Posts tagged “Finley”

Can I have your hand

Posted on December 9, 2012

She asks me each night with an impish grin, “Mama, can I have your hand?” It’s part and parcel of bedtime, this game of gentle tug of war. “Just let me hold your hand, but you’ll be too tired to pull, so you’ll sleep here.” Her eyes shine, big and bright and as perfect as they were in those early weeks of hours spent gazing at her . She quivers with an implicit, “C’mon, mom.” I say ok. Holding hands, I lean toward the door, she makes campy moves to fall out of bed, I swing toward the bed, back and forth we go until I stop. “I’m too tired. I. Need. To. Sleep,” and I collapse (delicately) over her. I feign magnificent snoring and…

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Categories: Mama Sap

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The Workplace

Posted on July 2, 2012

Finley clung to me this morning, her little chin wrinkled with lines of worry as her jaw clenched and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t wanna go to camp. I just want to be being with you on this day.” It was not the way I wanted the day to go. I wanted the three girls to go happily off to camp so that they could get the attention they needed, I could get things done and, in essence, everything would be smooth and controlled. I had to make a decision. The thing in my gut that comes out every once in a while, let’s call it guilt, made me relent. “Ok, you can come to work.” What I should have done next…

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Categories: Work

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My Sweet Chaos

Posted on July 22, 2011

The girls are home. I cried while they were gone. A lot. I walked past their bedrooms trying not to get caught up in the twisted sheets and discarded clothes all wrapped up in their summery scent of cut grass, lake water and cheesey-snack dust. Then the first morning without them came and the room pulled me in. I ran my fingers along the blocks they’d connected. “Mom, did you see how we made rooms and how the ones sticking out by the planet come together and make a chair? You make chairs with blocks, so we did it like you. Do you love it most of all?” I stood inside the block kingdom and let the sunlight that had drawn me in wash…

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Clutch

Posted on February 8, 2011

She likes purses, particularly dainty, expensive, rarely-used-by-me clutches. When asked what her doll or stuffed animal is named she says, without fail, “She’s sassy.” People say, “Sassy? That’s her name?” and she grins, nods emphatically and says, “Yes, just Sassy.” I’ve tried to understand what it is that has allowed her to slip under my skin so completely and all I come up with is that when she was inside of me she grabbed on, knowing the ride of being number 3 in a family of personalities. And so here she sits, firmly rooted, clutching a part of me that has only ever been hers. My sweet Sassy.

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