Friday May 1st, 2009
I took my little
butterfly to the park yesterday.
At 9:30 in the morning, there was no one there but us.
So I followed her loosely, like mothers of three-year-olds do, watching what she chose to play on, slide down and climb up. But not really watching. She wouldn’t fall, probably, and there were no babies for her to run down with her tall legs.
She invited me to sit in a tiny corner with her so I crouched. She asked me to “talk” about “Rapunzel” so we did (Do you like her hair?). Naomi wanted me to follow her up to the top of the jungle gym, so I climbed. She wanted me to help her swing on the monkey bars, a task she probably won’t be able to complete by herself for a few more years. I held her waist as she tried.
But throughout it, in the quiet, I felt anxious. Hurried, almost.
The only things I had left to do on my lazy Thursday were a few low pressure errands after the park. But I still felt distracted.
I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want the upcoming Trader Joe’s trip keep me from enjoying the beauty of an almost silent spring morning with the little girl who will be going to preschool in a few months. No more Thursdays at the park. And on top of that she wanted to talk to ME! I was lucky enough to be the recipient of such young, unencumbered love and I was distracted.
Shame on me.
To the best that I could, I put away my thoughts and the lists in my head and I played with her. I talked about Rapunzel some more and then about Cinderella. We discussed the merits of a butterfly kiss and how to jump down safely from a too-high spot. She sold me ice cream (wood chips) for 15 cents first and then for 22 dollars.
And I forgot about the time.
Trader Joes would still be there an hour later.
Written at 3:00 am · (7) Comments ·
Wednesday April 22nd, 2009
I tried to take a nap yesterday afternoon.
I had the day planned out. In between emailing people back, getting caught up on blogs, going to the market, and paying bills would be laundry. Always laundry. And somewhere in the middle there, all three of us would take a nap.
Since the girls woke up at four in the morning, I thought that they’d be exhausted by noon. We would have an early lunch and then settle in to watch a [long] Disney movie up in my bedroom. My rule is that during the movie, they have to stay down on their sleeping bags. After the movie, we’d play outside, color, or anything else.
Almost as soon as the movie came on, the girls were wired. They bounced. They made skirts out of blankets. They asked for water. They asked for a different movie. They tried to jump off the end of my bed. Anything but sleep.
Which meant that I told them to stop bouncing, told them to stop making skirts out of blankets, went downstairs to get water, said “no” to a different movie, and told them to stop jumping off the bed.
I didn’t nap. And I was so tired.
I decided to pack my pilllow and blanket and head to the floor and squeeze between them trying to calm them with my presence. Still no nap.
My littlest kept gently kicking me and grabbing my arm. Constant. Incessant. I can’t even sleep when someone is touching me more or less kicking me.
I shut my eyes anyway. Then I realized that someday I won’t get the chance to nap between my daughters. I won’t have the luxury of three-year-old sized fingers grabbing at my ear or rubbing my eyebrows the wrong way. And it is a luxury.
I decided to let her kick and push and grab. I rolled toward her and held her.
Someday we’ll be women together and if forced to share a bed in a hotel room we might sleep with still limbs and be afraid to roll over and touch the other. We won’t have the same luxuries of affection we do now.
I didn’t get my nap. But I’m alright with that. I got to hold her.
Written at 3:00 am · (4) Comments ·
