Happy Crunchbar to Ava.

Ava's birthday. She is 8 remarkable years old. She is the sort of kind and gentle that will bring her both joy and sadness. She is wise beyond her years and SO funny. If you hurt someone she loves, she is a force to be reckoned with. Otherwise, she treads peacefully. People ask us if the girls ever fight because they rarely, if ever, do so in public. The answer is, of course they fight. But they love each other so completely also. Ava loves being the big sister when Phia relents and admits there might be an age difference. Ava is patient with Sophia to a point of almost being passive. Almost. She too has her moments when anger and frustration win over and Ava ditches her rational, compassionate self. It's almost as though someone has flipped a switch and then come Phia's crocodile tears. And just as quickly, the switch flipper, the switch, the circuitry, and the wall within Ava all realize Sophia is crying because of something she said, did, or eluded to and she too begins crying. Frequently, Ava's tears last long after Phia's have stopped. She can't stand that she was the cause of Phia being sad or hurt. As a little, tiny girl back in Madison she would come crying to me that the other kids were stepping on ants. Last week she cried about a diseased tree we had to have taken down. A few hours later she announced she was going to be a green developer when she grew up. She would build the homes and buildings people needed, but she would build them around the trees. No trees would be removed or hurt, no animals left homeless. This is my baby girl, my monkey. When I found out I was pregnant, I left my office to meet Jeff at our [too quiet without kids] home. I walked into our kitchen and he was standing there, exhausted and elated. It had been a long, painful journey. I walked into his arms and cried in a way that cleansed my soul. All of the hurt and anger washed away and right then I was ready to move on. I was ready to grow a baby and to love it completely. And I loved every amazing miraculous moment of this, my first, pregnancy. And though it may seem redundant to you, it is imperative to me that I keep alive the memory of Ava's brother. "Ava's brother" is a phrase she isn't familiar with just yet. At eight years old, I fear she already feels too much. Every year, we talk about if this is the year we tell her. And every year we get our yes's and our no's for all the same reasons. She knows part of her is missing, I believe that in my heart. When she was much younger she talked about the little boy who played with her when, in my eyes, she was sitting alone. I want her to find out when she can make as much sense of it as any of the rest of us, which to be honest on a lot of days isn't much at all. I don't think I'll ever understand. I don't think I'll ever be okay with it. I will continue to trust that God has a plan though. He told me my baby was there when everyone else said there was only one. I left the ultrasound calm and at peace. I knew. We went back two weeks later and there were my babies, side by side, little hearts flashing like beacons of hope and joy and comfort just below my heart. He let us be together. And then when we had shared what was to be shared and we three existed together as we were meant to, God brought him home. And on May 29th when it hurts and I get angry, because I do every year, I look at Ava and know that I'm witnessing a direct line to Heaven. This eight year old beauty of mine is more than I had ever imagined a child could be. Her sister two and a half years in tow proving that to me also; I'm a mourning Mama who is blessed in spades. Happy birthday to my Ava Lili, the baby girl that gave me back hope and joy and comfort IN my heart.

So much blog, so little focus.

This weekend my sister and I were to join together for a long weekend full of such girlish things as tea parties and crumpets, perfected knitting skills, and reading favorite passages from Little Women. But then I stepped off the plane and she slowed her car to a gentle roll so I could jump in without much harm and it only got grittier from there out.

I won't divulge many of the details, but I'm told that's typical of a pending case. My bucket list took a huge hit this weekend. I shot not just one gun, but two. Two. Guns. And on one of them, I just missed the bullseye twice. The other gun I'm not certain I was hitting anything in the same general direction as I shot. But, no worries! I only made my gun range compadres scatter one time when I forgot to not aim the gun at them. I think we can all agree I did quite well.

We shared favorite shows and watched them until the wee hours of the morning on a gigantic screen. We ate seriously amazing food. A lot of seriously amazing food. I was introduced to new friends and a new card game that shall go nameless as I'm not totally certain of my readers age range and offendability. Suffice it to say, I won lots and I shouldn't be bragging about that.

This weekend felt a bit like an adult version of spring break minus the typical spring break shared STDs and/or vomiting in your friend's hair while you hold it so she doesn't throw up in it.

Its good to be home, but, last night when the girls asked, "What happens when a clown blows his line?", the answer I uncontrollably shouted at them was clearly unacceptable in my regular surrounding.

For those of you in the know, I didn't even need Michael Jackson for that round.

Total success.

Change

Today Sophia graduated from preschool. She is now officially a kindergartner. Ava will be a third grader. And I am officially at a loss. I have one last summer to pretend (with myself) that I stay home during the day with my kids. Next fall my house is going to feel quieter, larger, and more lonely than ever before. I made the decision to be a stay at home mom after Ava was born. It was exactly one week before I was due back to my pre-mom career that I had an epiphany. I couldn't do it. I sat on the couch and cried while holding this perfect tiny human. And in that moment, Jeff and I both realized there was possibility where we had assumed would be none. Jeff is an amazing man who has always dedicated himself to giving all he can to his family while making sure to not trade time with him for whatever other 'goods' we thought we needed. So, with his dedication to his work and his keen financial decision-making, and my complete lack of needing to be a woman in the workforce proving we (as women) can do it (cause I think we kind of already proved that), I became a stay at home mom. I've never felt I had to prove anything to anyone in the world of careers. And maybe that's because I have friends who have blazed that trail already. I have friends who have become doctors, engineers, pastors, lawyers, sales gurus, and project managers that would leave any man shaking in his boots. They are brilliant, kind, funny, and beautiful. They are also in possession of drive I left on the high school soccer field. In sports I'm competitive. On E-bay I'm competitive. In motherhood, I'm not competitive. I can't be. I know both of my girls have baby books, but I only know where one is and I'm not sure which of the girls it belongs to. I kept a journal of Ava's every waking and sleeping minute until she was about 4 months old. I took a billion photos and wrote down the adorable things that were said and done. But, I hit a point where I was missing everything because I was trying to document it all. And I've learned that for me it isn't necessarily worth it. I want to be IN the moment with my girls. I don't want to write it down and remember years later only the words on the paper. I want to remember the moment because I was part of it. I will never be that mom that has everything organized even with only two kids. I never have a dinner plan until its 6:30 and I realize I have no dinner plan. I lose things and find them when I no longer need them. My girls go to sleep later than they should and they eat too much sugar for breakfast. My laundry piles up until finding clean towels becomes a competitive event of sorts. And I have NO idea whats going on with the IRS that has everyone up in arms. But I won't feel guilty about any of that anymore because I built my girls a ladybug roller coaster in the backyard. I filled a 6'x10' inflatable pool inside the trampoline. I hang rope swings and take sidewalk chalk requests. I have a snack pantry that would leave any kid glassy-eyed. My girls have more books than fit on the shelves and they can recite almost all of them with their eyes closed. My girls have never gone without a hug when it was needed or simply just wanted. Most importantly, my girls know that if I say I'll be there, I will be there. My physical health has made that last one tricky at times, but seeing their eyes light up when they realize I've come is motivation enough. They aren't ashamed of the bags under my eyes or my occasional less than trendy appearance. My girls have taught me more about living and being happy than I'll ever be able to teach them. My girls come from love and they take that with them where ever they go. There are going to be lots of 'moments' coming up where I'll wish the girls were with me to enjoy them. But, I can't stop them from growing and moving on in life. I, as the adult, will make the adjustments. I will meet them on their new levels. We will continue to have our moments together walking to and from school. And maybe with my new free time, I'll get the laundry done. But, probably not.