Nova hears with his heart. He speaks my unspoken thoughts, he reads my face like a book, he understands complex problems and always has the simplest compassionate solutions. He is a thinker and a dreamer. Of all three of my children, he has seen me at my worst. He has basically witnessed me growing up. Throughout the years I have become more calm and rational, but on occasion, still tend to lose it. He comforts me and offers me love when I feel at my most unloveable. When I feel everyone else has deserted me, he holds me and tells me things will be alright. He has the spirit and glow of an angel. I have never known one little soul to hold so much love and understanding. The place where these traits hinder him is in the older brother/sibling relationship. He adores his sisters, but strongly wishes that I could be exclusively with him. He enjoys our deep conversations, rocking in the rocking chair, drawing, and making up stories, dancing in my arms, or learning about new things together. His sisters are a blockade. They require a great deal of my attention.

Ayda, my third child, is an easy laid back child. She's rarely bothered. She has this sing songy nature about her. She always hums and babbles. She's the most pleasant baby I've ever had the pleasure to love. As I type this she is sitting in the floor rolling a ball back and forth and clicking her tongue. God knew that third child had to be like this or I would have left long ago.

Have you ever said something that came out completely wrong to your children and you immediately knew you needed to correct it, but they beat you to the punch?

This afternoon in a frenzy of sandwich preparation, discussion and bartering about what dessert to have, and caring for my half awake but groggy toddler, I did just that. I felt overwhelmed by the amount of conversation and firing of requests in my direction. I had just made each of the three kids a cool glass of rich chocolatey Ovaltine. Ember, Ms. Independent, grabbed herself a crazy straw and top and began to brag to her brother about how "COOL" she was with her added components. Nova wanted to do the same, but unlike his sister began to demand that I fetch all the stuff for him. I was sweeping up the dirt they had tracked in from running around outside when this final request was made of me. I shot a snarly look in his direction and snipped,

"why don't you just drink your milk like a grown up?!"

"But...B-B-But, MOM, I'm not a grown up!" Nova stammered.

"Oh, yes you are, more than they are!"

After I said this I knew I needed to correct myself before he got too big for his britches.

Ember then pipes up with a very adult perspective.

"Mom" she begins, with her hands on her tiny hips, "Nova is not a bedult! He would den haf to be in chawge of da' choiwces and dishijuns!!!"

Well...

Score one for the girl.

When I say things have been crazy here lately I'm not just talking mood swings and busy schedules. This past week has left my home in a state of upheaval. It began last weekend with the loss of my daughter's beloved, Sallica.

This past week Ayda and I shared her last bit of warm, sweet milk. Me the maker and she the recipient of a liquid that means more than just sustenance. Nursing takes time out of our busy schedules, nursing takes tolerance, nursing takes a toll on our bodies, beyond that of pregnancy, nursing takes a mother's constant presence and finally nursing takes pillows, a cozy spot, and a lot of cuddling. I am happy that we have moved on to a new phase of our relationship, but this, being my last child, is also sad and I need to take time to acknowledge it. I will never again be the sole source of nutrition and dependance for a baby. I will never again feel the pain, intensity, and empowerment of childbirth. I will never hold up clothing so tiny, fresh from the laundry, and cry at the unbelievability that anything could be so small. I will never again call my husband to share first words or steps. I will never again hold another wet, new soul to my bosom and sigh and cry in awe of the life that myself, my husband, our love, and God created. As much as I want this freedom, this autonomy from my children, I also mourn it.

At my son's school today Ember had one of her many, in a day, meltdowns. I can say one thing for her and that is that she is consistent. There are certain times and situations that I know will ultimately result in an all out limp bodied, writhing, crying, snotty, screaming, gagging on her own phlegm little girl. The time is ALWAYS between 3 and 4 pm and the situations are anything that involves playing with children she doesn't know well or being hurt in the most infinitesimal way. She puts on performances that far surpass any Hollywood actor to date. She can convince almost anyone that something is broken, going to fall off, or needs immediate medical attention...that is, anyone but me. I have gotten good at responding to these scenarios and help her with her yogic breathing and calming imagery in these times of crisis. BUT, even the best mother has her breaking points.

Today when we picked my son up at, well, you may have guessed, Three o' clock, she was doing pretty well. I had myself convinced that, perhaps, those dreadful days of dragging my child out of the school yard red faced and on the verge of tears were over. She was running and tagging children when THEY wanted her to, as opposed to her old routine of barking at everyone like a dog and gnawing at their ankles in between eating mouthfuls of dirty brown snow. This 3 pm pickup has been the bane of my existence since Ember became a toddler. I always grab my son by his shirt collar, close my eyes, run like hell through the crowd of parents, and dive into my car getaway style through my window before the ticking time bomb explodes. As soon as my wheels hit pavement Ember is fast asleep. Whew!

Those of you that know me know that I often use bad language. I have the supreme potty mouth. Despite my religious or spiritual affiliations, yes, I do often curse. It is one thing I can't stand about myself. I want to be a good example for my children. I want them to know that when anger, frustration, or silliness strikes there's other more articulate ways of expressing it. I have no problem reading blogs that have curse words. There are times and situations where the correct choice of curse word seems to be the cherry on the sundae. For example, when my son was three years old he loved to be spun, flipped, and tickled until tears ran down his face. At our Thanksgiving meal with the in-laws Nova was running in mad circles as his Dad would scoop him up flipping him head over heels in the air and putting him back down still running. Nova laughed and squealed in his sheer delight. Suddenly he stopped, dead in his tracks, and blew large yellow chunks of food all over the floor. They just kept coming in endless streams. When he finished throwing up he looked up at the entire family still gathered around the table and exclaimed,

"what the hell just happened?"

There seemed no better choice of words for that moment, even if they had just escaped the lips of my three year old.

After dinner my son sometimes likes to skip around in circles and sing or think out loud. Tonight was one such evening. As he skipped around the living room in an inquisitive frenzy he began to talk about all the different kind of animals there are. In his desperate quest to discover the link between us and other mammals he wondered out loud...

"Is a shark a mammal?"

"Nope, they do give birth to live young, but breathe with gills not lungs," I replied.

"Is a seahorse a mammal?"

"No, it's fish also, like the shark."

"Mom, is a lion a mammal?"

"Yes," I reply.

Nova begins skipping a little faster. 

"Mom, is a tiger a mammal?"

"Yes, Nova."

His skipping speeds up again. 

"Is a whale a mammal?"

"Yes."

"So, a monkey is a mammal?"

"Yep."

"Geez mom, just about everything is a mammal or a fish! There are no reptiles."

My four year old daughter, who, the entire time sat at the table picking at her green beans, pipes up and ask in her silly, cute voice, "a wrecked tile??!! What's a wrecked tile?!"

Nova stops dead in his tracks, still breathing heavy, he raises his arms in a muscle man pose and shouts...

"I AM ERECTILE!!!"

Because I, for the most part, love to deprive my children of modern entertainment like Sponge Bob and anything on PBS, they are often left to their own devices. Here's what you get...