Deuces

It was family traditions reporting day at school.  One of Alana’s first Spanish presentations, I was eager to hear how it went. “Did any of your friends have cool traditions? How about Eli? And Everly? What about Isabel? It was at ‘Isabel’ that Alana remarked she “actually has *two* friends name Isabel...” I added the fun fact that my grandmother’s name was Isabel, too.  Wasting no time, Alana inquired: “Is she still alive?” Slowly, and with an air of reminiscence, I replied “No sweetheart, she isn’t alive any more…” To which she immediately left out an audible sigh of relief, adding “oh, that’s good! That would be too many Isabels for me to remember”. I smiled.  I love how young kids think. And since Sayler has hit the age of dread over her, or her family, dying, I take solace in knowing it’s no big deal for Alana, at least.  That phase of realization that we’re all mere mortals has not yet crept up and I am so grateful for how singularly-minded Alana is.  In f...

Alana lost her first tooth yesterday.  And I wasn’t ready for it.  Though she’s been saying for the last 2 weeks her tooth is “wiggly” I wasn’t prepared for her holding her hand to her little mouth as I sat draped over the blue chair that’s become synonymous with all-day TV binges of late. (I’m neither proud nor ashamed to admit that). And as she clutched her mouth, hiding whatever toothless grin lay beneath she told me her “tooth fell out” I immediately thought it was a prank. Only a few years prior hadn’t her older sister tried to extort the tooth fairy with playdough creations and soppy white paper towels crafted into look-alike teeth? Nestled beneath her pillow awaiting some payday that the fairy never delivered on, I had become accustomed to all the ways Sayler could negotiate or lovingly, and without malice, con someone out of their loose change or a five dollar bill because she had done a chore that she should have been doing anyway.  And here she was- that older s...

Alana and Sayler, This memory popped up and I’m so grateful for it. I’m grateful that this is still your relationship. So incredibly close. So incredibly playful. So incredibly rife with the cliché of older sister-younger sister-annoyance.  Sayler, we’ve just wrapped up 4th grade. It’s hard to remember when it started and ended. The pandemic has made much of the last year a blur. Big, big, big, mucho grande blur. But we also did so much.  Together.  You are obsessed with Roblox, TikTok, YouTube, mystery shows, and your closest friends, Seleste, Alexis, Josie and Samantha. You are witty. You are a a fixer. You are a problem-solver. You are “work smarter, not harder”. You challenge me. You unravel our senses and make us rethink everything we’ve feigned knowing.  Alana, your vocabulary is unreal. And often inaccurate.  Your expressions and humor are well-timed and random.  We’re here for all of it, sugar.  Lipstick = realistic  Choking = joking “Ahhh...

Alana, I appreciate that your primary love language is touch. I can get on board with all the hugging and 20-rapid-kisses-in-a-row vibe you have going on.  Your favorite thing ever is to sit and watch TV while holding my hand, or watching TV and using your daddy as a giant pillow.  Alana, I appreciate that you say: “I’m just choking!” Instead of “I’m just joking”. And we all go along with your improper word choice because it’s just too funny.  Alana, I dig that you love stuffed dogs. Between your Paw Patrol dogs, Our Generation dogs, my random but darling TY beanie baby collection from 20 years ago that you’ve appropriated, and all stuffed animal dogs of other varieties, our home is full of love for dogs.  And when you insist on taking “The Whole Family” with us wherever we go, it’s both sweet and stressful, because you can’t leave any of the sisters, brothers, or mom or dad behind.  Alana, I appreciate that you don’t hold anything against me.  Not yet, any...

*I found this in Drafts- so here I am... publishing it 4+ years after the fact* 🤦🏽‍♀️ I have a newborn in the swing.  I have a 4 year old making food in her kitchen.  And fortunately my kitchen is tidier than hers... And if my newborn wasn't asleep- not nursing or crying or in need of urgent blowout assistance- my sigh might have been heavier when I heard the sound of a  falling cup and SPLASH! I did not look at the mess behind me. I sat quietly.  I did not acknowledge the splash. Sayler paused quietly for only a second and then confidently added "I'll go get a towel..." To which I responded "okay- go get a big one..." Because that splash was not slight. Of course- I helped her clean it up.   Some days there is no use sighing (*or crying) over spilled milk.   Clean it up.  Nestle back into couch. Await other mess or food tragedy. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

It’s not my story. R shared it with me on our somewhat-quarterly-ish catch up call. We miss being direct colleagues. Though now we are transitioned into fun friends.  Friends that check-in on each other somewhat-quarterly-ish. We lamented a bit. Unusual for both of us.  We lameneted the heaviness of these past few days, if not months. Friends losing their loved ones, and the paralysis of not being able to comfort them in the time of CoronaVirus.  We laughed at the regions of the United States where people don’t wear masks. And I don’t know why that was so insanely funny to us Geminis, but I guess giggles are hard to come by in the time of CoronaVirus. We talked about the basic-privileged-person things we were missing in the time of CoronaVirus.  A family-favorite restaurant near her sister had opened back up. And this is the sister with 3 kids and a 4th due in November.   They’d missed that restaurant. The food was so amazing there, but nothing as delicious and ...

Such magic. Cinco de Abril means our Joyful girl has celebrated another birthday- her 4th to be exact! She and I enjoyed our semi-usual 3.5 mile trek up to the fire station on 24th, and back. Lloyd picked up an essential chocolate cake and pizzas today, and Sayler and I had the wherewithal to get her gifts a few weeks ago pre-Covid19 lockdown. It was a most-perfect birthday celebration at home. In anticipation, I interviewed Alana Joy last night on her last night of being 3. Here were her answers: 1. What’s your name? “Alana” 2. What do you like to draw? “Me” 3. What makes you happy? “My class” 4. What makes you sad? “When somebody hurts me” 5. What makes you laugh? “My class” 6. How old are you? “Six” (she’s 3) 7. How old is Mommy? “Uhhhhhh... I can’t know (panics).... “I still can’t know!” 8. How old is Daddy? (Stressed and panicked) “I CANT KNOW” 9. What is your favorite thing to do? “Play with Sammy” (our dog) 10. What do you want to be when you grow up? “A teacher” 11. What is you...

I’ve become acutely aware of her turning into a little girl.  Her 4th birthday looms around the corner. The frame of her body morphing into a lean and tall toddler on the precipice of losing her uniquely adorable belly.  She’s incredibly sweet. I couldn’t even describe it in words. It’s the kind of thing very few people can witness- those who know her well- those who embrace her with open arms and squeeze her just tight enough to fill your heart with joy.  And she won’t rush you. She will linger in her embrace, often adding in words, unsolicited, like “I love you, mama”.  And when I ask her how much she loves me, her arms spread wide and her cheeks magically double in size, her white teeth on display. Her cat-shaped eyes crinkle slightly.  She’s excited to show me just how much.  And on other sweet occasions she’ll casually run her small hand over my head, saying things like, “mommy your hair is so beautiful, is like ‘R’punzel hair”....

It's been months since I've last had a chance to write.  So long, in fact, I forgot how to sign in to my blog. Alas, I've made it back, folks.  All 3 of you loyal readers (give or take) are in for it.  The most riveting blog to date. All about email. The last few months have kept me busy re-learning to enjoy gym time, hanging out with my kids loads and loads, coaching youth soccer, getaways with friends and family, but what I bring to you today is this moment as I purge my email inbox and outbox. I started with large files and attachments as I prepare my life to move from Google to Outlook. It was astounding to see how many messages I'd sent over many recent years.  If anyone ever says I am not a solid communicator, I present to them the exhibit above. 66,000 emails sent.  Dating back only in the last 4 years.  Plus all the ones I purged manually, tediously, enjoying the slow click of each tiny box and hovering over the trash icon. Felt good...

These girls are growing fast.  Slow.... Fast. Slow.... Fast.  Funny girls.  Wild girls. Clever girls. I want to tell the world about them but grapple with the laziness (or perhaps just fatigue) of the daily grind. Fast.... Slow.... Fast.... Slow.... Like the months well-after potty training has completed successfully where moms and dads are still racing to pottys on a moments notice.  It’s all incredibly benign and eventfully uneventful. (Yes. That’s a thing). Since starting a new school recently, Alana has occasional “accidents” and has seemingly regressed though is rather  practical about her transgressions.  Or non-committal to the idea it was her who peed in her pants.  “Alana we don’t pee pee in our pants” I remind her. “Nooooooooo. It was Sophia. She took my panties and she pee pee in dem’.”  Her tall tales of someone else peeing in her pants is all new. The latest unicorn and faery story she’s adopted since starting at her new Montessori la...

I sat down with a sandwich (and for the record I know food is often featured in my stories and I’m #notsorry I have the body of a 17th century Victorian goddess who also loves #tacotuesday) The sandwich was bomb, guys. The fresh sliced turkey from some fancy deli, and pepper jack cheese and just the right amount of mayo and mustard.  The bread had tiny seeds, also super fancy.  I was at my mom’s and that place is feast or famine central and as I sat down to take a bite Alana implored me, without notice: “mommy you take me potty?” My slight annoyance must have been palpable. Hadn’t I taken her potty only moments before?  And I know I’m a mom and I’m supposed to find trips to the potty to be magical and rewarding but honestly, ya’ll I was hankering for that turkey sandwich and watching “The Intern” on BluRay with my mom.  As I sighed and stood up quickly, lest my little ángel tinkle in her jeggings, I must have looked less than enthusiastic. Alana’s face changed to sur...

“He’s hot”, my 7 year old said as a tweenager passed our table. Pizza still in my mouth, mid-chew, I looked at her, and scanned the vicinity for the boy who passed too quickly.  She’s 7 going on 18, and I could see the goofy, whimsical smile cross her face as she taunted Lloyd and I. We all laughed, and I turned in my chair to say “she thinks you’re hot” to the boy no longer behind us. Sayler’s face flushed pink, quickly turning around, herself now mid-chew as she prepared to face her embarrassment. Alas, she was safe... for now. When did my young daughter start saying boys were “hot”? Was it as her second top tooth fell out? Was it when we were finishing up her 2nd grade year-end Ruby Bridges presentation? Perhaps as her toes pushed out of her cleats, now somewhere between size 12-12.5. My brazen, sometimes shy, clever and wickedly funny daughter thinks boys are “hot” and I may just about die. Die laughing, but nonetheless, death ya’ll.

I stared at the last text my colleague, Kevin, sent while quietly indulging in froyo from the nearby yogurt shop. After an exchange of camaraderie-infused texts and aptly-placed humor, I thought to myself “I should talk to Kevin more often”.  Because 10 months ago when I met Kevin, and a slew of other new colleagues, in person, I wasn’t ready to get to know anyone.  I wasn’t ready for the relative “bigness” of adding more people to know, and work with, in my life.  It felt like a slap in the face then. To quickly welcome new colleagues on the heels of losing so many former colleagues in the summer corporate restructure felt cruel and unreasonable.   And on a warm July evening as Kevin threw his arm over my shoulders on the last night of our sales meeting to give a kind goodbye, it felt like I was cheating on my former colleagues.  I said nothing in response to his gentle collegiate hug, but chose to walk away from the large group of new colleagues from the new b...

I stopped writing. I can't remember the day, exactly, that the desire all but escaped me, but in knowing myself, and all the ways I retreat from the world when it feels utterly and blissfully chaotic, I can assume it came without notice. I just needed to be away from myself.  I couldn't trust my own words and perceptions, and when the faintest whim came over me to want to write, there were times when the sound of my voice that echoed from writing felt obnoxiously loud. Transparent and vapid. Exposed and anxiety-inducing. But the nagging force of motherhood reminded me it wasn't fair to my kids to not write. For Alana to not know how much her mommy adores her, even on the days I desperately try to escape her and the screeching sound of her wail when part of her granola bar breaks off, or when I pour too much milk in her cereal, or when I don't move quickly enough, or when I breathe and exist in her presence. But really. She's amazing despite the chron...

It’s nearly March, isn’t it? My baby is nearly 3, isn’t she? My husband has a birthday soon, right? And Easter, Mothers Day and  My Moms’ birthdays and Dads’ birthdays, too.... That is spring. But This.  This winter that will come to a close in a few week’s time lingers with the most gorgeous snow-packed mountains.   Southern California marvels at the pounding rain and flurries that touch down on elevations not seen for decades. This is winter, isn’t it? This is my baby, who loves more than anything to snuggle close. Alana who affectionately tells me she loves me loudly and often.  This is my 7 year old who makes me work to retrieve any insights from her day.  Until we curl up together in bed each night when Sayler and I do our “3 questions”. This is us. 

“I wanna go Chris’mas, pleeeeeeeeeeeeze!!!” Alana clasped her hands tightly toward her chest, her eyes closing with her plea. “Okay”, I smiled.  “We’ll go Christmas” And on this last day of winter break, January 6th, 2019, we went ‘Christmas’. And of course what Alana means by “go Christmas” is a desire to go to the snow. (Where she made that relationship between the holiday and a white winter sledding trip, I don’t know, but it’s rather sweet). Alana proceeded to jump for joy, and followed her gleeful dance with a very baritone- “Santa! Ho Ho Ho!!”    (She really is so incredibly cute and vocal).  We enjoyed our short drive up to the mountains and spent a greater part of the day sledding and photo-snapping.  And though we didn’t get a chance to see Santa in January (Alana certainly asked: “I won see Santa”!),  we had a decadent day, with the girls wearing their new snow bibs they received (on the *actual Christmas).