Paige has a new boyfriend

Isn't he dreamy?

On Losing

"Need can blossom into the compensation it requires. To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing—the world will be made whole. For to wish for a hand on one's hair is all but to feel it. ... Longing, like an angel, fosters us, smooths our hair, and brings us wild strawberries. ..."

-Marilynne Robinson in Housekeeping

Birth

Carrie gave birth to Micah Indy Dyer this past Wednesday, and it was a particularly emotional birth for me. He was a big fat 9lb 2oz baby, and Carrie was a rockstar. What mom having a baby isn't? Here's the big fella, and doesn't he look like a Wonnacott? (Sorry, Dyers, but you got the first three babies.)

I was really awestruck by the astounding feat it is to have a baby. I feel, when I give birth, that what I have done is the most awesome thing anyone has ever done, and that no one else could possibly ever do it. Which is funny, since every mother does it, and since there were five other women in the same hospital doing it at the same moment I was. Still. Paige kept saying that Carrie popped it out of her belly, and then (picture the light behind her eyes shining at you as she says this part)-- it turned into a baby! And it kind of feels like that.

His feet were poking out as Carrie was nursing him, and his little body all the way down to his toes shows how much effort he was putting into this whole living business. And how gracefully he does it!

There's just no apt metaphor for the miracle of birthing. It's creation, for crying out loud! It's so essential. But here goes: pregnancy is like the universe walking around on two legs, and birth is all that possibilty condensed into a moment. And like anything that beautiful, you look away and it's over.

Fortunately, Carrie's sister-in-law Minna (who's a pretty incredible photographer) spent the day at the hospital documenting the birth. I can't wait to see her photos, and I highly recommend you check them out here. I think she's making a slideshow and won't post them until Carrie and Jeromy have seen them, but there's at least one there now. Way to go, Carrie.

To the Fab Five

Ok, so I've really enjoyed the recent blogs of my siblings about dad on his 60th and about mom on the 20th anniversary of her death. I love to hear your memories; it makes me feel closer to you all and strangely supported to hear you in your continued attempts to deal with the event that has so largely defined us all.

But dad doesn't read blogs (apparently he's only figured out the computer insomuch as it relates to banjos), and I feel like a broken record sometimes: I almost never resist the urge to vocalize the effects of mom's dying and my feelings about it. It's therapeutic and even though it's been twenty years, I still need the therapy. I'm pretty sure I always will. For once, though, I'm going to resist giving in to that feeling of loss because I feel something more pressing.

I want to say ALL HAIL MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS! As I was reading the blog entries, I was struck by how very like our Mom you are, and in all the best ways.

Tiffany is the liveliest, spunkiest woman I know, and she has a strength that has supported me more times than I care to mention. She's encouraged me through lost boyfriends, hard classes, the terror of my first real job, marriage and babies. She did (and still does) everything first, and she doesn't back down from a challenge. That backbone and strength carries the same feeling for me that I had around mom. It's safety. She's not just like a mom to me--she's like my mom to me.

Tell me you haven't seen this expression on Tiffany's face.

Aryn has mom's charm--from all accounts, there wasn't a soul who met mom who didn't love her, and I might put that down to the tendency to glorify those who aren't there to expose their flaws, but I have spent a lot of years watching Aryn in action. Her army of friends convinces me that mom may have actually been as irresistible as they say. Aryn draws people to her with her wit and intelligence, and they remain loyal. Aryn has always led a crew, and maintains her friendships with diligence. She's got mom's charisma, no question.

Aryn generally is opposed to pictures of herself on the internet she hasn't previewed, but I don't see how anyone could object to this face.



And Brady-- gentle, understated Brady. I hear a lot that phrase, that mom knew the heart of a child, and I always think of Brady (though this could go for the rest of you, too). Brady is so forgiving and so ready to see what people intend to be rather than what they are. Brady doesn't judge, and I feel secure about being myself around him because I know he will always leave me room for error. When the rest of us are in a frenzy about anything, Brady will be the voice of reason, the voice of love. I remember mom's voice had the same deep undertone that Brady's has. Only louder. Can anyone remember Brady as a kid not smiling? Because I can't.

It's hard to say what's funny when you're a kid, but I'd have to say that mom sometimes had a twisted sense of humor, and I think of it sometimes when Autumn gets cracking. I think Autumn shares mom's humor and even the delivery strikes me as similar. I wonder what dad would say about that--his perspective would be more accurate. Still, I remember mom telling me the wide-mouthed frog joke while we canned pickles, and I can almost interchange the memory with the image of Autumn. Half of the time I don't get Autumn's jokes, and I have to wait for her explanation. She's so darn smart, and we all know that ain't from dad. Take it easy, dad. I'm just kidding. Sort of.

Schuyler is the luckiest. He's got every ounce of talent and personality dad has, and every drop of the same from mom. Schuyler has mom's drive to try things, to learn things, to throw himself into things. She was self-motivated and driven, and sometimes when I'm talking to Schuyler and learning about whatever he's currently immersed in learning, I think about Mom's blue Trapper Keeper, which was full of a wide range of goals alongside her lists of groceries, meals, and Christmas lists in shorthand (which she taught herself when she realized we could and would read those lists). She wasn't always practical, but she was always creative, and he is so like her. It's painful to me to know how very unaware of that he is.

Nobody entertains me like Schuyler does.



I recognize that so much of this is my fiction of what Mom is. What do I know, anyway? But I believe in my idea of Mom, and I take a good deal of comfort in my siblings and the reminders they offer me. I think every one of them lights the sky and I feel so just plain awestruck when we all get together. I feel like some piece of magic has landed me there, and I'm never happier than when I can sit back and watch them all in action. My own children must think I'm a little weird to be always talking about them, but I think they like the stories--and I can't bear the thought of my precious little people being unaware of the brilliance they come from. Shine on, brothers and sisters. And thank you.

Sa-mack-a!

I always suspected that I'd get a fair amount of calls home from school about the behavior of my boy, but I wasn't expecting exactly what I got today. The full story involves a lot of guessing and questioning (done by me) and a lot of elaborate storytelling (done by Miles), but the short version is this: Miles, as he strolled along in the bus line enjoying a warm and pleasant day, saw a teacher bent over talking to a child. He did what any self-respecting Fitzwater would do (I blame you, Aryn). He reached out and smacked her in the butt as he passed.



We do a fair amount of playful swatting, and the kids love it when Mike threatens to "SA-MACK-A" them. But I always thought the whole no-playful-swatting-strangers-on-the-bottom rule was kind if understood. It was kind of a hard day.