Alright. We are busy. The lists and lists of things to be done keep growing. So do the kids. So do the demands on our lives. All the wee things that don't pound on the Door of MUST BE DONE fall to the wayside. You know what things I mean...personal grooming, house-cleaning, and yes, blogging. But you know what's horrible? There is nothing (and I truly mean NOTHING) more important than snagging a strand of time as it passes by capturing the little moments in our blog. The days fly by in a blur of pick-ups and drop-offs, laundry (though not in as orderly a fashion as in my fantasy life), working, cleaning, having fun. Peppered throughout all the chores, errands and pleasures of life are the tiny pedestrian moments that pass unheralded but that represent infinitesimal change.
The way our family exists right now will be different tomorrow. Today is perfect (even in all the many ways that it is not) because upstairs, three little people are sleeping in health and happiness. It is perfect because they each learned something today. They each reached out to me in different ways. They each grew. What are the unnoticed characteristics that I take for granted right now that will be gone tomorrow, never to be celebrated or remarked upon? What am I missing as I hurry them through the hours in the day? What I want is less hurrying. More noticing. I try hard to do this, but I can be better. One of the best ways to be better is to work on the blog and use this template as a method of celebration of the ordinary. Because the ORDINARY of growing kids is soooo very extraordinary. At least to their mother.
Without forcing myself to sit down right now, this evening, will I ever remark on the way that Lukey eats a Babybel cheese...?...by peeling it, stuffing it into his mouth in its entirety, then spewing cheese juice out from between his lips until he starts to gag uncontrollably before spitting the whole mess out into my hands. The next step in the process is the truly incredible one: he immediately asks for another one. I think he would eat the crimson (and no doubt toxic) wax around the outside if I let him. It is disgusting. Finny watched him, then asked for one too. Really? After that? When I asked her if she was sure, she was adament. Then I asked her if, maybe if she thought about it, was it possible that all she wanted was to open and peel one? Yeah. That's what I thought. Honestly, those stupid little cheeses are completely founded on the premise of opening them. Does anyone even like the cheese?
Or how about dropping Finny off at preschool yesterday, only to be told upon pick-up three and a half hours later that there was no school yesterday. Or any day this week. Her teacher was lovely about it and told me she was happy to hang out with Finny (something that sounds silly, I know, but Finny is pretty fun). I still have no recollection of being told that this week was school-free.
Our Christmas was peaceful. The contrast to post-Christmas pace is stark. We spent hours in Point Roberts sitting in front of the fire, playing board games, reading, colouring and watching Little House on the Prairie. We had people down to see us, rather than running around the city (thanks to those of you who made the effort to come down!). Christmas Eve was magical, as it can only be with small kids around. Christmas itself was the only day spent in town, enjoying a decadent breakfast at my parents and a mind-blowing dinner at cousins' house. Boxing Day, we had friends down. New Year's Eve was at my parents down in Point Roberts, with friends from down the beach (a fondue to die for and one of the best salads my mother has ever prepared...it is one of her specialties, so this is no small feat). A bunch of the families from Molly's school came down on the 2nd. We were spoiled for company. In short, it was blissful.
Tonight, I have a ton of paperwork strewn all around me. Work that I have been doing, plus tons that I still have to do. As I continue to learn how to juggle the demands of work and mothering (and wife-ing, if that is word), I must never forget to hold up the mundane elements of daily life as a wonderful example of how it is all working. Things fall through the cracks, they surely do. This morning I sent Molly to school without her juice (sharp intake of breath...she told me, very accusingly, that she had to drink from the FOUNTAIN...don't worry, I apologized to her for making her drink from a communal water source). Tomorrow I will mess up more things. But many things are going right. I know this because of the peals of laughter, the puddles of bath water on the bathroom floor, the cuddles and hugs, the applesauce spice cookies we made (even though Eric took a bite and then commented that they tasted...healthy. Well, Finny ate five in one go, so I hope they were alright.)
All I know is that I get to publish this post, climb wearily upstairs, kiss the little girls goodnight one more time (Molly always stirs and kisses me back, Finny is always OUT), then snuggle up next to Lucas and sniff his still-a-baby smell. This is very, very good. Then up again tomorrow morning to the inevitable misses and victories in store for us. I could not feel luckier.