Monday, February 25, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Hold on to This Day
I keep forgetting...
I keep forgetting to write about how Violet sticks her tongue out when we carry her outside, like she's tasting the air
... that she has two new teeth
... that she loves to swing, just laughing and laughing (and sticking her tongue out)
... that when I dressed Violet in a dress, William said "Ohhhh Princess Leia? Oh, Princess Violet."
... that she reaches over for Ian when he gets up at night in her sleep
... that she loves a bath in the sink, but hates one in the tub
... that she crawls to go find her older brother and sister at the other end of the house
... that I am stopped constantly whenever I take her in public, fussing over her blue eyes and blond curls
... that she's three months away from being one, three months closer to walking away from us, our delicious baby
Have I not savored her as much as Will, or Emily? I can say that as my arms ache at the end of the day from wrestling with her while she wriggles and arches and squirms, trying to settle down, it's hard to. But I do. It's different, harder to slow down, to notice her fluttering eyelashes as she falls asleep, to breath deep into her silky hair. But I do. I just hope, more than anything, that I'll remember these moments, for what they were. Not the never-ending piles of laundry, or me yelling "I don't care, don't eat it then!" to William over his dinner.
I hope I'll remember days in February at the park, in my heels and suit, tossing a football, while the sun sets over the mountains across the harbor.
I keep forgetting to write about how Violet sticks her tongue out when we carry her outside, like she's tasting the air
... that she has two new teeth
... that she loves to swing, just laughing and laughing (and sticking her tongue out)
... that when I dressed Violet in a dress, William said "Ohhhh Princess Leia? Oh, Princess Violet."
... that she reaches over for Ian when he gets up at night in her sleep
... that she loves a bath in the sink, but hates one in the tub
... that she crawls to go find her older brother and sister at the other end of the house
... that I am stopped constantly whenever I take her in public, fussing over her blue eyes and blond curls
... that she's three months away from being one, three months closer to walking away from us, our delicious baby
Have I not savored her as much as Will, or Emily? I can say that as my arms ache at the end of the day from wrestling with her while she wriggles and arches and squirms, trying to settle down, it's hard to. But I do. It's different, harder to slow down, to notice her fluttering eyelashes as she falls asleep, to breath deep into her silky hair. But I do. I just hope, more than anything, that I'll remember these moments, for what they were. Not the never-ending piles of laundry, or me yelling "I don't care, don't eat it then!" to William over his dinner.
I hope I'll remember days in February at the park, in my heels and suit, tossing a football, while the sun sets over the mountains across the harbor.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Obama
In 1992, I had a chance to see Al Gore stump for Bill Clinton, but my parents decided not to go. In 2008, I took my own kids to see a moment in history. Over 21,000 people came to see the man that might be president. 20 years from now, they'll be able to say, "We were there".
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