Wednesday, August 27, 2014

end of august

dirty feet. barefoot and humid. mosquito bites swollen on my thighs and calves.
the smell of fresh cut grass. chalk prints on my son's elbows and shorts. his rainbow drawn across the driveway. the smell of baby sunscreen. the warmth of our bodies touching when he gets out of the pool and sits on my lap in the sun. the thrill finn feels running after lightening bugs and the silliness and intimidation of holding one on his little finger.
late nights. no bedtime. sleeping in together. the sound of the garbage truck's screeching waking us up and the shadow the sassafras tree makes on our bedroom curtain behind the sun.
driveway playing, the black pavement hot and the greenness of the trees and grass surrounding us.
the day's light getting shorter, i notice but pretend not to.
bike rides in late evening before the sun goes down. rides to the playground. to the park to throw rocks into the creek. to the library bridge we hide under and watch for deer. to get a vanilla ice cream cone. finn's always tastes best.
nap times in our bedroom. the little fan blowing by the window and finn's blankie wrapped around his ams and legs. i watch his belly go up and down. i take a mental picture of the sweetness in his sleeping face.
full moons and moon dances in the middle of the street like my mom did with us. holding hands, our legs moving together as we turn under the silver glow.  and the laughing, loud and true.
mornings of quietness and coffee. my son's two year old legs spotted with little cuts and a bruise on his knee intertwined with mine. he puts his head on my chest and watches his show. i watch him. his tiny body relaxed and still. feeling safe in our space. the windows open with the breeze of the ending summer whispering through our little home.

Friday, August 22, 2014

yes. that

"pregnant women! they had that weird frisson, an aura of magic that combined awkwardly with an earthy sense of duty. mundane, because they were nothing unique on the suburban streets; ethereal because their attention was ever somewhere else. whatever you said was trivial. and they had that preciousness which they imposed wherever they went, compelling attention, constantly reminding you that they carried the future inside, its contours already drawn but veiled, private, an inner secret" -ruth morgan


Tuesday, August 19, 2014

fairport harbor

My husband has been going to fairport harbor since he was a little boy. leaving friday after his parents were done working and driving up to his grandma and grandpa's house on lake erie. spending the whole weekend outside. on the beach, swimming in the lake, painting his grandparent's house with a paintbrush and a bucket of water, exploring his grandma's garden, hitting golf balls with his uncle into the lake in the evening, playing with his brother and sister and cousins and aunts and uncles and his special grandma and grandpa.

his grandpa i never met- but feel as if i know. i know his love of pink, wintergreen candies, his faith, his  ability to talk to and make friends with any stranger he was passing, his afternoon naps he'd take under the living room fan on the floor with his feet up on the couch,  his spontaneity, his calmness, his favorite neil diamond song, his love for his children and family and his wife- his "doll".

we went this past weekend and i heard more stories of him and the past and the feelings my husband gets being in the town he visited when he was a child and now bringing his own child to experience the same. my sister in law said she watched her son walking down the sidewalk towards the lighthouse hill, the same walk she did all those days, "he's living my childhood" she said smiling.

finn and his three cousins played all weekend. keeping each other busy and entertained and getting along with laughs and tackles and learning to share and learning for themselves just what makes their gigi's house so, so special.

we celebrated the summer, the whole family coming together, the arrival of a new baby girl coming in november, a weekend by the lake and gigi's 85th birthday.

if finn looks back on this summer, and if he is able to retain a couple memories, i hope one he can think of is running down that lighthouse hill, surrounded by his three cousins, laughing as they move their little feet faster than they knew they could go, the lake glistening in the sun's golden hour light. and i hope he can recall the feeling of love and the enchantment of a tiny town on the lake.

and a little video i put together of clips i took from the weekend...

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

his little words

just so i don't forget...

walking through home depot with finn and james i mentioned we should build a clothesline..
 "i will build you a clothesline, mama. with wood and bubble wrap"- finn

while sitting next to his eight month old cousin,
"just look at her face!" and then gently rubbed her little cheeks

when we were eating dinner, i said "finn you should probably eat your corn"
he responded, "i probably should eat my corn not"

waking up in bed with me this morning he opened his eyes and said
i opened my eyes,  "love you finn" i said
 "and i love you mama" he said

finn got new shoes with james the other day. when they got home he screamed
"look at my new shoes mama! i run super fast. but come outside so i can get some power" and then ran down the driveway.

we've been filling out a journal every morning. it asks one question a day and it has three lines under it. you're supposed to ask the same question for that day for the next three years and watch how your child's answer changes. yesterday our question was "what do you want to be the best at?" finn thought for a second and then said "the best at blowing bubbles."

saturday james and finn were playing outside while i took a shower and got ready. when i opened the garage door finn saw me, smiled and said "oh, look at you!"

i went to yoga the other night and when i walked in the house finn said, "there you are. i was looking all over for you."

in the car i saw him looking out the window thinking. i asked him what he was thinking about and he replied, "i'm not gonna say shit anymore. i'll say shoot."

(thanks to finn's papa for teaching him that word.)

and thanks to finn. you make me laugh everyday.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

lets splash

how is it august. where did july go? i remember the fourth and a little boy turning two and it seems like the days in-between were filled with dirty feet, bike rides, weekend adventures and a lot of playing.

last night during dinner i made a mistake. i told finn that in the morning i was taking him to a splash pad. a playground that has sprinklers you can run through and splash in. he threw his fork down and demanded we go right then. "i need to go to the lilly pad. i have to go to the lilly pad" he kept saying. even the distraction of a bike ride, he was persistent.

so i did something i'm not proud of.  i called the "lilly pad" and had a pretend conversation.

"oh. oh, okay. you're closed. but you'll open tomorrow. okay. see you then. bye!" i said a little bit too enthusiastically.

finn was staring at me. not convinced.

"let me try" he said and demanded the phone. after a quick text to my dad to forewarn, we called.

"you open??" finn said with optimism in his voice

"nope. no. we're closed for the night. good bye" my dad said quickly

"wait! what you say??" finn said. his voice shaking trying not to cry.

"we're closed. see you tomorrow" and my dad hung up quickly.

"oh. they're closed" finn said and went outside to play with bubbles.

my dad texted me this morning and told me he woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep because he kept thinking about finn's little voice over the phone, so sweet and hopeful. 

we went this morning. finn held my hand and we ran under the sprinklers, laughing and screaming. he pretended he was in a shower and i cheered him on for getting his head wet. we walked back to the car and he said how happy he was that they were open. "i knew they would be" he said softly.