When Benjamin was very little, he was a terrible sleeper. He would almost never take a nap unless we were holding him. He didn’t sleep in the car or in the stroller. And at night, he’d only sleep if you walked with him . . . constantly. Dan & I walked miles and hours around our apartment in the middle of the night. If we tried to sit down, he’d typically wake up and cry. Most nights, we’d walk with him for a few hours and then finally be able to ease him into his crib, only to be up again with him an hour or so later. We used to take turns, and we’d cap each “shift” at 3 hours — beyond that, we’d go and wake the other one up — earlier if we were starting to get frazzled (which was easy to do). Getting him down at bedtime was the worst.
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Mina is coming!
In less than two weeks, my sister will be here to visit. I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it. I haven’t seen her (or any of my sbilings, or my dad, or my stepmother) since we left for Austria last April (and I haven’t seen my mom since August) — it will have been nearly a year by the time she arrives. I miss her terribly.
Chalk on the terrace
Over the winter, we’ve done a lot of indoor art projects. There were a few that included fun and messy things like glitter and glue, but mostly we stick to (relatively) clean and orderly art in the winter when we’re stuck indoors — things like dry erase markers, stickers and coloring books. (I’m working on being less worried about messes in favor of fun, but I’m making slow progress.) I was more relaxed about this at home, where the house was ours, and I’m more concerned about it here, with parquet floors that we’re only renting. So, our messiest art projects (like painting on the easel) principally happen outdoors, which means they have to wait for the warmer weather.
Lost Sunday
I am a creature of planning and routine. Weekends are busy times around here. We have all the “usual” weekend stuff to do, like vacuuming the house, going to the grocery store, catching up with family on Skype and going for a run. And then we have the things we don’t do every weekend, but which need to get done sometime, like getting the stuff to hang curtains, working on the taxes, planning our summer trip to the beach. And, then, of course, we try to find a little time to relax and enjoy ourselves.
Gray
I just found my first gray hair this morning. I know, I’m incredibly lucky that it’s taken this long. I’m sure there are others in there somewhere, but they’re tricky to distinguish from the blond ones, so it’s possible that I have a ton of them (maybe my “blond” hair has just been progressively becoming grayer over the years, and I’ve never noticed). I doubt it, though. My dad is still really blond, so I suspect it’s just good genes and I’m just exceptionally fortunate.
I’m not traumatized at all. I actually like it. Not only is it pretty and kind of sparkly, but I really have no issues about getting (and looking) older. (Maybe it’s because I’ve always looked relatively young?) I think I would be bothered if I looked older than I am — for any reason, hair color or otherwise — but as it is, I don’t mind my gray hair. In fact, I have this image of myself, one day in the future, much older, with a long gray braid — and I’ve got to start somewhere. (I hope that works out for me, eventually.) I tried to point it out to Benjamin this evening. He was unimpressed.
I’m a mom. I’m 35. Life is good. I don’t mind looking like all of those things are true.
I’ve been thinking about getting my hair highlighted for years, but I’ve just never gotten around to it. My hairdressers and my more fashion conscious friends have assured me that it would be flattering and make me look more youthful. Maybe I’ll get around to it one of these days, but I’m certainly not going to do it now — it might cover up my gray hair!
The liberation of anonymity
Reply
For most of my life, I’ve been a pretty self-conscious person. I’m constantly judging myself, and I imagine (much more than is probably true) that other people are judging me, too. I have spent years of my life evaluating every little thing that I did, trying to see if it was “right” and adjusting it if it wasn’t. I spent many years trying incredibly hard to be, do or say what I was “supposed” to or what was “expected” or what (I thought, probably incorrectly) would make people like me — I denied who I really was a lot.
One more snow
The weather forecasts here in Vienna are surprisingly inaccurate. We’re not sure why — whether people just care more at home, so more resources are put into forecasting, or whether something about the climate of Vienna makes it hard to predict the weather. But it’s common for the temperature forecast to be off by 10 Celsius degrees, and occasionally even more. Likewise, when any kind of precipitation is called for (or not) we don’t really count on that happening.
Nothing to say
I’ve been staring at my computer for over an hour trying to think of something to say, and I just can’t. I’ve been trying to switch my mind off of the track that it’s on — to something more upbeat, or clever. But I can’t.
A friend of mine from Sweet Briar (I don’t know her terribly well, but it’s a small place — we’re all friends) has two little boys. Carter, the youngest, was diagnosed this past fall with a malignant, inoperable brain tumor. He’s too little for the kind of radiation therapy typically used on this type of tumor, so they’ve been fighting his cancer with chemotherapy. He’s 2. His older brother and dad have been at home, trying to maintain some version of “normal” (which included relocating the family at one point) while his mom has been with him while he gets his treatment (partially administered at St. Jude’s).
Liam’s nap
Is it possible, little one, that there will come a time when you don’t know how special you are? Your open mouth, your tightly curled fingers, your little body snuggled up against me. Here, while you sleep in my arms, is a perfect moment. I wouldn’t change a thing. I love to feel your soft breath and see your eyelids flutter while you sleep. My sweet baby. I am awed and grateful to have been given the responsibility of being your mother. When you are awake, you embrace life so thoroughly — running, laughing, cuddling, smiling, demanding what you need. And as you sleep, you are so content. You are such a happy child, and so comfortable and confident in who you are.
Tax time
Doing your taxes is like vacuuming. It doesn’t matter what country, zip code or time zone you’re in, it’s not fun. I don’t object in principle to having to file my taxes (nor to having to pay them) but I do find the process of preparing and filing my return frustratingly complicated and supremely unsatisfying.