Easterrific.

I am lackadaisically catching up here. I keep meaning to come here and update, but client work comes first. And so do iPhone word games. And sitting on the couch eating Easter candy with Jake. 

So, an update:

This morning Grace stood by the light of the back window. She tucked her hair behind her ears and ate her cheerios and looked at the window. I stopped making sandwiches and let my hands fall to the counter and stared at her. She is incredible. 

Minutes later I watched her and Ruby bound up the steps of their school together. Running to get out of the rain. When did we become so integrated into this earth, this world, this thriving community? They are so present in their own lives now, sitting in their classrooms, talking to their friends and taking tests. They come home and I juice out of them no more than 1% of their day and the rest is filed in their brains under "life experience". I wish I knew all they were absorbing.

Ruby has a major BA in the morning (Bad Attitude). She doesn't shake it until about 12 minutes after waking up. So it's 12 minutes of pushing her to get her act together. I drag her skin and bones carcass out of bed and help her get dressed. Then she pouts all the way to the bathroom and afterwards, lays down in front of the shoe closet. With no motivation to take the necessary steps to adorn her feet. The hair brushing is just ridiculous. You'd think I was taking a slice out of her toe.

Last night we played a game just before bedtime. Everyone sits on the floor facing Dad and he has to try to make us laugh using only one word. When he says the word, the first person that laughs or giggles is out. Last one standing gets to sit in the chair and make us all laugh. Lillie is not so calm in these situations. It takes all of us working together as a family to keep her happy and settled down and satisfied. Everyone helps. When it's finally her turn to sit in the chair, Grace and Ruby each offer to laugh first so she feels funny, etc. I love seeing the girls treat each other well. Because it means that amidst the mess and stress, we notice some success.

Tadi is a bad (good?) teaser. The car is like chinese torture. Driving down the freeway and Lillie starts humming a tune. Tad watches her and after about 15 seconds, calmly states: "Bopp". (which means "stop"). Lillie flails. The screaming cracks my brain open. Emotions spray onto the window and doors and it takes her several tens of hundreds of seconds to calm down. So I tell her she can sing again. I threaten Tada, "WANNA TIME OUT??". Lillie sings. I watch Tada in the rearview. She leans in. Her eyes sparkle. She says, "Bopp". And the cycle continues. I look out the window and wish I was somewhere else. I remember Ruby doing the exact same thing to Grace in the car. 

Jake and I muddle through our day and at the end, sum it up in long conversations that twist and turn. Life is so good, I often stop and really try to feel it. I wish I could grab it and embrace it. That feeling that I'm lucky, that I have so much. I felt it pretty strong this weekend when I photographed a funeral for a beautiful boy that passed away much too early. In the face of such grief, and the complex feelings that follow, I come home to hug my babies. And celebrate today.

Girls.

I always slip behind.

But today, today...

Lillie fell off the back of the couch and the wind left her lungs for a few moments. She tries so hard. She fights so hard. She's a tall tree, and so beautiful with her curly hair.

Tada is like cheesecake. She lets me, too, eat her up. She has saddlebag thighs and they are better than the statue of liberty. And she loves eating nannies (candies).

Ruby was so happy when I made the time to lie next to her in bed. I haven't been, and I missed it! She was giggly and kissy. I don't deserve that child.

Grace read her report to me. I told her to look to the left and to the right at the audience. She can't do that and read that the same time, I noticed. Her report is on Mozart. Grace is a "Beessull" little thing as Lillie would pronounce. (it means beautiful)

Happy Birthday Grace.

Gracie,

You'll never be able to shake the pressure and responsibility of your position in our family. You confront your role head-on but often curl up in my lap, a perfect fit. Polite, and accommodating and obedient. And you worry and fret and fear. If I was inside your brain I think I'd be afraid of flying objects! Every possession you own or have ever owned is in your radar. Like, more accurate than a GPS... which is pretty amazing because GPS uses space technology!

You're 9. But you hug and hold your stuffed wolf like it's your baby. And the other day you told me you knew ____  likes you because every time he looks at you at school he smiles and then immediately looks down. And only an hour or so after you told me this grown-up tidbit, I found you on the couch sneaking in a thumb suck. I see a progression. In all of us lies a younger version of ourselves. It's nice to notice my residual baby Grace in you.

I haven't gotten over something. That day I brought beautiful black-haired Ruby home from the hospital and you were taking a nap. I handed over my newborn to Dad and went to lie down with you. Even to this day I get tears in my eyes thinking of how I sobbed, laying next to your toddler body, petting your beautiful hair and kissing your cheeks, wiping my tears on your t-shirt. Not that I wasn't head over heels for Ruby. But you weren't my baby anymore. All of that stuff, those two years of discovering how to feed and care for a baby, were ours. No one could take them away. We stumbled through that time together and I have to clear my throat every time I think about it.

You look a lot like your dad and a little like me at your age but with darker hair and darker eyes. You hate being tickled and teased. You love it when I scratch your back. And hold you. You've been riding your bike alongside of me when I go running on the weekends. You tell me things that you never would if we were home with all the chaos. That is our time. It's challenging, going up those hills on a bike from Target that doesn't switch gears, but you are tough and you always want to come with me, and that makes me so happy.

You are my tall, ridiculously beautiful oldest daughter. A leader. A smart little thing. Quiet in class, not so quiet at home. You get scared at night and have tummy aches when you're stressed. You mostly just want to be left alone, something that is very difficult when the two youngest are around. Ruby is your best friend and I really hope you always feel that way.

I love you, with a lump in my throat every time, I love you.

xoxo

Mom.

Ruby is 7.

Ruby at her elementary school, March 4th. 

Ruby,

You turned 7. And all along, I was methodical and tough and haven't let myself feel that yet. But then I played a beautiful sad song tonight and the tears came... I looked at your photographs and momentarily lost my ability to operate. Everything started melting as I saw your face, frozen in time on the day of your birthday.

I love tickling you. It's actually my favorite pastime. And if I had to choose between receiving briefcases of cash or tickling you, I'd probably still choose you. Your little teeny fingers, your no-boundaries-laugh, your eyes, hair, feet, bony knees, your sense of humor, they all get poured into your cauldron and out comes this child.... this perfect little treat. It's you. It's always been you. You're a magnet, you're a rhythm, you're a song.

Your delivery was the easiest, the least painful. I joked and chatted with the nurses in the minutes leading up to your entrance into the world. When I saw you, I was an emotional mess. You were pink and had lots of black hair. I went into that place of transcendance. A little teeny life was flashing over and over in my mind. Who would you be? Could I protect you? Did I deserve you?

You slept in a basket next to my bed for 8 days. At the end of the 8th day we flew from Salt Lake to Arizona to live. Our first big move as a family. We lied to Southwest Airlines about your age so they'd allow us to fly and the whole flight I was in fear that your ears would be damaged from the pressure. I remember flying over Provo, silent tears rolling down my cheeks, a new mother, so worried for your tiny body.

You have been such an easy girl. You have taught our entire family the meaning of love. From the first moments you could express it, you have spread love throughout our home, your circle of friends and our extended family. Those that get to know you are lucky. You are a shining light in everyone's lives.

From the moment my hands grasped your little 8 pound body, I knew that I couldn't live without you.

I love you,

Happy Birthday,

Your Mama.

Evolution of a Holiday.

 Colors of the laundry.

 Paper bag puppets.

 Tadd having a quick nappy.

Playing well together for a minute. 

Lillie becoming one of the older girls. 

Ponies left all alone (at least they have each other). 

Sad about something. 

A pink milk fix. 

Perpetual mess. 

Beauty, 8 years old. 

Ruby reading in Lillie's bed. 4-girl separation/quiet time punishment for fighting. 

Punishment served, eventually earned Lego Star Wars time with young spectators. 

Lill's window hair. 

It's nice to have a photo documentary of a bit of our day on Monday. Will these girls look back on this time? Will they treasure it? Will they only have the memories they can't exactly remember, but they can only feel? I have some of those kind.

I come up for air and see all that I have. Recognize it, appreciate it. Squeeze in talks with each of them here and there. Try so hard to listen and put away my lists, my phone, my chores. Try my very hardest to be present...