March in Seattle

We're finally having winter here. Bits of snow on lots of days - fat heavy snowflakes that are barely snow, but yet thick enough to wipe away the view of the mountains. I've driven down the hill towards Seattle three times this weekend and each trip has involved splatting raindrops so close to snow that they make designs when they land on the windshield. So loud I can't hear the running commentary from the backseat, the vital questions about things like, what does t-w-i-l-i spell? what does g-h-t spell? The snow we get doesn't stick around for long though - by midday it switches to rain here.

The slush is deceiving on the ground, hiding the puddles. Walking quickly into church today, I led S and G into a deep puddle, ankle depth for both. I felt so badly at my inattentiveness. And then they sat in church barefoot, since their socks and tights were just soaked. I looked over at G on J's lap, her legs are so long - she has grown, grown, grown this winter. And her moods just rage. One moment happily giggling, or wildly cackling at the dinner table over a joke with her brother. The next moment real tears fall down her face as she cries from biting her tongue, and sticks it out in hopes that someone will kiss it for her.

She runs so fast, and hides, and then jumps out and yells boo as you get close to finding her. She is so particular about her clothes, "not that shirt, not doze pants, I don't wike dat outfit." It is a battle to get her dressed each day. And her favorites of course have paint stains across them, or holes, or are too short. None of her clothes are too tight, since she has gained no girth, they are all too short, showing her belly or back if she stretches or bends. And yet, the next size just hangs on her, she is so slim. She collects, and carries things filling small shopping bags and plastic bins. They come with her around the house, sitting near her while she plays. Her nightstand is filled and covered with small objects - rocks, little people and trees from the train set, pink lego objects, hairclips that are not for wearing, pennies. She makes little tokens of her love - small lego creations - and leaves them on our nightstands for us to enjoy, calling them cakes, or cookies.

This afternoon we had one bolt of lightning, one massive crack of thunder, and then heavy hail for 5 minutes or so. And then it was gone. Almost like G's moods. She is saving a pink brochure from the library, telling us that we can't borrow it, because she needs it for the school play for the honey bees tomorrow. We're not sure what play the honey bees will be performing. S and G love to play honey bees, gathering the couch cushions, making honeycombs and hives, being workers and drones and young queen bees.

S has the sillies. The bathroom humor, the name calling, and the energy to power a small city. He tells us, I'm practicing charging, and he dashes back and forth to the dishwasher through the kitchen. He dresses himself, he lives for the opportunity to watch television. He loves made up bedtime stories, whispered in his ear while you snuggle with him in his dark room.

He sings the songs he is learning at church almost unconsciously, while playing with a friend, working out the words in his head until he can sing them in the right rhythm. He is driven to make projects - creations out of paper, stickers, glue and tape. I'll come downstairs to find the project cupboard open, contents spilling out on the floor surrounding him. He loves to create, has a vision of what he wants to make. He climbed on top of the hamper tonight, I caught him standing on it. He felt so guilty about it, and asked me if I would forgive him, looking so worried that I would say no. (Of course I said yes, but that I was disappointed in him.)

He still loves games - Monopoly to Duck, duck, goose, and now loves playing trains. He talks on the phone like an adult, with the distant stare, pacing or wandering while talking. We have to pry the phone away from him, else he would talk for hours. He comes downstairs early, before breakfast time, and eats a frozen waffle, still frozen, to tide him over until I make a real breakfast.

These children are so dear to me. I intend to capture, on film and in writing, who they are at each age, something of their essence to have for the future, and yet I don't often do it, don't record the small moments, the daily life that makes up who they are. I still intend to write about their birthdays and the celebrations and other big moments, but for today, this is who they are.