Returning...

Sometimes writing is like this: silences say as much as words do.

But also, sometimes it just means that someone -- and by someone, I mean me -- has allowed herself to fall out of practice, at least in this space. And somehow, it is suddenly November.

Things have been crazy busy, but that's always true, for everyone, in every season. Things have also been mostly good. I still can't get over how different this school year feels. I love my students, I love a lot of things that are happening at my school, and I'm happier teaching there than I have been in a very long time.

Suzannah is loving first grade. Her other love is Star Wars, which really has become her thing -- I was never really into it all that much, and Matt is hardly obsessed, but our little girl is totally enthralled by it. She dressed up as Darth Vader for Halloween, which I thought was particularly awesome. The day we bought her costume, the guy at the store was all, "So...she is going to be Darth Vader? Really?" And I said, probably a little defensively, "Yeah. Yes she is." And he nodded slowly, looking at my little girl holding her costume and her light saber, and said, "That's actually pretty cool." Damn straight.

Isaac is going to be three years old next month. He is both so affectionate and so rough, and I find myself using the word gentle! quite often. He gives me these great, totally sloppy kisses and tight, tight hugs. He does this weird head-butting thing that reminds me of a labrador. He's terribly dramatic about getting hurt, which is so different from Suzannah (when she gets hurt, she doesn't want anyone to look at or get anywhere near the wound); the tiniest "owie" has him running to me for kisses. Suzannah is more practical. "Do you want some ice, Little Dude?" she asks. (She calls him Little Dude. How fantastic is that.) And she knows how to go to the freezer, get down the bottle filled with water/ice, and hand it to him. He holds it to his head/finger/knee/whatever for about three seconds before handing it back to her, and then he scampers off, as good as new.

He is also learning how to use the potty. The process hasn't been as quick as it was with his sister, but when he actually goes, he face totally explodes with joy and he screams, "It WORKED!"

It is impossible not to explode with joy myself in those moments.

November is a good month for gratitude, maybe especially in this election year when we're all at each other's throats and ruining relationships on Facebook and everything. (Will that get better or worse after Tuesday?) I love reading people's gratitude posts, and I try to do them myself every year, even though I never seem to keep up with them. Today I am particularly aware of the small moments, the ordinary blessings, the things that require me to stop and breathe and be present in my life exactly where I am. Of course I am grateful for my children and my family and my job and all the pieces of the big picture; what shakes me out of my moods and fits of self-pity or grouchiness, though, are the moments like I had this morning. Chocolate chip pancakes, a surprise from my health-conscious husband. Fresh coffee. An extra hour in bed -- I didn't sleep for most of that, but the time was still such a gift. Going for a run in the cool morning air, crunching through wet leaves on the street. (This is my favorite time of year to run outside, when the weather is cool and wet, when I can run through piles of leaves, sweet-smelling dampness at my feet.) Nothing clears my head quite like a good run when I'd rather just stay home, and this morning I realized (again -- it's a lesson I keep learning, over and over) that the things that stress me out or turn me into a cranky mama are really just reminders of things for which I am grateful: The kitchen messes. The Legos carpeting the floor in the family room. The noise on Saturday morning. The balled-up socks that never seem to make it into the hamper. The sources? My greatest joys.

Sometimes grace just slaps you silly, doesn't it?