Sweet Nothings

Chad, you amaze me. I didn't know sexy until I watched you swaddle our child, your tan, ropey forearms huge and yet gentle. I didn't know patience until I watched you build the Lego police station for the third time. You always know just the right thing. I can't be sure about "mother's intuition," but I am sure about your father's intuition. Happy Father's Day to the best man I know. I am grateful and blessed.

Baby Sweat

In the past I have claimed to hate the duschbags who post daily about the weather, but here I am, about to post about the weather again. Mmmmm, summer. The kids smell like lake water and baby sweat and ice cream and berries. Sirens blare. Car tires spit out rain from the thunderstorm that whipped through. Clothes stick, but in a good, sensual way. The musty basement smells nostalgic and reminds you that you are home, in good old Wisco, in glorious summer!
What a life! I feel like I am crawling out of a 5-year fog. I can't remember feeling so viscerally alive since childhood. Corny parents will tell you that they're excited to "re-live the magic of childhood through their own children," which makes me puke in my mouth, but the worst thing is that I think they might be right. Oh, man. To see Joey roll in the sand laughing, to watch Syl proudly plie with her dance class, to watch Jack get ready for his first backpacking trip...it's almost too much.
I met an old aquintance at the beach today who was there with her three kids, aged 5, 3, and 2, exactly the same as me (only with a super cute hat, hot bathing suit, and 70 pounds less cellulite, but I digress). In our three-minute conversation, interrupted by almost-drowning kids and sand fights, we agreed that we both felt like we were back in the game, so to speak, after several years of shallow breathing and complete chaos.
For a few years there, I wondered if parenthood was the ultimate swindle. All this hype and only poop and precocious baby pics to show for it. Mothering little kids, especially when there are three of them in a row, is aggressive. I was at home A LOT with napping/puking/irritable babies, having gotten little sleep myself, powered by coffee and Facebook, in a crazy survival state that didn't include time to smell the proverbial roses.
2010 has been different. The seasons blow me away. The kids amaze me with their independence, their zeal, their delight at the newness of what is around them. I feel it, too, and it feels good. So here's to vine-ripened berries, open windows, lightning, hikes, laughter, ice-cold pale ale on the patio. Cheers, to the other parents out there who are back in the game.