The Story of My Coat Pockets

The rocketship Sam built that will carry them "really, super high into space!"

Here’s a little exercise for all you writers out there: Make a list. Any list. And you will find a story. Here is my story, told through a list of items currently in my coat pockets:

A clear plastic Nuk with an orange handle, thrown into my pocket months ago in the hopes that some day my daughter would keep it in her mouth rather than spitting it out at me. Last night at ten minutes to midnight I tried to convince her to take a similar one so that I could sleep without contorting my body and twisting my spine while she nursed. Not sure why I still carry this one in my pocket. Hope. I guess.

A folded up paper bookmark with a little man looking through a gigantic telescope at the words “One World, Many Stories” and a paper coupon from the library’s summer reading program for a free ice cream cone at McDonald’s. “It’s okay,” Sammy said to me when I picked him up from daycare and he handed it to me. “McDonald’s doesn’t have peanuts in the ice cream. We can go there, Mommy. We can. Really. We can go there.”

A little plastic pig that Sam picked up from the floor of the Subaru as we were heading in to the daycare last week. It is about the size of a quarter, and it has amazing detail, including perfectly formed hooves, a kinked tail and eight little teats that hang down from its underside.  Nobody seems to know where it came from and how it ended up in our car. Not even Sam.  Although when I ask Sam where anything (like the popsicle stick in the bathroom or the pile of spaghetti noodles in the living room) came from he usually says “I don’t know, Mommy.”

Kleenex.  Loads of wadded up Kleenex, some shredded from being in there for weeks, some brand new and neatly folded.  I grab some every time I leave the house because there have been more than a few occasions in which one or both of my children have sneezed or spit up or drooled or picked things out of their noses just as we were entering the real world where people don’t look too kindly on goop glistening your upper lip.

My circa 2007 Verizon Wireless Motorola Razor.  The paint is peeling on one side and the back is rubbed down to reveal the white plastic underneath on the other side.  It is worn and used, just like the pants I wear that are too long so that the edges have started to fray or my nursing bras which are so stretched that their elastic no longer really functions and I wonder why I even bother.  No money for new clothes.  No time or money for one of those fancy phones with all the apps.  I barely know what an app is.  When I’m with my kids, I’m with my kids, without all my facebook friends tagging along.

And yet I seem to be bringing all of you.

And despite having what was, I think, my first major hot flash after calling what I thought was a credit card customer service line only to later realize I had read an 8 where it was a 6 because I didn’t use my newly-acquired reading glasses when I looked up the number, I am NOT as old and worn out as all this sounds.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

(This story originally appeared here.)

And here are some completely unrelated photos from the last few weeks...

Eva and her friend Stella

Sam and his friend Hamilton

Eva loves Sammy's legos

Sam does some art at Bea's 1st birthday party

Eva's beautiful friend Tara

The pool on the deck

Bye-Bye Big Wheel

Bike Maintenance "To be safe, Mommy."

Two weeks ago when TT visited, Sammy strapped on his Sesame Street bike helmet and tested the hand-me-down Bulldog bike from Auntie Annie, and he's wanted to ride it every single night since then. "Just around the block, Mommy. The BIG block." Last night we drove around the big block to see how far it actually is, how far we've been walking every night racing from one mailbox to the next. 1.5 miles. That IS a big block. But Sammy is now a BIG boy.

Checking for a snack after a long ride

And here he is in action:

We Should Get Another One

Grandpa Jim with Baby Sarah, Christmas 2003

This morning in the car:

"Mommy, why don't we have a grandpa?"

"You do. But Grandpa Jim is dead. Remember? He's up in heaven."

"Then we should get another one."

"Good idea. Where should we get one?"

"Maybe out there in that field. That farmer might know one."

I think my son is psychic. So often he brings up subjects that are on my mind without any leading from me. And since Dad went in to the hospital on June 14th and left the world as we knew it on July 4th, I think of him a lot during late June every year. I wish he could see these beautiful children that remind me so much of him.

How To Feel Grateful for Your Life

Follow a road that is a patchwork of holes and tar after a winter of freezing and thawing and freezing and thawing. Wind your way through corn fields dotted with deer and small towns like Redgranite and Wautoma where 4-way stops mark the local Ace hardware or the Stumble Inn or a giant statue of a cow eating ice cream. Arrive way too late to expect either of your children to settle as the three-year-old runs around finding all the usual toys and the baby looks at the living room as if for the first time. Unload the bouncy seat and the potty seat and the suitcase and a box filled with diapers and wipes and bubble mix and a bug-catching net and baby shampoo.

Awake to the sound of rain on the window and Grandma unloading the dishwasher.

“Mommy,” the 3-year-old will yell as you enter the living room, “We’re going on the rides today.  We’re going on the rides!”

Try to get some food into your children before you all depart for the amusement park.

“What would you like for breakfast?  Pancakes?”

“No.”

“French toast?”

“No.”

“Scrambled eggs?”

“No.  Can I have a popsicle?”

“No.”

“But I want it.”

“No.”

In the car on the way to the amusement park tell the three-year-old some of the rides might not be open in the rain.  Tell him that even if the rides are closed it will be fun to be with Grandma and we should have a good attitude.  At the park, place the baby in the umbrella stroller and wrap her in layers of pink blankets and an old beach towel from Grandma’s closet.  Leave her with Grandma and run with the three-year-old towards the circular ladybug ride.  Take a hundred pictures of him as he flies a bright blue airplane and bounces a red boat and steers a purple race car.  Ride the train that circles the park out along the shore and into the wind.  Sit next to him in a blue helicopter that he can send “up very very super high” by pulling the armrest towards you.

When you only eat two bites of pasta at dinner, don’t mention that you’re feeling a little nauseous.  And don’t notice that the baby doesn’t really seem interested in the chicken and veggie puree that Grandma is spooning into her mouth.

At bedtime listen to Grandma in the living room singing The Old Rugged Cross to the baby while you and the 3-year-old place treasure chests and swords and peg legs into the pages of his new pirate sticker book in the bedroom.  She will say “Do you have a tummy ache?” three times before the baby screams and you run to the living room to see what’s wrong.  Your mother will sit in the center of all of you balancing the baby on her leg with one hand and holding a handful of chicken sweet potato baby puke in the other.

“It’s all right, Baby,” she will say.  “It’s all right.”

As you get towels and sit on the floor and comfort your concerned three-year-old you will believe her.  Two days later when you are still at Grandma’s because you are exhausted and sick and your three-year-old wants to eat popsicles and chase dragonflies and have pirate swordfights, you will be grateful.

(Story originally appeared here.)

Sammy Shares His Favorite Adventure

It's been a while since we made the long drive to TT's house, but Sam didn't seem to mind sharing his favorite place and his favorite person with his little sister. Eva was even allowed to take her first trip to the place that has always been special for Sammy and TT, the Wildlife Sanctuary.

Company in the Cold

Three-year-olds do not let a little cold wet weather keep them from enjoying their grandmother's company picnic at Bay Beach, and a 7-month-old is happy as long as she's either A) bundled up sleeping or B) being held. It wasn't the best weather for sitting around socializing over cocktails, but Fay and the crew did a lot of work to create a great meal and a chance for the kids to meet everyone before Sammy ran off to ride every single ride at least once. His favorite rides? The bright blue train he rode with Kelly and Mommy and the helicopter he rode with Mommy that took him "very, very super high." His favorite food? Grandma tried to get him excited about the bratwurst but there's no beating cupcakes swirled with blue and green frosting and topped with plastic Elmo rings, one for each hand.

Dancing Like Uncle Ron

This one sure looks like Uncle Ron.



The evidence (from Thanksgiving 2010):



And from October 2009:

Crane Flies and Sunglasses and Pink Hats

Sam studies a crane fly before painting a picture of it

"Why is he so crazy, Mommy?"

"Well I think he’s probably scared."

"But why is he scared?"

"Well he’s teeny tiny and we’re super big. Wouldn’t you be scared if a big giant plucked you out of the sky?"

"Yah," he says and he thinks for a minute.

I go about getting out the water and paints and paintbrushes.

“Mommy, we could shrink TT down to teeny tiny and put her in this box and we could carry her every where and we would never miss her."



It may not be June 21st yet, but summer has definitely arrived... with the bugs and the swimming pool and the garden and the season of homemade popsicles. Eva isn't too keen on the hot sun or the cold pool, but she loves sitting in the shade and laughing at her big brother, and despite one rather scary reaction to some baby food that she's either allergic to or not quite ready for, it was a nice "relaxing" weekend at home. The floors are a mess, the cardboard and planter box pile in the garage is growing, the gardens aren't all in yet, and the back porch is littered with plastic toys, but both kids (and Mommy) are happy (if not exhausted) that we all got a big chunk of time together being a family of three.

Astounded

There was a moment in the middle of the night when I turned over and felt astounded by my life, Sam’s three-year-old legs digging themselves under one side of me while Eva’s head was tucked under my arm on the other side. I adjusted my spine and peered in the dark towards Eva’s face, hoping she was sound enough asleep that the movement wouldn’t wake her, and I was startled to find her staring up at me, her big eyes glinting from the moonlight through the window.

On the day my sister’s son was born nearly ten years ago, Zack’s unfocused newborn eyes looked up at me, and I felt like he was looking right down to my soul, as if he recognized me from some place. And I knew then that I wanted to have children of my own. This year he turns ten and it’s already been years since his little sister Sarah declared that they are not babies any more, they are kids.

Sam is sounding out letters a lot these days.  In the car on the way to town he points out what he sees… “Mommy,” he says “B-b-b bump.  T-t-t tractor.  C-c-c cow.”  This morning he wanted to know what letter made the “pl” sound.

“Pl-pl-pl plant, Mommy.  What letter is pl-pl-pl?”

“P-p-p,”  I said.  “That’s the P sound.  P-p-p and then l-l-l.  P-p-p-l-l-l. P-l.”

“And then a-a-a like Auntie Ann,” he said and I had to turn the rear view mirror to look at him.  My big boy.

Last night before he fell asleep I crawled into bed with him and we talked about the people we love, our family.  He told me that he LOVES Auntie Ann and Zack and Sarah.  He told me he misses them.  We haven’t seen them since February, and as I lay there looking at Sam’s face in the glow of the nightlight I thought about how fast Sam is growing up, how fast Eva is growing up, how fast Zack and Sarah got to be kids, how much I wish I could slow it all down.

I sleep now with my back twisted, sometimes holding Eva’s head up while she nurses, sometimes holding an arm around on the other side of her so she doesn’t fall out of the bed.  Sam generally crawls in with us around 3am, tossing limbs here and there without waking.

“Hi there,” I said, and Eva continued to stare at me, her face frozen.

“Hi there Sweetie,” I said again.  “Are you okay?  What’s going on?”  And she didn’t move.  My eyes adjusted and her face came in to better focus and she looked as if she couldn’t take her eyes off me.  And this was the moment.  The moment I couldn’t have imagined ten years ago.  I reached up and touched Eva on the nose.  She was warm and she smiled and I was astounded by how much I love these two little people.

(Story originally appeared here.)

Photo by Tammy Hoeger at Capturing Moments.