Blackberries

For years, we have battled the blackberries in our yard.

Last year, we gave in and decided to let a few canes grow on a support. We had a lot of berries. This year, there have been ripe berries every day all month. Every time we're in the yard, we collect a few.

After his nap this afternoon, I asked Dash if he wanted anything to eat before we left for the park. "Bewwies! Bewwies!" was the reply.

So I went out and picked some.



The canes of the blackberry bush prick and scrape as I harvest the ripe fruits, leaving aside the less-ripe berries for tomorrow. Some berries burst as I pluck them; I think of Plath, juices squandered on my fingers.

It is hot in the bright gray yard. I can hear "bewwies! bewwies!" echoing from above.

I go back up, berry-bearing.

There is a feast. Rapid and ecstatic. In less than two minutes, the berries are gone.

Nick thinks of Plath, too.

They ask for more. Once more I venture out, scratching my fingers on the canes, listening to squeals from inside.

The seconds are met with less enthusiasm, but not without joy. We still have berries left over.

One!

Just over a year ago.

Nick and Dash turn one today.

I can't say that I've accomplished anything more difficult or more rewarding in my life than year one with twins. Mostly difficult. The rewards, I hear, come later. Right now they come in fragments, like when they're having fun at the park, or when the two of them play almost together as I make dinner. Or when we're all snuggling close, I and my boys, nursing before bedtime—the only time of day when I even attempt to tandem nurse them anymore.

We have all learned so much in this longest and shortest year. I have learned more this year about flexibility, adjustment, and improvisation than I thought I could ever learn. I've learned to value routines and schedules and to try to go with the flow when things are crazy.

I've learned that tenacity is good. Those first three months of relentless pumping and nursing and trying over and over again to get it right were so worth it. I'm proud of the work I have done. Breastfeeding twins has been the hardest part of the journey—or maybe the second-hardest. The tag-team wakeups from 1 to 4 a.m. might be the hardest thing.

I've learned that children are amazingly capable creatures. I've learned that babies can feed themselves and love eating. I've learned to wait and watch instead of urging and pushing. Given a chance to explore what they want to explore, Nick and Dash do what suits them best: collaborating, digging and climbing, toddling and observing, wanting to get picked up and wanting to slide down. They understand more than you'd think (like what "bath time" means), and they love to have fun.

I've learned to watch them learn. What a treasure that lesson has been.

So much bigger now!

Love's Austere and Lonely Offices

Yesterday I taught Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays" for the umpteenth time. I loved this poem before I had children. But now that I have two very sweet, gorgeous boys to take care of, I almost cry when I read the last two lines:

"What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?"

My sophomores get it: love comes in many forms, and not all of them are hugs and kisses. And I got it, too, when I first started teaching the poem. But there's something about the relentlessness of this first year with the twins that makes Hayden's point so much clearer now—there is never a day (or night, and some nights it seems like there's never even an hour) off from the offices of parenthood. My fingers are nowhere near "cracked" from the "blueblack cold," but it's still not easy.

What did I know of 1, 2, and 4a.m. wakeups all in the same night, not always with the same child, with a 5:30 start to the day that follows? Of losing touch with everything that keeps me sane—yoga, friends, garden, writing—because if I have a spare minute, I need to grade papers or cook or shop for the babies? Of the loneliness of sitting in the car on the way to work so I can pay the nanny to be home with my babies so I can keep myself entrenched in my career? Of knowing that my lunch hour will be cut in half by needing to pump, so being at work is rarely the social occasion I desperately need it to be?

No, the austerities in my life are nothing compared with those in Hayden's poem. And I am now filled with so much more gratitude for every moment of my parents' lives, for every midnight waking and meal that magically appeared from the kitchen, for an education and a home and all the million privileges I'm trying to provide my children with, too.

What did I know of love? This stuff is hard.

On the other hand, because I feel myself tearing up as I think of the relentlessness: What did I know of the sweetness that is an open-mouthed smooth on the lips from an 11-month-old with a runny nose? Of the intensity of being covered in babies from the time I walk in the door, one wanting just to be held, the other dashing back and forth with the world's biggest, goofiest smile on his face? Of the amazement and wonder I still feel that my body has helped these two little beings grow big and strong, yet can also help them drift off to sleep at night? Of the kindness and generosity that friends and coworkers show? Of the bittersweet feeling I get every night that I'm up nursing a baby that one day soon this too will end?

What did I know of love? This stuff is great.

But I'm looking forward to getting a full night's sleep.

Back to Work

It has been almost exactly three months since I last posted here. I have several posts that I started, but stopped working on when babies woke up or while I ran to the store, or did any of a million other things I do with my time when I'm not feeding or entertaining babies.

But school has started, and I'm back at work. Fortunately, I'm teaching my favorite class in two sections this term (and that's all--I am very grateful to be teaching only part-time). The lovely thing about teaching a writing class is being able to have some time, even if only a few moments, in which to write for myself.

So here I am. And, dear readers, I have so many things to tell you about. I have notes all over the place about things I want to write about. About being a mom and a teacher at the same time, about trying to also fulfill my other roles (wife, daughter, friend) and mostly failing. About sometimes thinking I'm not so good even at the mom stuff, even though I've been working really hard at it for 8 months now. And about how quickly the boys are growing and changing and how amazing it is to watch. And how I can't wait for the day when they sleep just a little bit better, so I can sleep better too. And, yes, about what I'm doing in my class this fall, and whether I think it's working.

And maybe I'll get to write about all of those things sometime soon. For now, being back at work--even part-time, even teaching a class for the fourth time--is hard. I'd like to say that I feel more whole and more complete interacting with older children and adults than I did while endlessly walking around the neighborhood with the twins. And in some ways I do. I love my job. I love working with teens. I love teaching writing. It's nice to see other adults and to think about the nuts and bolts of teaching. But few of my colleagues are really interested in the two small people that I'm most focused on right now. And that's isolating in a different way from being stuck at home trying to maintain a nap schedule.