She Laughs!

Violet laughs. Personality is a funny thing. William was a stoic baby, and while his smiles were glorious, he wasn't as generous with them as Violet is. But yesterday Violet cracked up at me blowing raspberries on her tummy during a diaper change, and then wiggled with delight on the changing table later in the day, anticipating more raspberries. A good memory and a sense of humor!

Also, last weekend, Will nonchalantly remarked "Dad... bug" to an enormous spider on the wall. Then after Ian smashed it (sorry, spiders outside are beautiful and we stop to admire their webs, but spiders in the house are fair game for smashing), declared "Bug done". Indeed.

Today

Sort of left that hanging, eh? No worries (okay well actually there were worries, lots of them), I stoped checking my phone and email compulsively, last week I was offered a new job. It's an exciting time for us, we're busy making plans for the future, which will include a move to Tacoma.

But I have replaced compulsively checking my phone with compulsively checking the John L Scott website to look at this house. Then going to look at it in person. Twice.

No it's not ours, and it might not ever be, but I'm drawn to this house. I even spent 20 minutes standing outside talking to the next door neighbor about the neighborhood, the previous owners, and history of it. I can just picture Emily running up the sidewalk and through the gate. I can picture sitting with Ian on the front porch, watching the kids play on the grass under shade of the beautiful tree in the front yard. Ian worries that I'm getting too attached to this house, which I might be. But if we don't get this house, we'll get one like it eventually. And that's sort of how I operate. Before I moved to Pullman, before I'd even been accepted, I had planned where I would put the furniture into my apartment based on the floor plan online. If I've learned anything, it's that it never hurts to dream...

Tomorrow

Grocery shopping. I wonder what people think when they look at me with three kids. Does my face show how much I'm struggling to keep it together, hoping Violet doesn't break down, Will doesn't run away, and wishing Emily would quit asking what we're doing after grocery shopping? Probably.

I've asked, how people do it, and I get it, I do. You just do it. I mean, it's life, right?

I've been feeling sort of disconnected lately, not tuned into the kids, not noticing things I should. The worst part? I notice me not noticing.

I sit here after the kids are in bed, and I think, Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be more present. But it's so hard. I'm not as zen as I would like to be. Will dumps out toys all over the living room (and I mean all over the living room, a sea of Legos, blocks, and books), and the ugly part of me is just anxious until they are cleaned up (oh and not just cleaned up, but sorted properly). I don't smile as much as I should, or let things roll off of my back. I feel like a Jack-in-the-Box, tightly wound and ready to spring.

Is this where I add a little anecdote about the kids, how wonderful they are and how I marvel at their beauty and gentleness, their sweet little fingers and toes, and how Will is talking about things more and becoming more curious and asking questions? I feel like it is...

And well, Violet is curled up in my arms as I type this, in her sleep-sack, resting on the Boppy (on her way to thinking the computer is a member of the family as I'm sure Will did). My crook of my arm is sweaty, but I dare not move or put her down as I steal a few quiet moments while the rest of the house is asleep. I've got some Tool on the headphones, it's a warm summer night, and I'm sure there will be a day very soon that I can exhale.

Miss Vi

Conversation between Ian and me, five minutes ago:

Me: "I feel bad I don't write very much about Violet".
Ian: "Well, she doesn't really do anything, just lies there and farts and poops, and maybe smiles at us sometimes".

Me: "Well... Back when Will was this age, that's all I wrote about".

So Violet, here's to guzzling all the milk you can drink, gas, and big goofy baby grins. We love you.

There and Back Again

Whew!

Is summer almost over? Where did it go? I can't believe it's August already, Emily had been to Summer Camp and is back again, she's learned to ride her bike, Violet is almost 3 months old (the pinnacle of baby deliciousness), Will has gobbled up S'Mores when we went camping (okay, camping a whopping 30 minutes from our house, but still...)

I guess the short story is that Emily's foot is better. The longer story is that I'm sorry I handled it the way I did, and I'm even sorrier that learning to ride a bike reduced the poor kid to tears. I mean, she learned, but I can't say I was of any particular help. Isn't that the memory of being a parent? Running alongside your child as they ride their bike, letting go at that critical moment, and beaming with joy as they ride off alone? Not exactly how it happened at our house. Not by a long shot. It was one of those mistaking the trees for the forest, or something like that.

But then there are days like today when we met some friends in Seattle for lunch, and she reminds me that she's just such a mature little person. While Ian and I took turns taking Will and Violet outside to play in the fountains (well Will played in the fountains, not so much Violet), Emily sat and conversed with adults, patiently listening, and not even being too shy.

We spent Emily's birthday camping, which was extremely brave of us, I think. It went as well as could be expected, actually better than we hoped with a tw0-month-old. We all piled into our tent and slept relatively soundly, ate tons of s'mores, and stayed up late around the camp fire talking with Emily, who, after I sang some Camp songs we used to sing at the very same summer camp from which she recently returned, remarked that they might have sung those "Back in the old days". Oy.

We're having a small family party for her tomorrow as well. And as we stood in line at Toys R Us, with a Barbie, some Barbie clothes, and Star Wars paper plate, I did have a chuckle at our Emily. She's brave enough to go to overnight summer camp alone with out batting an eye, but too timid for us to push her on her bike, wants nothing more than Barbies for her Star Wars-themed birthday party, and now, after just four days of practice, can ride her bike with the pros.

That girl is a study in contradictions, to be sure.

I Can't

Continuing with the parental desperation theme I've got going...

We thought Emily might have broken her foot on Monday. It was swollen, she couldn't walk on it, and to top it off, she's supposed to go to camp tomorrow. A trip to the urgent care center later, we find out that it's not broken, that she is in fact, just a big weenie.

Is that any way to talk about a 6-year-old? Maybe not, but for the first time I've found myself really and truly disappointed in her. Not for hurting her foot, hey it happens. And not for going to the ER, better safe than sorry. But because of her refusal the last three days to even try to walk on it.

Attempts at walking quickly unravel into tears and frustrated parents. With her screaming "Nooooooo, I can't do it!" when she hadn't even tried, hell she never even put weight on it.

Now I'm not against resting an injury, or taking it easy and letting yourself heal. I am very much against setting yourself up for failure and saying "I can't". Is it wrong that it bothers me even more that she's a girl saying that?

I spent all of Wednesday ignoring her because I was furious about the whole thing. Which, I think actually worked, she finally started to hobble along. Not the best parenting moment, but still...

God, and I see parents fussing about schedules, naps, and whether the baby food is organic. Come on. This baby thing is a walk in the park compared to what lies ahead. I just hope she can make it to 18 without too much damage.

PS: That picture is actually from a year ago... but it gives quite a good image eh? And that particular fit was about shoes if I recall...

Maybe someone should have asked Violet...

I've started working again, from home primarily. That's pretty lucky I guess since when I returned home from a meeting this morning, Ian dashed out of the house, baby in hand, asking "Can we take her back?!".

She's followed the tradition of her siblings in refusing a bottle. Despite my efforts to pump, manually no less, a small supply of nice milk for her in my absence, she refuses to take it from a bottle. And she's only 8 weeks old! Who are these easy-going children that go from breast to bottle with no problem?

My efforts to take on a role was not even considered for past generations, to teach our kids that their futures are not predetermined by their gender, to change society's view of a father's role, to go to my job and work to make this state a better place for our kids to grow up in, these are all lofty goals. But they're pretty meaningless if we can't even get over this first speed bump.