After the rain and the low-hanging winter clouds, it’s every day another blue clear sky. In the forest behind our house, the sun rises over the eastern hills. Every other morning, I seem to pick up my camera and take a few pictures of the sun on the our gauged laminate floor or maybe the sun shining across our bed in great swaths of light. Someday, when I’m dead and my tinies are going through my things, they are going to shake their heads at my computer files: Why are there so many pictures of the kitchen floor? Crazy woman, our old ma.

When Anne was a wee baby, we bought a red Ikea duvet cover. We knew we wanted more babies and we knew we liked having them bundled into bed with us, so we picked covers we could wash up like a rag. Now the babies don’t sleep with us anymore, it’s just us in the bed again, and there are holes in that faded old duvet cover. The season of sleepy babies between us is gone already. I think when I am old, I will remember how it felt to lay on our sides, facing each other, with our little scrap of humanity between us. I will remember watching my husband watch me breastfeeding his babies, and I will remember the look in his eye. I will remember how the sun came through the windows and the babies slept with their arms flung up over their heads, in complete abandoned vulnerability. Sometimes the tinies still crawl into bed with us, usually in the morning, but it’s never long before someone wants to wrestle. I’m not a big fan of wrestling so I end up leaving them to their Dad. I usually go make coffee and check Facebook.

I haven’t coloured my hair in months. I went grey quite young, like most people with auburn hair, and now I colour it because, hello, I’m only in my mid-thirties. But I keep letting longer weeks between colouring it again because I kind of like the grey and white strands peeking through at my temples. I will probably colour it tomorrow but I’m feeling more welcoming, like my white hairs are old friends now instead of new enemies. Maybe someday I’ll let it go. But if my sister and my mother have anything to say about it, that someday is a long way off.

The moss on the trees glows in the light. Now Joseph is playing Legos, Annie is at school, Brian is at work, Evelynn is watching Sesame Street. We love the Boogie Woogie Sheep. I have laundry to fold and I’m determined to wash the windows today. Nothing like a sunny day to show you the fingerprints of family life. By late afternoon, I want to sit outside. When we pick up Anne from school and Joe from preschool, we’ll hang out in the backyard. The tinies play spaceship on the swing set. They’re quite obsessed with the solar system these days and devour books of Saturn and Mars. Evelynn calls her little pink plastic swing “my wing” – she could spend hours in there. Every time I try to take her out or offer her the sandbox or the slide, she growls, “Mo! Wing!” (“Mo” is her word for “No”) and then we just keep pushing back and forth, back and forth. The days are longer when the light comes breaking through.



In which I've got a song to sing
In which (love looks like) an unsteady Mother's Day and an anniversary at Wal-mart
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