We recently bought new home phones. It took me weeks of losing people in mid-trauma, batteries running out when I was in the middle of "Hello." I searched for an old dial phone. Did you know that they really don't make those anymore? I don't usually use wtf, but really wtf? Using a dial phone means that when you call someone you really mean it. You don't dial without being committed, especially because it might take you three tries. My pocket frequently calls people. Today, it called a plus sign. I put the phone to my ear and half expected to hear a cheerful Southern woman say, "Stay positive, honey."
Pockets and purses should not be given the power of dialing.
I went to Target to buy a walk-about phone. And it was like an IQ test trying to figure out which was proper phone for a family of four with two floors and napping children. I don't have the necessary time to devote to purchasing a phone. I have a cell phone. I pick out my father's phone. I really invest too much time to a technology I don't really care to use most days. So I employ this method of choosing items that are beyond my real knowledge base. I don't pick the cheapest. I don't pick the most expensive. I pick the C+ item. Something like the Fair to Middling Method. The side of the box has a modest bulleted list of attributes that includes Makes Calls. Takes Calls. For some reason, that option came with two phones. You really didn't have any other option but the two phone option, and so now I have two phones (one upstairs and one downstairs). And then, I had to pick which "ring" I wanted. On two phones. I usually go old school and pick the ring that sounds like an old dial-up phone anyhow, but for some reason, I decided to do a song just to shake up the househole.
It has an unexpected advantage not mentioned on the side of the box of transforming Thor into Lord of the Dance everytime someone calls. Even in his sleep. It is so dang cute that I rarely answer the phone in time. I just let it ring and ring, the smile spreading across his face. He starts bouncing. The phone stops and he goes back to whatever he was doing the moment before, as though he didn't just get down. I then pray the person calls back. So I don't have to answer again.
He turned one. One. One year. Three-hundred and sixty-five days. I was extremely emotional on his birthday. In fact, I think I had a mild nervous breakdown/crying jag, because nothing seemed celebratory enough. I boycotted dinner, or something ridiculously immature. I don't know. I blocked my bad behavior. Okay, I didn't. I just felt like there was not enough...oomph. We worked hard for him. His pregnancy nearly broke me. Nothing would have been enough, I realize it now. She died. He lived. He brings me a kind of joy I can't really explain, not just because of the dancing, and the smiles, and the kisses and all the little things that makes Thor Thor. Maybe it is because she died. Maybe it is because he lived. I don't know. All of it gained momentum as the day drew closer, like it was a small snowball rolling up every emotion I have felt in the last few years since I last held Lucy growing into an avalanche eventually, sweeping me under, and over again.
We had two parties this weekend for our children since Thor and Beezus are born in the same week. Thor the first and Bea the sixth. So, Saturday was a family party and Sunday was Beezus' Tea Party with her little friends. I set up a dress up area, bought girly things from thrift shops around the area and served all kinds of tea party things. It was the party I could never have as a child, and she seemed to love it. I loved celebrating my children. I needed it more than anyone. I don't really go for those traditional milestone celebrations. I didn't have a wedding. Or a graduation thing. Or whatever most people do to move into the next phase of life, but for some reason, I wanted to mark the occasions of my daughter's fourth and my son's first birthdays.
Happy birthday, my babies. I love being your mama. I love watching you dance.