normal

the one where we video chat in our own house, with each other.

Cade asked whined to call Daddy on the computer, because the phone needed to be charged.
I assured him that Daddy would be home for dinner, just a little bit longer.
But when a three year old wants to talk to his Daddy, he wants to talk to his daddy now...
except when he really just wants to play on the computer.

It hit me that the boys probably really missed talking on the computer.
Video chats were a weekly thing for us when David was deployed.
Most of the time, we chatted with David several times a week on the computer.
And then nearly two months ago, those video chats went away when he came home.

Today I made the boys a skype account (I'll *never* give them the password, promise!) and let Cade run to his room with the iPod to call me on my computer.
We talked for a few seconds, but mostly acted like monsters, and I'm reveling in this new normal...

This normal that has us video chatting in different rooms of this little apartment because we're all in one place. It has us stepping over each other and bickering... but when Austin comes home from school, he hugs his brother like he's been gone forever. And when David walks through the door after work, the boys hide and giggle until David finds them...

This new normal.
This normal I've dreamed of for years...

This learning, loving, dancing, living, and just. being. here. together.
Even if video chatting with each other in our (your?) own house is a little weird-
It can't be any more weird than David and I playing Words With Friends after we've crawled in bed at midnight on a Friday night...
Admit it. You do it too...

See? Normal.

steal a moment...

The dishwasher is running. Dinner is only half-cooked.
I should be in the kitchen handwashing the sink full, and scrubbing counters down.
There's a load of laundry that needs to be folded.
I should swap rewash the laundry that's been in the washer for far too long.
Trucks zoom across the living room and hit the wall.
The boys are being too loud.
I should ask them to calm down, be gentler, use an inside voice.

Instead, I step over that pile of books, Cade's blankets, and the plastic animals that litter the floor.
I crawl next to my husband in his chair.
He kisses my forehead and wraps an arm around me.

I ask him about his day.
My head finds his shoulder and my eyes close.
I tell him about the funny things Cade said today.
We talk about what vegetable I should cook with the chicken for dinner.
I lace my fingers into his. I find his ring and spin it.
He hugs me tighter and we linger...There.
Here.

He's here.
I can touch him, and see him, and I fold his laundry.
I bicker because he marched into the house with muddy boots.
But. There's boots. Those boots are back in the middle of the floor and...
I don't care about the mud. Truly.

My eyes remain closed and I listen to his voice.
I remember what it was like to clutch a phone to my ear...
I remember tracing seam that runs down the side of the phone.
I'd trace it with my finger until my finger went numb.
My finger is numb now. I open my eyes and look... His ring. The line in his ring, I found it.

I smile.
I kiss his cheek.
I pull myself away.
Dinner needs to be cooked.
Bubba can help set the table, I think, as I pull four plates from the cabinet.

running late...

He got new shoes for his birthday. I cringed at paying full price; we usually wait for a sale. But I knew he needed new shoes, and they were orange, his favorite.

I tossed the size eleven shoes in the buggy and told Cade that it was a secret for Bubba's birthday. The first thing out of Cade's mouth that day when we picked Austin up was "Bubba! We have secret, super-special shoes for you!"


Austin's worn his new shoes every day for the past twenty-two days. That's how many days I've been the mama to a five year old. He bounces and skips and jumps and runs everywhere he goes. I have to remind him to turn your shoes off before he enters his classroom every morning.

I worry every morning that we'll be late for school. Most mornings we walk, even though we could take the car. Buckling car seats to drive would probably take more time than simply walking. So we walk, and those bright orange shoes somehow get us to school on time. Austin calms me, "Momma. I'm wearing my super shoes. I won't be late." I resist the urge to tell him to stop bouncing, to hurry, and to zip his jacket already!

I get a kiss at the door. I remind him to turn his shoes off and I walk back home. I look at the clock at 10:45... I feel odd, like I've forgotten something. I remember... A half day at school. I was supposed to pick him up now. Cade and I throw shoes on and run down the stairs. That short walk to the school feels longer and longer with each passing step.

Austin's waiting at his classroom with a friend who asked his Mama if they could wait, too. I'm thankful my boy has good friends.


We're only six minutes late... But to a little one, it's forever, I think.
He asked where we were and I apologized for being late.
"That's ok, Momma. You can borrow my shoes next time!"

Hold me, Mommy.

Austin was in school. David needed to deal with an issue with his cell phone contract in a nearby village, the very same village Bruce Willis was born in. So Cade and I wandered the familiar streets early Friday morning. It was cool and we were bundled up and Cade cried every time I tried to drag him into a store. He wanted to be outside, in my arms... I wished for the Ergo. Longed for it, actually, but it'd been months since he snuggled down into it and the trek to the car was far too long for him to reject that too.

We made faces at David in the window. There was a line inside the store and my heart raced thinking I'd made a mistake wanting to tag along on this errand. We'd have to wait it out in the cool morning air.  There's nothing more fun than a crabby child and a long line...

"Mommy. Don't put me down. Hold me."

So I held my baby, my three year old- until my arms grew tired of holding and my legs grew tired of standing, and my eyes grew tired of the annoyed stares of passers-by. 

Several old women would comment, "süß," or sweet, as I bounced and loved and tried to calm the fussiness- in him, and me. I smiled and nodded, and smiled again when their eyes turned sympathetic to the poked out lip on his tear stained face. 

Finally, I sat on the cold cobblestone and pulled my camera out of my bag. 

His tears faded and his finger clicked away. 

"Show me, Mommy. Show me." 

We talked about where everybody might be going.

We talked about the dogs on the leashes, and the one in the bag... And the grandad that pushed a wee one in a stroller. 

Cade pointed out a red scarf and a green hat. And there were three boys with that mama, when really there were only two... But it got me thinking, maybe she's carrying a wee one in her belly, underneath all those layers.... Because sometimes kids know those kinds of things... 

Cade fussed again when it was time to put the camera away. We snuggled for a minute more and David came out to find us. Cade stood beside us as I closed my bag. I bent to pick him up again and he pushed my arms away.

"I'll walk, Momma. Hold your hand?"

[The pictures in this post were taken by Cade, autofocus/no flash mode. I held tightly to the camera strap, helped him point while he clicked away.]

b. e. d. time

This is what my computer time usually looks like,

and then I mention it's b. e. d. time.

And then two silly boys turn into wild indians...

We scare the monsters away...

And Momma gets bedtime hugs from her sweet boys!

Most nights, we read books- tonight we didn't because we started bedtime way too late...
Tonight, we tucked them into bed and held our breath for about 20 minutes until they were quiet and settled and, hopefully, asleep...

And the day is done.
Good Night.
the end