knock knock.

there's a quiet in the air around here.  the girls are off adventuring in wisconsin.  and it's just been finn and i for several days.  and he (occasionally.  though not as often i would like nor as long as i would wish) sleeps.  and it seems silly how listening for one quiet voice feels quieter than listening for three.
when there is the quiet i hear things like cat tongues lapping up water in their dishes.  i hear the whirring of the refrigerator.  and the creak of my wooden chair.  i hear the wind and the cars and the {dripping.dropping} of the springtime rush into the cold of what has felt like so (too?) long of a winter.

we spent some time outdoors today.  the sweet dog laid quietly stretched upon the black driveway soaking up the rays of the sun.  the ground smooshed and glurped as you stepped through the puddles in the grass.  the patches of snow were diminishing and the snowman had become a small hill of white with a flagrant navy scarf. 

i love this season.
and i love this age. 

this twoness that is ohmygoodness SO TWO when he is being made to do something that he does.NOT.want.to.do. 
but two is also wonder.and joy.learning. at the littlest things in life.

he hopped in his car and i saddled up my trike (yes.  i fit.) and we ventured to the "mau-ov-merica" (mall of america) ... also known as the end of the driveway.  the melted snowmen and snowballs and snowforts were making their way along the edge of our curb.  rushing downstreet you could say?

i told him to watch this!  and i found a curled leaf and placed it upon the rushing river and we chased it through the yard while he giggled.  FAST! he said ... he scooped it up when it snagged in a pile of other decaying leaves that were clung to a stick that was stuck on the crack between the slabs of curb.  he set it upon the other side of the dam and giggled as it was quickly caught up again in the rush of the water.  and disappeared. 

we escaped the shiver of spring breezes by coming inside.  we played cars.  bob the bulldozer asked nicely if he could run into bill the dumptruck and bill said "no please".  and i worked in between books and cuddles.  straightening up and doing dishes amidst popsicles and scrambled eggs.  editing images and finding my new favorite tones of black and white ... surrounded by cars and baby dolls. 

it's been so ... nice.
this opportunity to focus on just one small little person for a period of time.  to not feel pulled and crazy and busy and fall hopelessly into my bed at the tail end of the night.

it's been so quiet on this blog, too, i've realized.
i'm not sure if it's the lack of words or the realization that i really have too much to say.  and that jamming up of words is not so much about things that i think someone would want so much to hear.

houses.  and stairwells.  schooling.  and letters in the mail.  studio spaces.  and photographs.  birthdays.  and putting kids to sleep.  watching them grow.  and helping my grandma learn pinterest.
silly little things that seem oh-so-trivial when i try to sit down and write about them.

i worry that i see my children growing and becoming people that have feelings and thoughts and i'm fearful of sharing too much of their stories before they have the chance to share them in their own ways. 

why should i tell their stories if it isn't the way that they want their stories to be shared?

then again ... they're my stories too.  when i tell of myself, our stories are intertwined and i'm sure i will remember them in a way completely different from theirs.  or then again ... i may remember these little things that they will not.  and i want to remember to be amazed at the little things and how important they are ... we were all two at one time in our lives.  there was most definitely astonishment at watching a leaf travel along a curb for all of us at one time or another.    

i'm here.  and it feels so good to just write again. 

thanks for listening.
xoxo.