belly giggles.

she likes that she was the "chosen one" today ... the one that got to use the orange chair first.  (after ripping off the grandmotherly chair skirt that covered those gorgeous wooden legs).

the orange chair that i spied from across the thrift store ... i just couldn't walk away and leave it there (for $29.99! no less!) ... i think it wants to live in my someday studio.  don't worry ... it passed the smell test.  and the sit test.  and the wiggle test.  and then it came home and was promptly washed up.  and dried in the crazy march sunshiney warmth.

she's a tough one, i tell ya.

you have to be ready to harness her energy.  because there is a lot of it ... she's either totally up or completely down.  my sweet and sour coconut girl.

she's in gymnastics now ... stella begged to take gymnastics ... cora wanted to dance.  dance classes started somewhere back in september or something like that ... so we asked if she'd settle for gymnastics for awhile.

she said no.

and we went to sign up stella ... and cora spied a purple sparkly leotard ... and that was it.  she wanted to be in gymnastics too.

stella complains before gymnastics ... oh ... just about every time.

cora?  no complaints.  the girl loves the bouncing and the jumping and the rolling and the flipping. 

i had a rare opportunity to drop her off and pick her up from school this afternoon on my own. 

life is crazily dropping us to our knees with another very sick grandparent (our dear papa joe) ...

and cora and i had a few extra moments before school so we stopped for a quick jaunt at the park ... we talked about being sad and missing him.  about wanting to go and visit him ... but not sure if the hospital will allow kids.  we talked about where he is ... and how he has lots of people that love him that traveled down to be with him.  we talked about how much he loves her and her siblings.  we talked about our last day with them before they left for arizona ... and how we ate mexican food and went swimming. 

she's a thinker, my girl is.  she may put on a brave face and is beginning the "whatever" phase ... but my girl internalizes.  stella will self centeredly get by, finn will be oblivious ... but i worry about cora and her little thoughts.  quite a bit.

i picked her up on the other end of the school day ... and she sat in the backseat rattling off the day's adventure.

"sydney was crying because mustafah puked loudly all over stellie and devin because he ate too much snack and too fastly and the school gave them new clothes but they only had boy clothes so stellie had to wear boy colors except for the pants because they were pink and purple but sometimes boys might want to wear pink and purple ... isn't that funny?"

  

she giggled and shrugged her shoulders in my rear view mirror. 

she helped me rip apart the chair skirt after i lost my scissors and she donned a pink leotard and a pink tutu and showed me how the chair was perfect for jumping. 

she belly giggled at the thought of jumping on mama's "new" chair ... and about stellie's boy clothes ... and about how the wind blew through her crazy hairdo while the clouds whispered of coming rain. 

on growing up.

she pauses just outside the door to the gym.  quietly scanning the noisy thumping music filled crowd for her friend.  i give her a little push and she pushes back against my palm with a strength that i haven't felt from her before.

i urge her through the doorway and manuever around her so that i can make my way over to the sidelines to stand with a friend and watch the chaos of the elementary school dance.  stella catches a glimpse of the twin girls and their red headed friend.  she walks in their direction ... obviously nervous about standing out in a crowd as standing alone. 

when did this happen?  when did she become so observant of what others might possibly think about her?  the bubbly red-head bounces and giggles.  happy to be here and joyful and dancing ... while stella glances sideways and watches her classmates ... constantly thinking.  i can see the worry in her eyes.

she's always been that way.  thinking. 
late at night ... middle of the night ... not sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time.  thinking.  she would awaken in the wee hours of the night ... and ask about so and so's busdrivers name.  she wondered the meaning of a ( and a ) ... and what they were used for and why they were found on a poster of the body's muscles and bones that hung on her wall at the age of 3.  and then why are they on a calculator?  and a computer?   she was constantly thinking thoughts of this or that.  why or how.  when or who.

her friend arrived ... stella was at her side almost immediately.  her tense shoulders dropped and her smile appeared.  she felt safe.  not alone.  not outside wanting in ...

the envelope arrived in our mailbox last weekend.  the acceptance into a school that is so what we have always wanted needed for her.  and there were two envelopes with good news.  one for stella AND one for cora.  and we are so thankful to have this opportunity to put them in a school that we feel will serve them well.  it's new programming.  and it's different ... and it's uncomfortable and scary ... and ...

stella has put on the brave face.  she's not exactly pleased that we are moving her to a new school, with potentially no one that she knows besides her sister that she doesn't exactly get along with all that well recently.  this could be really good.  i hope she sees that. 

she stands at the door.  quietly gazing through the crowd.  looking for her friend.  not wanting to brave the music and dancing on her own. 

my heart tells me that this is the right decision ... but i wish it could be easier for her.

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.

i'm so in love with this picture.

i {heart} faces is having a little challenge on over at their site ... sounds like they are mixing things up a bit and doing their challenges a bit differently (monthly!).  you should really head over and check it out!

i was in the midst of editing this newborn session and pretty much fell in love with this picture all over again.

a new mama's love. 
melts my heart.  every time.

thanks for letting me share!  now go on over and enjoy some of the other beautiful black and white images!

he's two now. my boy is two.

there's really so much to tell you ... and i promise.  i think of those things that i wish that i want to tell you ... but sometimes i just can't.  because of the major lack of time and the lack of motivation too.

but something that i really did need to stop by to say?

my boy is two now.

TWO.
crazy.cakes.

and he has a funny thing lately about not wanting to look into the camera.  the boy better get over that quickly.  and yes.  that is a finn finger sized chunk scooped from the middle of the cake.  and yes.  elmo is driving the train.  choo choo.

and just because this is what i always do ... even though i'm superduper behind on blogging the 1/2 birthdays around here ...

two.
so ... two reasons why i love you, little man.

i wish it was easier to narrow down to two simple reasons why i'm so overly in love with you. 
it's not easy.
and i really need to get myself in bed.

so here goes.

one.
your song that is always in your head.  in your heart. 
you sing.  all the time.  you are always singing a tune or humming or do-do-do-ing.  while playing cars...while driving tractors across my couch...while reading books.  while falling asleep...
it's just pretty much adorable.

two.
your love that you have for your family.  you love big.  and it melts my heart when you tell me that you love me unprompted.  pamela was just so right when she told me that there is just *something* about the way that a boy loves his mama.  i get it now.

you are two.  and loved beyond measure.  happy birthday to my little blue caboose.

gone.

and then she was gone.

the world feels a little bit lighter and a little bit lonelier.

quieter.  peaceful.  less rushed and busy and full of guilt of not being there this morning or this afternoon.  of feeling like we weren't giving her enough of our time and watching others give more.  more of the quiet and sitting in her room and wishing her life while wishing her passing on quietly. 

we were told hours.  and that was precisely what we had.  the knowledge pouring from people that seem to know so much more about the process of dying than us.  i'm not entirely certain that i want their knowledge.  but it was so nice of them to share at a moment when we needed to know. 

i knew of the hours.  shared the hours with you ... and tried to secure childcare after realizing that i really didn't feel that taking the kids with was a great idea.  childcare wasn't so easy to secure.  so i waited and readied the children for bedtime.  feeling rushed and full of angst.  short tempered and frustrated.

i sent the girly girls to watch television while i nursed the boy to sleep.

in the quiet ... i made myself peaceful and calm.  wished it upon myself.
and did.

i sang the ABCDEFGs and tinkle-tinkle-yittle-star and wheels-on-bus-wound-n-wound ... over and over.
he finally relaxed and slept.
i crept out and rushed the girly-girls into bed now that my dad had arrived.
my sister texted mom ... we're on our way. 
mom texted in response ... gma is gone.

hours spilled into minutes into seconds and drifted away.

we still went.

and we sat in her room while she laid there with her eyes open and her mouth agape and i watched her chest.  i knew that she was gone ... but i couldn't help but think about how her chest wasn't rising and falling with breath.  how i shouldn't be sitting in this room with a body.  how that's not just a body.  it's my grandma.  watching my mom ... more concerned with her and how she felt.  watching my aunts ... holding strong.  telling stories.  laughing.  all of us trying to keep the air light while stealing glances at her. 

or ... her body.

it's funny how you think that this is what you want for her ... but it's not what you want for us.  and how living is hard on the dying and how death is hard on the living. 

my mind flips and flops between it all.

we readied ourselves.  picked up our things.  and walked out. 

we walked out.

and honestly ... it was the hardest thing we did.  it was the hardest thing i did.  (i guess i can't speak for everyone else).  walking away and leaving her in the hospital room ... eyes wide open.  we left.  holding hands.  holding each other.  holding her belongings.  we walked out into the cold night.  feeling lost.  and light.  and heavy.
.....................................................................................................
she's gone.

it's been days since i first started this post.  leaving you all hanging ... but i couldn't press the final publish post button. 

it didn't feel completely over yet.  i felt in between. 

i spent hours reading her life story that she had written long before her mind had forgotten it all.  pages and pages of happenings and dates and cities and names.  i poured over them and compiled the important pieces into a very condensed obituary.  i learned things about her and her family that i had never before known.  things that i'll likely share with you as i look into them further.  things that terrify me and enlighten me.  things that amaze me and astound me.  things. 

all of those things that happen between the once upon a time and the happily ever after. 

life.

we traveled to where she was to be laid to rest.  we took her home. 

finn smiled when he saw grandma sleeping. 
i don't know how to explain that to an (almost) two year old.  we told him that grandma went bye bye.  he could repeat it.  but i'm not sure that he really knows.  but does he really need to?

we left her.
there. 
home.
and it was so hard to walk away once again.  for the final time.  it was hard to leave her there in the cold windy air.  alone.  but not alone ... surrounded by her loved ones that preceded her.  brothers and parents.  my grandfather at her side.
..........................................................................................................
i have a mason jar filled with flowers now ... sitting atop my refrigerator so that the cat doesn't chew them.  pink roses and snapdragons.  pink daisies and rose buds.  flowers that the kids gathered from her at her gravesite.  flowers that they held onto while watching our tears fall.  flowers that they carried across the state lines.  begging me to put into water just as soon as i was able ... so that they could hold onto them.

eventually those too will wilt and the petals will fall among the mess in the kitchen. 
gone.

hours.

her eyes flicker.  open.  staring.  but not focusing.  not looking at me. 

pain?
memories?
annoyance?
recognition?

we're here.  we've been here for so many hours.  when we were told hours and maybe not overnight ... we were here.  all of us.  here.  by her bedside.  tears.  and hugs. 

and then we stayed.  in shifts.  so that she wouldn't be alone.  shifts of hours.  mornings.  afternoons.  nights.  days.

sometimes there was just one of us.
sometimes there were many.
some from far away.
some from near.

decisions that we didn't want to make were made.
decisions that we didn't want to talk about were discussed.
hellos.
goodbyes.
hellos. 

and now?  hours.
maybe?

god.  this mountain of emotion and ups and downs and all over the place is what is the hardest. 
it shouldn't be hard.  this dying process should be easy and painless and peaceful.  someone should not have to try hard to move on to the next phase in life. 
her life has been lived fully.

and as for us?
we sit.
and think thoughts that we think we shouldn't be thinking. 
wishing that she would just let go.
wishing that her heart wasn't so strong.
wishing that she would close her eyes and fall peacefully asleep.
wishing that she would go and take her husband's hand as he led her to their next life.

i remember sitting in his lap.
i have that memory of him.

i don't remember sitting in hers.

she was never the soft, make cookies and cuddle on the couch grandmother.

she was hard.  and tough.  and strong.

she still is.

i've whispered i love yous to her more often in the past week than i have in my lifetime.  i've touched her shoulder and moved her hair out of her eyes.  i've consoled her during pain.  and shhh shhhhed her to sleep. 

i've started and stopped letters to her all week.
it's the curse of a writer, i suppose.  we feel ... and our fingers itch to lay words upon a surface. 
the next morning ... i look at the scratches and can't send them out for someone else to read. 

until today.
when i heard hours.

hours.
hours.
hours.

goodbyes. 

because i realized during writing this ... that it is actually tuesday ... and all good just write things happen on tuesday ... so i'm linking up.  go there.  read other people's scratches.  tell them how amazing they are.  because they probably took parts of their hours to just write something.  and it's truly amazing what hours can do.