american music

Sleep continues to elude us, but somehow, day after day, we have relentless amounts of energy. I swear, every Tuesday since being pregnant with Sol I have the same thought around 4:40 as I'm preparing to teach my 5:00 yoga class. How the hell am I going to do this....? Then next thin g I know it's 5:30. I look at the clock and can't believe we're already halfway through. I pump the music and tell them to hold dolphin a little bit longer. It's really great, these energy surges. I'm not sure where I'd be without them. Energy surges. The ability to get a lot of things done in one day. Foresight. Planning. Creativity. Passion. Extreme efficiency. It all combines into an energy surge cocktail, day after day after day. The cherry in our proverbial cocktail is the energy that spills into the house with a daddy inspired dance party. They're a bit more rockin' than those inspired by mom, a bit more ripe with chills and spills. But they have a very special place in this home.


In other news, big Sol, aka, John Muir, is on a journey of discovery. His favorite thing to do is go outside and if I don't take him, well, he just takes himself. He's crazy agile. Even took himself out the other morning barefoot when there was still a soft brush of snow from the night before. He navigates carefully, fearlessly and then explores every inch of our little yard. I'm so proud of him out there, so proud of his independence and curiosity.



And while I'm proud by his strength and agility, it doesn't exactly help me stay at all relaxed. Yesterday I left him alone for a moment so I could go to the bathroom. When I came out he was nowhere to be seen. Both the front and back doors were open. I started to freak, screaming, "Sol! Sol!" I found him in the basement playing with Elie's giant E.T. doll (whose finger lights up and who says like ten different E.T. lines in E.T.'s raspy, freakish voice...). Note to self, stop going to the bathroom. Or at least bring the boy with you.

Easter is upon us. Then Solomon's first birthday. Yet he continues to wake and wake and wake in the night. Last night I had another breaking point. Jeff thinks it will be better if I wean him. I don't want to. But I do want to sleep for longer than a three hour chunk. My eyes are getting set back further and further in my head. My face is pasty. It's time for a major change, yet I don't know what to do.

Thank heavens for coffee. For children who make me smile. Curly headed weirdos. Barefoot explorers. That this all will soon be a teeny piece of our story.