*kendraspondence*

Hey, September, how yoo dooin’?

September, here’s what: I’m happy you’re here. You always bring with you the smell of U-Hauls and giddy college students, the sounds of wonky high school trombone players, “Haa-yaaang on, Sloopeh, Slooopeh, Hang Onnnn!”, freshly cut football fields. Your days start to slope, the sun waning, 7:30, 7:15, on on on down to 6:30 p.m. and by the time your turn is almost up, there is a coziness to the night and an acquaintedness with new school textbooks, while still a hopefulness that there are big things still to accomplish this year.

But let me tell you about this past summer, September, the one you’re sweeping up for me in your wake. I’ll be frank. I thought this summer 2010 was going to suck. I thought I was going to be all soaking bedsheets with milk and wandering zombie-like around my creeky home at 3 a.m. But this past summer was awesome in its unremarkableness. It was just lovely, and smooth. We didn’t go anywhere spectacular (Newport? Cleveland, anyone?). I don’t even think we went out to brunch somewhere splendid. We just ate a thousand popsicles on our cruddy patio, watched the airplanes overhead, and wasted a lot of sprinkler water on ourselves, which, if you ask me, wasn’t a waste at all.

Sure, it was no party when Loverpants got pneumonia. And the hematoma thing I could have done without. But I’ll always remember Fourth of July, sitting with Brother Greg watching the “Boston Pops” on our couch and talking about how his blanket and law textbook were waiting for him on the Common, but instead he was sitting watching the performance with us on TV.

I’ll remember chicken parm night with my old man and Julie, defining bummerooski with my mom and Goobs, and just being so grateful and shmoopy to come home from OH and come back to my life with my hubby.

I’ll remember getting to know the girl that Baby Girl is now at an articulate 2.5 years-old, how she used “I’m sulking” totally appropriately, how her sapphire eyes, framed by her pixie cut, look out at a world and see not a complicated planet but only the ripe cherry tomatoes in the box garden, the sequined pink slippers on sale at Target, the travesty that is the removal of the “Shrek 3″ billboard on Gallivan Blvd.

Most obviously, though, I’ll remember the ease and wonder I felt for 104 days of meeting this new Little Man in my life. I don’t know what angel interceded in Heaven so that I could have this little boy with a halo all summer long, but I am grateful. He is so marvelously adaptable that holding him – which I try to do as many seconds of the day as I can – is a tranquilizer, it’s possibly the best drug a hospital lets you leave with, no prescription necessary. Just hold Little Man for a minute, ohhhh those soft little cheeks and fluttery eyelashes! And you will know.

So all that is to say that life until now has been wonderful, and welcome to you, September 2010. 30 more days in this month of turning 30. Yahoo.

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Some snaps that our new friend, the talented Dr. Paul Yoo took at Boston Temple in the Fenway.

This past sabbath, we had to bid a fond farewell to our friends of the past four years. The Kims moved here from Korea so that Peter could complete a smartypants master’s residency program thing for dentists at BU, and so Helen could come and be my friend and have two babies (who are American-born U.S. citizens, huzzah!) and throw parties with killer kim-bap.

On Saturday, I just kept telling Helen how much she inspired me, and I think she probably thought I was just bidding my best American Hallmark adieu, but seriously. She is good people. Peter is good people. Their kids are sweet little muffin-faced muncharoos that always share their snack packs in church. Good people, Kim family.

Peter and Helen really have It when it comes to being those super successful people who immigrate to a foreign land where the primary language spoken is not their own. They just have What It All Takes. They are incredibly positive, and such students of culture and geography and nuance. Helen especially is my hero. I would constantly see her at the most random corners of the city, just hoofing around kicking up dirt with her stroller. Of course, I am also a bit of a gypsy (or I wouldn’t also be at those random street corners), but when I, for instance, find myself at Harvard Square without my wallet and zero dollars left on my MBTA pass and no frigging clue how I am going to get home in the rain with a babe in a stroller…I can call people who work at Harvard Square who will come downstairs from their office perch and spot me $5 (thank you, Josh Poupore). Helen, on the other hand, did not have it so easy. But girlfriend was still a total intrepid. And she probably had some killer kim-bap in her back pocket to boot.

Oh and did I mention that Peter and Helen had a baby last year whose heart valves were not connected properly and totally watched a miracle named Olivia go through open-heart surgery at 2 days-old? Because they did. In a country that is not their homeland. Speaking with doctors who do not speak a lick of Korean. Operating on their daughter whom they had only just met. Today Olivia outweighs my 2.5 year-old and that is just riiiiidiculous. God’s hand has truly been at work in their lives. Their faith, their mettle has been tested so much over the past four years, but they have emerged and they have taught me so much in the process.

I think the only thing I ever taught Helen was the concept of “monster-in-law.” So naughty. You’re welcome!

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Sweet Olivia and Papa Peter

Baby Girl making lovey eyes at Justin

There were moments when I could see it, feel it on her face.  Moments of recognition that, This is Love.  Love is here. I am known, loved, counted among the special.

I saw my daughter fall in love with her family, her extendeds, people whom she has only known through quarterly visits and digital images.  I could see her melting into their hugs and finding the arc in their laughter where trust and vulnerability live.

7 days in Ohio, in the home where I got busted multiple times for getting nail polish on cherry oak furniture, where I played endless games of Uno, where I learned how to read and read my mother’s angry face and fell asleep under lit Christmas trees in a California Raisins sleeping bag.

Now my daughter sleeps on that floor, in the same California Raisins sleeping bag, and wakes up to a different hum in the morning than I remember, but one no less sweet.

Oh how it pained me to leave, but double the torment of pulling my baby girl away from this fanclub of fandamily.  Little Man will come to know the club soon and well enough in time.  But this last visit was monumental for Baby Girl.  She has inside jokes with her Uncle Mikie.  She has special songs with her grandparents and there are toys retained in their basements only for her.

I have believed for the last couple of years that this wide geographic divide between our families was overrated.  And after this last visit home, I am convinced that it is downright cruel.  But I’m trying to be content in the present and hopeful for the future and keeping a look-out for opportunities….lots of opportunities…..

The land of Cleve, on the shores of Erie

Go Buckeyes

Do the grandmothers in your family enjoy giving children baths as much as mine seem to?

Auntie TP

Baby Girl was so stoked to have cousins. She had prior to this told me about imaginary cousins that had given her presents…

Chillin’ with Uncle Mikie

My wonderful in-laws came to have lunch on sabbath at my mama’s. I made quinoa. It wasn’t terrible.

My mama. My baby.

Swimming at my old man’s

I am proud…

- of my mother-in-law, who learned at the age of a number that rhymes with nifty-hive, to ride a bike.

- of my old man, who successfully sent me his first text message for the first time the other day; it was signed “Pops.”

- that Michelle Obama is our First Lady. I adore the Michelle.

- of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law who moved cross-country, given a week’s notice, to start a whole new life.

- of Little Man, who sits quite confidently in his Bumbo seat whilst mama attempts to sell clothes on e-bay that she has accepted will never fit her again.

- that even though I may never be a size skinny petite pant again, I am kicking my own toochis 6 days a week pushing a double stroller.

- of the City of Boston’s recycling program. I think it’s pretty comprehensive.

- of my friend Katherine, who became a mother in April, and who inspires me by her beauty and dedication.

- of everyone that has done work overseas, particularly in God’s service.

- of my sister TP who took a big risk in job land and found something yummy.

- of my brother Mikie for many reasons, most recently for his attitude about sharing his birthday with a wake.

- of my mother, who has gamely worked her way into government management.

- of Lovey Loverpants, who has recovered quite brilliantly from pneumonia.

- of Baby Girl, who can spit back a book to me verbatim after only hearing it once (!!).

- of the collection of people I am honored to call friends who live in my community; they are all decent, hard-working, and generous souls.

- that I am learning to channel my anger over certain things in positive directions.

- that I was able to resurrect this website after it crashed a couple of weeks ago.

- of you when you leave me a comment telling me what of what you are proud

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My wee little expressive man

I saw the figure emerge in my peripheral vision.  We were asking the clerk about the merits of various double strollers when I saw a penguin of a girl slink out from behind one of the merchandise shelves with her pants slipped down to her knees.

She had to go potty.

Only, when I brought her to the public restroom in the store, she declined.  She wanted to use one of the colorful Baby Bjorn chairs stacked in the nursing aisle.  Who could blame her?  Baby Girl was conducting important consumer research.  How many of us would bypass the chance to test-drive a throne so cute?  Of course, most of us would likely possess the social cues not to pull down our drawers in public, nor expect to actually test the limits of the bowl, but I had to give it to Baby Girl for taking the initiative.

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I have learned to do something new in the last week.  It is is not a totally new learning, it is a learning that has taken on a new form in a new context for me this week, and it has made a huge elephant footprint of a difference.

I decided earlier this week that I was not going to lose my temper with my toddler.  If I had any self control at all, and if God had any power over that self control, I was just not going to let the ignite the coals of my anger.  So I didn’t.  I just…chose not to escalate any situation.  I’m not saying I handled every altercation well, but given the fact that Big Pops and Nana Jake thought it prudent to gift my tot with a set of porcelain pug salt and pepper shakers (totes appropos for 2 y.o.) and given the fact that my toddler chose to gift me with a banging of my funnybone with one of said pug pepper shakers, I have to say that I did well, praises be.

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As mentioned, my dad and stepmama visited earlier this week, which was 10,000 laughs and chicken parmesan and a trip to the zoo and hanging out on our primitive patio, blowing bubbles.  I missed them before they came and now I miss them more because I bear Baby Girl’s missing them and so it’s a camel back of missing people who live far far away.

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Little Man is still the smooshiest, sleepiest member of our family.  I am watching the cheeks of his sister thin out by the day, so I am working extra hard to plump his up to balance the cheek chubbery around here.

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One more thing.  I was home yesterday tending to both children by myself.  I allowed Baby Girl to fingerpaint.  In the house.  For the first time ever.  And we didn’t have to call poison control!!  We had fun!!  Masterpieces were made!!  I am the mother of two children!!!

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Nana J and Pampa