Hibernate Blog

You can add to that long list of “Things they never tell you about babies,” that babies will cry just when you least expect it. Or, perhaps more precisely put, they will cry when you least want them to, in this case, in the very gentle and kind face of a stranger.

We were in the elevator this morning on our way to the ABC Kids Showcase. There were only a couple of people in the elevator. One had a badge that read Fit Pregnancy on it. “Oooh,” I thought, I want to talk to him. He was looking at Finley with a huge grin, “Look at all that hair,” he said, “I’m jealous.” We all tittered as he had a very noticeably shaved head.

He leaned in, “Well hello, pretty little one. Hello.” He was beaming and about to reach for her foot when her whole body went tense, her feet kicked out and she shrieked as if in pain. What followed were three minutes of unabated screaming and sobbing and floor after floor of, “Oh, poor thing doesn’t like elevators.” After the second or third comment he said, “No, she just doesn’t like overly friendly bald men.”

There was not soothing her, nor was there any real chance to smooth things over. I ached for the kind stranger and for Fin, both were equally traumatized I am sure. If he’s reading this…

No worries! She shook it off nicely.

Repurposing, we’ve all done it. A ribbon for a belt, a coat for a pillow, a basket for a basket. Ok, so the last one doesn’t sound that impressive, but I have to tell you, in the flesh it was incredible.

My husband decided a few months back that our daughters would love The Wizard of Oz. They fell hard for the Wicked soundtrack so he thought between the music, the ruby red slippers, and Glinda it would be a slam dunk. It was harder to find than we imagined, managing only just this week to snag a copy from a friend.

He was right, the girls adore it. Avery talks about watching, “the girl take a walk,” and Briar, ever the performer and enchantress wants to live it. Yesterday she took our diaper caddy and emptied the contents tidily next to a small table. She then proceeded to stand, little basket in hand, watching the movie and every so often jumping to mimic the dance number skips that Dorothy does, all the while clutching her little basket.

Repurposed to truly spectacular effect.

Anyone know where I can find a pair of ruby red slippers?

Add to the list of the things you can never truly understand until you are a parent:

Sometimes celebrating a milestone feels like saying goodbye.

Last weekend Nate learned to ride his bike. The sight of him, little feet barely able to reach the ground, neck straining to hold the added weight of his helmet, and eyes alive with excitement, brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Watching his sister hungrily, we had known it was only a matter of time before he put all the pieces together and caught up to her. It is just hard, no matter how proud we are, to remember that he isn’t pedaling away from us, he’s moving forward.

Nate, my little guy, you are getting to be such a big boy, but no matter how far you pedal or how high you climb, you’ll always be my baby.

There comes a moment when the cumulative effects of sleepless nights and demanding days reaches a point of no return. The weary murmurs of, “Will it ever end?” and “Just one more minute, Mama just needs one more minute to sleep,” begin to ebb. The rhythm of the infant march, the feedings and the naps, the rocking and the shushing takes hold and the hard edges blur. There is routine and mastery, maybe even a touch of auto-pilot, until it happens.

You sit nestled in the couch, the house is still but for the gentle post-storm breeze, your laptop or a book rests on your lap, you are at peace. Calm. You pause, feeling something afoot, but unsure of exactly what it is, until you turn. And there she (or he) sits, aglow in loving you.

Pudgy bare feet with wiggly toes extended upward as if stretching to accommodate more joy, eyes twinkling, scanning your face until you smile. You set aside your reading and lean in, “Ah-goo,” she says, and of course you “ah-goo” back. It is hard to know in these moments who is more proud, whose delight soars higher.

What is perfectly clear is exactly your place and purpose in the world.

This moment of joy, life lived fully.

Ever tried to get things done, I am mean really getting things done, while working from home in the company of a breastfeeding infant, a 2 year old with a broken leg and a project loving three and a half year old?
No?
Really?
Well, if you haven’t occasion to run to the DMV at noon on the eve of a holiday weekend, this is the next best way to slowly lose it. I kid.

Last week I had several things I very much wanted (and needed) to get done in conjunction with the launch of the redesigned SaraBear website. I knew that I would need to be aggressive in my activity planning to keep the girls a) less aware of the unrelenting Adirondack humidity and b) relatively out of my hair in order to cross some things off of my list. I knew that my greatest chance of success lay in my successful choreography of a project that would put the big girls in plain sight of the littlest girl.

Successful projects when working from home, in my experience, tend to involve the weaving of said project into your work. Now, even though my girls can steer a mouse through iTunes and sing their abc’s, they have not yet mastered HTML, helping was out of the question. Parking them in front of the tv or computer, while occasionally effective, always leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Taking my laptop outside fails as the glare from the sun is too intense and the dirt that Avery gets into and the water that Briar splashes in, put the baby and my computer in peril. Sigh.

Looking at my mountain of things that I take to and from the office each day I spied my research, magazines. A collage? No, that would mean 2 projects rather than 1. It needed to involve both girls and, quite honestly as much structure (read: less choices) as possible to allow more “project-doing” and less bickering. I grabbed a magazine and sought inspiration, it came in the form of water-colored sketches of women in Real Simple, a magazine that I love for its reassurance that everyone is really just trying to figure it out the “it” being managing work, family and organization.

I quickly snipped the heads off the illustrations as the wheels in my head turned, we’d make a garden.

No pipe cleaners…Cardboard from the discarded Huggies box could be stems.

No pots…The diaper caddy could house the garden.

No activity…once finished they could “water” the garden and “pick” the flowers.



I alternately wrapped green construction paper around strips of cardboard while oohing and ahhing over the faces the girls picked and drafted a press release for Eve Gumpel at WomenEntrepreneur.com. The nature of the project allowed for little fingers to assist with positioning and taping and for little sisters to watch while kicking and gurgling.



Now, I may not have found a way to change the world, but I did find a way to get three kids to pass an afternoon without screaming, crying or fighting, while I managed to get things done. All in all, for this working mom, it was a pretty perfect little world for a little while.


A job well done.