this is a page for

Browsing Tag: Quinn

Getting One Answer Right

  I was sitting on the steps that lead to the second floor of our house (it’s one of the places I go when I need to hide). I was doing something on my phone (incredibly life-affirming and positive, I’m sure, as all internet scrolling is) when Quinlan came bounding down the stairs. She stopped, sat down beside me, and wrapped her arms around me in one of her monkey hugs that drape and cling and demand that the hug-ee not leave such an embrace until Quinn is good and ready to disentangle herself.  When I could come up for air, she planted a kiss on my cheek. I smiled, remembering her as the baby who wouldn’t even sit beside me on the floor without a hand on my leg. “Do you know you’re one of my favorite people in the whole world?” I asked her. She was already on the first floor and headed to the kitchen. She shrugged. “I know,” she said, and continued on her way. I was left sitting on the steps, stunned by the nonchalance of her response. I know.  I…

The Mighty Turned Two. And Yes, Everybody Jumped for Joy

When Quinn was born, two things happened. First, my OB had to put my uterus back inside my body. No, wait, I’m kidding. I mean, that is what happened, because I remember lying there on the table, watching my precious baby girl in someone else’s arms (the nurse’s? David’s?), thinking that a c-section that’s scheduled is no more fun than the emergency kind, while my doctor calmly said, “Okay, I’m going to put your uterus back in now.” I didn’t even know it’d come out. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I mean to say is that when our Quinn was born, two things happened, quickly: a) everyone exclaimed, “Oh, she’s a redhead! Look at that strawberry blond hair!,” and b) she started screaming. Not crying, not that muted mewling like I’ve heard some babies do, but from-the-diaphragm-like-my-choir-teacher-taught-me, full-lung, full-body screaming. “I am HERE!!!” the scream shouted. “And why the hell did you take me out…

Hell on Wheels

It was so hot. My mom and I had planned to take Saoirse and the mighty Quinn to a local wildlife park Monday.  It’s one of those places that prides itself on its showcase of herds of imported animals, mainly from Africa (because it’s not torture enough for us Yankee humans to endure these Pennsylvania winters…), and along with a petting zoo and reptile house, its main attraction are these safari vehicles (sawed-in-half school buses painted in camouflage.  Genius, I say) that tour the grounds.  Since I seemed to have thrown all of my ethics regarding animal welfare out the same window I tossed my vow to never own an SUV, I thought it might be fun. It was really hot. I had a doctor’s appointment that morning that ran late (yes, I’m alive and well.  Thanks for your concern, though!) that morning, so we decided to venture out after the afternoon naps.  Because absolutely nothing screams “good time” more than an hour’s ride at 4 in the afternoon in the middle of a 98-degree July day on an open bus covered in vinyl…