Oh August.

This month.
A milestone.
Many milestones.
Much seems to culminate in a season's closing month.
We reached California at just the right time - it allowed me space from distance travelled in NYC.

I needed it.

I had just handed down my maternity clothes.
Handed off a baby swing, a bouncy chair.
Recently offered up the breast pump.
Sold my baby carrier.

Logical decisions for some, for me, so loaded.
Each item endowed with memories from unusual and beautiful times spent with Lily.
Little does she know how life saving her anticipated presence and emergence were.

Are.

And to acknowledge that most likely I no longer have need for those same cherished items was painful.

Is painful.

But I did it.
Surrendered.
Shared.
Grew.

And I do feel stronger.
I am OK.
Not to self - been through much worse.
Much, much worse.
So with August has come some perspective.
I see where I've been, I am proud of the ground I've covered.

And still much more ahead.

Sure there is much I long for.
And the dreams I once had still remain.
Can't shake 'em.
Hell, I deserve them.
But many of us deserve that which we don't get.
Lily, for example.
Not to mention her dad.

I wish he was here Mama so I could run to him and run back, and run to him and run back....

I know you do Pumpkin, I know.

But as I remind myself and Lily in less poignant moments, now that she's heard THE song ~
You can't always get what you want...
But if you try sometime, you'll find.... you get what you need.

And I do.
We do.
We have a lot.
And for that, I am grateful.

August Days.

Summer is folding its arms, sleepily closing up shop.
Taking it's time, as it should.
And as steamy days inched toward closure here, Lily and I jumped ship and visited the West Coast.
It was a perfect trip.
We lived so much in a week.
I think all we mostly said was Yes.

It felt good to... go.
Let ourselves go.

Old friends and newer lives to reconnect with.
Bubbles in the sun, spontaneous meals, rocks in a creek,
Redwood cool,
ever-dirty-back-and-forth-barefoot-feet.
Three generations of women, ever-doting-over-everything... Grandmothers, mamas and girls.
Just as we had pretended when we were small.
Real 'house' now.
So much more than we had imagined.

Loving cousins, cool Uncle, and proud Grandpa.
Dim Sum, Cable Cars and a steam train through the woods.

And no weighty fog this time.
It hovered across the bay, kept it's distance.
Sunny days, every day.
I had always wished for Alan days like this - but maybe the blustery cold on our visits was designed for his favorite warm sweaters, and rough sails.

Happy hours were spent in vineyard heat & outdoor showers. Lily ran gleefully through gardens, over gravel and bark, trailing two big girls who were full of spirit, innovation, and devotion, while I relished in moments with a dear old-soul friend and model mama.
We fed chickens, picked candy strawberries, pink apples and fresh vegetables for dinner.
Sticky first S'more for dessert.

She draped herself over rope-swings.
Floated languidly through brick oven heat.

It
was
bliss.

New York is undeniably in Lily's character but when I see her out West, I can see her great great grandmother, just like her Jiji says: Deep dark eyes. Strong stance.

My little oak.

And the way she says California always makes me smile.
Just the way my Gigi said it.
Califonia, no r.

Oh
to
be

Home.

Parenting. American Style.

Since it's July, which is a reliably tough month due to Alan's anniversary on the 5th typically followed by harsh heat and sapping humidity, I have indulged in torturing myself a bit more by reading a American woman's account of raising children in Paris.

Apparently we have much of "it" wrong.

We allow too much freedom, unruly conduct is rampant, children are treated as the center of the universe, they can't play alone and are force fed flash cards instead of being left to play. They over snack and never sleep.

Hmm.

There is some validity to aforementioned traits - definitely - but, please,
S'il vous plait,
cut us some slack.
We are not savages.
We're a warm, involved culture.
Period.

(Actually, I'm not finished.)

My girl has been "doing her nights" since four months, she plays independently for long stretches, she is schooled in a place that stresses the importance of play and socialization - and I think, that I/we are doing pretty damn well.
Oh. And we're not plunked in front of the TV with "My Baby Can Read".
Nor vying for schooling that offers Mandarin and computer skills.
(Though, yes, some are. Scarey.)

Could she improve her restaurant manners? Oui.
Could she embody rules and manners more ably? Bien sur.
We are working on it, and no, not to keep up with the French.

But I wonder if their way of farming off babes to the creche in their early months (not because they have to, because they want to), their point of view that parents and couples come before children, and their seeming lack of involvement with child's play is what leads to their reputation for "coolness" (and no I do not mean hip) and elegant detachment as adults.

Just wondering.

I will certainly admit that the way they do some things is beyond appealing. I strive to lose the guilt when I try to focus on myself, not Lily. I am envious that there is more ingrained respect for uninterrupted "Adult Time", and I find their rigidity of schedule for meals, snacking and bedtime FABULOUS.
I envy their free daycare and choice to do full-time daycare and take time off from work.
For themselves.

Remarkable.

Honestly, I've take much of their approach to heart.
We're now working on the importance of a confident (and warm) "Hi" when we greet people - and put it up there with pleases and thank yous. And we're working on waiting and stretching our patience when we "need" something.

And yes, there is a simple cake recipe that they do with their kiddos that sounds delightful - so without a doubt, we will bake away.
Thank you France pour le gateau.
We will practice resistance Parisienne as we wait until afternoon snack time to eat it.

I AM A SOLDIER!
Vive la France!

Such discipline.

But do they ever cut loose? Dance with their kids on the carpet? Sing in public? Wear outlandish outfits - just... because?
We Americans love self discovery too, and we also set limits - but in our culture we may dote on our children a bit too much.
But we also live with unrepressed emotion and passion, and I think we, as a culture, are beautifully unique and expressive.
Colorful.
Bright.
And showing love, baby, love ~ I'm all for that.
I don't think a child can ever be shown too much.

But we will wait for the cake.
And greet others with confidence.

Now remember Pumpkin, when they open the door we say "Hi or Hello" with a friendly voice so they can hear us.

Or we can just wave like this Mama (she says, smiling and waving Thanksgiving-Day-Parade style),
or - she cheerily suggests - we could just say

"Bonjour".

Smile.
Chuckle.
And no, I am not reading the book to Lily too.
We have Fancy Nancy to thank for that - a character the French would abhor.
Shudder to read.
(The books are pretty awful.)

ANOTHER POINT FOR THE FRENCH!

Can't wait til the cake is ready.

The Alan River

Father's Day came again.
It always does.
And Lily has been asking regularly about her dad.

She really wants to see him.

So on Father's Day we were able to make an early afternoon excursion aboard an old sloop on the Hudson River.
Beautiful
Tall
Wooden
Ship

Built with purpose by Pete Seeger in the 60s to help spread love and appreciation of our Hudson River, to preserve its health and protect it from pollution.

So aboard we went, Lily and I, with an old friend and a new one.
It was special.
Lily has wanted to sail for a long time, so it was perfectly fitting that we should make an inaugural voyage together that Sunday.
She didn't know it was Father's Day, or maybe she did. I had no desire to advertise. But she knows her dad loved to sail and this outing was a perfect way to bring us closer to him.

It did.

It was a warm, still day. Alan would have been a bit frustrated by the light winds, but we moved gracefully through the water as musicians sang gentle shanties on the deck. Lily circled the boat many times, sat on a wooden box patting it to the music, eyed fish in a tank that had been caught safely for us to see, and enjoyed the potty on-board.

My favorite part was the two minutes of silence the crew requested, well after we were under way. Even Lily channeled her dad's stillness.
And as I squinted up to the top of this boats giant sail, I felt like it was an arrow to the sky, pointing straight up to her dad.
The lines, creaks, sways and breeze surrounded us with easy kindness.

It was the perfect place to be.
Water moves me.
And I think it did her.

Just yesterday on our return home from a different weekend road trip, as we merged along side the Hudson River, I pointed it out to Lily.

Because I love my daddy so much I think I will call it
The Alan River,
she said.
Unprompted.

I love that idea Lily, I said.

Love that idea.

Oh Dear. Lifeline? Someone?

Did you and Daddy make me out of clay?

The question came as Lily was leaning casually against the bed, in her pjs.
Eyes open and expectant.

Oh! I said.
Good question Pumpkin.
We didn't.
Actually, Daddy and I made you out of lots of love.

Eyes unblinking.
Fixed stare.
Answer not good enough.
No comment from peanut gallery.

Wheels were turning, as were mine.
Oh dear. Not off the hook yet.

You know how your flower plant was a seed that was planted in the dirt and then it grew and grew and now has lots of flowers?

Nod. Stare unwavering.

Well... That's kind of how we made you! Kind of like a seed was planted and you grew until you were big enough to come out all by yourself.

Pause to see if I've succeeded in Reproduction for Three Year Olds 101.

She ponders. Imagining herself in dirt in her mom. Hmmm.
Not a good answer?

I am not sure how the conversation concluded. I was so concerned with my explanation that the rest is a blur.
I think we went on to talk about which of her friends were older and younger.
Any conversation change is welcome with the Big Life Questions.

But Lily's dad is mentioned frequently this season.
She misses him.
She wants to see him.

What would you say to him if you saw him, Pumpkin?
I would tell him I love him.
And then she bursts into an improvised song to him which is beautiful and blogworthy until it ends with "peepee and poopy".
Then she is all laughs.
She wonders frequently about when other dads she knows will die.
And she now is beginning to understand her world with a maturing mind.

Again, oh dear.

Her world is one where dads die.
Period.
I explain that most live until they're very very old.
But not William's dad? And Nikhil's?
Right, Pumpkin, William's dad and Nikhil's dads died when they were little babies, I say softly.
But most daddies don't.
Most daddies don't, I repeat.

Why must difficult life lessons begin so early?

I'll take love and clay, any day, over death.

So Much Happens.

Tonight the daughter of dear friends became a bat mitzvah.
She grew so fast I felt so old I'm not sure how it all happened.
To think that just a few years ago she was perched on a grown up's knee, open eyes, amiable, soft, trusting, she was new to our world - Alan's and mine - and we admired her so.
And I remember her telling her dad early on that Alan seemed like an uncle to her.
He relished in hearing that.
Proud of his impression.
Honored.

He was just here.
It seems.
Sometimes, that is.

When I caught a fleeting glimpse of him tonight, in a montage, it felt like yesterday we were wandering through that cornfield maze - Alan,Sam, Michael, Ava, and I.
We looked healthy.
Happy.
Shadowed by near twilight sun.

But then I reflect on the fact that it was pre-Lily, pre-Jake, pre-Stella. We were all newly in love with the dream of creating more family.

And so it happened.

But not the way any of us had imagined - we are one person short of the happiest of dreams.
Actually, many people short;
There were others who also deserved to be there tonight.
To see this no-longer-child poised and present, on her own.

No knee needed.

The age of awkward beautiful, heavy on the beautiful,
just teetering on the cusp of adult life.
So close, near ready, but hopefully not too too soon.
Many must have been smiling down on her.
Oh so proud.

It is a wonder to watch the way things grow.

I am awestruck when I look at Lily these days,and I have fallen prey to every parental cliche.
They grow up so quickly.
Enjoy them at this age.
Savor these moments.
It all goes by so fast.

And so it does.

We visited a farm today.
Lily and a friend (donning a cape no less, another cohort with flair).
Pulled garlic stems, picked snow peas, collected eggs.
Learned that there are more things living in a fistful of soil than people on this planet.

Ahh life.

Origins before our eyes -
Ones that even a three year old can begin to contemplate.
How
did
she
get
here?

Slow down, you move too fast.

I am amazed by how it,
this,
happens.

Oh to be a parent.
The greatest, hardest job.
And joy.

Ever.

Girl In The Pill Box Hat.

Lily had her first dance recital this weekend.
It was big in every way.
For me, at least, and a couple hundred other parents.
"Are you excited for your performance today Pumpkin?" I asked, so excited myself.
"No Mama. Because I am doing it."
And so it went.

She was ready.

She's gone regularly to her ballet class, embraced it with joy, excitement and focus. And this performance has rested gently on her horizon for a few weeks now, and for her, for whom everything is still fresh and new, performance anxiety has yet to rear its ugly head.
This child is happy in her body.
Proud of her abilities.
Broad in character.

Rooted in her existence.

So when the curtains were closed and all I could see were ballet shoe toes, positioned IN the curtain ripples, I was on the edge of my seat. Curious to see how she would fare - on stage, with no view yet of what existed beyond:
Antsy-beaming-parents-with-every-recording-device-available-waiting-with-baited-breath.

And there she was.
Away she went.

All smiles, focus, shaking her hips, pointing her toes, jumping on cue (or early with excited anticipation).
Doing her thing.
In sequins, hat, and fringe.
She
just
had
fun.

I was so proud.
Relieved.
A positive first on the stage.
In the lights.
A beautiful accomplishment.

So many changes this year in this girl.

Her drawings are more and more representational.
Flowers, rainbows, houses, trees, ferris wheels, playgrounds and suns.
I like what she sees.
At school I hear her class mates calling her in - with eager glee.
Relationships now her own.
She writes letters, is into rhyming.
Word curious.

And of course the Mary Poppins obsession continues.
I just saw Mary!
We've had multiple sightings.
She is present and otherworldly.

Three is cool.
Beautiful cool.

Will It.

This morning I met a woman, older than I, further along in life and its experiences and we spoke about how we move forward, past loss. I said Lily is my purpose, that one has to be resilient to endure.
She said there are many people who are not strong in this world.
Many.
She said you have to Will It.

So true.

I always felt odd when people commended me for my "strength". Yes, I was and am aware of it, that power I harnessed when Alan and I were deep in the trenches, the energy I found when we were broken in spirit, and the determination to continue on with my life for Lily, with Lily. But to me despite my slumps, dark moments, and ever ache, it is what one does.
You rise to the occasion.
It's what you do.
I think.
I thought.
And though there were times when an end to my life seemed enticing (had I not been pregnant),I knew, having seen a love robbed of his - that that just wasn't
a
fair
choice.

No Way (as Lily now frequently exclaims).
No.
Way.
It was a selfish thought.
Foolish to even entertain.

But ahhh that's what death will do.
It caresses those left behind, sells an unknown destination, hijacks a beating heart. Leaves you sitting in unbearable quiet.

You have to will it away.
Will yourself to stay - as best you can.

And for that, you need only to whisper a wish - quietly to yourself.
No strength required.

Mother's Day is one of my toughest holidays.
But I will will myself to find wholeness where there is indeed a hole.

This morning when Lily awoke way way WAY too early and crawled into my bed, I loved feeling her soft hand under mine, resting around my waist.
It was
the
best.
So soft, unscathed, warm, relaxed.

Her love and presence fill me up.
She lives with such abandon she is freeing to watch.

She
just
IS.

Willful without intention.

For her, it is all about being.

Effortless.

Pure.

Ohhhhh... Got it.

Had my second parent/teacher conference with Lily's teacher this morning.
Amazing how one conversation (or rather, two words) can clarify so much.

First Adolescence.

Wow.
Like a therapeutic breakthrough.
For me.
Not that things will change, today, but it's as though I was gifted with supporting evidence that
this is Lily's World these days.

No Therefore I Am

is how her teacher described it. Apparently in class she's a great kid, a collaborator, and an imaginative spirit. But at home, while Lily isn't so heavy on the nos these days, she is all about asserting her independence in feisty ways which frustrate this Mama to no end.
Or should I say, exhaust.
And make me wonder, how did I get a teenager at age three?
She is an advanced Selective Listener.
She invites me into her world only to then ask me to go back to wherever I was.
And the I Need Privacy statement is every other request.

Last night she insisted on my not coming into the room while she dressed and washed for bed. Thankfully she washed first, and came into the living room smiling - looking as though she had just been on the Log Ride at Great America.
And the bathroom floor was ... puddled.

Go Mama, I need to get my pjs on.

Banished back to the living room.

And today when I asked what she thought she might want to do with her sitter Juliana this morning -

Go Downtown, she replied.

Pumpkin, I think you guys can stay in the neighborhood this morning.

First Adolescence.

"It's hard for them right now" Her teacher said "They're too old to be babies and too little to be with the big kids - so older kids are bothered by them and yet, that's where they want to fit in"

Made me want to laugh. Sing. Elbow Alan and smile over at him.

Ahhh.
Got
It.

Apologies to Simone and Nolia. It is merely loving worship.

Which doesn't make our battles any easier but I can see my
Renegade Child
more
clearly
now.
Wear the high heels.
Wear the three layers with vest with jacket with ski hat with three necklaces one glove and leggings over tights under layered skirts.
Meet me at the elevator.
Carry your own plate over the white shag rug.
Sing about "California Grass" (just lyrics...)

She insists after bathroom breaks in restaurants on meeting me back at the table.
"I will meet you there, Mama."
Even then, half way there, she'll turn around and freeze me with her hand.
Wait Mama, she commands, mouthing the words from a distance.

And so I do.

The other thing her teacher commented on was Lily's active imagination. She takes it everywhere.
It is one of my most favorite facets of her personality.
Even when she's away from the babies, the office, the kitchen/restaurant or doctor (yes, she now plays doctor) when she's playing with blocks, her buildings are an embellishment of her imaginary world.
The other night I heard her clapping and congratulating James and Jayna for mastering hula hoop floor rolls.
She's got good company, my girl, even when alone.
In Jamaica, when she spotted a far off cruise ship - she began shouting to James.
Come HERE! She yelled repeatedly into the horizon.

He came to shore.

I love my soulful, willful, creative, electric three year teen.

When Lily told me she played Doctor at school,
Oh, I said,
Were you sick Pumpkin?
No Mamaaaaaaaa, she smiled,
We were just pretendin'.

Note to self, just a phase.

And a cool one, at that.

Irie. Yeah. Irie.

Just back from Jamaica.

A yearly pilgrimage made even better this year by my brother and his kids, adding another layer of depth and beauty to a special, special place.

Upon arrival Lily, arms outstretched as though embracing the Round Hill universe, yelled and squealed with joy. She had been anticipating this return since our last visit and let's just say her
soul
responds
readily
to
this
place.

As does mine.

And with her cousins Addison and Simone, it was bliss.
She could hold hands with them on our walks to the beach, aspire to do all they could do in the pool, share burgers with them, paint rocks with them, look for mangos with them, pick flowers, collect shells and dance ~
The list goes on.

Repeated daily for a week.

Grandma in the mix too.
Even better.

And I got to ease into the island state of mind - daily conch fritters with my brother, talks on the shore from chairs planted in shallow water, afternoon teas with family - wet with salt water, and gritty sandy toes.

It is a joy to share parenthood with a sibling.

Bonfire evenings, raw reggae,
and a limbo too.

Lily's first.

Simone rocked it, and Lily surely made her limbo-star-dad proud.
Alan expertly navigated it in his day, even with pins and rods adding roots to his spine, he never lost his bend.
Ever.

Quite proud of his limbo abilities, he was.

Smile.

Good family time.

I am mastering the Irie state of mind, just takes a few days to melt into it.
Most easily practiced looking out over blue waters with enveloping rays and a Red Stripe in hand, kind smiles everywhere and marischino cherries atop every lemon freeze.
Oh.
And children's laughter.
And "Aunt Susie look at this!!!"
And Mom!!! Look what I made!!
And the occasional Ninjago fact courtesy of An Expert.
And the soft jingle of hair beads.
And ceiling fan breezes.

Seaweed became bushes in a sand village, snails were left peacefully in their shells, and the ocean swayed us gently, even when a paddle boat drifted off course.
Cuba's not so far...

Irie.

That's right.

Great
State
Of
Mind.

Better. Spring.

Spring appeared, momentarily, as it seems to do in the East.
A few days of warm thaw, enough to coax the blossoms into their pink and white glory,and then we're all swept away again by intermittent, breezy, brisk,
cold.

It always snows petals this time of year.
How quickly temperament changes.
Within
and
without.

That's how Lily and I have been. Anxious for Spring and Summer.
Enjoying our present but on the lookout for change.
I've not been in a great place; moods mercurial, exhausted mind and body, every morning refueled by Lily's spirit but everworn all the same.

Can I say that?

Everworn.

But just the other day in a fleeting moment of warmth,
under the sun I sat,
eyes closed, angled to the sky and just took it all in.
Felt good to have warmth on my face.
A quick recharge which eased my mind and heart a bit.
Reminded me.
Everything is alright.

And it is.
I just have felt battered.
And wish for a slight reprise.

Over the weekend I went out, saw a friend and his life love play acoustic music and it was reassuring to see their bond - hear their present/future - woven confidently together by gracefully planned, wafting notes.

Just how it should always be.

Good Love.
Love Is Good.

And then he surprised me with a beautiful song, and she delivered it with strength and delicacy.

Unexpected Gift.

Over three years out.

Some wounds never heal.
I've known that and always will.
But friends and love are the best antidote around.

So I will cling to it as a promise and also a reminder that things are, and will continue to get
Better. (Listen here)

Whoa Mama.

May no one that knows me run into me today.
Except my Mother-in-Law who unfortunately arrived long before above warning.

My girl was a pain in the butt this morning.
Period.

No wait, there's more.

She insisted on getting herself dressed and then idled so much (we had her 3 yr check up scheduled this morning) rolling around on the floor with her head under a step stool, that a battle ensued.
Not pretty.
And as soon as I got the clothes on, she-who-has-her-own-agenda takes them off, then I forced them back on. It was like a bad scene from The Miracle Worker.

Only I was working no miracles.

I want to wear THHHHIIIIIIIIISSSSSS blah blah blah, clock ticking (Oh. Look! she's topless and shoeless, trying to take her leggings off and it is now officially our appointment time. COOL!)

And then I am no longer able to get ready for work, so I guess Mama will just goes to work looking as though her daughter dressed her. I was fuming with frustration, not pretty in many, many ways.

I mildly boiled-over.

And yelling doesn't help but I was not capable of three-year-old whispering today.
Not.
At.
All.
Did I mention I was also up about five times last night? Lily has a cold and a cough and when she does, her sleep is restless. With her tossing and turning she landed on the floor at one point (on pillows - I did get that part right), and the other time I made quick saves in a midnight stupor - robot mama mode on - ready for anything.
But this morning...
Was
Not
Needed.

We made it to her check-up where her cheery, humorous doctor (that I do love) chirped,

Three is harder than two.

Wow.
Really, reallllllly needed to hear that this morning.

Try hard not to fight with her, it'll just make it harder, she said.

Really?
How to respond to that. How to respond to thaaaaaaaaaaatttttt....
Deep breath. Chuckle. Glance at Granny. Laugh.

Ahhh.
Life-with-my-daughter-who-I-love-so-much-it-hurts-but-sometimes-not-in-a-good-way.

Appointment ended on a good note, Lily is off to ballet and I am off to work - bedraggled, exhausted and then forced to walk down Madison Avenue past bright, cheery botoxed bunned manicured moms who chat idly on street corners in 500 dollar yoga outfits sipping ice coffee looking rested and happily staffed with husbands and help, planning their lunch dates and spin classes with energetic applomb.
And there I was, trudging by, with my tired eyes, humidity hair, feeling unattended and raw.

If it's Spring, why doesn't it feel that way.

Upon arriving at work I spoke to a friend who had recently led a support group for moms and babies in a nearby prison.
They have around the clock help.
It takes a village she said.

Check me into that place.

Now.

(ok not really. but... sort of.)

How Will It Grow.

Lily took her third birthday by storm.

For a week before, the first question at dawn
Is it my birthday today?

She is heavily into the passage of time.
Runs to the clock,waiting for a hand to reach a number I've shown her
It turned Mama!
And in anticipation of other things to come she asks when they'll happen.
I try my best, but ahhh Time ~
To think that I thought explaining "Let It Be" was a stretch.

But the clock turned mama!
Yes Pumpkin, but...
Time
Keeps
Going.
A tough concept to grasp.
To explain.

Watching her grow every day is a dial all it's own.

What I do know is that what was once a green shoot is now truly flowering.
In all directions.
She challenges me with knowledge, offers theories about everything, and is insatiably curious. The outfits are more creatively outlandish.

She is talking about her dad at school, expressing facts
and wishes.

I enjoy her connections. And despite the bitter/sweet discoveries, I can now admire from an arm's length how she instinctively navigates her reality as it evolves.
I will always be by her side - but she is, on her own, stepping a bit further away, coloring her world with ideas, fantasies, and beginning to grasp her own truth.
And all that comes with that wondrous, enlightening and sometimes devastating word.

Such is the way of the world.
And she is growing up.

UP.
(Cue Music/Click Here.)

Into the Sun.

Damn!
Last week I got to sit in on Lily's second ballet class. Typically drop off, but they let caregivers watch this time, so I sat with my mother-in-law watching Lily do her thing.
Beautiful dancer spirit sprite.

Quite a moment.
A "Jesus. Where is her dad for this moment?!"

One of those.

(Of course there were no other fathers present but man would he have relished in this.)

I think he was watching.

She was something.

Wobbling on her tip-toes, managing plie's with determination and un-grace.
She pranced around the room, bells jingling on her arms, and every time she passed us she gleefully smiled or waved to us - as though on a merry go round - reconnecting with every joyful opportunity for eye contact -
On occasion she stepped off her blue plastic dot to run and kiss me on my leg.

Big Love.

We smiled back with pride and suppressed our subtle chuckles over her moves.
Unadulterated exuberance within us all.

And though I was wanting for Alan to be there with us, I had his mom next to me and my girl before me. And my enthusiastic family and friends to whom I can circulate videos and pics, hourly, and have them cheer from afar.

Again, much to be grateful for.

And then I heard a certain song this morning.
It kept the want at bay, and turned ballet day directly toward the sun.
Damn that Mavis is good.

You're Not Alone. (Want to hear it? Click Here.)

Almost Three.

You dream of Dada, Mama?
Yes, I do sometimes Pumpkin.
What he doos in your dream, Mama?
Oh. Sometimes we are in a car together, going somewhere. Sometimes we are taking you to school. He is smiling.

The fantasy begins. Or rather, my fantasy does. Can dreams count as memories? Might those images be ones she can envision and hold on to?
Do her dreams qualify as her own freshly minted memories?

I like to think so.

She spends a lot of time "imaginatin'", as she says.

I want dada to see my big girl bed.
I know you do, Pumpkin. But I think he can see us from all around. So maybe he does!
He is restin' in your heart?
Yes he is. That's a nice thing to say, Lily.
I want him to come back.
Ohhh... That would be nice. I would like that too.

And then, my tears appear. Lily has never seen me cry. And she laughs as she is used to seeing me "pretend cry" when I am dramatically reading her bedtime stories.
(Flourish is important.)
But this time they are real, and I just couldn't keep them within.
I was tired, under the weather, and wishing things were different.
I know there's nothing wrong with a child seeing a parent cry.
But this time I had to explain to her that I was crying because I wished he could come back too. And it ached. I ached.
For me, but mostly for Lily. She deserves to have a father, and she's been so accepting until now of not having one.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people advising me "not to make my issues hers". Because I don't.
Ever.
But people don't seem to understand that one can miss something they've never known.
And this weekend, I saw a lot of that void in Lily's beautiful presence. She doesn't complain, whine or get weepy.
But she is noticing with greater awareness that she is indeed missing out on...
Someone.
She makes up stories about him. Wants to be loved by him.

Wants to know if he knew her.
He did, Pumpkin. He saw pictures when you were teeny tiny inside of me and he was soooooo happy to see you there and to know that you'd be coming.

When I have a baby I don't want it to be inside of me.
OK pumpkin, that's fine.

Deep breath.

Lots of dada questions this weekend.
She also asked, from astride her rocking horse, when a friends dad would die.
Hopefully not for a very long time, Lily.
Most people live until they are very very old.

And then, thankfully, on to The Beatles - a new musical favorite of hers.
A breakthrough in our home.
What's dat song mean, Mama? She asks in reference to "Let It Be".

Wow.

Note to self - write book interpreting monumental songs for toddlers.

It's about just letting things... be.

Well done Sus....

Just... leaving things alone, allowing things to be as they are.

Sigh.

Wise words, easier said than done.