Deuces

I am lost in what number it is. Top 10- or is it 5? It's one of those frequently used words of yours Alana, and I am pleased to hear it when it falls out of your mouth. "Sheesha". That is how you pronounce  "sister". And I would be remiss to not acknowledge that when you and I talk, I always refer to your one and only sibling as "Sister" instead of as Sayler. "Where's sister?...." "Let's go get your sister..." "Go with sister".... I often urge you, in attempts to have you shoo out of my bedroom while I am trying to hide away from my children. And since Sheesha is your favorite person, it's not hard to get you to do anything that involves her. You hug your sheesha every day. Not because we tell you to. Not because of any reason other than your strong need to put your arms around your role model and hold on- often for a full minute, waiting for sheesha to wrap her arms back around you, which she ...

Alana, You'll never realize how stinking cute you are.  You are an enigma, really, though.  You have this easy going demeanor until the minute you don't.  I am convinced there has never been a cuter tantrum-thrower than you.  The way you immediately slide into the floor like a baseball player stealing home.  You'll roll, tumble, wail, shake your head.  Sometimes, if you're really feeling an epic battle raging within, you'll even pause to survey the floor, do a pirouette, and proceed to the slide.  It's quite artistic, if I do say so myself.  But they never last long, do they.  Perhaps because mommy is nonplussed if not amused.  I want to capture you in all your cuteness. In all the ways you look at me. The way you move quietly to a corner when you don't want me to see what you're playing with.  The way your eyes innocently lock mine when you see me, see you, doing whatever it is that you shouldn't be doing.  The way you rifle t...

If I done that, I wouldn't have this. If anything were different then, I wouldn't have Sayler. And in the years that followed her birth, if I'd done anything differently, I wouldn't have Alana. I wonder about "what ifs" I sometimes stare at pictures, or I get lost in memories, or I hear something on the radio or see something that makes me pause and wonder "what if?" And then I remember, on a day like today, that I'm in my car, parked outside of an elementary school, and I am waiting for my almost-six year old. And I wouldn't be outside this very school, waiting for that very girl, if it weren't for things exactly as they've turned out. But then I drift.... Back into a "what if?" Could I have changed anything?  Could I have made anything better?  Could I have made anyone healthier? Could I have said more?  Done more?  And then I remember if anything had changed many years ago, I wouldn't be in this exact white car, with ...

We say you're like a gorilla. Make no mistake: we think that's pretty much the best thing ever.  I know as you get older one of the many, many things I will miss most is your extended belly. The round shape that sticks out so far and creates an imbalance as you toddle forth... a side-to-side heavy footed motion that thrusts you forward- reminding us of a gorilla. It doesn't help that you also squat like a gorilla. Surveying whatever is on the floor in front of you.  Carefully examining, using small, delicate fingers to pick things up.... You're like a gorilla.  For now. One day I will miss this gorilla stage terribly. I will remember it, think on it, tell you about it.  I'll tell you about your first word at 9 months: "mama", and your second dada" at 11 months.   You have progressed to word number 3... "wow". And it's almost as sweet sounding as ''mama' is.  I'll tell you about all these things... Love, mommy.  

Daughters, I want to tell you about when I thought I'd have a son. It was long ago... so very long ago...  I was dating someone I thought I might someday marry, and we would often talk about the kids we would someday have. And I unilaterally decided we would have a son, and his name would be Ethan. And I was quite sure of it. Perhaps as sure as I was that I would someday marry that boyfriend I adored and loved.   The boy with the warm and honest smile.  The boy with whom I laughed and danced. The handsome boy I talked with on the phone all hours of the night. And every once in a while I still smile when I think of that would-be son, Ethan, because it reminds me of a great love, and because his name was significant and well-thought out. Someday I will tell you how I derived at that name, Ethan. If I told it to the world now they would see deep into my heart, and maybe that's a place I only want to tell you girls about.  But I can tell you and the world now that...

I like the window seat. It's where I think real hard, remember real good, and dream most big. It's where I stare out at moving clouds and pretend the person next to me doesn't exist.  It's where memories dazzle my brain. Vivid flashes of family, friends, lovers, and encounters of both the bizarre and profoundly normal- moments that I had managed to almost forget until sitting on some plane, flying somewhere, in some time zone, staring at some clouds rolling by.  These clouds from this window seat- They remind me.

Alana, 361 nights ago I held you in my arms at exactly this hour. Nursing you, cradling your warm, naked, new body close to mine. Completely in love. So in love. I hope you know that kind of love someday. It's transcendent... unmatched... calming... whole... And you were held, unnamed, in those hours, and it would be 2 days later that we named you, officially.  (It turns out- we couldn't leave the hospital  without naming you). So let me tell you how your name came to be. Alana, Your name was on the short list for a while.   Your dad always liked it. It is my middle name. And when I was pregnant with your sister, gender unknown, he tossed around the name Alana if we had a girl. But I knew the baby I was carrying was not an 'Alana'. Sometimes, you feel things deeper than in your heart... It's in your soul. And so your sister came to have her name, and if fit her perfectly. And then nearly 5 years passed of our lives... And when I held you, my new, calm, gentle baby w...