(Great big post coming soon about Meera’s birthday party – the most spectacular ‘Fancy Pink Tea Party’ ever!)
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Three years ago today I was very pregnant, 11 days past my due date, and anxiously anticipating the arrival of Meera Grace. The next day I checked into the hospital to begin induction. 26 hours later, Meera was born.
Our bambinos birthdays are a big deal for us. We celebrate them. Unabashedly. Unapologetically. Unselfconsciously. We want our kids to know how happy we are that they were born. We also love marking the movement of time. We want to remember it all, every detail. We want to tell and re-tell the stories. We want to fill life up with all the living we can do. Birthdays are an excuse to throw a party, to go all out, to live it up. And so, in these few days leading up to our girl’s big day, we celebrate her. We do that by prepping to throw a party, by going all out, and by doing everything we can to make sure that we live it up. But at the heart of it the real celebration is never lost: we celebrate the simple fact that our girl was born and that she is here with us.
The simple fact that just shy of three years ago we were here:
And that just a few days later we came home together, happy and healthy, and we were here:
And that as the days moved along, we were here:
And then, somehow, someway, over the course of just three quick years, our girl transformed right before our very eyes. It all happened right here, right here in our little life. And the real beauty of it – the thing that we celebrate as her birthday rolls around – is that we got to be there for all of it. Gratefully, stunningly, joyfully, every little bit of it. All the days tied together. So that now we are here:
We aren’t celebrating an accomplishment, or even a milestone really. We’re just celebrating Meera. And that, for us, is enough unto itself.
We celebrate Meera, our painter. (she asks to paint almost every day)
Our mischief-maker and fashionista. (bottom left: a whole roll of toilet paper in the potty, blue pen all over the leg, and she’s smiling ear-to-ear. bottom right: her absolute favorite outfit – a hand-me-down Indian skirt from Shalinee and Kavya, and a purple polka dot tank top – 12 months of almost daily wear and tear now, but still going strong)
She loves to dip (nothing she loves more than raw fresh veggies, chips, and dips – this is a girl who takes after her mama!). She loves her bunny (Bunny Bun, her beloved lovey, never a night-nap-or-any-outing without it).
She loves Play-Do (when she doesn’t ask for painting she asks for Play-Do). She loves her fairies and princesses (loves fairies and princesses; heaven help us).
She loves the fairies and princesses so much that it gives her slightly-neurotic social-justice-seeking parents lots of pause for thought/question/mild concern-fear-trepidation.
(…but she also has been known to drag Sleeping Beauty through mud puddles… which gives us great relief and assurance that everything is gonna be alright. phew.)
Above all else, she loves her brothers. Adores her brothers. But here’s the thing about Meera: she can quite hold her own with her brothers too. And if she can hold her own with them, then she can hold her own with anyone. And we’re pretty sure that she will.
Most of all, our girl loves life. And lives it to the fullest. Which is what makes us most proud.
And we love our girl. We love her. We’re proud of who she is, what she is becoming, all the great leaps she’s taken in the past three years. But that’s all secondary to the primary. The primary is simple: we love her. We celebrate her. Our wide-eyed wonderer. Sweetness personified. Zen in a little toddler-sized human package. Pure joy is what she is. We love her. Her essence.
In these days we are celebrating Meera. Fully.
I just finished an hour-long stint of supervising the boys’ writing of their birthday Thank You notes. Words can’t even describe what a mind-numbing, blood-pressure-rising project that was; a true test of patience and self-control, that is for sure. When we finally finished I told them to run outside and put the little stack of neatly sealed and stamped envelopes in the mailbox. I watched them from the window as they skipped down the driveway together – they had evenly divided the envelopes between them and they sang some little ditty at the top of their lungs as they carefully put their parcels of hard work into the mailbox and flipped up the red metal flag. Then Kyle ran fast at Owen, tackled him hard in the grass (both of their heads just barely missing the mailbox post), they both started laughing hysterically and rolling around like two little maniacs… surely creating yet another laundry-room-stain-sticking project for me on their shirts and shorts (the grass and mud stains from these two = endless hours of stain sticking and Oxi spraying for me). I rolled my eyes on the other side of the window and turned away before the scene got any gorier. I’ve found that it is better if I just don’t watch their rough-and-tumble.
Earlier this morning I watched them out the kitchen window, playing in the back yard with Meera. They didn’t know I was watching. I watched Kyle hoist his sister up onto the swing and patiently push her, trying his hardest to teach her how to pump, mostly to no avail whatsoever since she is far from mastering the skill of pumping. Yet he kept on trying, as he has been for weeks now, and surely will continue until he sees her fully master it. I’m sure that when she does finally pump, that in his usual fashion, Kyle will take no credit for this feat and will only be beaming with pride for his sister. I can imagine what he’ll say (things like this have happened many times before): “Can you believe it?! Isn’t she getting so big?! She can even pump now!!!” I’ll remind him of how hard he worked to teach her. He’ll tell me: “She did it though!” and he’ll smile with true joy for her. After the swing, Meera wanted the slide. I watched Owen carefully guide her from behind as she climbed up the ladder, ready for any slip she might make, ready to protect a possible fall. She wanted to roll a ball down the slide to him, and he indulged her in this little game over and over again and again. Even though I know that for him it was truly a bore, I watched him act enthusiastic for his sister, engaging with her in it until she finally lost interest and wanted to come inside. Then he gave her a piggy back ride all the way across the yard, up the deck, and into the house, delivering her to me with a cheerful, “Meera wants to come in now! Bye Mom!” and he took off like a shot to find his brother. I’m sure it took less than a nanosecond for the two of them to find some mischief to get into. Later on I discovered that they had taken a large bucket of whiffel balls and strewn them all over the yard in some sort of crazy game of what they called “war.” At the first drop of the word “war,” I dramatically made some big fuss about how I “hate war” and how “we are for non-violence in this family,” and “war is not the answer,” and “make love not war,” etc., etc., etc. They came back just as dramatically with “ohhh moooooooom!”’s and not just rolling of eyes, but rolling of their whole entire heads and bodies as they showed me with full body language how ridiculously pathetically I misunderstand them, etc., etc., etc. The bantering fun ended quickly when I realized they were covered in mud and that the kitchen floor was now disgustingly muddy and in need of mopping. Ugh. (And I’ve learned the hard way, more than once, not to even think about letting them mop!)
Mid-morning, as we got ready to head out for a bike ride, the volume in the house was way, way high. The boys were in their room, supposedly getting dressed, but actually doing only-God-knows-what, and causing such a raucous that I thought I was going to lose my mind. Next door in Meera’s room, trying to wrangle her into an outfit that wasn’t a dress, I thought to myself ‘How can two children make so much noise?’ This is a thought that I probably have, on average, about 100 times a day. As I scurried around the house getting everything ready to head out (picnic packed; water bottles filled; blankets and backpacks; bag of tricks to keep Meera occupied; etc., etc., etc.), I was, as usual, seriously questioning whether this was all worth it just to go on a little biking outing. Somehow (miraculously!) the boys managed to get themselves dressed (after me yelling at them about a dozen times to “cut it out and GET DRESSED NOW!!!!!!!!”). We were about to head out the door when out of the blue Owen stops everything, stands still for a moment, looks right at me, and says, “Mommy, you look so cool!” (I was wearing yoga pants and a baseball hat and had not showered). Kyle, not to be outdone, quickly chimed right in: “Yeah, Mom! You look awesome! You are so beautiful!” I reached down to hug the two of them, these little charmers of mine who regularly make me feel like a million bucks even on the worst of bad hair days. Just less than 2 minutes later, driving out of our driveway, they were already driving me nuts with their incessant “I’m hungry!”’s and their unruly rambunctiousness in the car, and their purposeful annoyance of their sister just to see her get all worked up. These two— they drive me absolutely crazy in one moment and spring happy tears to my eyes in the next.
Last night we went to “Arts Night” at their school. The centerpiece of the evening was a series of arts performances put on by each of the classes. Kyle and Owen had been beyond excited about this for the past month as they had been rehearsing their part of the show in school every day. In the past few days, leading up to the big night, they were revved up to the point of driving everyone around them crazy, worked up to a ridiculous extent about their upcoming “show!”, talking non-stop about it to me (“you’re going to love it Mom! You are not going to believe how good it is!”), and unable to focus on anything other than the impending show. By the time they were about to actually be on stage last night, they were ecstatic beyond belief, and I was truly worried as to whether or not they would actually be able to contain themselves enough to do whatever it was that they were going to need to do. As the show was starting, my heart started racing for them and I could feel my palms getting sweaty. From our seats, Meera, Braydon, and I could see Kyle and Owen as they entered with their class and their teacher from a side door. They were standing tall, by far the tallest in their class, dressed in their much-anticipated costumes. Before I could even see their faces I knew that they had collected themselves and were centered— I could tell from their bodies— strong, upright, calm, and ready. And then I saw their eyes. Both of them. Scanning the room, looking for me. They saw me. They saw that I saw them. And for an instant, two instances actually (one with each), I knew all that mattered: that all of their enthusiasm, their pent-up over-the-top excitement, the lead-up of their anxious anticipation… it was all for me. They were thrilled with the crowded auditorium, but the only person who really mattered to them was me. Mama. In that moment I knew it in a way I never had before. They smiled at me and diligently moved into position. For a moment, there, in that room on Arts Night, I knew all that I needed to know about my boys, about me, about my mothering, and about everything that matters at all.
Their class performance was great! The truth is that I got chills watching it because of how extraordinary it was. It was a modern dance performance entitled, “Everyone Needs a Shelter”— an interpretation of a Japanese village, the recent Japanese tsunami, the destruction, and the beginnings of rebuilding (the night was a benefit to raise money for victims of the tsunami). Kyle and Owen’s class had choreographed it with the help of the 7th and 8th graders. As their performance ended my boys stood on the stage, bowing to the grand applause of the audience, I saw it again: the quick scanning of the room to find me. And then the locking of eyes. Mama and son. (times two.) First Owen— he found me again in the room, this time to look for my reaction. His eyes were wide and open, wanting to be filled. And they were filled with what he wanted (needed?): I was smiling huge, it was genuine, and I was clapping like a madwoman, like only a very most proud mother can clap. He saw that I saw and that was all he needed to see. It was brief, just a moment, but I knew the look of satisfaction I could see in him. And then Kyle too. All the cheers in the packed audience, every seat filled and standing room only, but there was only one set of eyes there that really mattered in this way. And it was me. A moment only for a Mama. Yes, papi too, and Meera, and their teacher, the “big kids” that they so seek the approval of, the Headmaster of the school who they adore, the parents of their friends… yes, of course, they all matter. But it was me that they held at the center in that moment. And of all the children in their school and in the world, it was them who I held in my center at that moment too.
And all the crazy that they do, and all the crazy-making that they cause, and all the crazy work they create for me, and everything else that is crazy too— all of it suddenly held together strong in that moment with them on the stage looking to see if I saw and knowing that we were in it together. Nobody else in the room mattered, and nothing else amounted to knowing that we knew. All the crazy was folded in. And the center holds. And we knew it.
And there it is: everyday things fall apart, but the center holds. Mothering these boys is a challenge. By far the biggest challenge I’ve ever taken on in my lifetime for sure. We are bursting at the seams all the time. But in the important moments – the important moments big and small – the center holds. In the glimpses out the window and in the instants on the stage. And so it is; it is in the stringing together of moments.
Well, now it is official. 3 out of 3 of our kids have had childhood surgeries; as parents we’ve now gone through operations with each of our kids. Nobody wants to have their child go through any surgery ever. But as far as surgeries go, we’ve had it easy. At age 1 Kyle had surgery to have his adenoids taken out and ear tubes put in; at age 3 Owen had surgery to repair his herniated umbilical; and now Meera, at age almost 3, had ear tube surgery yesterday. Granted, all three surgeries with general anesthesia, but—also— all outpatient, all simple procedures, all relatively quick recovery times, and all went off without a hitch. We figure we’re doing real good here and we thank our lucky stars for it. Each time we’ve gone through a surgery with one of our kids we’ve spent days and days post-op just marveling at how lucky we are to have good health insurance, access to excellent medical care, doctors who are our region’s best-of-the-best within their specialties (and a family practitioner who makes sure we get the very best), and kids who are – by all measures – extremely healthy. We are blessed beyond belief and we don’t forget it.
Meera’s ear tube surgery went great! She did wonderfully every step of the way. Even the 6:30 a.m. hospital check-in didn’t phase her (we were first on the surgery schedule with an 8am operation). There were a couple of hours there, right after she came-to in the recovery room, when it was touch-and-go (she was crying inconsolably, very disoriented, and very mad that we had “left her” – i.e., parents are not allowed in the Operating Room, obviously, and she was perturbed about that.) Anyway, she bounced back quickly after the nurses jumped on the chance to fulfill her requested/demanded “warm milk in a sippy cup” (the nurses all doted on her like you would not believe). We were home by lunchtime, grateful to MorMor who made the trip to be with us so that she could get the boys off to school and hold down the fort. Her being here allowed both Braydon and I the peace of mind to comfortably be at the hospital with Meera. Thank you MorMor.
Tonight Meera had her first bath with ear plugs. These ear plugs will be the bane of our existence for the next 12 months as we do our best to follow our doctor’s orders and keep her ears dry. We were vigilant about it with Kyle when he had ear tubes, and it seemed to contribute to his near-perfect health record ever since. So, we’re determined to do the same for Meera. Man, though, it is such a pain in the rump. Everyone who’s been through this knows what I mean— just a real annoyance for both child and parents. Anyhooooo…. it is the least of our concerns at this point, and Meera was very cooperative (and even excited— we’ll see how long that lasts) about wearing the ear plugs for the first time tonight.
All is good.
Friday night was our 3rd J-M First Friday, and this time it was Meera’s turn with Mommy! I actually had been hesitant about the idea of taking Meera for a First Friday. The thing is, she already spends so much time alone with Braydon and/or me (much more alone time than either Kyle or Owen ever have). She’s often alone with us while the boys are at school, or at birthday parties, playdates, etc. It seemed unnecessary to include her in the First Friday rotation (or, at least, a lot more unnecessary than for her twin brothers who almost never get one-on-one undivided attention). But our first mother-daughter date night proved to me just how very wrong I had been about all that. Meera knew exactly what was going on; she reminded me several times of how Kyle and Owen had each had a turn at First Friday (“remember when Kyle went to a restaurant? now it is my turn!”); and she thoroughly enjoyed every minute of her special night out – as did I.
I had carefully hand-picked the restaurants for my First Fridays with K & O, and I thought a lot too about where to go with Meera. I decided on a Mexican restaurant where I knew we could could get good chips, salsa, and queso dip – one of her favorite treats. What was so fun about this is that chips, salsa, and queso dip is one of my favorite treats too (probably my most favorite). So the two of us ate chips, salsa, and queso dip together and shared a big fresh salad with fajita steak on top (Meera, of course, ate almost all the steak; I ate almost all the salad). It was the perfect treat of a dinner for us—and something that the three males in our family would have liked just fine, but would not have *loved* nearly as much as us two girls. While we sat there chowing down on this decadent junk food, I was giggling inside almost the entire time; It was just such a riot to be sitting there doing something that I’ve done many times in my life with great girlfriends, but really could not have imagined doing with my own daughter, let alone my 2-year-old daughter. Granted, with friends I usually have a couple of margaritas instead of a couple of water-with-lemons, but… now, First Friday with 2-year-old-Meera, I can totally imagine that in about twenty years Meera and I will be doing it with margaritas too.
I look forward to many more First Fridays yet to come! In the short term, however, it is Braydon’s turn in the rotation. For the next three months it will be Papi who gets to indulge in the really unique joy of one-on-one date-nights with the three bambinos. He has no idea just how great it is, and I can’t wait for him to have a chance to do it.
Lastly, I just had to throw in this picture~ I took it, as well as all the other First Friday pictures I’ve posted, with my phone camera. This is Meera on the sidewalk walking into the restaurant on Friday night. She’s proving to the world these days that her brothers aren’t the only ones with big personalities! She is becoming quite the force to be reckoned with in the Big Personalities Department. Here’s to my free-spirited chips-n-salsa lovin’ girl!
For the past five years we have thrown huge birthday bashes to celebrate Kyle and Owen’s birthday. The birthday bashes were getting bigger and bigger year by year. Last year, for their 6-year-old birthday party, 128 people came to the party, and afterwards I vowed to myself that for their seventh birthday we were going to switch gears.
And switch gears we did (no pun intended)! The boys decided, weeks and weeks ago, that for this year they didn’t even want a “party” at all— instead they wanted a “Bicycle Birthday!” Yes, of course, this decision was made with a little steering from me (mostly simply steering them away from what we’ve always done and pointing them in the direction of trying something new). But they genuinely came up with the “Bicycle Birthday” idea, and we were pleased to oblige.
K & O absolutely love their bikes— probably their most valued possessions— their first “real” bikes (not tricycles)— bikes which they had been riding daily since they were 3 years old. Bikes which were battered and beat-up and showing lots of wear-and-tear. Bikes which they had outgrown long ago. Braydon and I knew that we’d have to buy them new bikes this summer, there was no getting around that, so it was a win-win situation when the boys asked for new bikes for their birthday. Specifically, they wanted “gear bikes” – both the color red – and Braydon made sure to find the most durable-rough-and-tumble 7-speed red bicycles that he could find. The boys were only asking for one thing for their birthday: “gear bikes!” And their plan was to spend their birthday riding their dreamed-0f brand-new red bikes, going on a long bike ride for a picnic lunch, and enjoying a day of attention fully devoted to them from Mommy, Papi, Meera, MorMor, and MorFar. Weeks in advance they already knew what they wanted for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The whole plan was easy to set in motion (relatively speaking this is easy peasy stuff compared to a full-blown event for 100+ people!).
~ Kyle and Owen’s Bicycle Birthday ~
The day started with the long-anticipated end-of-the-bed presents – Yes! Brand new bright and shiny “GEAR BIKES” were waiting for them to awake on the first day of being 7!
6:00 am and they were chomping at the bit to try them out~~
So, a beautiful sunrise morning christened the new bikes and set the stage for a fabulous day with the happiest two boys on earth.
By 7am they were anxious to open their presents from MorMor and MorFar and Meera. From MorMor and MorFar, bike racks and brand new Playmobil airplanes to replace their beloved old busted-and-broken super-glued-way-too-many-times ones! From Meera, the corresponding Playmobil control tower and cargo loading playset!—taking their airplane play to a whole new level! And another very special gift— beautiful new quilts for their beds, made especially for them by MorMor. Kyle opened it and exclaimed right away— “they’re brown people!” They spread them out on the floor to admire them, and we watched as they both appreciated these gorgeous handmade gifts so much more than we ever expected any 7-year-old-boy would. {info re: this awesome fabric can be found by clicking here}
The birthday breakfast table had been set the night before. And I had diligently made the boys’ requested breakfast: sour cream coffee cake.
They were blowing out seven candles on that “cake” by 8am~~
Kyle was so happy. He was just beaming pure happiness that day, from sunrise to sunset. The entire day he was bursting at the seams with pure bliss. He absolutely loved a day devoted to him. It is so special to see a boy so happy.
Late morning we headed out for our bike trip. We chose our favorite bike path and packed a picnic lunch comprised solely of items requested by the boys. MorMor and MorFar brought their bikes all the way from New Hampshire, and they brought Neptune too (as requested by Owen)— a fun addition to our biking ensemble! And Meera had her first long ride in our new bike trailer (which she loves!). It was such a beautiful day and so much fun!
Oh, and did I mention that it was Mother’s Day too? Yeah, it was Mother’s Day that day too.
All things considered, Meera did really well for a two-year-old having to tolerate her big brothers’ day of non-stop fanfare.
The birthday dinner was a menu precisely and painstakingly designed by K & O. Everything except the cakes had to be “homemade from scratch” –their words, not mine— they were particular about that (they are now entirely convinced that Mommy makes everything better than anyone else possibly can). While they are adventurous eaters, and Foodies in their own right, they are, after all, still 7-year-old boys. And their birthday dinner is testament to that.
Mommy’s Penne Alfredo; Papi’s Bread; Honey Butter; Applesauce; Mandarin Oranges; Pellegrino to drink.
The birthday cakes were special. Vanilla with strawberries for Kyle. Chocolate with raspberries for Owen. (For anyone who might be in our area—we bought them at Dolce Patisserie and we highly recommend them!) The ice cream was Madagascar Vanilla, from OwWowCow Creamery, of course. We sang to Kyle first (Kyle goes first on odd years; Owen goes first on even years). He was so serious about making his wish before he blew out his candles.
And then it was Owen’s turn.
This (below) is my favorite photo in a long time. It just shows it: pure joy for life on both of our faces. I love being a mother. I love creating special occasions for my kids. I love the life that my boys have given me. Yes, it is all a lot to handle; I’m at my wit’s end often; I am utterly exhausted just-about-always. But I never lose sight of the goodness in it all. And ultimately, it is in the stringing-together of really good moments that I find the most gratification as a mother. That is where the goodness lies.
And this boy, my Owen, he just makes my heart sing. Remember I mentioned how happy Kyle was on this day? Well, look at these photos of Owen and try to tell me that this child is not truly-wholly-fully-genuinely happy! Even at his most serious, making his birthday wish so earnestly (second photo), he is just deeply, deeply happy.
At the end of the day, as dusk was really settling into our yard, we went outside and sent up sky lanterns in honor of the boys’ birthmother and the day she gave birth to our beautiful boys. This is a tradition that we started last year, and one I plan to make sure that we keep.
And then, just as quickly as the day had come, the day was over. The “Bicycle Birthday” was behind us, with a year of twin boys being 7 ahead of us. There will be lots of bike riding, I’m sure. As for the rest of it, we never know, do we? And so we make the very most of these precious days and make even more of the special occasions.
“Each day offers us the gift of being a special occasion if we can simply learn that as well as giving, it is blessed to receive with grace and a grateful heart.” ~Sarah Ban Breathnach
They turned seven! It was the most spectacular birthday yet! All the deliriously fabulous details coming soon! (in the meantime… I’m deliriously exhausted!… as are they!)
I took the day off today to have some time at home while the boys are in school – I need to do final preparations in getting things ready for the their birthday on Sunday. Just a few minutes ago Braydon and Meera left to run an errand. They took my car. After they had pulled out of the garage and driven off I had to run a load of trash out to the barrel. In a frenzied rush to try to get about a million things done I ran through the garage, tossed the trash in the barrel, and then headed back. As I stepped into the garage I noticed chalk on the floor… Owen’s handwriting… “Home is where the heart is.” I stopped dead in my tracks. It literally took my breath away. And for a split second everything in the world of my little home and family – and I mean, everything – suddenly felt clear, centered, and exactly wholly perfectly balanced. It was a flood of a huge feeling and it was fleeting, but it felt amazing.
For years I’ve had a simple wooden painted sign hanging in Owen’s bedroom. It says, in plain letters, “Home is where the heart is.” Before he could read he’d sometimes ask me what it says, and I’d read it to him. When he was first learning to read, he’d practice sounding out the words on the sign. But mainly, it has just hung there. Apparently, slowly but surely sinking in to my little man. My little man who is so challenging in his constant-motion-and-pushing-of-every-boundary-and-testing-the-limits-24×7. My little man who wouldn’t even allow me to hold him when we first met him, because he was traumatically afraid of all women. My little man who pushed me to make myself go further than I ever thought I could in order to attach with him. My little man who makes me laugh, but also makes me cry in frustration, often.
And there it was in the garage, right where my car sits. “Home is where the heart is.” What a gift.
I’m going to take a few days off from the blog in order to focus right in on my twin bambinos who are turning seven on May 8th and their little sister who is already insanely jealous in anticipation of their big day. I’m going to be doing absolutely nothing other than making my boys’ birthday a special occasion. Home is where the heart is.
Yes, it’s true, it really is the best. But you have to like ’em real. Appreciate good tequila.
On the rocks.
Lime.
How do I know they are the best? It’s not just because I make them and we drink them. It’s because I learned the mysterious art of making it while we were in Mexico. We were staying in a villa. We had a private chef for the week. She showed me the ways of margarita.
Of course, we also got stuffed on her food, but that’s another story.
The best margarita ever:
1 part fresh squeezed lime juice
1 part simple syrup (equal parts water and sugar, boiled down a bit and cooled)
1 part really good tequila
Here are some tips…
- Like everything in life, use the best, high-quality ingredients you can find.
- If your limes are refrigerated, pop them in the microwave (if you have one) for 20 seconds. You get a lot more juice out of them.
- Use reposado tequila, it’s the right mix of power and smoothness. We like Cazadores reposado, but I am trying Milagro reposado today. I like it so far.
- You don’t have to shake it, just mix it together with a spoon and pour over ice.
Also, I find that 1 lime and equal parts tequila and simple syrup are the right amount for a single serving.
Enjoy!
My boys will only be six for three more days. It is so bittersweet for me. As we approach their birthday I become more and more emotional about it. And I feel more and more unsettled, isolated, and alone with the emotions. I can’t help thinking about the fact that I missed it— I missed their birth. I can’t articulate the intense gratefulness I feel toward their birthmother— grateful beyond my ability to express (words just seem to cheapen it). I can’t wrap my mind around my indebtedness toward the people and place of their roots— Rock (their orphanage director); all of the people who, in individual ways, contributed to granting them life for the first long eight months of their totally vulnerable lives; the country of Haiti for giving me them. It is all so much and the emotions run so wide and so deep. It is hard to explain this to anyone who has never adopted before, and I worry that expressing it just makes me look like a drama queen, making more of something than it is. Adoptive parents (many of them, at least) get it. But others seem to not. And there are lots more others than there are fellow adoptive parents. There is a deep, complicated, complex melancholy I feel about all of this.
And I know my boys feel it too. Different, of course, but kind of the same too. Lots of thoughts, lots of emotions, wide and deep. Yesterday I found them on the back porch blowing bubbles. They were tilting their heads all the way back, looking straight up to the sky, holding the bubble wands above them and blowing the bubbles straight up into the sunlight. As they saw me approaching they happily exclaimed, in unison (yeah, a twin thing, completely in unison)– “We’re blowing bubbles to our birthmother!!!!!” She is right on the surface of their minds in these days.
Today in the car on the way to school Kyle announced: “I want to be rich when I grow up.” I said, “Really? Why?” He said, “Because I want to have lots of money.” I said, “What would you do with all the money?” He said, “I’d buy a speedboat, a house, and I’d help Haiti.” He was dead serious. I told him I thought that was completely respectable. He then told me that “the first thing” he would do for Haiti is that he’d “fly an airplane over the whole country dropping thousands and thousands of soccer balls for all of the kids.”
As we count down the days to their birthday I am reminded yet again of the huge obligation that I have in mothering them. I need to do right by them. Their life story is already so extraordinary, their selves already so exceptional, their future so incredibly bright yet also so burdened. It is pressing: I need to do right by them. I need to do right by her. I need to do right by everyone who has played a role. I need to do right by Haiti. It is big, yes. And I cringe at the thought of the critiques from those who will say that I’m a drama queen for feeling/thinking/saying this, making more of something than it is. But one thing I know for sure is this: it really is this big. If anything, I am understating it.
And so I try hard to hold it all in my one heart: the truth and width and depth of how completely complicated and complex it all is, while at the same time celebrating – truly celebrating – the day of their birth.
By far my favorite t.v. show (and admittedly, the only t.v. show that I watch with any regularity) is Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations on the Travel Channel. For weeks now they’ve been advertising a soon-t0-premiere new episode on Haiti and I’ve been hoping to catch it. Last night was the big night, and I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time! Braydon and I both happened to be in the kitchen (him cleaning up from dinner, me cooking for Swap) when it came on. We stopped everything to stand in front of the t.v., watching every minute of it, and then frantically trying to cook/clean during the commercial breaks.
It was an hour of refreshing television. Not refreshing in the sense of “light and airy and rejuvenating,” but rather, refreshing in the sense of “raw and real and re-jolting.” It was Haiti for real. Not the typical “Haiti” you see on t.v. In true Anthony Bourdain fashion (which is why I love him so much in the first place), it was honest-to-the-depths and without-the-typical-media-gloss. It was the most realistic coverage of Haiti that I’ve seen since returning from Haiti to get the boys in 2005. It brought me right back. I could almost smell, hear, taste Haiti. I could feel it– the heaviness, hopefulness, confusion, clarity, anguish and resilience that is Haiti. At one point, early on in the episode, I broke down sobbing– tears pouring down my face. With K & O’s birthday coming up, I’m overly emotional this week anyway (I’ve always been ridiculously emotional around their birthday and it doesn’t seem to be lessening as the years go on). But aside from my emotionality, the show is just simply heart-and-mind stirring in its own right.
If you have a chance, watch it– click here. The episode is moving and haunting. Just like Haiti: moving and haunting.
At a Lehigh basketball game this past winter.
Thank God For Zahir [TGFZ]. Zahir has been babysitting for us regularly through this spring semester (back story here). And I’ve got to say: he has been a God-send. This was a tough semester for us (just way too much going on and me, especially, being stretched way too thin). I cannot exaggerate how invaluable it was to me for Zahir to step in just exactly when I really needed a great babysitter to step in. He quickly established himself as our Go To Guy for babysitting. And the bambinos could not be happier. The three of them are ecstatic at the mention of Zahir coming to babysit. He is fun; he can toss the them around like they weigh nothing; and he never seems to tire of sports-sports-sports (and not just basketball, either, he can –and does—play it all with the boys). Oh, and he’s reliable, dependable, trust-worthy, and an awesome role-model for my three kids. What more could we ask for?
This past week was Last Week of Classes at Lehigh. The end of one of the toughest semesters ever in the J-M Family History. It just felt like the end of a grueling marathon there at the end. Weeks in advance, knowing the end was somewhere in sight, I had lined up Zahir to babysit on Friday night so that Braydon and I could go out for an End-of-My-Year-Date-Night. I’ve always been thankful for Zahir, but I’ve never been more thankful than I was Friday. He was due to arrive at 6:00, and all day I was counting the minutes.
5:15 I arrive home from an event at work, the bambinos are watching Dora, Braydon immediately leaves to pick up pizzas for Zahir and the kids.
5:20 K & O can’t stand it any longer— even though Zahir’s arrival is still 40 minutes away, they want to wait outside for him to arrive. We turn off Dora and head out.
5:30 Out of nowhere Meera (who has been perfectly fine all day) starts fussing, whining, and clinging. The only time she’s like this is when she’s sick. My heart starts to race and my blood pressure starts to rise. She insists on me holding her.
5:40 Braydon gets home with the pizza to find K & O waiting anxiously at the end of the driveway for Zahir to arrive and Meera lethargic and fussing and slumped in my arms. He runs to get the thermometer.
5:45 Meera’s temp is 102.7 – and she, who usually is just as excited about Zahir coming as her brothers are, is crying saying “I don’t want Zahir! I want Mama!” – my mind is racing – ‘I cannot lose this date night! I’ve been living for this night for weeks! I will die if I have to cancel this night!’ – not to mention: the boys will never forgive me if I cancel Zahir. I quickly devise a plan. Not a plan that will win me any parenting awards, no, no, no. But a plan that will – if all goes well – work.
5:47 I tell Braydon to get the Children’s Motrin ASAP. We load Meera up with it and I cheerfully announce to her, “It is time for bed!” She’s dazed and confused, but too sick and out-of-it to really question anything. I direct the boys to kiss her goodnight (they’re confused too, but are so focused on Zahir’s impending arrival that they barely even notice anything else going on). I swiftly run her upstairs, brush her teeth, change her into her pjs, and rock her to sleep. She’s asleep and settled into her bed within 5 minutes.
6:00 Zahir arrives. But, not only does he arrive, he brings Marquis with him!! This is something I had known Zahir was planning, but he had asked me to keep it a surprise for the boys, and so I had. K & O were beside themselves with thrill. The last time we saw Marquis was at the boys’ birthday party last May. Soon after that he graduated from Lehigh and headed back to his hometown of Portland, Oregon. Not long after he jetted off to play professional basketball in Denmark (click and click). You can imagine the boys’ surprise and EXCITEMENT when Zahir drove into our driveway with Marquis Hall!
6:10 The boys finally give me a minute to hug Marquis (he was, after all, long before he ever even knew K & O, my student at Lehigh!). And then I explain things to Zahir. It went soemething like this: “Z, listen, not even an hour ago Meera suddenly came down with something. She’s got a fever, and she’s a wreck, but we loaded her up with Motrin, and she’s sleeping. If she wakes up, just do the best you can to comfort her, and call us and we’ll come straight home. But, I GOTTA GO. I just gotta go! I need this night! So, here’s the baby monitor. Are you cool with this?” Without hesitating for even a second he said, “Yes. Go!”
TGFZ.
6:15 We left. As we walked out the door, my boys (all four of them) were eating pizza and talking sports.
9:30 We arrive home after a short, but perfect, date night. We had told K & O that since it was so special that Marquis had come to babysit all the way from Denmark (!), they could stay up until we got home (this was a first). When Braydon and I got home from our new favorite restaurant (for anyone who lives around here, you’ve got to check this place out: 1821 Steaks & Cocktails), K, O, Zahir, and Marquis were, all four, just about as happy as could be. All reports were that after pizza they had played football, baseball, and basketball until it was too dark to stay outside any longer… at which point they had sat down at the kitchen table for “table football” (whatever that is?). All I know is that it was probably one of the best nights of Kyle and Owen’s lives.
TGFZ.
We never got a phone call from Zahir while we were out that night. Meera slept through it and never even knew we had left. She woke up later, at midnight, with her fever raging. We ended up having to cancel all of our Saturday plans, and our doctor called in yet another round of antibiotics for our poor girl. But her ear tube surgery is scheduled for later this month, and Braydon and I got our date night, and the boys got not only a night with Zahir and Marquis, but –icing on the cake— a night with Zahir and Marquis alone without their sister drawing any of the attention away, and… well… TGFZ.
Us five will use any excuse we can to eat Mexican food. Since long before the bambinos ever arrived on the scene, Mexican has been the #1 favorite for Braydon and me. And we seem to have successfully transferred that love-for-Mexican-food onto our offspring. They will choose Chipotle, hands down, over any other any form of fast food. They will run to the table for tacos. And there is no junk food that the three of them love more than a giant sized bag of Tostitos Hint of Lime Tortilla Chips. Owen is a lover of the quesadilla. Kyle is a lover of the burrito. And as for Meera – well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree – she’s a girl after my own heart – she’s a lover of chips-and-salsa (add queso dip to the equation and she’s over the moon). She’s really not picky about it (nor am I), she’ll eat just about any salsa, but her (and my) favorite is definitely a recipe that I got from The Pioneer Woman’s blog. For years I’ve been making my own salsa (lots and lots of variations), but the first time we tried this one, well over a year ago now, we fell in love. And I don’t think I’ve made any other version since. We all love it, especially Meera. I stick very close to the recipe, just altering it a bit to take the jalapeño down a notch or two (I’ve learned the hard way to tone it down because no matter how spicy it is, Meera will eat it like crazy, and if it is too spicy she pukes). So…. given that Cinco de Mayo is coming right up, and I—for one—will be making Mexican food this week, I thought I’d link you to this superbly good salsa recipe…. here it is:
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/01/restaurant-style-salsa/
And, since we’re on the subject of Mexican food and Pioneer Woman recipes, it would be a shame to not share this one too:
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/06/chile_con_queso/
Seriously, this queso dip is to die for. This recipe was what caused me, about a year ago, for the first time in my life, to buy a block of Velveeta. And it was well worth it. Probably the best homemade queso dip I’ve ever had. Everyone I’ve ever served it to has gone absolutely nuts for it. Including Owen, who has a tendency to just forego the tortilla chips and just eat it with a spoon. (no kidding.) It is that good. Try it and you’ll see. We don’t have this often (just look at the recipe, or the ingredient list on the Velveeta package, and you’ll see why); I only will allow myself to make it 3-4 times a year; but Cinco de Mayo is as good an excuse as any to put Velveeta on the grocery list and whip up a batch of this stuff.
And, of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the margs. We’re big fans of them here— I think the bambinos love tequila-free margs almost as much as Braydon and I love the-real-deal margs. We all like ‘em on the rocks. The dramatic and expressive mixing-and-shaking of the drink shaker is perhaps the bambinos’ favorite part of the whole thing.
Here’s to a great upcoming week! For us it isn’t just Cinco de Mayo week, but the countdown to the boys’ birthday too (which just gives us another great reason to have some margs… by the end of this week I’ll need a good margarita or two!!)!
p.s. The Pioneer Woman recipes make a lot of salsa and a lot of queso dip… which is good because they’re even better as leftovers.
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