What it was last night:
(Short) fingerless Adrienne gloves in Manos Del Uruguay, knit in the round because seaming is not my strong point. I took out the ribbing last night, because I wanted it to be snugger, but by then it was after 1am, so I just left my needles in it and planned to rework it this morning over coffee.
What I found in the hallway when I woke up:
Hmm, my needles. But wait…. if they are here….
What I found on the kitchen floor:
Toddler for sale, toddler for sale, one sneaky, sly toddler for sale.
Tom was complaining the other day that he doesn’t have any new photos for his wallet, and I scoffed. ‘Cause I don’t take pictures very often, right? Log thee onto Wallgreens.com and order thy self some photos, sir. It did give me an excuse to put the girls in matching outfits again and make them play in the yard for a bit this morning, so I guess I can forgive him.
I wish I had the time and energy to edit these nicely, but the truth is I don’t really care. I see their faces, and the shabby background just disappears.
More here.
Everyone is sick, so other than visiting with Angie who drove 5 hours to see us, we’ve been sequestered inside this week. When I haven’t been accosting my children with the dreaded nose sucker, I’ve been knitting to keep from losing my mind. I quit knitting there for while when my hands were swelling so badly, but fell in love with this yarn the other day, and decided that Ella needed a winter set.
I managed to get a scarf/cowl thing, mittens and a toddler sized calorimetry (I only cast on 70 vs the adult 120) all from one skein, knit on my trusty pair of size 7 circulars. The neck warmer has a crystal button that holds it on, and can be worn like this or more ruffle-y (to cover the chin on super cold days). It was inspired by this scarf pattern, but I decided I would rather Ella not have a full length scarf, since it would just get lost or drug through the mud. The mittens are just a smattering different patterns online, and I am tempted to add some ruffles to them with the bit of yarn I have left over.
Oh my goodness, both girls are asleep right now, so I am going to go run the shower while I lay on the bathroom floor and try to breathe. Go away snot!
I have an opportunity on the table that I am scared to even talk about for fear of jinxing it, but man. Mannnnn am I excited if it comes through. I would be able to be a professional, who could be with my kids all day, working in a field I am passionate about, and making money doing it. It’s something that will be a lot of work, but work I am itching to start. It’s all so hypothetical right now that I am forcing myself not to get too attached to the idea, but I’ll know more soon. If I decide to follow this path (knowing that it may not come to fruition for quite a while) I will have to let my boss at the University know soon, so that she can find someone for the position that I am still not funded for. We are having a ‘can we do this?’ meeting on Tuesday, but until then I am going to gnaw on my cuticles. Nom nom.
So, in the spirit of things I haven’t written about because I don’t want to jinx them, I think I can finally chance writing that Ella is potty trained. 99.8% of the time she is in big girl panties, and while we do put her in a diaper when she goes to sleep most nights, she wakes up, uses the bathroom, and leaves it off. She hasn’t had as accident in… ages. Long enough that I can’t think of the last time. About 3 months ago Pam (my mother in law) brought Ella some Dora undies, and told her that when she could keep them dry, she could stay the night at grandma’s. That was all the incentive Ella needed, and tonight she is taking her grandma up on the deal. She is a stubborn, willful little mule when she wants to be, and I am glad I trusted her to do it in her own time. And thank God that wasn’t when she was 5.
Dear Ella,
There are days that I am so sad that you are growing up. I miss when you would curl up in my arms and fall asleep every night; I miss your little bald head; I miss all the funny words you made up before you spoke English; I miss nursing you. I begrudgingly allow you to grow up, because I know I can’t stop you, but most days I am looking backward.
Ella, 8 months old
But today, at music class*, when you stood up and sang in a loud, clear voice, all the words to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, all by yourself, I couldn’t help but think “We are going to have so much fun together”. You were so proud of yourself when everyone clapped, and oh my girl, I was so so proud of you.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
Love, Mama.
*If you are in my area (and you probably know if you are) and are looking for an excellent teacher/program, drop me a line. Classes start again in late Sept.
I slept on the floor of Ella’s room last night, aware of every passing car, of all the various ticks and thumps that echo in a sleeping house. I was both embarrassed to be so frightened of shadows, and sure that my presence was the only thing keeping her here, protected.
It’s just not enough to know that “most of us make it to adulthood”, that “news wouldn’t be news if it was everyday.” It’s not enough to squash the fear that runs up and down my spine when I think that some of us don’t make it. Some of us are the statistics, some of us are missing, some of us never grow into our winter clothes.
I just want a guarantee that my girls will make it. I want it in writing.
Ella, you finally have enough hair to put in a real ponytail, though it is rare that you let me spend the 30 seconds necessary on it. You prefer to have it down long and shaggy, and I prefer not to fight with you. It’s so cute when it is up though. Maybe I’ll have to start breaking out the jelly beans and bribing you to let me brush your hair.
Your sister is jealous, since all she has is what we call ‘duck fuzz’, save for 7 strands of 4 inch long hair in the back. I know at some point I will have to cut these to the same length as the rest of her hair, but maybe we’ll just bring rat-tails back into fashion.
Ella is endlessly fascinated by my camera lately, so yesterday I gave in to the whining and let her wander around a friend’s birthday party with it. Out of 50 photos of the floor, there were also a few worth keeping.
Both of the women in the background are named Alice also.
Birthday girl Chloee playing peekaboo (as well as the balloon graveyard)
Alice knocking on the glass, begging to go out side with the boyyyyssss
Hi, I’m a cheeseball.
See Ella, I told you that soon she would want to play with you. Give it 6 more months and maybe she won’t be trying to escape the ’space ship’ (aka a collapsible laundry hamper) before you get to Pluto.
The last few days have been a roller coaster of anxiety, giddiness and stomach lurching fear. I oscillate hourly between calm confidence that my going back to work IS the best thing for our family, and abject horror that I am willingly missing out on my tiny daughters’ lives.
The transition is going to be harder on me then I realized. My entire self image changed three and a half years ago, when Ella was kicking my liver. At the time, the idea of being someone’s mom was foreign, and I could not wait to get back to school, back to work, back to making my mark on the world. Little did I know, as soon as Ella was born it became hard to see myself as anything other than her mom. Suddenly, the only mark I wanted to make on the world was with this amazing little girl. I have worked off and on in the last few years, but rarely without Ella milling around under my feet, and never with a greater purpose then to be able to ‘get through this so we can go home’.
And we have been lucky that we could afford for me to stay home, even as our family grew. Being home with both girls has been a challenge, and one that I can’t lie and say I cherished every minute of. I didn’t, and now that just seems silly. But the hard times were so few and far between when I consider how much laughter there has been. We were lucky to have these last 8 months together, but I panic at the idea that it may not have been enough. That being gone nearly all of their waking lives will push me into the periphery, and that I will regret this decison. That suddenly they won’t know who I am - that maybe I won’t know who I am either.
Of course I’ve been talking to Tom about this all, and of course, being the supportive husband I rarely deserve, he has told me that I can stay home. That he’ll find (yet another) job to make ends meet. That (if I take the job) he’ll drive the girls 60 miles round trip every day to come play at the park on my lunch hour. He set up a webcam so I can watch them play. He’s already making plans for craft time and play group. He wants to stay home with our daughters, and as hard as it will be for me at first, I’m going to let him. Because while he isn’t me, he is their dad, and he deserves to see their childhood firsthand also.
But right on cue, Alice has started saying “Mama” so pitifully when she needs to be comforted. Oh my girl.
