Neither Mark nor I has had time to post on this blog much lately. This summer, I suddenly realized that we both were spending more hours online than with our children or each other. I decided that moments spent in real time were better than moments spent documenting them–or trying to keep up on social networking and photo sites.
That said, I still really love this blog, and I feel bad that it’s been so long since I’ve posted. Who knew that diapers and first days of kindergarten and family walks could take up so much time?!
This has been a summer of adjustments and changes for us all. It’s been especially hard for Ava, who spent the first month of her new brother’s life clinging to me and insisting that she didn’t want to do any of the fun, regular things she’d always done. Stay overnight at Gramary’s? No way? Go to the pool? Heck, no! Take a walk with Dad? I’d rather stay in, thanks.
After about a month of this self-imposed exile and clinginess, she seemed to come around a bit–but that’s not to say that our time with her since then has been all sweetness and light. She is mightily testing her almost-five-year-old wings, and those attempts at lift-off sometimes cause no end of strife in our house.
This evening, after a very full and taxing night of tantrums, high emotion, name-calling, pinching, and throwing the phone, she finally settled down to take a walk with her dad. During the walk, she found a pine cone and started tossing it at him, even after he asked her to stop. Eventually, Mark stepped on the pine cone to end the game. This egregious act brought about a new gale of sobbing and angry protestations, and by Ava’s bedtime, we all were exhausted and annoyed with each other.
As I tucked her in, I said, “Your dad and I love you very much, and we’re proud of who you are, but we’re disappointed in the way you acted tonight. Let’s try to have a better day tomorrow.” She wailed, “This has been a terrible, horrible day!! You don’t care about my feelings at all!” I opened my arms to her and said, “I do care about your feelings, honey. Tell me how you feel.” She climbed onto my lap–all long limbs and tangled hair–and buried her face in my neck, where she whispered, “I feel like a squashed pine cone.”
I smiled and spoke into her hair: “Sometimes life really does feel that way, doesn’t it?” Then I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight.