Telling stories

Today was a bad day.

Sally was up all night, still struggling with a bad cold and probably some teeth.  When Walter and Sean woke us up at 8 I was sure it was 6 or earlier. Sally woke up sad, sad, sad. She was sad while I nursed her, sad while I changed her diaper, sad while I took off her pajamas, and sad while I got her dressed. We were running so late that Sean had to take Walter in to daycare first so he wouldn't completely miss breakfast and then double back for Sally, which made Sean very late for work. I felt awful sending Sally to daycare so sick and sad. It took several tries to hand her over to Sean before she stopped clinging to and reaching for me.  I decided to go get her from daycare and then take her to work with me.  That decision meant I was running late all day, messing up both her schedule and mine for largely my own selfish reasons.  It meant that she didn't get a good nap on day when she really needed one to help with her recovery. She came with me to lunch with my colleagues and made a mess of the floor so bad I tipped 80%. I did not, however, clean up the mess. I took Sally back to daycare, further messing with her routine. Getting her in and out of her carseat was especially difficult today--lots of back-arching, screaming, and crying of real, heartfelt tears. She reached for me, with pleading eyes, begging me to take me out and nurse her, and I just persisted and insisted and made her sit in the seat, because we were running late. I was also late picking the kids up from daycare at the end of the day.  When we got home, Sally woke up very sad again, and had trouble eating because she was so phlegmy. Then I tried to give her some Advil to bring down her fever.  She cried herself into a terrible state but I persisted ... and then she retched and threw up a huge amount of phlegm and Advil (but we couldn't give her more before putting her to bed, because we don't know how much she actually ingested.) We got her out of her clothes and into the shower with me, and she was sad for most of the shower. She bit Sean once and me twice: hard.  She also decided that running toward our open and un-gate-able stairway was a great game, and alternated it with her other favorite game of putting her hands in Hank's water dish. While Sean and I took care of Sally, Walter was by himself in the kitchen, watching an endless stream of Curious George. He watched a lot of videos tonight and did almost no playing, and I had hardly any time with him at all. Perhaps because of that, Walter resisted bedtime mightily and is still awake as I write this at 9:45. He shows absolutely no sign of letting up and going to bed. Hank the Dog is worrying that we'll never be able to take him out.  I can hear Sally coughing over the monitor and I know it's just a matter of time before she wakes up and we have another night full of coughing, spitting up, rocking and crying.  And here I am ... not doing anything to catch up on all the work I need to do.

Today was a good day.

Sally slept in her crib all night for the first time in days.  It wasn't uninterrupted sleep, but it was better sleep for both of us than we have been getting lately. I slept quite well on the comfy bed in her room, and was glad I could open my eyes now and then to reassure myself she was OK. Walter and Sean let us sleep in until 8 am and woke us up by singing so sweetly together "Good morning! Good morning! Let's start our favorite way. Good morning! Good morning! And how are you today?"  Even when Sally is sick and sad, hearing her brother sing that song makes her smile. Sean took Walter in first so I could have some more time to get Sally ready.  It took a few tries, but eventually we asked Sally if she was ready to go to school and she told us she was by smiling and reaching for Sean to take her from me. She brightened up and I could tell she's on the mend. I asked a member of my congregation if it would be nice for me to bring Sally to visit her mom who is on hospice care, and who may be in her last days. She said that would be wonderful, so I picked Sally up from daycare and took her to visit S. S. has always loved getting visits from my kids, and it was fun to remember how Walter ran around her apartment when he was first learning to walk, and how Sally fell asleep on her shoulder when she was just 2 months old.  S. was delighted to see Sally and Sally was delighted to see S. Sally held her hand, smiled at her and talked to her in sweet baby language. Sally played with S.'s caregivers and was incredibly happy and sweet. She was sweet during lunch, too, and seemed to genuinely enjoy having some extra time with me during the day. She made my day, and the days of everyone else she encountered, a great deal brighter. When I took her back to daycare, she seemed glad to be there, too.  I found out when I picked her up that she spent some of the afternoon in room 3, where the slightly older kids fell over themselves to make her feel welcome: bringing her their favorite toys to play with, showing her how to sit in the big kid chairs.  When I picked the kids up, one of the slightly older girls helped me get her in her carseat: carefully pulling apart the straps and patting the chair gently to show Sally it was ready for her to sit down. Walter was wonderfully helpful, too, and seemed like he'd also had a great day.  He spent the whole day in dry underwear, using the potty and had no accidents.  On the way home, Sally fell asleep, so we brought her into the house in her chair so she could stay sleeping for a bit, and Walter and I had some good time just the two of us, playing his ukulele. I'd seen a neat cover of one of his favorite Peter Gabriel songs on facebook, and without telling him what I was doing I decided to show him the video. As I brought it up on my phone I whistled just a few bars of it. "Mama! That's 'Don't Give Up'! We heard that yesterday." So smart.  And also, how great is it that he can identify tunes that well and yet still refers to all times in the past as "yesterday"? He spent the rest of the evening singing the song, which is beautiful to begin with and extra beautiful when Walter sings it. When Sally threw up, I got in the shower with her and she was able to get out about a week's worth of phlegm in a relatively pleasant way.  She was still sad, though, and that's when I remembered ... my parents had left a birthday gift for her in the guest room, and said, "Give it to her when she needs a present." This was clearly the moment. I opened the card and showed her the photo of her with Umma and Baba, which they'd put in a magnetic frame. She was overjoyed, and actually clearly said, "Umma!" and a second later, "Baba!"  She gave the photo kisses and smiled and smiled. Then we opened the present: a soft baby doll with a ladybug on her outfit. Sally gave her kisses, too, and beeped her nose.  She played with the doll while we took care of her way-too-long fingernails. When we were done she grabbed the photo and the doll and headed toward the stairs to look for Umma and Baba. We redirected her, and she decided to get in her carseat, instead, so we could take her to Umma and Baba.  She sat in the seat and kissed the photo and the doll, smiling and laughing.  She ran over to Walter and proudly showed him the photo, and then ran over to Hank and showed him, too.  She put the photo on the fridge, giddy with delight. Walter and Sally brushed their teeth together and then went into Walter's room for stories.  I'm usually getting Sally to bed while Sean reads to Walter, so this was a treat for me: Walter sat on my lap while I read Go, Dog, Go to him and he amazed me with his knowledge of opposites and prepositions. I also got to read him the Sleepy Bear book I used to read to him before Sally was born, and he snuggled in very close and did all the interactive parts with me. Then I helped Sally get to sleep.  She was still feeling better than she has been lately and pretty wired. We nursed, and then I rocked with her and sang her lullaby. She reached for her windchime and was so happy when I lifted her up to start it chiming. She fell very fast asleep in my arms, and even though she's coughed a few times, she hasn't woken up yet.  I went into Walter's room where he was watching the original video for "Don't Give Up" with Sean.  I got a wonderful goodnight kiss and hug from him. He asks us to pick him up when we hug him, and so we get to hold him extra close as we do, and marvel at his long legs and strong arms. He gives sweet kisses, leaning in and closing his eyes. "A hug," he says.  "Can you pick me up? Now, a kiss." He cried as we left his room and tried several stalling techniques.  He left his room at one point and came upstairs; we let him sit in bed with us for 15 minutes, snuggling in between us while I worked on this post and Sean watched Rick Steves' Europe. I transcribed some of Walter's patter as I typed. He talked a little bit about his imaginary friend, Bobby. "Bobby and I write sometimes at work. I told you that yesterday! We watch TV sometimes, too. But Bobby doesn't like TV. Hmmmm.  Um, Mama? (Sigh) Sometimes I work at my work. (To the TV.) They are making pasta. They are on a boat, Mama. I love you, Mama.(snuggle.)" When Sean took him downstairs Walter cried and knocked his chair over a few times, but eventually went to sleep, much to the relief (literally) of Hank the Dog.  I'd gotten the idea for this post while I nursed Sally, and it feels wonderful to take the time to write something I don't have to write.

Take me to the people in this picture!

Like most little kids, I had a tenuous grasp on the difference between fact and fiction.  It's fun to see that in Walter, now, as his imagination develops along with his language skills. I blurred the lines between truth and invention well into fifth grade, when one of my best friends, R., called me on it. She didn't call me a liar, though. She said, "Oh, Annie. You're telling stories again.  You're always telling stories." It took me some time to figure out if she meant that as a good thing or a bad thing.  I decided it was a bad thing, at least in the way I'd been doing it.  I worked hard to direct and contain my storytelling toward fiction writing and other intentionally creative pursuits, and learned, in all other contexts, to tell the truth, even when it was uncomfortable or boring to do that.

Like most adults, though, I know now that truth itself is pretty subjective, and the stories we tell (and don't tell, and the way we tell them) shape and construct our reality.  Depending on how I tell it, today was either bad (relatively) or good (relatively).  The truth is that it was something that can't be captured that easily, not even in this post (possibly one of the longest and most tediously detailed I've ever written.)

This past weekend we went to a bluegrass festival, and a woman a little older than my parents engaged us in conversation.  Her name was Suze and she was wearing head-to-toe tie dye and hippie-style headbands that looked pretty authentic.  She complimented us on our parenting and also gave quite a lot of parenting advice.  Then, as Sean chased after Walter, she leaned in close to me and started telling me stories about my kids and their futures.

"What's your little girl's name?" She asked. "Sally! Sally will make a lot of money. She may have a few divorces, too. She'll dress in red and black, with some white accents. And gold jewelry ...just gold, she shouldn't waste her time with silver. Walter, if he doesn't find the right woman ... I'm assuming he's hetero ... I see him with a good dog, like a labrador, as his companion. Walter will always be steady for you. Sally will be your challenge, but she'll be successful." Then she giggled.  "I hope I'm right!" I told her, based on what I know of my children so far, that she might be.  Later on she introduced me and Sally to her husband, who was pleased because he has a sister named Sally; she's a dentist living in the Twin Cities (I didn't ask if she'd had a few divorces, too.)  Suze asked what Sally's middle name is.  "Joan?!  Ohhhh ... she'll have an interesting and successful life!"

Adults who tell stories like this intrigue me.  I wonder about their powers of observation and intuition, and the way they notice so much more than most of us do.  For example, most of the people at the festival assumed Sally was a boy, because she was dressed all in blue boy's clothes that day.  Suze listened to us talking and paid attention enough to know that she's a girl.  Most people don't do that. 

But the real gift Suze gave me was reminding me that my kids have their own stories. Right now, I'm constructing their narratives, and I have a pretty great amount of control over what they'll remember and what they'll know of themselves at this point in their lives. But that's not always going to be the case, and that's a good and scary thing. Someday, Sally might read this post and Suze's story and think, "Well, everything else she predicted is true ... I guess my first couple of marriages are doomed to fail." Or she might think, "That's ridiculous. That hippie lady can't tell me what to do." (I think the latter is more likely, based on Sally's personality at one year old.) Either way, God and Sally are at work on her story, and my role in writing it will be greatly diminished as time goes on. Likewise, I really hope Walter finds the right woman (or man ... I make no assumptions) even though canine companions are wonderful, and labradors especially so. But I don't get to decide that, either.  

That's not my story to tell. 

In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep telling stories.  At some point, Walter and Sally will combine my narrative with their own narratives and come up with something new.  

It should be pretty good.  They come from a family of storytellers, after all.

Citing Sources

Shortly after Walter's arrival on the maternity ward, I thought to myself, "Man, this kid owns this place." Our latest visit, not his first trip there. His first appearance, literally, he was pulled like a magician's rabbit from an incision in Mama's stomach in a way that my brain is still unable to comprehend. He was long, robust, and grey, and I thought, "He doesn't look very happy," and said, "He doesn't look very happy."

So soon to change. Our most recent visit, he jogged briskly and gleefully around the halls, chattering a bit and smiling at nurses. It's partly the confidence that walking brings, and partly some charm that's inately Walter's.

His 12th month was a series of homecomings, of a sort. There was this return trip to the maternity ward, when we visited friends from church who'd just given birth to their own little boy. Then to the Albright ancestral manse on the moors of Drexel Hill, PA for Thanksgiving and presentation to the matriarchs for inspection. (Passed.) And along the way a little side jaunt to the Atlantic Ocean. (Elaborating metaphorically or philosophically on the ocean's role as point-of-origin is left as an exercise for the reader.)

Thanksgiving took me by surprise, really. Walter had been ripping through all those firsts, like steps and birthdays and tastes of the ocean, that this second Thanksgiving felt like maybe we'd finally run out of firsts. Second plane ride, second Christmas, second helping of crackers, plees. All out of first-year firsts, I guess. I recall someone cutting into an onion coincedent with this realization, for the record. But when I sum that first year up, I can only count it as a huge triumph for Walter.

Some days, not all the time, I don't think he really asks much of me directly, and some days, not all the time, I know I don't have much to give. Annie and I have worked hard to become Walter's framework for success, and I guess we'll never know exactly how successful we've been, but we'll always be the first to cheer for his successes. Like this year he was pulled into screaming, and walked out of smiling.

Letter to one-year-old Walter

This was your first snow: November 9, 2011

Dear Walter,

Today I held you up to the window to watch the snow falling and you smiled, laughed, and pointed.  Even though it was only snowing very lightly, you could easily see it, and you knew it was something wonderful.  You are something wonderful, too.

You've been one year old for two weeks, now. You celebrated both your birthday and your Great Aunts Jan and Kim's wedding in Courtland, NY with your Swiftie relatives, including your second cousin and birthday buddy, Monica.  You had a quiet celebration at home on the 22nd with me and Daddy and a red velvet cupcake.  And we had a big party for you in the gym at church this past weekend.  We are a family that believes in extended birthday celebrations!

You watched the snow on Feb 10, 2012, too

In the midst of all this celebrating we have all been pretty sick.  That started the weekend before your birthday with a case of pink eye, followed by a stomach virus, followed by a cold, followed by an ear infection.  Me, Daddy, Umma and Baba all got versions of this, too.  Even with all this sickness, you have been having an amazing series of adventures.  To give you just one example: on our way to a meeting in Door County, we stopped to get some lunch for Daddy and you threw up in the van. We did the best we could with clean up and took you into the restaurant while we tried to decide what to do.  I set you down and you took off, running straight toward the big kids' play area, doing a happy little dance as you shimmied along. We decided to continue on to Door County, where you rampaged around the Maritime Museum like a baby pirate. You are so resilient. You keep learning, growing, and having wonderful time, even when you are sick.  You had your first airplane trips while you were sick and did beautifully, sleeping through most of both flights.  You are unstoppable!

Watching the snow today, Nov. 06, 2012

You are a very good communicator: you say "Hi!" and "Bye!", "Uh oh!" and "Row! Row!" You are working on your animal noises.  You are very good at sign language: you use your own versions of ASL signs for "all done," "more," "food," and "water/drink."  You used to use the sign for "milk" for when you want to nurse, but lately you have been snapping your fingers, instead!  You watched your Daddy snap his fingers to some music one day and immediately you started to snap, too.  That is amazing, Walter. And it's pretty funny when you snap your fingers at me when you're hungry.  You also invented your own sign for when you want to brush your teeth, brushing the tips of your fingers over your lips.  You use that sign very consistently and I'm very proud of you for coming up with it and teaching it to Daddy and me.  I'm also very proud of how much you love to brush your teeth.  I think I saw two new ones on their way in tonight--your official count these days is 9, including a one year molar that came in while we were traveling in New York. At your one year check up your stats were: head circumference: 19 in; height: 31 1/4 inches; weight: 25 lbs 10 oz. 95th percentile all around!

You love: hot dogs, Hank the Dog, Henry (your best friend from day care,) anything that plays music, music of all kinds, dancing (to the beat!) every time you hear music, and your favorite songs: "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Patty Cake," and "African Skies" (ta-oomba-oomba-oomba-whoa-oh-oh.)  You love day care and your wonderful teachers who sing and dance with you. You love video chatting with your Grandma and Grandpa Albright and visits with your Umma and Baba.  You continue to love Baba Paul best of all the people in the world.  You love me and Daddy very much, too, and you give us wonderful hugs, kisses and snuggles.  Every once and awhile you will reach up and hold my hand, or Daddy's hand, while we walk together.  We love it when you do that.

Not sure about cake.

You are not a fan of fruit of any kind. You don't really seem to like cake or frosting, either, although today you delighted us by twisting apart an Oreo cookie and eating it just like your Daddy does.  You still cry a lot at bedtime, frustrated with all of the things that need to be done before we get to nursing and going to bed.  You love baby Advil (white grape flavor ... and you seem to know that it helps with ear and teething pain) but don't like other medicines very much, although you're getting used to nose drops for congestion.  You don't like being slowed down by being sick ... or by baby safety gates ... or by anything or anyone that might slow you down!

I've been writing this letter while watching election night coverage--they just announced that President Obama was reelected.  You are fast asleep, but earlier this evening you enjoyed dancing to the trumpet-heavy election theme music on the radio.  You won't remember this election, but I will remember how you liked to steal our "I voted" stickers.  I'd like to think that shows an early interest in citizenship and democracy.

Walter, I can't begin to tell you what this year has meant and means to me.  I'm not sure I know how to explain it to myself yet, either.  Here's what I know: I love you with my whole heart, my whole self.  I feel like I've known you and loved you much longer than this one year, longer even than the ten months before you were born. I think I have always loved you, my whole life long.  This love isn't based on how smart you are, how handsome, how strong, or how funny, although you are all of those things and more.  This love is yours just because you are. It's the human equivalent of the much greater love that God, your Mother in heaven, has for you. It's a love that is all yours, always, no matter what.  That is something you can know without a doubt: I love you, your Daddy loves you, you are loved by family and friends around the world, God loves you ... you are loved!

Walter, Walter, you are loved
By friends on earth and friends above
Love surrounds you every day
And when you sleep, in love you stay

Goodnight, sweet one-year-old. Here's to all the years of adventures ahead of you!

Love love love,
Mommy

You're on your way!