Friday, May 13, 2011

Teeth falling out

Babes in arms. I would give anything for babes in arms. The mental separation of self and the unitasking of physical need. Now that I live with this 6yo girl andd 4 yo boy it is all existential. I type here and am AWAY. And, I measure away. Sometimes I ask their permission to check my blackberry or use the computer for my writing activity. But really it's not like nap time or the separation from a baby. That first set of growth if different before the teeth fall out.

But time is out. We struggle between my limits on their TV screen time and theirs on my laptop time. It is mostly that they wonder, I am sure, what am I making? Is it some sort of digital cookie?? Do they want one?? Is it their business, and I can't say no. What if she read it?

And that is one more reason why it seems sensible that these are my last posts. I have always admired the exceptional bloggers who can write a digital story in their posts, and I am not one. I drift more to the reportage of stories of others as I lack the art and alchemy of words you will find in the faithful memorists like bon or Nora or Claraor... -- see blogroll.

At six I give first my girl and then my boy -- give back -- their story.

Reading this post last month from bon I never felt closer to encapsulating the gratitude I have for discovering this communications space back in 2005. To have intersected the dialogue to help me through instead of books or kaffeeklatsches.

I wrote on that blog post this comment.

With that — and the teeth, like you say, all the stuff of babies’ and their human making falls through fingers. At six the squeeze of babes we were so responsible goes away somewhat to a more horrible frustration of the independence we crave so long for them. It has been a tough, aggravating year… The sort of year I pined for a time when my arms ached for hours of feeding and calming and unending latching of me and her (then him). I was so tired then. I thought this would be the dream, something easier. Let them walk. Feed themselves. Tell their stories. But wrong I was.

Weaning and teething -- I have been known to harp on my friends. When they fuss about the right pre-school, or daycare space or sleep routine I remind that these children will be our children all our lives. But that said from a certain age their stories are no longer our stories. And when I watch these children make their stories unfold I am glad I do it on the foundation of parent storytelling.

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