Nostalgia

I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I'm not normally "a poetry person." I appreciate that it exists. I have enormous respect for the people who write it. I want to like it. But most of the time I find my mind wandering off in some direction other than the one intended--well, that's true in most situations--and I just miss the point. And it's not like I miss the point and get some other wonderful thing out of it instead. No. I just flat out miss the poem's point or any point that might be loosely related to the poem. I'm not too hard on myself about this, since I read a lot and appreciate many other forms of expression. I love the classics. I read most of the stuff I'm "supposed" to read. But poetry is just not my thing.

Anyway, very occasionally I hear a poem I just love and could listen to over and over and over. This is one of them.

Shhhhh!

If you have ever lived in an apartment, you will appreciate this post. If you've never lived in an apartment, take it as a good description of the kind of trauma one can experience in communal living situations. I completely identify with Jejune's conditioned behavior. Because even after a year of not living in an apartment, I still catch myself freaking out for a just a moment when one of the twins goes stomping through the living room. Shhhhh! The neighbors!

One Year Ago

A year ago today, we finally, legally, and completely became parents to the Fabertids. I remember it was a warm (relative term) and snowy day in Montreal, which meant giant wet flakes and loads of cold slush at our feet. I went to spend the day with my friend Robin and her newborn baby, because Xander was at work and I just couldn't handle being by myself after all the hitches and delays we'd experienced. I was a nervous wreck. Then the phone rang--Robin's phone, I think, because we only had one cell phone and Xander had it that day--and Xander said, "It's done." And I'm pretty sure I burst into tears. And Robin gave me a big hug. And everything after that was just details.

The Most Wonderful Cat Video in the History of Ever

I completely stole this video from a friend. I'm sorry. I know I should get my own content. But? So worth the judgment. It is awesome.

The Horror

This morning, I stumbled out into the living room and noticed someone had dragged our lambswool rug across the room. This made me nervous, because the only reason to do this would be to cover up something horrible. I braced myself and pulled back the rug, expecting to find a hairball or some stray litter box pellets. What I saw was even more gruesome than I could have imagined.


Cookie Monster was murdered during the night. The forensics team has yet to arrive, but our prime suspect is a furry black female, approximately 11 inches tall with yellow eyes. Please call feline crime stoppers if you have any information that might lead to an arrest.

The Littlest Circus Performer

Sistergirl's got mad trapeze skillz. She's not even two and can do a knee hang. And you should see her hoop dance! She didn't even need a demonstration. She picked up those hoops and immediately got busy twirling. Mama is proud.

I'm Batman

I don't think this counts as my big wonderful thing I do for the world this year, but I'm proud of it:

What Great Thing Will You Do This Year?

Friend Michelle sent me this article today by musician Thao Nguyen. Nguyen said several good things, among them, "Women are the world’s greatest hope to eradicate the most despicable failures of government and society... Please let us try this year to stretch our sympathy, camaraderie and compassion into action."

This leaves me wondering what I am going to do this year for the greater good. You?

Photographic Evidence

So there's proof that I really do have a new creative outlet. Well, blurry proof, but still.


And here's Sistergirl, getting her first taste of the trapeze:

Taking It All for Granted, Happily

I had a really bad day with the kids today. I mean really bad. As in called Dada and told him I wasn't going to rescue them from their cribs again until he got home, because I was pretty sure all I'd do is yell at them. And a lot of good that does anybody. My kids are usually really good--hell, we took them to a wine tasting last weekend--so when they are bad it totally throws me off. It's like very occasionally their little bodies become possessed by demons, and it's not really them anymore. Oy. Vey. Some days bedtime cannot possibly be early enough.

Then, after they're asleep, I start to think about how much we wanted them and how afraid we were that they wouldn't be ours and how wonderful it felt when they finally were. And I feel really grateful that I'm so comfortable with them in my life that I can get mad at them and send them to their rooms just like any frustrated parent does. And that it all feels so natural. I feel lucky to be able to take them for granted, if that makes any sense. And THAT is the thing that I think most people who haven't adopted don't totally get. That your kids are so your kids, no matter how they came into your family, that you do end up taking them completely for granted and wanting them to just for the love of God shut up for two seconds and listen to the words that are coming out of your mouth! I don't spend every waking moment thinking, "Oh! But those poooor baaaaabies! They've been through so much!" No sir. Instead I think things like, "You'd better stop yapping and eat your peas or you are gonna find yourself in some trouble, child."

We are such lucky people to have each other to annoy. Really.

Some Photos From the Weekend

We just spent a wonderful weekend up in the mountainy bits of Georgia with my brother and sister-in-law. It was sunny. There was wine. The kids were good. The company was delightful. You can fill in the gaps. (All photos courtesy of Uncle Aron and Aunt Tori.)