I get stuck throughout the day.  In bed.  On a chair.  She will be sitting on my knees and she’ll start to smile and I will start kissing her cheeks and she will chuckle and I will chuckle and she’ll look at me and I will look at her and then I will not want to be anywhere else.  I will just want to be there.  Right there.  For the whole afternoon.  Hi, Helen.  Hi, Helen.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr. day.  It’s a day I am glad to celebrate, though I am not sure how the man himself would feel about the whole thing.  And I like how Reed calls hot chocolate “chocolate-chocolate.”  And he always wants more.  ”More.  Please.  More chocolate-chocolate.  Mama.”  And I like winter cooking, with its pots on the stove all day long.  And I like days with the people I love.

Today we made a point to take a morning walk.  We didn’t have to wear mittens.  It was Helen sleeping in the sun and fresh air and myself reading on a bench and Reed stomping along the river.  We could linger.  It reminded me of warmer days when we live outdoors.  We water the garden, wrap up some bread, some cheese, and venture forth for as long as we please.

((I miss taking long walks when it is frigid.  I miss taking long walks whenever I please.  But I delight in the company.)

the floor is full of toys and there are dishes to wash (floors to wash, clothes to wash…), but the sun is falling on my chair.  That warm, winter sun.  And there is tea and the quiet of two children sleeping.  I am going to sit in that sun and sit in it well.

And also,

This year.

This new year.  I am going to write here more.  Not better, not longer, just more often.  Read the new translation of The Iliad and The Autobiography of Mark Twain.  Unsubscribe.  Less noise.  More listening.  More writing.  More making.  More talking to strangers.

Happy New Year, friends!

Lindsey

…I’ll think of it someday.

Happy birthday, Helen.  You have been breathing this good air a quarter of a year.  I have loved being with you.

1. Bright girl.

2.  Wild boy.

3.  Wonderful man.

4. Good autumn.

5. Grace for self.

6. Prosperity of kindness.

7. Enough.

8. Family to miss.

9. Family to enjoy.

10. Words to read.

11. Wholesomeness.

12. Able hands.

13. Strong legs.

14. The coming winter.

15. Opportunity.

16. A bit of rest.

17. A bit of music.

I can’t quite place what, but something about this year has been very good in the world.  I really believe that.

Happy Thanksgiving.  Eat well.  Hug the people you love.  Celebrate gratitude.

I never really got into Halloween.  It seemed like a lot of work, really, the pumpkins, the costumes.  I didn’t get it.  I get it now.

Next year, there will be pumpkin carving.  And pumpkin pancakes.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

2.  In an effort to reduce waste, I made my own natural deodorant, today.  This may make me a hippy.  Especially considering that I also do not wash my hair.  Either way, it may be too early to say, but so far it may be the best natural deodorant I’ve ever tried.

3.  What would I do without baking soda?

4.  I am reading The Maytrees, and it is wonderful.  So, so wonderful.  But, honestly?  I really would rather be reading Harriet the Spy again.

5.  I have begun “doing yoga” with Reed.  Which basically involves this: he unrolls the yoga mat and says “Up!  Down!” while I do a few sun salutations, then crawls on me and between my feet and then asks for an airplane ride, and I consent.  It is perfect.

6.  Something about Helen’s eyes does me good.  What is it about that girl?

Brooke said:

…every birth somehow gives you something you need for that particular child. i wonder what you’ve just been given?

I knew the answer then but wasn’t sure enough to say it out loud.  But as I have gotten to know her, I have grown more and more certain.  Helen’s birth taught me to trust her.

We three walked to the park together, down the path over the river we have walked so many times.  Two years ago I walked that path, but my hands were empty, then.  I wonder what I used to think when I would take walks on that path that autumn.  I wish I remembered.  How strange it is to think I didn’t know Reed then.  Not like I know him now.

“How is it having two kids?” people ask.  I find my perspective is deeply dependent on sleep.

Today we are rested and the dishes were done before nine.  Living life with them is all lightness.

The first month was like this:

Week one was precious, quiet and clean.  It was summer, then.  All the windows were open.  Week two we got sick and tried to figure things out.  Week three Adam went back to work and we tried to figure things out.  Week four we knew each other and knew our ways a little.  I like that.  It was autumn by then.  Entirely.

The first day of the second month went like this:

The sun came out and I bathed my babies in the morning.  We went outside to pick a pepper and Helen stretched her head to the sun.  The air was perfect and the geese on the river have never looked happier.  At naptime I cut my hair in front of the bathroom mirror.

Helen is one month old.  She is all brightness.  I love her.

In case you were wondering

after three weeks

I still have no idea what I am doing

not one bit

but at the end of the day

the children are fed

reasonably well rested

and with at least a little fresh air in their lungs

most of the dishes are done

I have read books

and on a really good day

I might even be showered and dressed presentably.

And for now

that is enough.