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Category: Milestones

Eight Years

Last Saturday, the 16th, marked eight years since my dad died, and as is now typical each spring, April always makes me feel a bit…strangled. I can’t see the blossoms open on the pear trees in this valley where we live without thinking of walking out of the hospital that day, after a week of watching and waiting and crying and waiting some more, to see that spring had happened while we were in the otherworld of the ICU. As most of you already know, it was almost exactly a year later that David’s dad died after another battle with disease, after a car accident. April? Not the best memories lately. I’d wanted to go to Arlington with my mom to visit my dad’s grave this year. But life, or really, a kids’ soccer game, and the dog, and all the other tiny details of a Saturday in the suburbs got in the way, and we ended up walking around the grotto of Mt. St. Mary’s University instead, quietly talking our way along the mountainside, stepping in between shadows and sunshine as we slowly moved under the…

And Then There Was That Time I Wrote About Poop

It’s Day 1 of potty training, 8:30 a.m.: “Ci,” I say. (It sounds like “Key,” but I never know how to write it: Key? Kee? “Hey kid?”) “Do you want to go pee on the potty?” “No.” “I know, but we’re going.”  (Cian sits on the potty. I sit on the floor. Precious minutes of our lives tick by.) “It’s naht woe-king.”  Day 1, 9:30 a.m. “Hey, Ci,” I say. “Do you need to go pee on the potty?”  “No.” “I know, but we’re going.” (Cian sits on the potty. I sit on the floor. I wonder what the rest of the world is doing right now.) “Mom. It’s naht woe-king.” Day 1, 10:30 a.m.: “Cian,” I say. “Do you need to go pee on the potty?” “No.” “I know, but we’re going.” (Cian sits on the potty. I sit on the floor after throwing out the soaked…

Always the Beginning

I haven’t posted in such a long time, and the lack of writing/moment-capturing/shouting-rhetorical-pleas-for-help-and/or-wine-into-the-wilderness drives me nuts. The thing is, when I’m not writing/capturing/weeping it means that life is at its busiest, or fullest–which also means that it’s most likely at its happiest or stressiest (not a word. I just made it a word), depending on the week. I’ve missed a lot this year documentation-wise–I was so busy living it I didn’t record it, which is awesome in the moment but after I’m all AUGH. To see those moments slipping through my fingers more quickly than I can grab onto them, well…there’s nothing I can do but pick up the thread when I can and carry on.  And so. Cian’s birthday was on New Year’s Eve, a day that has surprisingly become pretty significant to me. Everything changed for our family three years ago: we had our third child, of course, but it was a child we were told, thanks to…