Summer is comming

Just a quick PSA:

SUMMER IS COMING!

Now get outside and enjoy yourself as much as you can!

On seeing Angels

B is never at a loss for words.  That is, unless she can’t explain something. This happened yesterday when I asked for further details on her latest Angel sighting. 

I say latest, because B has never been shy about telling me about her angels. She was an early talker, and before she was two she told me the story about how she was very confused about how to get out [of the womb]. According to her, her angels came and showed her the way out. Now, this story sure made a lot of sense to me (22 hour labor even with the pitocin), but is it true? Does it matter?

Brendan: absolutely not true. Nonsense. He always tells me about how I have such a scientific brain, but I will listen with an open mind about angels and ghosts.

Me: How could she have made up this story? She had never heard another story like this before, how could she make something up like that? How would she know about things like "being old before she got young again?" 

She is not the only one with this “sense.” A and I were talking in the kitchen one day, she was also younger than 2 and we “saw” someone walk down the hallway. I assumed it was just a shadow, but then A walked around the corner and said “who was that?” I didn’t have a good answer for her. In our house, all of the “ghosts” are located in the back hall, in and out of their bedroom. But that is for another time.

The thing that has sparked me on this subject recently was a trip to the river the other day. It started in the AM when my mom and I were doing a tour of the Guthrie. We saw the site of the 35W bridge memorial.  I had a sense for where it was, but I hadn’t really seen the location before.   

Later that same day, I was driving the neighborhood with the ladies.  I went up from the mill district, past the memorial.  B was on the right side of the car (memorial on the Left).  She said, from about the Guthrie (down hill, can’t see the memorial yet) what is coming up?  I told her “Gold medal park*” She said: “No over there.”  Pointing.  Me, clearly dense said: “that is the Mississippi river, just like by our house, where we watch the waterskiing. M-I-S-S-I-P-P-I.”  B, knowing that I am a bit slow said: “That, the thing with the names. The thing with the Angels.”

I passed the memorial and turned right.  I talked about the bridge, and that it fell.  I told her about what was happening the day it went down.  We were walking B in the neighborhood and got a call from Kiyoshi.  He was calling internationally to check on us because a bridge went down. We were flabbergasted.  We thought he was a little nuts and that we were somehow misunderstanding the conversations.  Then we heard the helicopters, etc.   She listened to my story and then asked for us to turn around and go back by.  So I did. Slowly.  We talked about how there are names there, people died.  This is all surrounded by R shouting “bridge down.  Bridge fell down.  Oww.  Falling.”

We then had to pick up something at the law school.  We spun over there, across 35W, and I showed them the new bridge.  They didn’t really see it.  So while/after we talked to papa, I told her to look for a sculpture, and as good NE Mpls girls, they can find a sculpture just about anywhere.  They saw it.  R still concerned “falling.  Don’t drive guys.  1,2,3 cars. Don’t drive it guys.”

B was so quiet and pensive. She asked me if we could go back by again. We did. There isn’t a cut out there, so here we are, looking at the memorial again, blocking traffic on a beautiful day downtown. I read each name, spent about 3 minutes which seemed an eternity with traffic going around us. But we couldn’t get out. Half of our party was asleep in the car and I wasn’t going to interrupt that.  I read the names.  We discussed situation again. She was entranced.

I drove away again and again, the questions started to come.  Her questions ran the gamut from: “what kind of a day was it?”, “What were they wearing?”, to  “Who is Jenny Black?”  There were more, but the last two really struck me as funny.  Especially the specific name.  I said: “B, I don’t think I said Jenny Black.”  She told me “yes you did, you said it. That is one of the victims.”  I was pretty sure that name didn’t sound familiar.  And then she said: “maybe it wasn’t you.  Maybe it was the angel that told me that name.” 

Because she is one to shut down if I push on too specific of information I just said “maybe.”  She then asked me again what they were wearing.  I explained that I would have no way of knowing that information.  I suggested that it was probably not winter coats, because it was August.  People were going home from work, so probably summer work clothes.  But, might I add, the whole time I was thinking what a darn weird question.  Then she came out with “I just wanted to know because I want to know if those are the angels I see there.  There are many Angels and I want to know if they are all in that spot because of the bridge.” I said, that might explain it. 

We moved on, but there were more requests to go back and see them.  B said she thought that it felt very calming there.  B brings up that she sees Angels about every … 6 months?  I am trying not to exaggerate (as is in my nature).  But that would mean that there would be 6 or fewer incidents.  It is close to that, but I would say a few more.   Anyway, she tells me about Nana’s angel that keeps track of her.  She is specific to note that while her and her sisters are nana’s “angel babies” that nana has her own angel and sometimes it is there, sometimes it is missing, but she likes it when nana’s angel shines bright. 

Now I know what you might think. I must pump her full of this nonsense. I should just say S-T-O-P.  I should tell her there is no such thing, she isn’t seeing anything.  I should insist on some sort of scientific reality and not allow her such “childish ideas.” Not going to happen over here. I think it is just fine for her to explore this conversation, real or not. I don’t ask her much about it because the few times I have, she locks up completely.  

Who am I to say that she is not a reincarnated Chinese elder that now talks frequently with Angels? If she is right, she knows much more about this stuff than I do. 

  

*for years I couldn’t figure out why Minneapolis would name a park for the Olympics. What gold medal athlete could they possibly be honoring. I was shocked and embarrassed when the bag of flour practically hit me in the head… Oh yeah… Flour, Minneapolis, Mill district, Gold Medal

Oh, but he does love you

This won’t be the first time you hear me say it, but you may read more into it than I would.  Raising four girls is hard.  I don’t mean the day to day stuff.  That is great.  I love it.  I don’t even mean the laundry (but that is completely oppressive).  What I mean is the whining.  It can really get to you.  I have two ladies that wake up cranky as all get out.  And two that wake up, albeit slowly, smiling and happy.   Here is how the breakdown goes:

There is the Brendan team: A and R.  All three wake up crying (Brendan a little less these days).  They want to be grumpy for about an hour while they shake the sleep out of their eyes.  Then there is my team.  As soon as J opens her eyes, she is smiling.  I have never seen anything like it.  I don’t look her in the eyes sometimes because I know if she sees my eyes, she will smile and be wide awake, ready for the day.  This is not a good feature at 3am.  Anyway, B and I are also in the happy AM crew.  B and I would prefer to lay around for a while, think about getting up, but once our feet hit the floor, we are ready to go.*

Anyway, this was a particularly tough morning.  I was trying to leave.  We were rushing B through the AM routine and A was whining.  R was crying.  They both wanted to sit in a chair with papa.  Just hugging and rocking for an hour while they got ready to face the day.  The whining was really driving us nuts.  I asked A to stop.  I tried to sort out her problems.  I had exactly 3 minutes to get panties on B and get her down the steps with her backpack.  A- still whining.  Finally, B asked papa why he was agitated.  He explained: “Because A is being a twit.” Then he turned to A and said “stop being a twit.” 

Enter the most difficult thing about raising girls (and maybe boys?). She went mid-whine to sobs. Full out HUGE tears, sobs.  And she said: “Papa doesn’t love me anymore.”  CRUSH.  This is how fragile their understanding of self is.  Brendan is the most loving person I know.  He tells each of us every single day “you know how much I love you right?” and passes kisses to everyone.  One moment, one break of calling it like it is.  Remember, A was crying over everything that morning.  She was setting the mood for the day, and it wasn’t a good one.  But in that moment, all she could feel was: “papa doesn’t love me anymore.”   

I suspect we have 20 more years of moments like this in our future.  Moments when the girls will second guess themselves; when they will worry if the world even cares.   We all did, right?  All Brendan and I can hope to do is remind them each and every day that we love them just the way they are. We may not love their actions, but they, at their core are four of the most amazing people I have ever met.   I love their curiosity, sense of adventure, and outlook on the world.   And if there is one thing I hope they know down to the fiber of their beings is that Mama and Papa love you very much.  Now stop whining.

*Brendan will tell this story differently, explaining that he is lovely in the AM.  I find that interesting.