{my topography}

Paint gets everywhere, on his legs, on the rough red of the patio bricks, on the paper, and I nod. “Yes,” I say, “Yes that’s awesome! Do some more.” And he grins, swirling the brush through the paint, confident in my pleasure.

He swipes the paper with a bold stroke of red, thick as jelly, and looks up, checking for my grin. Then a smile alights softly on his face, like a playful cat, matching my own. So here we are, in this moment of pure joy. All previous frustrations, tantrums, exhaustion, entirely obliterated by this bright happiness.

Each day I learn this, again and again: allowing someone to make you happy is the ultimate forgiveness. Allowing a small gesture of joy or tenderness to pool in your heart, again and again and again, even when things have come up short. To open, even after words have zig-zagged like blistered arrows across the room and leaving dark trails of hurt across the heart; to allow a small fissure for pleasure to split sorrow in half like a opened melon, this is forgiveness.

***
PS–the theme over at Mama Says Om this week is forgive, go check it out.

Go here for the up-close versions & lots of notes. I had maybe a little too much fun with the writing the notes.

And thank you for the suggestions. I currently smell a tad like sauteed cabbage, but my boobs don’t hurt as much… (Bean was down to one nursing a day–before bed, so it was a very gradual thing. Still. DH made some comment about bra/boobs being a “garden of eatin’ ” tonight. Let’s just say I’m eager for this particular phase to be over. HOWEVER, Bean has been remarkable–sleeping–for the first time ever–all the way through the night, in his crib, willingly… they say when they’re ready, they’re ready. I guess he was ready.)

Also, we’re going to Florida next week to hang out with my best friend. It will be Bean’s first time on a plane. DH & I are virgins in the air travel with a small child department. More help please. What should I bring/do/be prepared for?

And now a quick recap of house progress: Every single room is full of boxes. My god, where did we manage to accumulate so much stuff? But the kitchen, oh it’s so lovely. It begs to be used. So I have been. Grilled tuna stakes with couscous salad, banana muffins, soup… And I’ve been slowly, so very slowly, unpacking all the rest of the house too. Rediscovering artwork that’s been packed for over a year, and precious vases, soft velvet pillows, and letters from old friends. But in between there is still the stress of feeling constantly addled: I cannot find anything, ever, when I need it. It’s kindof making me nuts.

But then I go outside and sit in the sunshine and take pictures of bugs and play peekaboo with Bean, or walk in late evening with DH hand in hand through waist high grass watching the bats swoop over head, and it’s all worth it. All of it.

So, I’m totally working on the picture laden post (I’m not just lolling about in the sunshine, picking armfuls of black-eyed susans and daisies, reading a really a really good book, and eating organic cantelope, I swear!)

But in the meantime I have two pressing issues. Boobs & poop.

I need to know two things.

A) When you’re weaning, how do you reduce breastmilk production? Bean spent his first night in his own room EVER last night. He woke up once, but went to sleep without crying, all by himself… and so we’re down to the before-bedtime nursing and I’m thinking of cutting that out tonight. But I’m not sure how my boobs have gotten the whole weaning memo. Advice?

and…

B) When your 16 month old comes to you, pulling on his diaper and grunting after he’s taken a poop, and when you say, “Did you poop?” he says, “Uh-huh” and points to the clean diapers, is it time to think about buying one of those little potties? And if it is, which? And then how to proceed from there?

I’ll be eagerly awaiting your responses.

It’s just–WE MOVED IN. And my kitchen is gorgeous and it’s summer and we just got back from all-day furniture shopping and licking peach juice off our fingers and I’ve had no time to post. But I will tonight. With pictures. Promise.