Snug like two Zugs in a Rug

Every morning, or at some point in the night, I wake up with a third person in bed between me and Bryan. It’s usually Ruthie, who often comes in after Bryan has already vacated his side of the bed for the morning. She sneaks in quietly, and I don’t even know she’s there until I try to escape undetected for a quiet morning cup of coffee.

Thomas is another story. From Day 3 of being alive that kid has thrashed and snorted and gagged in his sleep. When Ruthie was born, she slept quietly in a bassinet by my bed for at least three months. But Thomas? I kicked him out the first week, relegating him to his cavernous crib, because even at 8 lbs that kid could wake a heard of elephants with that snore. Whenever Thomas lumbers into bed with us, he gets an immediate boot back to his own bed, as he ALWAYS ends up whacking me in the head or kicking Bryan in the face.

Sunday morning, after a hard night of partying the day before, I went upstairs to wake the kids for church and found both their beds vacated. This is how I found them, in our bed.

I’m sure they will adore this photo when they are teenagers, don’t you think?

Cue eerie music in the background of this scene…

During a string of particularly bad days concerning Ruthie’s behavior this summer, I vented to my girlfriend that I thought I was raising a future serial killer. At the time she was bullying and intimidating other kids, and finding great enjoyment in watching the reaction of others as they writhed in frustration under her torturous powers.

It’s like an experiment to her, a social experiment – perhaps she’s on the road toward a sociology research degree. Or maybe it’s pure entertainment and all she needs is a comfy chair and a bag of popcorn.

Regardless, I really do think she enjoys pushing other people’s buttons, then watching the ensuing explosion. Reducing others (including her mother) to a fit of tears is her idea of a good time. And the remorse? Oiy, the lack of remorse is, at best, disturbing.

So I vented to my friend, exaggerating, I’m sure, in my emotionally heightened feelings of failure as a mother – wondering, also, which gene pool this behavior came from.

The very pragmatic advice my friend gives me?

“Eh, you shouldn’t worry. If she starts torturing small animals, THEN you have something to worry about.”

Um, do TOY animals count in that equation???

how to can plums

1. Stand on a tall ladder over a treacherous patch of blackberry bushes in order to pick plumbs off the top of the tree

2. Sit around like old ladies, chattering about weddings and babies and the first days of school, while pitting plumbs.

3. More chattering while chop chop chopping.

4. Carry the load together, knowing that canning should never be done apart from the community of friends.

5. Stir stir stir!

6. Taste taste taste!

7. Marvel over the beautiful, purple jars, and feel proud after a hard day’s work.

8. Locate your children, who have run free on this half acre of blissful property all day with minimal supervision.

Thank you to my friend, Heather, who invited us all out to share in this experience, and for climbing the ladder – so bummed I didn’t get a picture of that! Alecia, you rock – your previous experience saved the day! And Beth, you looked mah-valous, and were just as clueless as me!

Round two with pears is this week, and round three with apples is next (if we can manage that kind of stamina!).

What All Four Year Olds Do With Scissors…

The other day I let the kids use their blunt scissors to make beautiful creations with paper. Later on, as I was cleaning the kitchen after lunch, they both went up stairs to get ready for naps. I could hear them up there, screaming as they played catch with a ball – then silence.

Thomas wandered downstairs asking for milk. I asked where his sister was, and went up to investigate. She was nowhere to be found. I called her name, and she answered me… from under Thomas’ bed.

I noticed that she had a pair of scissors in her hand, and I noticed that she was hiding under the bed.

“What are you cutting under there?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re cutting something, and you’re hiding it from me. Confess it to me now, because if I have to figure it out on my own you’ll be in worse trouble” [translate: spanking].

“…my hair.”

She crawled out from under the bed and I saw her poor, chopped, hair. It was so, so, sad. Fortunately, it fixed up pretty nice, but I miss her cute little Ruthie haircut. This one is growing on me, but it makes her look so much older, and I’m not ready for older.

We all took it in stride, though, especially me. It is, after all, only hair.

Flash Slideshow

Writing Day

The rhythm of discipline is producing the fruit of patience and tenacity. I earned every word I put together today, every paragraph and thought. I spent three hours on one essay, and was not discouraged or frustrated – I was pressing in to make it beautiful. I was creating, letting the inspiration flow through me, rather than trying to squeeze it out of a wet sock.

And in my mind I have turned the corner from thinking my three hours a week is a respite from the Everyday, sipping my wine as I tinker on my laptop. These days I feel the weight and seriousness of commitment, the satisfaction and reward of hard work, the challenge of stepping beyond the shitty first draft until I get it right.

I am maturing in my identity as a writer, and I am gaining momentum in the process.

Beauty

Flash Slideshow

Fashion Statements

I actually have an entire slide show I’m compiling of Ruthie’s public fashion statements, but I just couldn’t resist this one from the other day. Temps were in the 70’s, but she insisted on wearing the fuzzy winter tights. Notice, also, that she is watching her feet as she walks because her shoes are ‘so beautiful.’ As we walked through town on our way to get hair cuts, at least five people commented on what great tights she was wearing. She was very proud.