Here Comes the Sun

February and March have been sunshine and snow, adventures, flu, small quiet everyday beauty, and an endless barking cough. When we haven't been snowed in, we've had a series of illnesses that have cancelled most of our plans and disrupted my newfound sense of the world opening up to us again. 

Yet in a lot of ways it has been like a second babymoon. We're glorying in this new tiny sibling, and enjoying quiet crafts in our cosy, comfortable, ridiculously messy, nest. 

Our sapling is a week shy of four months old. Exactly a year ago I was starting to get sick, and thinking it would probably be a short-lived blip. I'm gradually mourning those lost months less. I'm also incredibly, ludicrously grateful for every cuddle with Alder. Every expression, every quirk, every little chat.

Four months has gone in the blink of an eye.

(Titled for Alder's favourite song.)

And All is Well

Last week was exceptionally, blissfully, peaceful. This week is going the same way. Sometimes I feel like I'm really used to fighting everything, and I don't know what to do with myself when life is so entirely wonderfully good.

Also, I whine a lot about the rough patches so I feel I ought to capture this while it's happening.

I am so lucky.

These kids, this life, this feeling of home and wellness. The greening leaves. The spaces between us. Walking out of my house at night while Martin puts the girls to bed, and looking up at the stars. The sounds of chatter (constant) and laughter. These days that will never come again.

On first journeys

It's a cold, damp, grey day. I put Morgan on a bus on her own for the first time earlier, and my mum just returned her home. These gradual transitions to independence seem different the second time around.

Morgan is so much steadier than Jenna was, but less articulate, less suspicious, less spiky, more vague. I used to worry most about Jenna deciding to take on a teenage boy for his use of the word "gay" as an insult between pals, or trying to run up the down escalator. Acts of bravado and inability to walk away from a challenge. This time around I worry more about Morgan getting lost, or walking face first into a plate glass door and giving herself a concussion. (All of these scenarios have occured in the past year.)

It was bitterly cold on my walk back to the house. I brushed off the what ifs with the light first drops of rain. She didn't even turn around to wave goodbye. But she did hug me when she walked back in, just now, with a huge smile.

Seven ish days of adventures and these big kids

1: Morgan, outside the William Morris Gallery in London (weekend road trip including a snowball fight with internet friends, and playing in the rain with a cousin).
2: I've been trying to capture more of the children using technology, because blogworld can reflect an oddly skewed picture of just the prettiest moments (here Jenna is writing fanfiction).
3: Sarcasm face outside the cinema, walking up there to see Moana with a crowd of friends.
4: Morgan is the boat girl. Our friend has a little canal boat and Morgan has gradually learned every task she can, from operating the engine to tying knots, from reblacking the little wood stove to doing the pre-journey checks. She has a lovely calm confidence about her out on the water.

Ten

Morgan celebrated ten years yesterday. She has recently grown up so much and looking at her through milestone-primed eyes was a disturbing experience. I mean, look at her! Where have ten years gone?

Ten years ago I wrote her birth story. Nine years ago I secretly wondered if her adorable little elf ears would ever be even. Eight years ago I laughed at her pixie antics. Seven years ago I quaked at the depth of her determination. Six years ago I worried she might never really connect with other children apart from her worshipped older sister. Five years ago I enjoyed taking the slow route with her every time. Four years ago I marveled at how she went from never even having drawn a human-like figure to writing her name on the bathroom wall almost overnight. Three years ago I loved her happy dreamy little bubble. Two years ago I rejoiced with her as she started making real friendships. A year ago I wished fiercely that I could be more, for her, have more hours in my day just for quiet with her.

She's a dreamy little mouse, and she's immovable when she does finally fix on something she wants. She's accommodating and she's stubborn and loud when she has been pushed too far. She's thoughtful and yet cannot ever look where she's going. She's scarily smart and analytical, and she falls over her words (and her own feet). She's like a much younger child in some ways, and yet look how far she has come from a child who seemed always so alone and so unaware of anything outside her bubble!

Her current style is really quite punk, with elements of the floral layers she used to wear so often. Punk with lightness and pastel pink. Hippy with an edge of huge boots and black leather jacket. Her favourite things are prime numbers, red lipstick, board games, tacos, Pentatonix, Lego, and notebooks with plain paper inside.

Little starlight baby born under the Christmas tree, tall and strong and brave and bright.

Seven Days in which I don't have time to remember my own name

1: Advent in full swing, Saint Nicholas Day shoes
2: Crafting
3: And craft fayres (two successful charity events in one week)
4: She might not love board game cafes or board games but she's certainly a fan of attached comic book shops
5: Incredible art at Derby QUAD ("What a Loving and Beautiful World")

I don't know whether I'm coming or going this week. So much going on, and I'm not fully on top of any of it (except posting orders out, I am up to date with that and only have one more bag to take to the post office before Christmas). One out of the two back-to-back birthdays. Two craft fayres. Assorted attempts to get the house chaos back under control. Yeah. My head is a bit of a mess; this year I have found each birthday really emotionally hard. Something to do with not being able to make them perfectly happy and perfectly peaceful any more. Something to do with being afraid that I'm not as good a mother as I used to be (or not as confident a person, or something, I don't know). The elusive feeling of striving for good enough and not being sure I'm ever close.

Seven days in which I coax Morgan to eat, and we mess around at a garden centre

1: Rowan cuddling her baby cardigan
2: Walking a friend to dance class
3: Life goal; I would like to live in such a way that I deserve an introduction like this
4: Candle making
5: Snowflakes and babysitting
6: The obnoxious worksheet book (which Talia loves) has stickers. She put a star sticker on my arm and told me it was for being a lovely mummy.
7: Helping Ash pick out her tree. Lots of giggling and silliness at the garden centre, abd a photobombing dino.

After her sickness last week getting Morgan to eat food has been a mammoth task. It was Tuesday before she ate an actual meal. So even though she was doing better, and was much perkier last weekend, I've still had quite a worried week. On the other hand I'm laughing more, and this bunch of sillies have been immensely delighted by Advent activities again.

Every year I wonder if this will be the last year Jenna wants to do these things with us, and every year she is delighted by the simple and ordinary sharing. I'm glad they're not growing toooo fast.