eight

Eight years ago, on a day a lot sunnier than today, Mike and I got all dressed up and told all the important people in our lives what we had known for some time: that we were going to be sticking together for the duration. It's been an incredibly fast and fascinating ride so far, with moves and babies and job changes and all the things that can challenge a pair of people trying to navigate the world but not lose sight of each other. And now here we are, eight years later, still looking at each other, but looking at something else incredible, too:

Happy anniversary, Mike. Happy family.

greg and milene's wedding!

Today, I am up one new aunt, and I couldn't be happier. Sunday afternoon, my uncle Greg and aunt Milene got married in a simple and lovely ceremony. They have an incredible story. Here's the short version: They went to the same high school lo these many years ago. Milene was an exchange student from Brazil, and Greg was a hometown boy. They didn't know each other. Then they reconnected through the magic of Facebook and their 30-year high school reunion, and realized they were meant for each other. Thus ensued months of planning, paperwork, and international travel, all leading up to yesterday, when Greg's daughters walked him up the aisle on one side, and Milene's daughter walked her up the aisle on the other. It was a custom-ordered beautiful day, and the start of a beautiful married life. Congratulations, Greg and Milene!

apple picking

This year, we got our act together early and managed to figure out when the Honeycrisp (the perfect apple) season began. So off we went Saturday morning to pick some, along with some inferior but nevertheless pleasing to the boys Golden Delicious. And wow, did we hit the timing just right for this expedition! Blue skies, just a hint of fall chill in the air, and early enough in the season that the crowds weren't overwhelming. The stars aligned, and boys and parents were all in good moods at the same time. We ended up with four bags of apples, three happy boys who got to run (and climb!) out a lot of energy, and one delicious batch of homemade apple muffins the next morning. We also stopped on the way back to play apple fairies to my parents, who made delicious looking fried apples with them. Oh! And in "something for everyone" news, on the way back I spotted some blow molds at a yard sale! I made Mike turn around on the highway, which he was not happy about, and then park by the side of the highway, which he was even more unhappy about, and went up to the sale, hoping against hope that they were in my price range (that is, the amount of cash I had left after spending an outrageous $30 on apples). Score! I got Santa, Mrs. Claus, and two candy canes for $18. I've been looking for some for a while now, and they are usually not that cheap. So this might even be the year that CFHQ finally gets it together enough to do outdoor decorations! Stay tuned.

just like me

I'm told that with his eyebrow up like that, Henry looks just like me. "It's Holli's eyebrow on that baby!" my own mother exclaimed when she caught sight of it. I had already pegged this as one of my favorite shots of Henry from his birthday -- not because I thought he looked like me, but because I tend to like the less perfect shots more than the ones where the subject is looking right at the camera and smiling. So him looking like me is just a bonus. Of course, the eyebrow totally suits him. Little punk.

P.S. Now that I'm looking at it a little more closely, I also quite like Charlie's glowing yellow eyes in the background. They really add ... something.

what i don't write

A friend recently told me that it seems from my blog that I've embraced parenting more fully than she has. I was confused, and told her that most of the time I don't know what I'm doing and that I'm just barely keeping the whole thing together. Then she pointed out that I don't put any of that on my blog. She does, because she wants her children to know that it is hard to be a parent. She doesn't want them to go into it thinking that it will be a walk in the park.

So I started thinking about those things that I don't write. How hard it is to know the right thing to do or the best way to handle a situation. How every choice I make ends with at least one person being miserable while at least one other person is overjoyed. How easy it is to hurt their feelings with a look, with a wrong word, with a harsh or more impatient tone than I intended. How I have carried worry and exhaustion like a constant backpack for seven years now, and feel like I will never get a rest.

And then there's work.

Most of my friends think that being a freelance editor and writer is something to be envied. And in some ways, they're right. I do theoretically get to make my own hours (though in practice, it doesn't work out that way). I don't have a commute. I don't have chatty coworkers or bosses. I can be home with my children and doing the laundry and working all at the same time.

The reality is a little different. If the children are home, they need my attention. They need to be fed and watered and cleaned and played with--and they need these things even if I happen to be in the middle of a job. The laundry is there, staring me in the face, reproaching me for being a pretty crappy homemaker because I'm too focused on my work. The nearly empty fridge mocks my occasional halfhearted efforts to make dinner. I've traded in the bosses for clients, and the chatty coworkers (I still miss you guys!) for a schedule where if I take a break, I don't get paid.

This is the bargain that we made to give the boys a house with a yard, good public schools, tons of family nearby, all the wonderful things that will make their childhoods special, and it's a bargain I'd make again. I am lucky because I have a regular job (basically a hybrid between freelancing and telecommuting, meaning that I have a set schedule and work 40 hours a week, but no benefits). But because I am still officially a freelancer, and because I've been dumped in the past by a sole client that suddenly got bought out, I can't just have one client.

So I work, hard, all the time. I work during the day while the boys are at school, I work at night when they are asleep, I work on the weekends. And the children hate it. It's like a special hell reserved just for me. Once a day, at least one child will ask me why I have to work instead of coloring, or playing games, or taking them somewhere special. It doesn't matter that I played games with them yesterday, or that I made up a fantastic bedtime story for them last night. All that matters to that child at that moment is that I am working instead of devoting myself to him. They don't ask Mike every day why he has to work, which I'm pretty sure has less to do with gender roles than it does with Mike actually leaving the house at the same time every day to go to work, as opposed to sitting in the office, there but not really available. So they save the working parent guilt for me, and they give me Mike's helping too.

Don't worry. I'm not going to turn this blog into my own ongoing rant about the struggles of being a parent. I'm pretty sure that it's not easy for anyone to be a parent. But I do agree with my friend that it's important for the boys to know (someday) that even if it looks easy (Does it look easy? How can that be?), parenting is messy, impossible work. It's a constant bargain of every detail of your life. But in the end, it's a bargain, not a sacrifice. I'm not just giving up my time, my efforts, my sense of self; I'm getting three incredible people to share those things with.

henry at two

Do you remember when Henry was 14 months old and he only said "uh oh" because it was the only thing we said (regularly) that was loud enough for him to hear through all the fluid in his ears? I'm sure you do, because you are a good and attentive audience (and also because I've linked it here for your convenience). Well, friends, it's been a short 10 months since then, and I can tell you that those days are gone for good. At two, Henry is a nonstop chatterbox. He points out every single thing he sees, greets (and charms!) every single person he encounters, and narrates every single moment of his day. Case in point: Yesterday, I picked Henry up from daycare, and I mentioned to the teachers that we would bring treats for his big day today. Two of the teachers in the room were newer, had been there only a few months, and they both asked how old he would be and then immediately guessed he was turning three. "Do you think he looks like a three-year-old?" I asked (not in a sarcastic way, either). The reply came from the director, who has been there since before any of the boys started going: "He certainly talks like one!" The two younger teachers were honestly surprised that he is only two because his speech is so impressive. Henry has definitely been making up for lost time.

Our Henry in some ways is a typical two-year-old. His mood is on a permanent pendulum. He runs around the house investigating (and usually destroying) everything he can get his hands on. He learns new things every day. He has (like Liam before him) figured out how to work every lock and gate in this house. But what Henry wants is not to be a typical two-year-old. What Henry wants is to be a two-year-old who can do everything his brothers can do. He loves the things that they love (Mario Bros., playing the Wii, Star Wars, "wrestling" with Mike at bedtime) and has no idea that he is not quite big enough for those things yet. He just jumps right in, whatever the big boys are doing, and figures out how to do it himself. And we let him, as much as we can. He has his own Mario Bros. figures to play with. We give him a Wii remote with the batteries removed and he happily sits next to whoever is playing, pushing buttons and shaking it along with us. And he is getting a Star Wars Boba Fett lamp for his birthday from his big brothers -- to replace his current age-appropriate Big Bird lamp.

This morning, we all enjoyed some breakfast pound cake for Henry's birthday. He took cupcakes to school with him to share with his friends. And tonight, we will do all the things that Henry wants to do, even if that means totally abandoning our Uno game because he keeps throwing random cards around and messing up the order. And we'll hope that Henry never loses that quality of fearlessness that lets him jump feet first into the things that interest him and figure out a way to make them work.

Happy birthday, Henry!