Full

Life is full. That's what my friend says instead of saying she is really busy. I like it. Life is full. It's a nicer way to view the whole scenario. Today I woke up at 7:00 to Mazin, with his newly gap-toothed smile, showing me the $5 bill the tooth fairy left for him. Thank God I remembered to put it under his pillow. I almost forgot. I don't have much time to prepare these days. I feel like I am in constant crisis mode. Barely-contained crisis. Thus the "life is full" comment. It is just one adventure right after another. And I bring it on myself, with my unwillingness to serve processed food to my family or tube-feed my kids with too much television. I don't want to compromise; I want to do it all right, all my way, all the way I think it should be done. Occasionally I will break down and put on a movie for the kids in order to edit photos, or take them to the mediocre pizza parlor in order not to have to cook and generate a mound of dishes for poor John to wash. But for the most part, I power through the sheer unrelenting nature of parenting two small children. I can do this. I'm tough. I have energy. I'm creative. Sometimes I feel I'm drowing. Other times, I float. It is a dance. This morning was one of those beautiful, magical times. Layla was super cranky because, well, because she is 2.5 and I don't know why. Sleep? Food? Sickness? Who knows. It hardly matters why. But Mazin was hit by a burst of inspiration, and just HAD to construct a metal-working mask and a pair of astronaut boots to go with it. He wanted to make them for Layla, too. So I abandoned my plans to pick berries to freeze for winter, and I decided not to let Layla's mood rain on our little craft parade. I decided to follow Mazin's lead and just see how far we would get with the mask/boot thing. We got as far as my porch, where Layla sat on my lap emitting a low but constant whine, while Mazin instructed me on how to use duct tape to piece together cardboard boot pieces. They came out quite nicely, actually. Now we are on to the rocket ship, which is to be constructed using all of the recycling that Mazin dragged out of the trash barrel in the garage. (He transferred it to our porch.) What's a little mess? Who cares. I want my children to feel free to follow their creative impulses. Of course, because I am who I am, I am now looking back on the day and criticizing myself for not taking the game further and playing "go to the moon" with Mazin and Layla. In my defense, I had to corral them in the car to go pick up Madeline. And then it was hot, so a river trip was in order. I did all of that with love and self sacrifice. Every day, I give myself up to my children. I do it in full knowledge that they will not remember and they will likely not ever acknowledge or appreciate it. But I like to think about the personalities I am helping to shape. For all of my flaws, I am trying very hard. Every day, I try to do what's best for them and give them my very best. I often fall short; I usually fall short, in fact. I am impatient and snappy and lame and unexciting and sometimes more interested in my iphone than their imaginary worlds. But I console myself with the fact that every once in a while I get it right.

Layla is looking more like a little girl and not at all like a toddler anymore. She is practically reciting Shakespeare. I am mourning the ending of those precious baby years. But hearing her sing in the car and watching her play with her brother on practically equal footing is good recompense. Mazin is loving the Ralph the Mouse books and our special time reading them together. I love them just as much as he does. I remember them from my own childhood. He has been naughtier than normal lately with his sister, teasing her and goading her on when he thinks I'm not watching. It drives me nuts, of course, because Layla's (very shrewd) response is to let out an absolutely bone-chilling shriek. I suppose it is to be expected. I wonder how going to kindergarten in a month might change his behavior toward her. This summer, they spend the majority of their time together. Perhaps they will be more agreeable to each other when the time is precious. All time is precious, really. How do we always forget?