Newton's third law is exactly why I don't want to make resolution lists anymore

the last couple of days were soothing as a lullaby. the boys levitated with infectious joie de vivre, full of unalloyed joy and unquestioning obedience. we hovered in a world brimming with perfect little moments like when we leisurely sipped cups of hot chocolate and cuddled and expired in each other's arms at night. my knitting and complexion were flawless. life with kids was unexpectedly easy. and happy.

now guess what kind of day I've had.

in case you are wondering, yes, I do feel the sweet and sour pang of regret

April 2002. the hard practicalities of my new life with two babies crowding in. everyday a new strategy. to put stabilisers on our little family. to ensure its survival. to breathe. the day I officially became a momster.

"because of some genetic accident, somehow she looks slightly younger than her age" or why I will never wear a baseball cap again in my life

this morning I woke up with hair so oily I could fry noodles in it. so I decided to wear an Old Navy baseball cap I bought for 5$ in San Francisco on our honeymoon trip. with my jeans that tend to be too long, sliding on the floor and falling flat on my white Converse Chuck Taylors, I know my natural demeanour sometimes suggests that 1) I am babysitting my kid brothers or 2) I once was a teenage mom and should be lectured about contraception.

most days it doesn't bother me. the scowling. the condescending. the questioning.

but today.

Bach maybe. definitely not Mozart. the only place playing classic music at 11am and swarming with little brats that are actually louder than mine and with people with nothing better to do. the mall. as I watch Sean and Will ride on a merry-go-round an old lady sits next to me.

"they're beautiful children"

"well, thank you"

"you're the mommy?"

"yes"

"are they twins?"

"yes, they are"

"oh, it must be so hard for you"

"well, sometimes it is, yes"

"I sure hope you have a husband to help you. do you?"

and a Happy New Year

the boys are now asleep. my husband is in Athens. and I can hear the sound of flooding champagne and affectionate conversations echoing through the four walls and the ceiling of my bedroom. I am alone on New Year's Eve with my two beautiful sons. and even if all I did today was dusting the house and giving my dog a bath, seriously, I just can't complain. I think of the past year. like thumbing through an old photo album trying to capture the scent, the music, the feel. I smile. I tripped and fell. but I've lived. and I've learned.

Happy, Happy New Year everyone,

may your days be filled with love and showered with blessings, always.

xoxo

after The Gap, Pilates, Starbucks and Desperate Housewives

Elmo has finally made it to France.

like Toys 'R' Us on an inventory day

today I gently deflected my son's obsessively questioning why his Buzz Lightyear could not fly. and it is only after dodging a few Teletubbies defying the laws of gravity that I've realized you should never mess with a 4 year-old's stirring up, avid curiosity.

the perpetual struggle to keep bellies fed and faces clean and washing done. jumping in and out of the shower to wipe bottoms or end a fight, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me. musical Christmas cards jingle belling. tripping over legos, a pain that all the Tylenol in the world could not smother. and that familiar, gauzy fatigue.

some days there is no redeemingly dignified way to describe the life of a full-time stay-at-home mother. reality thickens. and my house looks like Toys 'R' Us on an inventory day.

no matter what

the sweet illusions they project. the dreams they made come true. a moment to absorb the miracle and listen to my heart.

no matter what.

they're amazing kids. and I love them more than life.

Christmas in momsterland

Christmas in momsterland veered towards dirty tissues from runny noses and sneezes, microwave cooking and a bunch of cynical lines I have made up as a way of dealing with the parade of my 4 year-olds mischievous behaviors. my two apprentice hooligans. and I've learned a few things. like, if you buy your children toys that require batteries, then don't forget to buy the batteries. or how to mention Santa and his cellphone number even a day after Christmas. yes, I did that too.

Sean and Will woke up and had forgotten all about the cookies and the glass of milk. and then, slowly, they remembered. the feeling of gleeful excitement seeping out of them was too much to contain. they ricocheted around the tree for a few seconds and then rushed and ripped frenetically. Dora's rescue center. Buzz Lightyear. Elefun. the palpitation in their eyes. hands shivering with jubilation. exuding happiness from every pore of their little bodies.

for a mother. the best Christmas present ever.

Happy Christmas

"relax!"

"relax? how can I relax? plastic bag! I packed my panties in a plastic bag!"

"I love this. unpredicted and crazy. no plans, just us, leaving for a couple of days."

"I hate this. I mean, no list!"

"yeah, I know. but tomorrow morning you'll wake up and see the ocean and you'll be happy we did it."

and I was.

La Baule, on the Atlantic coast. a 5-hour drive. room service, restaurants and a life stripped of anything resembling domestic duties. the boys twinkling with delight. the pool, the big bed, so many new buttons to push.

the incessant phone calls from the office. my husband deserting home. my frustration. all evaporating like sea foam.

Sean running triumphantly on the sand leaving a trail of dazzling exhilaration behind him, so bright it blinds me. his soul flinging to the highest. flashes of perfect innocence flickering across his face. it is so beautiful it plucks out my momster heart. and gives meaning to my life. to everything.

Happy Christmas,

xoxo

party of four, almost

I felt a shiver of pleasure as I enclosed the huge shopping bag with contentment. I got my Christmas gift yesterday. a new black coat I've been eyeing for nearly 4 months. I nestled my head on my husband's shoulder. and absolutely loved it. like complementary acute angles. a human tetris. and then, he did it again. he would always let slip some unpalatable news when I'm happiest. somewhere between two stations on line 10 my excitement quietly expired.

another 10 days. alone. on New Year's Eve.

aargh.