Broken dish, broken heart

When I was showing Andrew these photos of Christmas Eve the other day, his little eye immediately fixated upon that small Christmas-themed candy dish on the coffee table. And he got really really sad.

One night shortly after Christmas, before we had put any of the accoutrements away, Andrew (who takes after me in the crazy gene) became so enraged about something (I wish I could remember what) that he picked up that dish and slammed it back down on the table, breaking it. I like to handle such things by massaging their guilt muscle a bit. A child's guilty conscience is a mother's best asset. So I acted really sad. I quietly picked up the pieces and spoke softly about how special that candy dish had been. (This was actually sort of true. After all, how often do you find a really cute Crate & Barrel dish for $1 at a second-hand store? Even if you don't live the sort of life in which the dish would ever contain something besides tiny plastic star wars guns.)

Andrew wanted to see if we could glue it back together, but I honestly replied that we could not. He suggested that we could just buy a new one, and I honestly told him that it had been made several years ago and we would probably never see the same one for sale at a thrift store again. That was when he totally fell apart. He sobbed as if something living and beloved had just died. I decided he had faced the consequence of his actions enough, and now was time for a little measured perspective. But despite all my reassurances that it was only a dish, Andrew would not be comforted. "I loved that candy dish so much! It was my favorite! I am so so so sorry, Mom! So sorry!" More sobbing.

He seemed to calm down a bit after I got him in the tub and I thought the whole thing was behind us. Our nightly ritual is to put the boys in my bed in their little towels where they, after feeling sufficiently warmed up, jump around naked while I get their pjs and books ready. Then the boys get dressed and we settle in and read for a while. I left Andrew in my room while I went back to get Will out of the tub. I heard a sudden cry from my bedroom followed by loud sobbing. I rushed back in, sure that Andrew had suffered some sort of physical injury. But, of course, he was crying again because he had remembered that candy dish and was mourning it. His tiny heart was broken and he apologized continually. I think it might be the biggest regret of Andrew's little life.

And it makes me think of a quote I associate with General Conference:
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"

Andrew, may all your regrets be as unreasonable and exaggerated as the one you still suffer for that broken candy dish.

Christmas Day

christmas morning

Buying for Christmas was easy this year and was brought to us courtesy of local thrift stores and Walmart. The theme: violence. The Star Wars enthusiasm generated by multiple viewings of the original three on our long Thanksgiving Trek had not abated and basically dominated our gifts this year.
Andrew got his highly-demanded booster seat. (Isn't his excitement palpable? I really captured the moment!) He needed it anyway and he has loved it every single time we get in the car. He loves it so much that I don't regret the little reading lights, though they are slightly annoying and slow Will's departure to sleep when driving home at night. They also sometimes trick me into thinking I am being pulled over.
I just love photos of kids gathered around a parent to assist them in opening presents.
Walmart guns. Still not forgotten.
Will, opening Andrew's gift to him (R2D2) with joy. Andrew was even more excited.
Spontaneous hug of thanks restaged so I could photograph it.The only thing Will asked for when seated upon Santa's lap (he was the most realisitic-looking Father Christmas I had ever seen, but when I asked him what Will had asked for he looked at me with utter surprise and said that he had no idea. But he knew his business; he had Will repositioned so as to minimize the appearance of his tube in the photo we paid a thousand dollars for.)
So, though they were the most expensive gifts and not easy to find in this warped age of obsession with Anakin and the Clone Wars, those movies had to get under our tree.
It is all they want to watch on our family movie nights.

I was nervous about Christmas morning this year because I 1) really wanted the kids to be happy and 2) didn't want to have to confront any issues with my own mothering if I were to see displays of ingratitude and spoiled-kid syndrome. I think about Harry Potter way too much to not have images of Dudley on his birthday prick my heart. But there was none of that, and the kids were genuinely joyful and excited. I wanted it to be magical and it was, for all of us.

Christmas Eve 2009

In reverse chronological order, because that is how they uploaded. This is how we set up the presents for the boys. Each one had his own little seat; Will's was a chair we already had, while Andrew's was his new booster seat. He needed one anyway, but I had countered his pleas by telling him he was not big enough yet. And I bought the slightly more expensive one that featured little reading lights. I made them those little capes, which is an incident worthy of its own blog post someday. The kids wear them just about every day, to my immense gratification.
This is how the room looked when we went to bed that night at 1 am or so, after wrapping presents and sewing capes (Brigham rethreading the machine I can barely operate) and watching Its A Wonderful Life. I realized that Brigham and I differed with regard to the importance of Santa. It did not even occur to me to try to provide evidence of the man or give him any credit for the gifts we had selected. But Brigham saw that there was magic in Santa for the boys and he worried about whether the boys would be troubled or alerted to suspicion by Santa using the same wrapping paper we did. He resolved it by telling the kids that we left out paper for Santa to use.
Will had fallen asleep in the car and the way home from our DC adventures, so he was unable to open a Christmas Eve present. I chose a transformer for Andrew to open. He was happy with it at first.
I probably should have just taken a photo to document the huge tantrum he threw when the toy proved impossible even for Brigham to transform without heavy reliance upon the directions.

Christmas Eve Festivities 2009

We held our 3rd annual Christmas in Washington on Dec 24th instead of the Saturday before Christmas because of the blizzard. First up: Botanical Gardens train and tree display.
My Dad and Andrew.
There was a tunnel with little windows looking into tiny rooms all decked out in miniature Christmas scenes. Will loved it. He also insisted on wearing pjs that day instead of clothing because he had received so many compliments while wearing it to a nighttime Christmas party.

The pond in front of the Gardens was totally frozen, so the first thing we did when we parked was go sliding around. The kids loved it.
We maintained the Christas Eve tradition of going out to eat ethnic food (tends to be less busy), but broke with the Indian place that gave a few of us food poisoning last year. Kazan was ok, but I think I will find another restaurant for next year. Will insisted on sitting on Nana's lap for the duration of the meal, so we failed to get a family photo.
After the Botanical Gardens, we headed to the National Gallery because I mistakenly thought there was a Christmas card display there. It was at the portrait museum. So we just saw the Virgin and Child paintings that are always there. The place was beautifully decorated, too. And this was actually a spontaneous hug.

Will goes to the hospital for a little scan

This is Will right after being tightly wrapped in what Fx Hspt styles a "papoose" to prevent body movement during his stomach scan (last November). He wasn't too happy about it. The tech was even more unhappy when I unwrapped him after Will agreed to remain still on his own. The tech told me it would never work and the whole 3 hours would be a waste of time. But he was wrong.
Despite being bitterly disappointed by an empty Scooby Doo dvd box and having to watch Sponge Bob instead, he took it like a man would take such a blow and went to sleep.
He looked so cute on that table, wearing my old shirt and his new Scooby sticker. He even got an extra one to give to Andrew.

This little episode demonstrates so much about Will right now. He stands up for himself (refusing to be constricted), but is reasonable and negotiable (agreeing to lie still on the table), will adjust to what is required (will fall asleep instead of tantruming, which is what I wanted to do after the many many fumblings on the part of the hospital (not knowing how to perform the procedure, delaying it by over an hour; having me bolus Will bc they didn't feel comfortable (??); promising him a movie they did not have (yes, I rank that right up there with having to call the dr to figure out details that should have been known by the time we arrived).
But it all worked out and I read Real Simple Magazine while he slept and got scanned. He lay still, even when awake, and the scan was perfect.

Candy and Iron: Six Years

Six year ago last week, I stayed up literally all night. I read a dumb kid's book (called, interestingly enough, Esperanza Rising) and I cried and shook and occassionally placed midnight calls seeking comfort from my fiance (who counseled me from the privacy of a hotel bathroom). I got up the next morning and, with a fear and trembling that is not done justice by that phrase, married my husband.

It turns out that he was the one who should have been afraid.

It seems to me that most people I know floated to their wedding day with high bliss and no fear. That used to make me feel bad, like I had missed out on one of life's momentous occassions and that there was something wrong with me--and perhaps even my marriage. I don't think that anymore, which is why I feel fine about placing this information on a public blog for strangers, former boyfriends or, more likely, just my husband and his family to read. I have since that time realized a few things about life decisions like this, the first being that I have never met a crossroads over which I couldn't agonize interminably (where to go to law school, whether to go on a mission, what to order at Rio Grande). The second is that deciding to whom you will tie yourself for the rest of your life and beyond is a scary decision and a leap of faith. I thought my husband and I had dated a long time and that I was a pretty mature and sophisticated woman when I agreed to marry him in 2003. In reality, I had known him a year and I was 26 when I said yes. Looking back on all of this, knowing now what I didn't appreciate then about the lack of wisdom a 26 year old bears, all that one doesn't know about a person one has dated for a mere 12 months, I realize that in the end I just got lucky.

I think I found the one guy who could handle me and love me without reserve or resentment through all the thick that I have slathered onto our relationship over the years. He is perfect for me.

We were looking at photos from a few years ago and were shocked at how much younger we looked and how different our lives were. The photos were only 3 years old, but back then we were really at the beginning of something that we now feel deep into: it was our first year of parenthood, Brigham was about to start his first career job, we were selling our first home. It was all just starting and we were still in our twenties. Just three years later, we are expecting our third boy, Brigham is in charge of his own cases and my oldest would be starting kindergarten next fall if his birthday were just 2 months earlier. Most startlingly, I am using wrinkle cream instead of acne lotion. It has been six years since we started out on this adventure together and like everything else in my life I am simultaneously shocked at how short a time that represents and how long. I cannot imagine my life any other way, and I don't want to. For me, who still receives (with some small stab in my heart) alumni mail from the three law schools at which I enrolled, that is really saying something.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the institution of marriage, now that we have entered the stage where more friends are announcing their divorces rather than their engagements, and maybe I will work up enough energy to spill my thoughts here sometime. But for now I will suffice it to say that I am so grateful to have a partner who is always on my side and there for me and our kids, with humor and competence. Brig, I am glad that we are still only at the very beginning of it all.

PS Brigham, I feel reassured, rather than threatened, by your promise that you will outlive me now that you have explained that the world is too full of complicated driving routes, missing articles of clothing and complicated electronic appliances/gadgets for me to be left on my own. So true. You can deal with getting sent to collection agencies over an unpaid $20 BMG bill by yourself.

Eyes Wide Shut

Will woke up Tuesday morning with his eyes sealed shut with infection. I was volunteering at the polls, so Brigham handled it. Will explained the situation to me, though. "My eyes is shut. We washed them off. We took a shower."
Despite the ($55 prescription) eye drops, Will continued to battle the infection. He was pretty calm about waking up with eyes sealed shut, and as you can see, he looked pretty cute, too. He would simply suggest, blindly, that we take a shower.
Andrew took all these photos post-shower. Will was at least pretty cheerful about the whole thing.

Maybe it is easier to look on the bright side when you are basically blind.

Will's Dream Party

When Andrew turned 2, I threw the best party I have ever thrown (and I include my wedding reception on this list, which actually is not saying much other than that I have some regrets about that reception . . .). We held it in the courtyard of our apartment complex in DC, which caged all the kids perfectly. The fountain with ducks, the moonbounce my sister brought, the pizza, even the weather was perfect.

Of course, when my second child turned two, less than two weeks after my older one turned 4, I was a little bit burned out. I told myself that a family party was all he needed since he was so little, blocking out the memories of how happy 2 yr old Andrew had been to have a real party. On the way to preschool, I decided to put my guilt aside and pose Will a somewhat leading question:

"Will, do you want to have a party with kids," I began, making that idea sound sort of boring, "or should we have a party with your COUSINS?"

"Um, I want my party to be all filled up with kids," he responded definitely. I had no other choice. So two days and one ward listserve email later, Will had the party of his dreams. I even got myself together and made the Dump Truck Cake that seems to be the turning-2 tradition.





The lone birthday boy, expressing his joy in solitude, blowing on his party favor. Had to get a close up.

I wish I had gotten better photos of the rest of the party-goers; they were all so cute. We had cake again that night with Brigham.

Looking at the photos I do have of cute Will during his party, I am struck by two things: first, he really did look happy (which reminds me that Andrew had a very rough time during that party), and second, he really is a big boy now. It happened so fast!

saying goodbye to very young children, (one more reason to read some john updike when you can)

Andrew, October 2008

Saying Goodbye to Very Young Childrenby John Updike

They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes' pure blue.
It makes you see at last the value of
those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells
of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces
like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)
who knew you from the start, when you were zero,
cooing their nothings before you could be bored
or knew a name, not even your own, or how
this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.

Perhaps it would be more fitting to just post photos of them from last year, photos that demonstrate how thoroughly they have changed already. But this is how they are right now (Andrew took the photo of Will himself), and in a few months time, the change will be plain enough for me.

vignettes

On Marriage
A few weeks ago, Brigham and I had a conversation about remarriage after untimely spousal death (one of my worst fears--being replaced and forgotten by my tiny kids).

Brigham reassured me that he would not remarry. "But you would, I understand that. You are young and the boys are so little; you should remarry. Just don't remarry right away."

"No, Alexandra. I really would not. I mean, I would have girlfriends and everything, but I am not getting married again!"

So the conversation went from sweet to funny, and now, after weeks of thinking back over that it, hurtful. Brigham laughs at me and insists he was kidding. (Ha-ha, as Will now says after confessing to doing something against the rules.)

On Self-Love

We hosted some friends for the long weekend in September. The 6 year old girl had made a valentine for her father, which she left in the kitchen after they departed. Andrew found the paper heart and was immediately curious about it.

"Brinley made that for her daddy," I explained.

"Did she make it for me, too? I think maybe she made it for me, too." Pause, during which I don't answer. "Why does she love me so much?"

On Sleep-DeprivationWill has made a habit of waking up at 4am on the dot. I am sure that our response only reinforces the behavior: one of us (brigham) gets up and brings him, still screaming, out of his crib and into our bed. He immediately rushes for me, hugs me and kisses me and declares repeatedly, "Hi, Mommy. I love you so much." It says something about the state of affairs around here that this actually does get annoying, even the repeated lip-kisses between declarations of affection.

This morning, however, he did not stop screaming once he was in our bed. He thrashed and cried and warned us against rubbing him or singing to him. Our threats to return him to his crib eventually worked and he went back to sleep. When we both woke up at a more reasonable hour, I asked Will about his behavior.

"Why were you so mad last night, Will?"

"Because I just get so grumpy about it," he responded reasonably.

"Yes, but why? Why are you so grumpy?"

"Because I'm bad to daddy. Haha." Smiling. He is so sweet.

just lay down on the floor young missy, and other phrases to keep in my pocket

Talking to Jessica today I was reminded of how often I rely on movie lines to express my feelings and respond to basic pleasantries and interrogatories. It can turn mildly awkward for some of the parties involved if they are not familiar with the movie line, but I don't think I can overcome this communication habit. I just don't want to.

My favorite, I think, has to be the response to a basic question: "Do you know Blippity Bloppity Blue?"

"Know him? I dated him!" (delivered in a NY accent). Anyone, anyone? That one is even funnier if you are responding for someone else, as in "know him? she dated him!" then the "she" has a little explaining to do, making the conversation that much more fun.

I have decided to make a running list of my most-used movie phrases.

Here is one that cost me a friendship. I didn't even say it, but I was guilty of laughing. "I can hear you getting fatter." see, it is funny but not offensive since it is mere movie-quoting.

Please advise me of your favorite movie lines to use in ordinary conversation. Mine might be getting bit out of date.

To put on my wish list

I want this dress. I would like to wear dresses and skirts instead of jeans. Maybe I should stop watching Mad Men. It is actually a bit boring, anyway.