Soul letters -- letters to my daughters

A long time ago, I had this little idea to preserve my thoughts now for my daughters later. You know, that was a damn good idea.

Dear girls --

A man should want to listen to you and hold your hand without any other intentions. He should be smart and sexy but not too much of either because it can go to their heads in one way or another and that leaves you feeling bad about yourself. You should be able to be yourself – boldly, daringly. You should be able to wear what you want, go where you want and believe what you want. If you can’t, than the relationship is not right for you. Granted, none are perfect, but these are good starters. If they have this, you can live with a little Sports Network now and then – and tell him so, too. Appreciate the men you find who are like this. Above all, though, nurture yourself and the woman you want to be.

Love,

Mom

Anyone else care to chime in here??




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A soul-shuddering cry

Dear J and L:

Like it was yesterday, I remember the tugging, the pulling and the rocking as the doctor pulled you from my swollen belly.
First, she delivered Baby A. Seconds later, a cry so amazing I can still picture myself lying there, crying, too.
Then, Baby B. Another soul-shuddering cry leaps from a tiny mouth, reinforcing my own sobs.
I still remember that first time I set my eyes on you, and couldn’t believe you were both mine.
All mine.

******

Look at the beautiful little girls you are turning into before my eyes. So full of wonder and amazement at every little noise, sight and smell.
The way you hop from place to place, the way you snuggle tight with your lovey blankets, the way you look at me, sometimes, with such innocence – like when you are reaching for something you know you shouldn’t.
Language is slowly forming in your minds and traveling to your lips. I wish I could understand every word you utter and sail away on those words. Still, you communicate better than many I know.
You’ve even learned to say that you’re sorry, in sign language.
Sorry is a word we have to use a lot these days. Sorry I threw that toy at your head, sister. Sorry I bounced a sippy cup off your forehead, mom. Sorry, I got mad and threw all of my food off the table.
Sweetness radiates from both of you: in your smiles, in your giggles, in your dog sounds, in your gorilla imitations, in your toddler dances.
And, in your wonderful, wet kisses.

******
Sweet girls, you will have learned the lesson I’m about to tell you a hundred times by the time you read this letter, if you ever read this letter.
People – human beings – will break your heart. They’ll break it in a way that the word sorry just doesn’t seem enough. But, it will have to be.
I wish I could prevent everyone and anyone from squashing your soul. I wish I could teach you to magically wiggle your nose to make the pain go away when it does happen.
Truthfully, you learned this lesson early, sitting on our front stoop, innocently waving at the passerbys and watching them pass with only a nose in the air and no response to your silly grin or your quiet wave.
You learned this early when Mama or Dada had to tell you no to something that would put you in danger. I see how it crushes you to no end when we have to get back in the car after having so much fun.
I don’t want to be someone who disappoints you.
I’m hoping that by the time you read this, you’ll understand human nature enough to realize that heartbreak and sadness is all just a part of the great circle of life, that with it also come great days of excitement, passion and happiness.
Like a giant roller coaster at some amusement park, your days will go up and down.
You’ll understand all of this, someday, when you are greeted with your own soul-shuddering cry -- that will be all yours.

Guest Post by The Da!

Dear J & L:

Today is Father’s Day, my second with the two of you. I’ve been thinking about what the day means to me, trying to put into words what it means to be your father. There’s no simple way to describe it.

It means riding a little rollercoaster of ups and downs every day: the anticipation of seeing you in the morning; the sadness of saying goodbye as I leave for work (especially if one of you is crying); the burst of happiness with a call from Mama about something you did, or reading one of her blog posts or seeing some new pictures; the absolute delight at coming home to you at the end of the day, in time to give you a bath and get you into bed.

It means my stomach tightens with fear when I get a call from Mama like I did this week when you, L, fell and hit your head on some concrete steps next to the house. You were OK, but for 10 minutes, my mind raced at the possibilities of what might have happened.

But those are the day-to-day things. The best part of fatherhood has to do with knowing that day by day, week by week, month by month, your Mama and I are guiding you on the first steps in your journey through life. I watch in awe as I see you developing into little people – able to use a fork and a spoon, or take your dirty clothes and put them into the hamper, or play games with each other. I marvel at the glimmers of personalities that appeared within six months become clearer all the time. It’s a gift you’ve given us: to watch and understand your behavior gives us insight into our own. I hope making note of this now will help you know yourselves better when you get older.

Mama likes to say being a stay-at-home mom is the toughest thing she’s ever had to do, and it’s also the best thing. I would say that being your Da! is far and away the best thing that will ever happen to me in my life (along with marrying Mama) and that knowledge gives me a mix of peace and exhilaration that I don’t think I could find anyplace else.

Love,

Da!


This is the photograph that the girls look at every day when they miss their daddy.

So many books for girls, so little time

Girls,

You'll remember last week I mentioned that every Tuesday I'm going to tell you about a book I own and why I'm saving it for you and on the same day tell you about a book I'm getting rid of because we don't have enough space in this house for all of these books and all of your stuff, too. I write these as part of 5 Minutes for Moms' Tackle it Tuesday because if I didn't, this task would never get done and I would just let these books stare at me from their special spaces on the bookshelves.

This week, I'm introducing my first real book review as well. The great people at Harper Collins sent me a review copy of "How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved My Life," by Mameve Medwed
, in return for a review on this blog. I'll do anything to get free books so I do not feel bought in anyway here.

I chose this book after seeing a review copy was available through BlogHer. Or, after I tell you this story, perhaps you'll think this book chose me.

First, a little background about me, your mother. In college, as an English major, reading classic literature was pretty much all I did. One of those classic writers became a minor obsession of mine. Virginia Woolf. From the beginning, I was consumed by her stream of consciousness writing, her tale of being a strong woman, suffering from depression after not being able to be with her true love -- another woman -- and then the fact that she killed herself. I had very little in common with her, yet I felt I knew her. I felt I had something connected to her. That's when I realized that sometimes a little piece of us comes from the books we read and their author's, too.

I tell you all of this because as soon as I started reading "How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved My Life" I quickly realized there was a little connection to Woolf in the novel, The author mentions early on another book, "Flush," which is a biography of Barrett Brownings' dog written by none other than Virginia Woolf. More importantly, I own a copy of "Flush," which I proudly picked up at some obscure used book store in Provincetown, Cape Cod, a few years ago when your Da! and I vacationed there.

So, to get to the review here, "How Elizabeth ..." is pure chick literature. I do not read chick lit, typically. I prefer literary fiction that is about women, or by women. However, this book was very well done. There is even a little twist at the end that made me feel refreshed that it wasn't just another "single girl hits rock bottom, but is saved by a man" story.

What I loved about the book, besides it's lightness and refreshing topic -- the main character is an antiques dealer and she goes on "Antiques Roadshow" -- is that she is also highly educated and speaks on a higher level than most chick lit. My avoidance of such books has a lot to do with main characters obsessing over shopping and money. This novel doesn't speak to materialism in that way. This is different. It's great beach reading, or just sitting in the yard with a glass of lemonade reading.

And, if you're someone like me who needs to learn to love what you have, it speaks to that, too. In a big way.

So, for all of the reasons above, "How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved My Life," by Mameve Medwed will be staying on our shelves and I hope that you will read it someday.

Sadly, something has to go this week. I'm choosing "Three Junes," by Julia Glass. I just didn't like the book much at all.

A profound moment in motherhood

Since becoming a mother of twin girls a year and a half ago, I have realized that motherhood doesn’t come packaged in a cute little pink and brown striped diaper bag.
In fact, as a mother of twins, those cute bags are not even practical – when a diaper bag is really needed.
Many of my expectations have changed since my beautiful daughters were born.
Perhaps my biggest lesson learned is that the beauty of being a Mama can be ripped away in a matter of seconds. I’ve learned that an otherwise perfect day can shatter easily like a crystal wine glass bumped in a frenzy to fix a sippy cup of milk.
I’m aware of how precious moments in motherhood are, yet realize, too, that there are no promises of perfect days.
A Monday, for example, that seems like it should be a new start, a refreshing new week can easily turn into chaos by the middle of an early breakfast.
A day that on first glimpse offers lots of sunshine, mild temperatures and a perfect spring breeze, can easily become reeked with food throwing, temper tantrums and tears. And, those are the days when nothing a Mama does can cheer up her babies.
Such days call for something bigger, something more blissful.
With one last trick up my dirty, T-shirt sleeve, I sweep them up in my arms and carry all 45 pounds of them outside, still barefoot, still shaking from the stress. It’s hard to let go of the anger we hold toward ourselves, for not being able to make them happy, for the day not turning out as we planned. And it’s only 7:30 a.m.
Outside, as soon as my dry, cracked feet hit the cold, damp bricks of the patio, the tension – both theirs and mine – releases, and floats up toward the blue sky.
I sit with my feet dangling at the tall patio table. They play among the mulch.
I breathe deep, sucking in the fresh air as if those few breaths are my last.
They smile, giggle at the birds as they dive and dodge past our heads as if we are the worms they are seeking.
With a shudder, I feel something pass over me and it isn’t a bird.
I suddenly feel awake.
Not the kind of awake one feels as they climb out of bed 30 minutes early to two crying babies. Not the kind of awake one feels after a rushed warm shower. Not even the kind of awake a hot cup of coffee can offer.
This was the kind of awake I strive for each day, but easily overlook when times get hard.
I was awake.
I saw the sunshine filter through the lovely pink flowers of the Cherry Blossom tree. I saw the ruffled feathers of birds eating at the birdfeeder. I saw the dew sit atop the grass, the breeze toss the leaves about on the Lilac bushes, a slinky worm barely slip away from under the awkward step of one of my girls’ white walking shoes.
The longer I sat, the longer I watched, the more awake I became.
If our day had gone as normal, we might still be inside playing among bright red and yellow toys in a dimly lit playroom. We might be playing chase or stacking blocks. We might have read board books with pictures of birds and trees.
But that is not how this day started.
Instead, they cried. I nearly lost my temper.
And, in a rush to make us all feel better, we fell into the lap of Mother Nature, who held us close and stroked our foreheads. She brushed the hair back from our eyes so we could see the real pictures more clearly.
And we were in awe.
And awake.
That’s when I realized that motherhood doesn’t have to fit all neatly into some designer diaper bag that I can’t afford.
It doesn’t have to fit into anything. Nature, with her sweet singing birds, the soft breeze, and the warm rays of the sunshine, will protect us from everything scattering about.

This post is now apart of Scribbit's Write-Away Contest about learning.

So many books for girls, so little time

Dear J and L:

This is a serious post. I've mentioned before that I love to read. You know that I love to write. What I may have neglected to mention -- at least prominently -- is that I've been rather obsessed with collecting books over the years. I love finding a good used book bargain. I have books upon books on our many shelves that I have read, haven't read, intend to read someday, and a few that just don't need to be here any longer. As a follow up to my post late last week, I am on a mission to clear stuff out of this house, to purge the old and make new for all of your many things.

This seems like a great time to start a series of posts I have been planning for months, but haven't gotten around to tackling. In honor of Tackle it Tuesday, I will start today.

As I wrote Saturday, if anything in this house doesn't have a purpose, it must go. My theory on purging books goes like this: If it is something I want to read to you, want you to read or want you to have someday, it must stay. Everything else must go. Every Tuesday, I will tell you about one book you have to read and why and then I'll list one more that will be immediately listed for sale on Half.com.

This week, my book review of sorts, will be a copy of "White Oleander: A Novel," by Janet Fitch. Above all, this book must stay. I will read it again someday. I want you to read it for its pure poetry, it's heart-renching details and it's shower of girldome. Of course, you will not suffer like the main character in this book. But, this book is also about the love between a mother and a daughter. That love you will know, immensely. I have many books, but this one I cherish just as much as many of the classics. Please take the time to read this some day, just for reading's sake.

And, so, this means one book has to say buh-bye. That book is "Big Stone Gap," by Adriana Trigiani. A good book, but not good enough for me to recommend to my baby girls some day.

Mourning motherhood

Dear girls,

If I sit still long enough, and think deeply, I can still easily remember that gutter-like feeling that nestled deep into my heart each day I left you at day care.

I had a job, an I-love-humanity kind of job. Before that, a career that evolved out of blood, sweat and tears One that I gave up in hopes that you would come to me some day.

And, when I knew you were going to arrive, I didn’t know then the immense feeling of loss I would feel within myself for having to leave you with strangers for the better part of your awake time.

It was not guilt.

I mourned and grieved for you each day, even though my work days included coffee breaks, quiet walks and conversation with adults.

Like a widow who lost her great love, I lost my two great loves each day, five days a week for six months.

Even when I knew you were in the best hands, I hurt. I regret even writing the word hurt, because it was so much deeper than that. I felt empty inside. I felt raw. I felt lost.

I would sit at my desk and picture you, J, kicking your feet in your bouncy chairs, and you, L, refusing bottles by caregivers, again. Both of you sitting there – you weren’t able to sit alone, yet – watching as other women, who are not your mother, care for you and a half dozen other children.

You were only a block away, but I felt like you were a million miles away.

After you were sick nearly every other week for six months, The Da! and I grew tired. Fees to keep you there added up each month to more than our home mortgage. In the end a mere couple hundred dollars was left over to pay me for the heartache I endured leaving you each day.

With proper budgeting, and many tears, we realized we could manage on one income better than we were managing on two. We sold a car and paid off the other one. And, we made a few other cuts.

And I cannot imagine it any other way. Yes, we need more money. Yes, I need to find ways to cut expenses on food and diapers and clothes.

But it is all worth it to me, to be here and watch you grow and learn. To be the one giving you your milk, your meals, your toys. To be the one to taking you outside under the glorious sun and not just watch you run and play, but help teach you how to play. I’m not the one to just tuck you in to bed each night and wake you the next day.

And, it’s beautiful. As hard as some days are, memories of those early days – carrying you both in to that day care in your infant carriers and handing you off to other moms – are far, far harder, even now, for me to bear.

This post is part of Mammablogga's group writing project. To read more letters like this go to her site.