lately

two years old. so sweet. so funny. so charming. and a little bit naughty.
she fights back with her brother now with passion, yesterday in the car she yelled "i'm done talking to you, finn!" and then we pulled in the driveway they jumped out of the car and ran to the backyard playing together.

i don't want to forget what she says- how she says it. every day it seems she's less of a toddler and more a little girl. two years old- full of challenge, and emotion and change, and yet if i could, i'd pause time so i could keep her this little forever.

we've been having so much summer fun- boat rides, bike rides, playgrounds, swimming in the lake before the sunsets, the water warm and calm. daily trips to the pool, finn jumping in the water with confidence. diving under, taking his floaties off to jump off the dive. i sit by the side of the pool with caution and nervousness. each time he launches his skinny, tall body off the dive i hold my breath with him. he comes up and does his doggie paddle to the ladder and i exhale. he seeks more adventure now, climbing, jumping, always running. he'll be six in three days and i can't grasp it. i can't put into words the feelings. mostly excited and thankful, but also heartsick and panicky. he was just my two year old, nursing on my lap, sweaty in the summer heat, and now he'll be off to kindergarten come fall.

after a weekend at the lake with gigi. boat rides, fireworks, the tiny festival on the water, waking up in that little yellow bedroom with the sun shining through her white curtains, the lake outside the window, sylvie waving at the ducks, we pulled back into our driveway monday morning and sylvie said "thanks for everything, mom" and tears filled my eyes.

i need to remember. i just can't forget this happiness.

almost

it's going to be my season. my favorite season.
no schedule, no time commitments, my kids can sleep in as late as their little minds will let them.
finn wakes up early now and thinks to himself. i see his eyes staring up at the ceiling after he's called me upstairs to lay with him.
"it's 5:45- go back to sleep" i whisper.
"how old will grammy be in 40 years?" he asks quietly "She'll still look the same, right?"
"yes" i say softly.
it's going to be our favorite season.
barefoot. wild hair. tall grasses blooming in the backyard. baby birds growing in the bird house on the tree right outside of finn's window. i still picture him, ten months old and that crisp fall morning waking up and noticing the leaves bright orange. like it happened overnight. now my almost six year old. like it happened overnight.
i watch him now when he doesn't notice. at school on the playground directing a game with friends. at birthday parties playing with party goers. i watched him sit a table of kids while we sang happy birthday. the other children laughing and joking with each other, there's finn, smiling intently and genuinely at the birthday girl the entire song. the little smirk on his face, the contentment.
"he's turning into a leader" his teacher tells me and i smile, "but he's also very kind and thoughtful of other people's feelings" and my eyes fill with tears.
where is my baby. arms so fat and smooth- wrists so chubby they looked like rubberbands were in the creases. his big buddha belly and gummy smile. i'd nurse him to sleep and later look on my forearm and see an imprint of his ear.
almost our favorite season. the last one i'll get with my prekindergarten boy. before he's a fulltime student. the thought makes me lose my breath. reminding myself to inhale. am i equipped for the challenges that lie ahead. the influence. the struggles. the others. the others. inhale. inhale.
almost our favorite season. of campouts. and the beach trip with our family in that big house. pool days and dark nights lit up with lightning bugs. the smell of sunscreen. dew on the grass in the early mornings. skinned knees and dirty feet.
holding on to my boy. running away from time.
 i can keep him small if it's always summer.
let's play in the sun finn, look at our shadows.
you're the wolf. i'm the moon. 

the white butterfly i saw pressing against the glass when you were born. after 36 hours- anxiety driven and high strung- then all of a sudden there you were. eyes wide open, born face up after 30 minutes of pushing- of screaming- and then you're here. in my arms. and a butterfly is pressing its wings against the hospital window panes.

a new baby and a moment i continue to think about is this: summer time outside our windows- the upstairs in our little house sweltering with heat- a milk breathed baby asleep on my lap and eating an entire bowl of fresh, sweet blueberries. i can still taste them. i can still smell him.