pinwheels of life

I had this dream the other night that I couldn’t get the car parked. This is not as far removed from reality as one might hope. But then my car with its zero turn radius morphed into my stroller with its magical turn radius and I parked it nicely,calling to the boys in their carseats that we had to wait here blocking some stranger’s driveway until daddy came to meet us. This made perfect sense in the dream of course, as did the fact that we suddenly ended up inside the house talking to the homeowners who reminded me alternatively of the couple in the movie UP and Miracle Max and his wife in Princess Bride.

And after they properly admired the babies I looked out their window and told them how much I loved the red convertible parked out there. Shiny, sleek, old. The wife smiled at her husband, and in the way that can only happen in dreams I saw the picnics the car took them to, the drives down the beach, the roadtrips together, and with a twinkle in her eye (she was the lady in UP at this point) said “it’s certainly been a pinwheel of our life.”

In the dream I got it. I saw time as the wind, always blowing around us, past us, moving with us. And then we hold a pinwheel up to it and suddenly time is captured, seen, grabbed unto.  It’s paused and beautified and treated as the here-now-and-then-never-again treasure it is.

As I looked at their car thinking these things it morphed into my childhood car – Brownie. Nothing special that car. But it took us to Dangerfield for camping trips, to Galveston to play in the waves, it sat in our driveway while Mom and Dad played games with us. I saw the work those moments took to create and I wanted them. I wanted those moments for my babies, with my babies. I wanted to be holding Nate’s hand at the end of it all and thinking of my own pinwheel memories.

Then I was back in my car, seeing Nate in the rearview mirror walking towards us down Bomoko street. Wearing the same shirt I had put Thane to sleep in naturally. And then he started crying and I stumbled out of bed to rock Talron back to sleep. Which, I suppose, is the only reason I remembered the dream at all.


{{The pinwheels I made for our Christmas tree repurposed after we finally took it down because life needs some whimsy.}}

this week's babblings

this week’s babblings: volume one

I haven’t scrubbed my kitchen floor since the last time a visit from out of town family was scheduled. This either means I have family visit a lot or that my floor doesn’t get scrubbed very often. You decide.


Thane is unimpressed with Daddy’s facial hair that grew from a well trimmed goatee before Talron came home to a full mountain man beard during paternity leave. The oldest used to just rub Daddy’s cheeks and implore/command “shave, shave?!” Once he gave up on that working he declared him “fuzzy daddy.”


Fuzzy Daddy’s birthday was yesterday. We celebrated with an island/motel/drive-in-double-feature last weekend when the weather and movie line up were perfect. Much like him. Seriously, this man rocks my world and makes the sun in my life come out on a daily basis. And the boys think he hung the moon. We’re coming up on ten years together in July. But if I go there I’ll start to get emotional and sappy and I need to get this house clean so I’ll save it.


For Mother’s Day today I was going to get lilacs from the backyard and steak from the grill. I was also getting a maid that looks remarkably like my husband to help whip the house into shape before the out of town guests get here on Tuesday. Then the boys decided to tag team keeping their father awake from 3-7 when I got up with them and sent him to bed in the basement. This should bother me I know. But all I can think is my two babies are home. My family is complete and together. What more could a mom wish for? (Besides an actual maid I mean.)


A group of bikers bought us dinner at the neighborhood bar/grill the other day. That marks the first time a stranger has ever bought me something in a bar. I guess all the eye batting and coy smiles and general aren’t I adorable behavior paid off. Also the two of them playing peekaboo helped I think. Never thought having children would get me a free dinner. But then again I never thought I’d end up with two kids this cute so I guess life is full of surprises.


My youngest son likes to give us kisses and then give this look that says “aren’t I just so clever and aren’t you so lucky you get to be in my life?” And I wipe the drool off of whatever part of my face he graced with his love and think “absolutely buddy”. Talron also likes to kiss his brother. The other day I looked over to say Thane on the floor and Talron laying kiss after kiss on his face and finally Thane started pleading “too much too much.” I would have rescued him had the reverse not happened one too many times. Fair is fair.


I randomly decided the wallpaper in our bathroom needed to finally come down. Something about coming up on our three year anniversary of being here made me panic that there were three rooms not yet completely repainted since our move-in: the kitchen, the master bath, and the laundry room. But I’m happy to say I finished the kitchen, the bathroom is 90% done – just need to touch up after some caulk and rehang the trim, and the laundry room color has been picked out. I still have a month to go until the anniversary so I’m still hoping to make it. If landscaping projects don’t derail me too much.


Oh bother. I just remembered the linen closet isn’t anywhere near being ready to paint, I want to redo the shelving system in there so that’s not happening anytime soon. So there goes that plan.


I thought having kids would make me feel all responsible and organized and havemystufftogether feeling. Yeah. That’s not happening. On a related note, I’m glad we waited so long to have kids. I know it’s not conventional and some people even mentioned what a hard transition we were bound to have. Other people told us we’d never feel ready. To which I say: wrong. Someday you do feel emotionally ready to have kids. At least we did. It’s not always bad to wait. But then again we didn’t have to worry about biological clocks ticking and eggs dying since we decided we would be shooting the stork and going with the delivery by airplane only type family. So we were lucky in that regard.

We really are lucky as a couple. I look at our lives and know how good we have it. Not because everything went perfectly and not because we got everything we wanted and not because life hasn’t handed us some real asshole moves along the way. But lucky because we have love in our lives. At the end of the day that’s all anyone can wish for. Love of a spouse, parents, children, friends, just love.


{{written over the past week, pictures taken over the last month}}


a question of realness: confessions of a second mom on my second mother’s day

I look at him and know: I am his real mother. And so is she. Both of us real, whole, complete, and needing each other. Because life didn’t weave a story where he has one, it wove a story where he would have both of us. One of us would give him life, a heritage, a history.  And the other would raise him. 

The whole idea of “meant to be” is a confusing one for me. Was I meant to be his mother? I’ve never wanted that to be true because that means he was meant to lose them and I refuse to believe that’s true. I refuse to believe that my “meant to be” hinged on the unfairness of life for others. So I’m okay with being his second best. The backup plan. The replacement. But what about for him? Does that mean his life will be spent in what wasn’t meant to be? Does that mean his life will always be second best? I refuse to believe that either.

So maybe there isn’t what is meant to be and what isn’t. Maybe there’s simply what is. And what we do with it. The life we create out of the life we are handed.

I thought I would be insecure about this question of realness. I thought I would worry about which one of us will hold the place in his heart marked “mother”. But I don’t. Because what I now know is far more important is there’s one in my heart for him marked “son”.

Hers was the heart he first heard beat. Listening to it as he grew beneath it. Its lifeblood flowing through him, nurturing him, creating him, one with him. And mine is the one he hears as he’s rocked to sleep, pounding beneath his little ear in a rhythmic dance of lifelove.  There is no competition here, there is no either/or, there is simply both. We are Mother.