Normalcy and the foyer

The other day, Zack returned to school after missing an entire week of school due to snowdays and a cold. It marked the EIGHTH week in a ROW that he didn’t go to his Pre-K program all four scheduled days in a week.

We did the best we could do with cabin fever and crafts, coughs and lots of coffee.

But there’s something about rounding that corner, you know? Everyone has their corner. For a tired, exhausted, overwhelmed mom of two cranky and bored kids in a miserably cold winter, that corner was the bus pulling in front of the house Monday morning and a smile creeping across both my face and Zack’s.

Even better than that bus pulling away and the calming sense of routine returning, was its return a few hours later.

Zack was smiling when I opened the door and yelled, “Call Uncle Brick!” which made me laugh so hard. He insisted on walking to the door, not being carried, and wanted to open the mailbox to check for “Momma letters”, too. I was so giddy with happiness. And it was in the high 40s that day, too! Hooray!

Addie was at the front door, blowing raspberries against the glass. Zack met her on the other side and blew drool all over the window, too. (Note to self: You still haven’t cleaned all those prints, oops!)

We opened the door and she squealed a thousand exclamations.

“Zack, you’re home!”

“I’m so glad you’re home!”

“Come into my playroom.”

And then, she grabbed the zipper on his coat, which he had been struggling with, and said, “I help you?”

He smiled and nodded, leaned over and kissed her forehead.

I froze.

The newspaper in my hand, only one boot off.

She pulled the zipper down, he tore the red and black jacket off and threw it across the room. They both laughed. I couldn’t help but giggle, too. And then he wrapped his arms around her.

“Home, Addie.”

Turned to me: “Schnack, Momma, please!” (Typical, haha)

And she returned the hug. A little ten-second bear squeeze. I still only have one boot on.

And she held out her hand, which he grabbed. And they marched into the living room and sat down at the couch together.

I heard Addie ask him if he was a good boy at school and that laughter from my throat made me take the other boot off, grab the backpack and the thrown jacket and walk back into normalcy, happiness and the appreciation of the little things.

A journey of faith

The lil Zee Family has come a long way, lived a thousand lives, journeyed a hundred journeys. One of these journeys has been a journey of faith. In the near decade (!) that I have known Scott, we have had our ups and downs in terms of belief. Usually one of us was doing “well” — that is, learning more, reading more, attending more. The other wasn’t quite on the same page.

When Scott and I experienced our marital problems in 2013, I found myself again questioning faith. I’ve always believed in fate and in destiny but I have found myself constantly questioning the plausibility of a God and a religion and a world in which so much bad happens and so many questions are left unanswered. I mean, I studied journalism — for me, my world is all about getting answers.

It was actually seeing the positive change in attitudes, personalities and just pure joy in some of my younger coworkers that got me trying this Faith Thing again. I listened to their stories and their discussions. I joined in, slowly, with questions. Then I attended an informal study group of theirs. And soon, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about all these stories and names and how they suddenly made sense even to me.

When we moved recently, one of the first things Scott wanted to find was a home church. We literally picked a random church to start (as in it was very close to our new home, looked beautiful and seemed a good place to begin) and an even more random denomination (Methodist, or, as we advertise it, the perfect balance between our two backgrounds. Scott grew up in the Brethren churches (think of it as a pacifist cross between Mennonites and Baptist, with footwashing, lots of music and an emphasis on community service and brotherhood.) I grew up with tradition and ritualistic Ukrainian Orthodox and Catholic experiences.

We were so impressed with our first Sunday there, and then with how people remembered our names (all four of us!) and where we last sat when we returned a week later. We were so glad when the pastor visited us at our home that week just to get to know us. Services make you think and answer questions instead of raising more of them.

And so, months later, it seemed only natural when this first shot-in-the-dark church and its pastor asked us if we wanted to join officially.

So, this weekend, our family stood up at the front of the church. Scott and I made promises. Zack and Addie received water from our beloved pastor and were introduced to our congregation as family members watched from the pews.

I still believe to an extent in fate and destiny. But now, I feel comforted knowing that there is faith. Our faith, to share together and learn together, like the late night Bible readings and discussions we share.

I am far from perfect and still wish to be a better Christian, especially to lead a better example for my children. But I am trying. And I am on this journey. And one day, Zack and Addie can choose their journey, too, whether it’s here or somewhere else or nowhere at all. They have the foundation for it.

A banner hangs in each of their rooms reminding them of this day and reminding me, every time I walk past their doorways, of a very unlikely and special journey.

Love you, Addie

I feel like sometimes all of my conversations and posts are centered around Zack lately. There’s just so much going on with his schooling, support, changes, that I forget to talk up a storm about his little sister. So consider this a love letter to Addie.

Dear Addison,

I figured you out before you were born. When you were still in my belly, I told everyone that you were going to be a handful. You haven’t let me down.

You are, in many ways, a representation of who I wish I could be. You are stubborn and strong-willed, strong and independent. You are very intuitive and offer the lesser-considered side of any debate.

And your imagination. I love your imagination. I hope it is a hint to a future of creativity and story-telling.

You can turn a blanket into a cape and a tissue makes a tiara. You soak in words and phrases, mull them over ever-so-briefly, and then spit them back out at us in a very short amount of time. You are witty, much more so than most adults I know.

We just recently overcame a period of great difficulty. You pushed my every button and tried to speak your mind, in defiance to me, at every turn. But it seems as though we’ve moved on from there, at least for now. And suddenly, I see this other side of you that I didn’t know you possessed. And it’s actually a large part of who you are right now.

There is love and kindness that comes from you in sweet words.

“I make you happy” is one of my favorites. You tell your favorite toys “I love you and you’ll never be sad again.” I don’t know where you pulled all of that from, but I love that sweetness.

You can be selfless, too. Offering to watch “Mommy’s show” when Zack is at school and helping me so much with cleaning up toys and clearing the table.

I’ve had this semi-irrational fear that somehow Zack’s diagnosis of Down Syndrome and all of the special help he needs will negatively impact you; and it saddens me because you didn’t ask for this.

But there you are, playing with his therapists and his aide, coloring in the next room when Momma almost loses her mind at a school registrar. You may wind up in the same schoolyear as Zack but in a different building in the district. Or you may see firsthand walking the hallways the sort of stereotype that follows your big brother. I hope the sweetness you have started to show continues to grow in your heart. And I hope you know that regardless of Zack’s potential or limitations, you will always have time with us and a special place in our hearts. You are no better or worse than him. no more or less loved. And your possibilities are endless. We will fight as hard for your future as we will for Zack’s.

You have only very recently begun a love for girly-girl things like skirts and princesses. You love to twirl and make up songs. Yet you still have this tomboy side of you, a little rough around the edges, kicking snowpiles in your boots and eating every single thing that’s placed in front of you.

I love when you hold my head and ask for a kiss.

I love brushing your hair, thin but long, and asking your vote for ballerina bun or braids.

I love how you worship your Daddy. And how only he can paint your nails and how you show people those nails, days after they begin to chip.

Just keep being you, beauitful girl. Stay smart and strong.

And know that you have taught me so much. I cannot wait to watch your journey continue. And to see the woman you turn out to be and the things I continue to learn from you.

I love you more,

Momma

Parents-only Weekend

I don’t brag enough about my in-laws, but really, it goes without saying how supportive, encouraging and helpful they have been in the almost decade that I have known their son. From giving me shelter when I couldn’t afford my first apartment to acting as primary childcare when I worked fulltime. Even now, three hours away, they manage to lend a hand much more than I could have imagined.

So, this weekend, they offered  (and we accepted!) to take the kids to their house for the weekend.

It has been SO long since Scott and I have had a weekend to ourselves, only ourselves — or even one night when one of us wasn’t in a wedding party or involved in some other obligation.

So at 3:45 p.m., a little Toyota Prius pulled away from our street with two giddy toddlers and their multiple bags and changes of clothes riding in the backseat.

And from 3:46 until 3:49, I stood at the kitchen window. From 3:50 to 3:52, I brewed a cup of tea and grabbed my long-neglected magazine pile. From 3:53 until 4:04, I looked out the living room window in a daze. At 4:05, I texted Scott.

“This is weird. I don’t know what to do.”

I am completely guilty of finishing some laundry and organizing some toys, but then, I promise, I focused on Scott and me and just relaxing. I mean, we enjoyed a lovely dinner that night; we hung out with new friends the next night and played games until way past our bedtime.

And of course, it wouldn’t be an adventure with Scott without all plans flying out the window. Like when a one-hour, $60 inspection on your car turns into a $500 problem and three days without a vehicle. Or a snowstorm that the in-laws then had to drive through on Sunday.

We really tried to sleep in, too, but couldn’t make it past 7 a.m.

I loved the opportunity to sit and sip coffee without having to reheat it five times. And it certainly was lovely to have one-on-one time with Scott.

But boy, when those babies pulled back up to the house, my heart was full again. They drive me crazy sometimes and they for sure are a lot of work, but it’s the best job I could ever have.

And now, we soothe some nasty colds with hugs, snuggles, songs and giggles. And we reheat that coffee cup (for the third time so far) and excel at multi-tasking and try to figure out where she pulled out the imaginary mud story and why her saying the word “tiara” is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. And I accept his “wuv you, Momma” and his sloppy kisses and maybe, just maybe, will indulge his request for the elephant movie. Twice.

So, basically, I guess what I’m saying is that it’s incredibly difficult to step away from them. It’s odd to not plan my day around princesses and backpacks and dance parties. I spent so much time missing them, thinking about them and talking about them that I wonder if I’ll ever successfully get a break. (And a relaxing one without doomed car inspections).

The warm coffee and adult conversation was quite lovely, though! Hooray!