those moments of tween exasperation have been happening more frequently, with an especially noticeable jump this summer. I had been expecting it — I remember my own exasperated self at this age. But here’s the thing I didn’t expect. Those moments don’t bother me like I thought they would. I don’t shrivel or cry or really take it personally at all. Sometimes it ticks me off and their explosions cue my explosions, but most of the time I look at their frowning faces, crossed arms, rigid shoulders and feel grateful to be walking through this stage of life with them. 

Whether it’s a baby screaming at 2am, a toddler tantrum on the kitchen floor, an exasperated tween, a sharp-tongued teen, a college-aged unraveling or a 40-year-old midlife awakening, it’s truly one of the greatest honors of my life to walk alongside them through all those moments. I’m not here just for the couch snuggles, although those are magical. I’m here for everything — eye rolls and all. 

The Last Thanksgiving

For eight years, we have raised our babies within the walls of one home. We arrived here with adorable twin two-year-olds, a huge, slobbering Great Pyrenees and two young-ish cats. We built a life and a family with each meal, game of hide ‘n’ seek and backyard adventure. This is the only home our littlest has known. We’ve changed diapers, washed endless sinks of dishes, painted hundreds of pictures and dirtied/cleaned each room millions of times during these eight years. This home has provided the walls for our family to grow and bond. It has contained our chaos and protected us from the chaos of the outside world. 

It wasn’t just a house. It was home. 

For years now, nature has been calling to me. As I became more aware of my yearning to live among the trees and feel closer to nature, I put it on my to-do list for later in life. After watching my Dad die within months of finding out he had cancer, I realized to-do lists for later in life are just wishes and hopes, because nothing is guaranteed. I knew then that moving closer to nature needed to happen sooner than later. 

A couple of years passed. We found the house unexpectedly. I had no intentions of moving, but I liked seeing houses for research — to help me create a clearer picture of what I wanted. But once I saw it, I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t chalk it up to research. Demand was high, so we had to make the decision very, very quickly. 

To decide whether to leave behind our beloved home, our beloved neighborhood and our most beloved neighbors — all in the span of 12 hours — was extremely stressful. I almost said no. The stress of that decision and everything else going on in life was just too much. I kept searching for the right answer, convinced there had to be one. 

And then I remembered the enlightenment I had after my Dad died. There are no promises for later in life. So, we made the leap. 

Due to unforeseen circumstances, our move has been delayed these past two months. Up until today, I was irritated at all of the obstacles that have prevented us from getting into the new house. But today, I understood. 

I needed one last Thanksgiving inside these walls. One more big memory for the mental scrapbook. A day to honor the home that has held so much love, so many moments of joy. Of anger. Of sadness. Of hope. Of relief. Of connection. Of family. 

Today, we gave thanks to our home.

A few moments from our Thanksgiving: