Kinesio tape

I just realized why I’ve been so cranky this afternoon.  Not only am I sporting my giant arm bandages after my morning therapy to combat lymphedema, but my lymphedema therapist taped my chest up to boot.  So the kinesio tape is ripping the scar tissue off my chest as I type, trying to concentrate on extracting effective management techniques utilized while designing and developing solar system exploration missions … and it’s distracting.

Am very, very tempted to call it a night and go watch tv or something instead.

(never heard of kinesio tape? click the link.  it’s weirdly awesome.)

He’s so … two.

My baby is very … two.  Well, actually, he’s almost three by now, but oh, the twos!

He is confident.  Strong-willed.  Passionate.  and Just.

He LIVES in capital letters, throwing his whole heart, mind, and soul into every activity — and typically random body parts as well.

He greets the morning with gusto, proclaiming, “DAYLIGHT!” to wake the rest of us up to greet the dawn.

He eats breakfast as if he’d been fasting for days, not hours, with “second breakfast” and “elevenses” put away well before 9 a.m.

He plays passionately, creating little firehouse dramas, noodling over the sounds of the ambulance, and calling in the helicopters whenever “PEOPLE HURT!”

He loves his brother with all that he is, throwing himself at our five-year-old and asking for a ‘nuggle, or twisting his brother’s hair absentmindedly, or racing him up or down or around the house, with a jubilent “ME FIRST!” as they race into the kitchen.

He exercises his body — and our patience — with constant requests of “PLAY SOCCER?” and “CATCH BALL?” and “PRETEND BALL?” For he is so athletic at this age that he will happily batter up and hit imaginary baseballs for ten or twenty minutes at a time, if that’s all he’s allowed in places like waiting rooms and Grammy’s house.

He throws himself on the bench at lunch, clambering up to eat his sandwich (no crusts), or turkey (no bread), or pasta (no sauce), or chicken (YES, PLEASE!).

He protests that he needs NO NAP, MOMMY!, but happily climbs in bed anyway for a ‘nuggle and a story.

He insists on reading about tonka trucks and tough guy stuff, but then loves to hear adventure stories about the hobbit that mama and daddy read at night.  Or the quiet stories about the little rabbit and his mama.  Or the history stories, perhaps about the first Americans and how they learned to make do with what they could find, plant, or make.

He snuggles into my shoulder and sleeps like an angel.

And often, he puts me to sleep as well.

For he is gentle, my wild little boy.

He is quick to pat a shoulder or give a hug to comfort Brother over a skinned knee, insistent on MAMA when he bumps his head, and always, always at my side, ready for a quiet hug or a declaration like he made this morning, putting his hand on my arm, looking into my eyes, and saying, “MINE. [FOR]EVER.”

My Little Bear is turning three soon, and I know that I will miss  these twos.

Inverse proportion

The words I write here are in inverse proportion to the words I write in the book.  And so, like much-loved and much-read bloggers before me, this place quiets, stills, and is hushed some days as I write like mad elsewhere, and that is all well and good, for the other writing is my j-o-b, but still, on those days, on these days, days like this — I miss you.  I miss talking to you and hearing from you and being here in this space with you, and tonight, I just wanted you to know that.

Merry Christmas, friends who celebrate the birth of Christ.

Happy Hanukkah, friends who celebrate the miracle of the oil.

Happy Kwanzaa, friends who celebrate the seven principles.

I wish you all health, and peace, and joy in the coming year.

The presents we give

Books line the walls of my living room, my office, and my library downstairs (also known as “the basement”).  Books from my childhood and my mother’s childhood share space on my children’s shelves with the new Dr. Seuss and all kinds of books about planes and trains.  Books are tucked into my purse, by my bedside table, and stashed in the car for those rare but essential emergency naptimes (you know, when both kids pass out en route to somewhere and you decide to just let them sleep for a few more minutes?).  Books have given me eyes into so many different worlds, real or imagined, and let me try on different selves as well.  Books.

Years ago, I gave books as gifts to my young cousins, when they were just starting to read and it was easy.  As they grew up, however, there were more and more of them, and they were growing up and reading things I’d never heard of.  I didn’t know what they’d read, or what they were interested in, and so I finally just gave up and starting sending gift cards.  Then cash.  And then I realized I was that aunt who nobody knew who sent a card and a bill that was hastily stuffed into the front pocket of jeans on the way out to the mall, and that was the end of it.

This year, I’ve decided that even though I will undoubtedly not make everyone happy, I will try.  I went to the bookstore when the grandparents were here the other night and shopped.  I shopped up and down the aisles, through the children’s section, into the teen section, back to the classics section, and I bought every. single. young cousin one of my favorite books from childhood.

I have twelve girls now to buy for, between the ages of 4 and 16, and it was kind of overwhelming at first.

But then, then the books started jumping off the shelves and into my arms, announcing themselves as old friends, personalities nearly shouting at me, “pick me, pick me! remember me? you read me  on that long car trip, remember? i was your companion during a year of difficult rides on the school bus! i made you laugh! i snuggled under the covers with you late at night, so many nights, and you read me by flashlight!”

And then it was done.

My arms were full of old friends, classics, award winners, and not, and tonight I wrapped them up and sent them off to all my little cousins and nieces, with a note, saying “These were some of my favorite books.  I hope you love them too.”  But really?  I’d be happy if one of the twelve fell in love with one of the books, or if half of them even got read.

It’s my little way of saying, yes, technology is grand, but books?  Books will be your friends forever.