It’s been a while. 4 months to be exact. I want to write. I want to document. I want the pictures on my camera to live here not there. I want to put what’s in my head down for later so that I won’t forget how grateful and grumpy and lucky and angry and  blessed and happy and tired and content I feel.

But….I have three kids.

Full days and weeks and months and holidays and school days and home days and work days. And unfortunately quite a few full nights during this past cold and flu season.

And the more out of practice I get of documenting the small things, the more each small thing seems monumental, and a moment fettered out into the wind. And I hope I remember what I want to say but the fact of the matter is my brain is a bit swiss cheese-like of late as the children consume large chunks of it for their own growth. Where to begin…where I left off? And if so, do I consider leaving off as after the last time I posted routinely for Down Syndrome Awareness month, or the time that I had a good streak before that? Do I just start with now and how shocked I am that even though I’ve been home for over a week with a flu-ridden middle child I still haven’t had time to update or focus on the fact that she turned 6. And that’s huge. And she had the best party. And so many people came. And she had it in her new dance studio which makes her heart sing and her feet fly. And if I’m going to start with her birthday I should go back to her sister’s birthdays because they weren’t properly documented either.

Or do I just stick with the ordinary afters that are the real beauty of the fortunate days and nights we have together, where we climbed the tall, tall cedar in our yard and we baked apple cobblers and learned to write our name and pee in a potty and played soccer and took up dancing and wrote out our valentines and learned to speak in little sentences and made pictures for our BFFs who made loving drawings for us? Do I start with the trips to the Mountains and Atlanta and South Dakota and California and Kentucky and the circus and family camp?

Maybe I begin with me and the fact that since starting running in October 2013 I’ve logged more than 500 miles which for someone who thinks of herself as “not an athlete” is a pretty big deal. Or the fact that I now color my hair and wax areas I shouldn’t bring to your attention, wear pants that could be accurately described as maternity pants for non-pregnant people or yoga pants for work, drink a good bit of caffeine daily and again, signed up for my first ever yoga retreat, became a Girl Scout Troop Leader, fell in and out of love with Benedict Cumberbatch, started reading fan fiction and listening to mindless trash and podcasts, had some manicures and pedicures and decided never to get gel nails ever again. Cut my hair short and in a style that is inspired by the haircuts I gave my own kids. Started wearing some eye make-up. Hoarded information and ideas on Pinterest. Started eating brussel sprouts and cooked spinach. Said good-bye to friends that have moved and welcomed new friends into the village as well as got my own BFF back in my daily life. Admitted I love Frozen as much as my children. Lied that I don’t know where the Frozen soundtrack is. Enacted the candy tax.  Bought my third pair of running shoes. Visited the bakery that I thought had shut down years ago but found it open again in a new location and still making the custard brioche with the sugar crystals on top. Rana race. Received a Humanitarian award from my work. Lamented that our local bakery was sold to a new owner and the french bread doesn’t taste quite the same. Started getting up at 4:45 a. m. to go running two mornings a week with friends and slept a couple hours later on the weekend and then ran over 5 miles at a stretch. Had the flu and an ear infection and went to the circus and dressed up for Halloween and became a Girl Scout and went to sleep-away camp and ice skated for the first time in at least  20 years myself. Volunteered at my children’s school and stood by Lovey as he was recognized for his hard work and dedication on a football field on national television.

Do I tell you about the wiggley teeth, the closed fontanels, the genetically missing teeth, the future braces, the removal of an apraxia diagnosis, the unthickened liquids and articulated consonants and the swimming and boat rides, the graduations and performances and the ice cream and cakes and Popsicles? The sessions of cook, playing mommy and doctor and teacher and painting, drawing, stickering, glueing, cutting and markering on the porch? The IEP and meetings leading up to it? The date night meals coffees and drinks and movies and concerts that Lovey and I got to have and GNO activities and old friends that traveled to us and we traveled to visit? The report cards and progress reports and worries and problems? The nursings we gave up and continue to do but no longer talk about publicly? The fireflies we caught and the flowers we drew and photographed? The birthday and Christmas, and weekend and Girl Scout and back to school and end of school and pool and potluck and meat parties we attended and threw?

How we faced so many of our fears by ziplining and hugging a tiger and sleeping at a friend’s house and raising money, and going out with new friends and offering a hug and telling friends that while we like playing with them we want to sleep at our own house and running farther and earlier than we thought we could and driving through a canyon and getting shots and echocardiograms and taking yucky medication and trusting new friends and teachers and helpers and asking for what we needed and staying calm in hard conversations and fighting the people and recurring scenes in our nightmares and flying away from our family and visiting long-lost relatives and mourning the loss of family members and friends and saying yes and no and sorry and being ok with the maybes?

Life has been marvelous and tiring and entertaining and connected and chaotic and over-booked and full of laughs, smiles, tears, colds, hugs, planning, wonderings and naps.

And then I yawn. I finish my coffee. One napper stirs and another one cries out. And it occurs to me if I’m going to nap I really need to lay down now. And I’d like to read and I’d like to see what everyone else is up to on IG and FB and I’d like to watch some Netflix and order Just Dance 2015 and I should fold the laundry, start the next load, empty the dishwasher, read with Zuzu, break-down the boxes the Christmas presents arrived in, sort the Girl Scout cookies, play a game of Go Fish with the Quail. Talk to Sugarplum. Go for a run. Edit some pictures. Get the duplicate pictures out of my blog’s media file. Read my camera manual. Read a parenting manual. Read a Down syndrome therapy manual. Read a momma memoir. Read my friend’s blog. Organize the next Girl Scout lesson. Send an email to a friend. Brush my teeth. Eat some cookies while no one is watching. Eat some cookies with my girls who are no longer asleep. Roast some brussel sprouts so I won’t eat the cookies. Take a shower. Pack my running and yoga clothes for the next week. Declutter the pantry. Take my antibiotic and anti-viral. Cook something in the freezer. Get the fall leaf pile off the lawn and the grass it most certainly has killed. Do nothing. Roast a chicken. Do everything. Organize my brain. Take a nap. Order a duvet cover. Sort the socks. Watch the DVRed recordings of Late Night with Seth Myers, The Big Bang Theory and SNL.

Hit publish.

But before all that, let me share the pictures from this Christmas where we found out that the Quail; who puts up a fuss at the practically weekly December visits to Santa as he shows up at our Down Syndrome Family Alliance Holiday gathering, our Tacky Sweater Christmas party and our brunch with Santa one week after the other and insisted on telling each one that she wants underwear for Christmas as she stood off to the side, barely in the camera frame, managed to hide from her family the fact that in spite of the dramatic interpretation she provides of a child scared of Santa she actually sat willingly and dare I say happily on his lap when he came to her kindergarten classroom. Let me show you the pictures of this Christmas where we had three little cookie bakers and decorators and a tree that had lots of low-hanging ornaments and twinkle lights but no actual topper as we never got that far once the two year old succumbed to a bout of sickness. Let me share how this year each girl helped wrap and label her sister’s presents and searched most mornings for TJ the Elf who for some reason or another seemed to keep finding a spot he would like and reappear in for days on end before he managed to move to a new one. And how Zuzu decided it was the most important thing ever that she finally get an American Girl Doll and that she was absolutely certain that Santa knew exactly which one she wanted because she wrote the item code on her Christmas list and Momma really shouldn’t worry about how she should act if by some unforeseen reason he brought a doll that was similar but not the exact one because there is no reason for him to get it wrong and that when she opened the present containing said doll her first question was, “Where is the item number?” And how the tiniest of the Sistred decided she would tell Santa she wanted a butterfly for Christmas and this Momma took to the sage that is FB to help her identify options that wouldn’t die in the winter and could withstand the loving of her tiny busy hands. And how all of this was after there had been multiple pleas for all things Frozen from underwear to shirts to dolls to blankets and more dolls. Dolls that were tiny with little clip dresses and dolls that were Barbie sized to soft plush snuggley Anna and Elsa and Olafs to dolls that were toddler versions with big blue eyes and satin dresses. How our sweet two year old took to present opening with such gusto that she was air-borne in more than one of the pictures from Christmas morning. How the girls in spite of their diatribes about what they wanted thought a lot about their sisters and played with and snuggled and included them in ways that would melt your heart. Let me start there….

Let me stop there and hit publish so that I can go take that nap. Or fold those clothes. Or watch a show…   Oh wait- let me add in this year’s annual trek to the North Carolina Mountains where we go each year in the second weekend of December, not too early and not too late, to cut down a Frazier fir tree for our Christmas. One that will last through the twelfth night when we plan to take it down and the following weekend when it actually will come down.  One that we see as we say hello to the sweet family that grows them and then bound off to the bakery for some coffee and hot chocolate and apricot brioche.