Prêt-à-Porter

Are you having your family portrait taken in the near future? If I and my family were planning this, we would wear one of these outfit combinations, but alas, no such plans are on the horizon for us. Well, maybe I'll try to gather the natives, place them in front of my lens, set my camera to self timer, and run to be in the photo. Wish me luck, though, because this is What Happens when I attempt to take a photograph with all four of my offspring in the frame.

I love being a mom!

All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here

Q: What's a pirate's favorite restaurant?

Ahoy, me hearties, did ye Talk Like a Pirate yonder Saturday? Don't despair if ye missed out, lads and lasses, thar be plenty of pirate talk in these parts fer ye and yer scurvy mates.

First, take a gander at this video, so ye'll be knowin' in what kind of voice ye ought to be readin', and so that ye'll be prepared to celebrate next year. Arrgh.

Whether we're talkin' like pirates or not, this here wench runs a tight ship. First thing in the mornin', w'the risin' of th'sun, all hands were on deck.

We swabbed the deck . . .

. . . and we scrubbed the head.

Once the ship was spic and span, the lads practiced their Bonneti defense and their Capo Fero against each other (even though Thibault cancels out Capo Fero) because no day would be complete without a skirmish amongst the shipmates, am I right? All squabblin' on deck was put on hold, however, when it was announced that we were puttin' out to sea! That's right, even though our Cap'n was out saving land lubbers from scurvy for the day and our teen-aged second mate was plunderin' and pillagin', this here wenchy first mate thought it be fitting to put out to sea alone with four of the foulest mouthed, lice riddenest, mangiest, rottenest livered buccaneers ever to sail the seas. Little George, the Cabin Boy, refused to keep his hands inside the ship and kept trying to go overboard. Stella, our lookout, settled in after she realized we weren't really out for a pleasure cruise through shark infested waters. Our rowers, Jack and Creed, used a lot of teamwork in figuring out how to paddle a canoe away from the dock, away from the shore, and towards a destination. Me? I wrestled with the baby in the cargo hold for an hour and a half, because he thought he should get to walk the plank and go for a swim.

All along the way, we sang and talked like pirates.

After we docked the ship, I gathered the buccaneers for a photo, but everyone was disinclined to acquiesce to my request, thus, you get this:

and this.

Sometimes, I wish I had a Boo Box for 'em.

A: ARRRRbys!

(I referenced three of my favorite pirate movies here. Did you recognize them?)

Babies Don't Keep

"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,

For Children grow up I've learned, to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep,

I'm rocking my baby, and Babies Don't Keep."*

* * * *

I sent my baby with his dad on a month long trip.

Before he left, George was taking his first uncertain baby steps. Mostly he stumbled around like a sailor who was three sheets to the wind. He rarely left my arms. His favorite place to be anytime of day was on my hip or my back in the baby sling. Letting him leave for a month was a hard decision, but his father has as much right to be with him as I do.

Robert reported that the first few days they were gone, George wandered around calling my name. If someone was in the shower, he waited outside the bathroom door asking for me. Kitchen noises of pots and pans clanging against one another elicited a "Mama?" from his lips.

Pretty soon, though, I was demoted to a voice over the phone and he started calling the telephone "mama." His days settled into a routine of mornings in the garden with Lola, afternoons raising raucous with his cousins, and evenings being fed and bathed by papa.

This was my view of George when he first returned: peeking at me from behind the leg of his daddy.

A month after he left, my baby came home having transformed himself into a Toddler. No more drunken-like stumbling for him, this kid struts around the earth's crust like he owns the place. He runs, he jumps, he tackles. He has no Fear. He dances like nobody's watching, but of course, everyone's watching him. We can't help ourselves. He's just so great. With arms outstretched, palms up, eyebrows raised, and a nod of the head he asks me to dance right along with him. He answers questions and asks for specific items.

His babyhood literally slipped through my fingers. Just like that, it's gone. It started before he left, of course, but the change was undeniable when he returned. Swaddling has been replaced by snuggling. Cooing and gurgling is replaced by singing and shouting. Four times this has happened in my home, and four times I feel like it happened too soon.

With all the night time feedings and laundry and bodily fluids and smelling like rotten milk, I experienced the first few months of their lives in slow motion, frame by painful frame. With a little perspective (a.k.a. a few good nights' sleep) I look back and I think about the random arm and leg movements, the morning feedings with the eastern sunlight pouring over us, the breastmilk diapers that aren't all that gross after all and a hundred thousand other little moments and I wish I could call it up and live it in slow motion again, frame by precious frame.

*from Song for A Fifth Child by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Schoolbag in hand . . .

I have a friend who, upon arriving home from his first day of kindergarten twenty some-odd years ago, uttered these now famous words: "Give me food, and give me t.v." Although neither of my boys said those exact words when they came home from their first days of kindergarten, Dallas's sentiment sums up exactly how they felt. If Dallas was anything like my boys, he couldn't have cared less what he wore that first day, or really what his backpack was like. I'm fairly certain that none of the boys noticed what their new classmates were wearing, much less remember what their friends were wearing days after the fact.

On this point, as with so many others, my girl is much different from my boys.

Stella has this gaggle of giggling, glittery girlfriends who get along gregariously. They all happened to start Kindergarten this year so naturally we had to have a tea party to mark the occasion. We visited a local tea room and the girls partook of complimentary pink smoothies, balloons, and crowns. It was all tres chic. The girls had a fabulous time, but my boys, even at the age of five, would have found this activity to be insufferable. While Stella sipped her drink with her pinky up and discussed first day of school wardrobe options, my boys would have been begging for french fries and ticked that there weren't any garish plastic slides around.

The night before school started, I travelled throughout the house like some kind of First Day of School Faery. Jack was excited to start fifth grade, and Creed was looking forward to the bus ride, but mostly angry that he had to go to school at all. "Mom, it's going to be so bo-ring!" They could not have cared less as I tried to help them pick out their first day outfits. Although I bought them each a new outfit, they both opted for their ratty old tee shirts and shorts. Their sister, on the other hand, was concerned that she couldn't find the latest skirt I had made. (Bless her heart, she still thinks my home-made skirts are awesome.) I couldn't find it either. She had insisted on wearing it to the tea party, and when she disrobed afterward, she must have left it willy-nilly somewhere. Luckily, she didn't really care what she wore as long as it was a skirt so we settled on an old size 3T skirt from the Gap, Tee shirt from Old Navy, and her Red Saltwater Sandals.
Well blow me down, if that's not the cutest little kindergartener you have ever seen, then you can call me a monkey's uncle.
Stella was pleased as punch to pose for me as she waited for the bus and the boys couldn't resist tormenting her. Creed's face slays me in that photo.
Eventually, Jack left for school before the bus came for Stella and Creed, but Stella wouldn't let him leave without a good-bye hug.

Finally, she boarded the bus with barely a backward glance, all smiles and "Hi! Are you going to be my new friend?" and off they went.

After school, Creed appeared rather prophetic as he announced that "school was so bo-ring."

When Stella arrived home (two hours before her big brothers for the first two weeks), she listed all the girls, by name, who had worn pink on their first day.

"Mom, Setlally, she had pink everything. Pink shirt, pink skirt, pink shoes. I think she is definitely gonna be my friend."

I guess hunger and the search for entertainment crosses gender lines, though, because right after that, she asked for food and a movie.