Alone time

Since becoming a Mommy, I've suffered through countless moments bemoaning my lack of alone time. As much as I adore my daughters and love the fact that they both still want to spend time with me, whether it's snuggling on the couch, talking about their day, cooking together or working on art joint projects, there is such as thing as too much togetherness.

Lucy, in particular, enjoys just busting in on me in the bathroom, a big smirk on her face, "Watcha doin', Mommy?" or, when I'm taking a shower and I ask her why she had to stand there and watch me, she says with a woeful look on her face, "I just don't want to be away from you, Mommy."

My mom got a taste of Lucy's propensity for shadowing people over Thanksgiving. The kid stuck to her like a burr, chattering the whole time:

"Can I make the salad, Grammy? I'm good with the salad spinner!"
"I can set the table, too. Is it time to set the table?"
"Oh! Look there are the kitties! Wow, they make a mess with their food."
"Y'know what, Grammy, this is a nice house! Say, can I have a cookie?"

and so on.

Once Lucy finally went to sleep - and stopped talking - my parents were cracking up over Lucy's non-stop chatter. Her older sister, while lively, was never the motor mouth that her younger sister can be. Natalie's impishness extended to getting into things... then running away at top speed, giggling.

My Natalie is more self-sufficient and able to entertain herself, but she still comes around for some special sister-free Mommy-Daughter time, especially on nights when they sleep here. After her sister has gone to bed, Natalie likes to come downstairs and snuggle with me on the couch and "just talk about stuff," as she puts it. She enjoys hearing my recollections of when she was a baby, from what it was like when I was pregnant, to the delivery and her early years.

If she has questions or troubles, it's on these occasions that they crop up. I'm very pleased that she feels as though she can talk to me about anything; I hope that continues as she gets older.

However, when I am trying to get things done around here, the kids vie for my attention. If I'm up to my elbows in food while preparing a big holiday dinner or trying to de-clutter the house in advance of a birthday bash, they are- more often than not - underfoot, asking me to help them find a toy, come watch a movie with them, or make them something to eat.

Some days I feel as though I am being pecked to death with their incessant little requests, and I'll wail at them in mock-frustration, "Why can't you rotten babies just leave me alone for 5 minutes?!"

They giggle and pounce on me again.

After a frustrating day, I can be relieved to see them go off with their dad. Then I can have a quiet meal and watch a movie or a tv show in peace. If it's been a really bad day of them bickering with each other and driving me to exhaustion, I'll just go to bed early, even if it's before 6 pm.

You know what? Even on the worst days, I miss them before they even get to their dad's house. That's been the worst part of this separation: having the house empty of my kids for periods of time.

Right now, the house is quiet and still, not just because it's early on a Sunday. I had the girls on Christmas morning, but won't see them again until New Year's Eve because they're off with their dad while he's on his winter vacation. They are thrilled about staying up late on New Year's Eve, drinking sparkling grape juice out of champagne glasses and watching the ball drop at midnight.

I'm looking forward to all three of us snuggled up together under a blanket on the couch in our new flannel pajamas and fun fuzzy socks.

I have alone time in abundance now, but don't know what to do with myself. I ought to do something productive and creative with this free time, such as write or paint, but I will probably hold an impromptu marathon of "Scrubs," "Dexter," or "Rescue Me" instead, anything to help distract me from how much I miss my girls.

There is such a thing as too much alone time.

Happiness is three pairs of fuzzy socks

Yesterday, in the final blow-out of our extended pajama-party/lazy-slug-fest that was Christmas vacation, the girls stumbled upon the bag of stocking presents I'd hidden away so cleverly that even I'd forgotten where I'd concealed it. (Note: not the first time that has happened...) Kids' noses are extraordinarily keen at sniffing out those presents, and my 8 year-old seems to be especially adept at it.

She went into my room for some made-up reason; I heard a rustling and then, "Hey Mommy! I think I found something that you forgot to put away!"

Well, I knew that could only mean a box of feminine hygiene products or the bag of stocking gifts which I'd been unable to find in that mad dash to pack and get the hell out of the house and on the road to my parents' house. I did a quick inventory in my head and realized that I'm very good at concealing the first items and figured she meant the gifts.

I bellowed back, "Get out of that bag! And get out of my ROOM! ARGH!"

The wretch sneaked back out with the hugest grin on her face, so I knew that she'd seen the Hello Kitty purse I'd bought her. Lucy, now aware that something was afoot, then got up off the couch as unobtrusively as a 5 year-old could manage (read: not at all) and tip-toed into my room to have a look for herself.

By her squeal, I judged that she'd found the Dora purse I'd gotten her.

"Get. Out. NOW!!" I hollered.

Giggling, she ran out. The two of them looked at me with those twinkling eyes and any hope I'd had of keeping the bag of gifts as a fall-back for Natalie's birthday in April had crashed and burned. Monstrous children.

"Ok," I sighed. "Go get the damn bag and let's see what we've got."

We had: a purse and a locket for each of the girls, some ordinary socks (hey, I'm a mom and a practical one), some Hello Kitty glamor pens, a bag of chocolate coins, a colony of chocolate santas, and three pairs of fuzzy socks. We divvied up the chocolate among the three of us, and looked at the fuzzy socks.

"Hmmm," I thought, "How do I split up three pairs of socks among two kids," when Natalie said,

"Hey Mommy! You get a pair too!"

Cool. Problem solved.

We all put on our fuzzy socks and giggled. I swear, I think we were high on chocolate, or maybe it was hypothermia, it is pretty cold here after all. For some reason, it tickled all three of us that we each had our own pair of fuzzy socks. We sat all snuggled up on the couch and admired our feet clad in slippery, fuzzy, shiny socks.

"OMG, Mommy! Take a picture!" shrieked one of them.

So I did.



I'm amazed at how happy I am lately.

Maybe I'm just high from some sort of radon leak in my house. Who the hell knows.

I do know that my times with the girls the past few months have been better, happier, more content. Sure, they still push my buttons and I send them to their rooms, but we've had so many more times all snuggled together on the couch watching cartoons, movies or reading books. On occasion, they even like to nap with me now, sucked up to me like a remora on a shark.

Could it be that they've finally adjusted to the separation and consequent bouncing back and forth between two houses? Now they're happy when they're here and not missing their dad as much as before because they know that they will see him in a few days and that they'll be back here after that and so on.

Or maybe, sometimes happiness just comes in the form of three pairs of fuzzy socks.

It's indescribably beautiful

My lovely older daughter woke me at 3:30 am with repeated kicks to the kidneys, just like when she was still in my womb. Now, 8 years older and some 70-odd pounds heavier, she really packs a wallop. Long after she'd settled back into that heavy slumber only children can attain without drugs, I lay there wide awake, my mind a-whirl.

I got up after a fruitless hour of trying to re-enter my dreams and found my little Lucy awake on the couch, stuffed cheetah under one arm, and the real life, purring Cheetah on her lap.

"Mommy! You're awake!" she chirped at me.

Nodding, I plunked myself down next to her and she gave me a smack on the cheek followed by that famous Lucy Smile. She reached up and petted my hair, a sweet quirk of hers she's had since infancy and one which she reverts to in our quiet moments together. I shivered in the early December morning air, looked out the window and saw that winter had come in the night and covered the ground with pristine white crystals. The air was still thick with silent falling snow. I gave Lucy a kiss and got up to make my Marine-strong pot of coffee.

Natalie came out of my room holding her blanket. "Mommy? Is it still night or is it morning?"

"Both, actually honey. It's early," I replied. "Do you want to go back to bed? I'm just making some coffee and then I'm going to put in a movie for me and Lucy."

*yawn* "Nope. I wanna sit with you on the couch."

Some ten minutes later, there we were, all three of us girls and one content orange tabby snuggled together on the couch with a pile of pillows and a heap of blankets, afghans and comforters, watching "A Christmas Story."

No matter how many times I watch that movie, and I watch it dozens of times during the build-up to Christmas, I laugh to the point of crying, and cry to the point of hiccuping. My girls have seen that movie so many times that they rattled off bits of the dialogue with me perfectly and giggled in anticipation of favorite moments.

Lucy hooked her little arm in mine and rested her silky-haired head on my arm while Natalie looked over at me and grinned the same face-splitting smile she's had since she first gazed up at me and laughed as a fat and happy baby.

This is the color, shape, smell and touch of contentment. If I never do another great thing in my life, I know that I helped bring these two sweet, loving creatures into the world.

Life is hard, but indescribably beautiful.