The amount of attention and work children takes is mind boggling. There is always a need; always a want; always a question to answer. How do we all make it? I watch all these kids around me grow, and I am amazed we adults can still laugh, and well, we’re still alive.

After getting them out of diapers, there’s the whole teenager thing….then we watch them go away to do it all over again. Perhaps better than us. Perhaps. We’ll see.

Coco has been glued to her cousin. I can safely say this in almost a literal sense. For a week, Coco has followed her big cousin everywhere she’s gone. And her big cousin has been kind and, I believe quite thrilled, to have a built in friend. The two play this Ninetendo DS thing and “chat” and train their puppies, and bark commands to the tiny screen.

Coco bought the little machine in the first few days we were here. She used her own money. I’m hoping she’ll make some sort of positive connection to buying it with her own money rather than me doling out the cash. I’m sure some of that is in there, but at the age of seven there are still plenty of moments where she comes inches to destroying it. I try to let her be responsible for it’s care and up keep (it is cheaper than a real dog, or guinea pig come to think of it!), but I’ll see it laying on the edge of an arm chair or placed in a spot her seven year old brain thought was perfectly safe. This morning, she placed an Iced Animal cookie on the screen and traced it. I suggested possibly the oil in the cookie wasn’t good for the sensitive touch-screen.

As I prepared Addison’s spinach-salmon goo for his breakfast, Coco and her cousin talked to their puppies on the screen. One time, Coco said something and her cousin didn’t understand what she said.

Is that how you say stop in Spanish? she asked.

No, she replied. Coco told Lulu her computer dog to sit. Coco then turned to her cousin and asked:

How do you say stop in English?

The two girls looked at me as I laughed and laughed. This little game machine was well worth the money.

Since Addison decided to lick the play log-cabin at the birthday party yesterday, he probably picked up a bug. Exactly what was not needed two days before a day - a long day - of International airline travel. His immune system is a bit touchier than other kids, so it seems he’s always “just gotten over something” or “coming down with something.” Instead of having two or three months in between illnesses, they but up against each other like baby birds in the nest.

THEY say that we “get” what we can handle. And THEY say that we grow through challenges. At this rate, I think I’ve got it figured that I am as big as a whale, or at least an elephant.

As if following the script of a better-than-average made-for-T.V. movie, our beloved guinea pig, Mouse died this morning. A few days ago, we pulled the little rodent and her daughter - Maisy - out of the cages for a “running of the guinea pigs.” Mouse has been with us for 5 and one-half years and Maisy is one of a lineage of eight cavies that followed.

Although the needs of children usually shove pets down on the attention scale, we still tried to get those piggies out for some fun. Oh how we giggled! If you haven’t seen a guinea pig’s bottom wiggle across the floor, you haven’t lived (put it on that list of 100 things to do before I die!). I noticed something odd but didn’t think much of it. When I snuggled the two creatures up on the yellow towel to rest Mouse sighed and closed her eyes - even with all the commotion - she looked like a tired little guinea pig.

This morning, something odd happened again. Usually Coco is responsible for feeding the animals. We gather together lettuce and set it on a plate. Coco goes out every morning and night and spends some time talking to them and kisses them good-night. Here’s the odd thing: This morning Coco and I ascended the stairs together, but I held the plate in my hand and said, “No, that’s O.K. I’ll feed them. You got to put those slippers on.” It was a cool morning.

I opened the cage; tossed in a cucumber; and stopped short of burying the lifeless Mouse in lettuce. She lay across the cage as if she’d stretched out to yawn and stuck there. How odd it was that I found the body and not Coco. Or was it? I descended the steps and joined the nanny and kids at the table while everyone finished eating. I gave hand signals to the nanny that we had a dead body on the grounds. We both knew what that meant. Soon their would be tears. The odd thing was, I had a little time to prepare for it.

I don’t believe in turning away from the facts of life. Look straight into it; feel IT all; and move on. For this much I know: If we don’t, IT sticks in our craw and causes havoc for years to come (but that’s just my little theory). If Coco had found the body, we’d have managed, but it was as if this script had been written for me, I just had to keep turning the page. Coco finished her breakfast, and I got to have a cup of coffee. Then, I retrieved the body and put it a towel so my daughter see the soft little face she so loved.

We moved to the living room, I nodded to the nanny a signal as if we were about to launch a secret raid. Coco wiggled around on the floor, pretending she was a dog. Her brother was thrilled. I called her over to the couch and looked into her eyes. I brushed back her hair and knew in less than a minute, there’d be tears. I took Coco to the body. As tears streamed, one after the other, over her cheeks, she leaned over and kissed her beloved pet good-bye.

“I love you Mouse. You were the best guinea pig ever in my life.”

We moved to the patio. I grabbed the shovel and found a spot of dirt that wasn’t a clump of roots. It’s odd isn’t it? Or is it? I have this feeling it’s not just chance. I have a feeling that the more in tune we all get with this good energy vibe; the more we unwrap ourselves and give to others; the more we become flexible and graceful at all times, the more we stay on the page and can see that movie unfold, the more empowered we become to direct the movies or our lives into gorgeous little scene, after scene, after scene…..

The nanny said a blessing and a prayer over the grave, and Coco made a plaque. Rest in peace little Mouse. Cross over the Rainbow Bridge to bliss. Run like you’ve never run before!

Every so often, my daughter breaks into tears about leaving her dogs behind. It’s only been ten months since our family fell apart, and some of the wounds are still fresher than I’d like to admit. Quite often her sadness will start out as something else, like getting mad at me. One evening, about 5 o’clock, Coco starting talking tursely with the nanny and her brother and me. Then, she began assaulting our dining chair. Hmmmmm…I thought. I bet this is not about the chair. When we sat down to eat, IT all came out. Whenever that “all-encompassing” job description is written for mothers, it must include - emotional sponge. I can see it now on my resume:

October 2000 - present: Emotional Sponge. From the birth of my daughter until present, I have grown large pours in my soul to absorb, process, and assimilate every feeling felt by every household member, which includes nannies, husbands and ex-husbands, and other children I occasionally care for.

Because mothers are there - even if they’re working moms - when we’re on the job at home or away (ever witness the flood of phone calls mothers get at work?) - all tears, anger, fright, fear, disappointment, confusion, joy, and boredom (the list is too long to name here) are directed towards the mother figure.

You seem a little angry Coco. Did something happen at school? I asked her. She squished up her face as though she’d just looked into the sun. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Mommy, I miss Buddha! Why can’t we have Buddha?

The tears opened wide. There’s not much I could say. And every time this happens, I’ve learned it’s better to not act directly on the subject and start looking for Golden Retrievers in the Want Ads. Thus, I become a spong. I listen without trying to judge; without getting angry myself because I’d rather be eating in peace. She went on and on about how she missed her pets. When the tears ebbed, I saw a chance to steer the conversation over the hump. I made her laugh about something, and she used her skirt to dry some of those tears.

One time, I opened my mouth during one of those “sponge” moments. A moment I’m paying for to this day. When my daughter was in the midst of a tantrum at two years old, I opened my mouth and agreed to take home the stray guinea pig cradled in the vet’s hand. There’s no doubt cavies are cute (the more scientific term for us piggy owners), but all these creatures, from dog on down, poop. If it wasn’t for the pooping, I’d be thrilled with the little critters. But since they deposit their minerals in every corner of the house, they don’t come out of their cage often. But this night, I agreed to a “running of the guinea pigs” to help ease this pain about her dogs.

Addison was of course thrilled. He scooted around trying to catch them. He started out petting the animals, but after awhile got a little too excited and began picking them up by their hairs. When they got tired, we snuggled them up into a towel. Guinea pigs can live from 3 to seven years. Of course mine will most likely live until their thirty. It’s quite a price to pay for being a sponge and not knowing when to keep my mouth shut. So, I clean the cages and feed them a few times a day….wait a minute…did they get fed this morning??….sorry, I’ve got to run!

I was considering trimming this branch in my garden as it was growing quite large and shading the flowers underneath. It’s a good time to top off bushes and trees. With all the rain they’ll sprout new growth in like - seconds (it seems anyway). When I looked up, a clump of bugs lined the branches. But not one bug, several types. They were either duking it out or eating each other. Turns out they were helping each other.

Coco! I screamed, in a voice that was a little too excited.

Go get that book on animals! You know the one we’ve read like a billion times. Here’s those ants sucking the honey out of the other bug’s butt! Here’s that ant we read about!

I lifted Coco up to the branches and sure enough she agreed. Aphids at atop a bump, which was their nest. They had these long black and yellow antennas. Some were till making the nests and some were just there, brooding I guess. Behind several of the aphids was an ant. The ant was as big as the aphid. And sure enough, the ant was sucking honey out of the aphids behind.

Coco ran up to find her book. I get all tingly when we find a real-life example of something we’ve been studying. Coco looked in the index under chapter, Side by Side: Animals Who Help Each Other.

“Tiny green garden insects (these were a bigger cousin of the tiny version) called aphids make honey in their bodies from the plant juices they drink. Ants “milk” honeydew from the aphids almost like a farmer gets milk from a cow. Using it’s antennae, an ant gently strokes the back of the aphid. Out oozes a drop of delicious honeydew for the ant to sip.” The benefit for the aphid for putting up with being milked all the time (I can empathize after breastfeeding two kids!) is that the ant will protect the aphid from predators.

Every time the ant felt an attack coming on - even if it was just the wind - it would rear back, hoist up it’s antennas, and get ready for battle. I’ve been bitten by this ant, and I know it means business.

After explaining three billion things to my kids, it’s nice to see an actual example right in front of our eyes - and one that wasn’t set up in advance by “mommy trying to teach us something.” But here’s a secret: I’ll probably go out and check out those bugs a hundred times before the eggs are hatched and the group moves on. It’s like when I was a little girl and I’d lay on the dock. I’d peer through the cracks in the wood and watch the muscles stick their tongue out and move across the rocks. I could watch for hours. There’s something so mesmerizing, so simple, so just…just…right about it. I guess that’s whatt I’m looking at. And perhaps that’s what my children will learn.

Addison had a birthday party yesterday, so I walked to the mall to get a present. When I left, this cat was hanging out under the 4×4 in the corner spot. She’s the mall cat. We see her almost every time we go. She’s either lounging under a palm tree or snuggled under the warmth of an engine in the parking lot. When I took out the camera to snap a few photos, she stepped out and began doing that cat thing of rubbing up against me, purring, and then peaking in my bag.

There are so many stray animals, I am sometimes afraid to pet them or even talk to them for fear they will follow me home. Been there. Done that. I’ve rescued more animals than Noah. However this cat was well fed. She has some place to go when it rains and at night.

Later that afternoon, while my son and daughter jumped around on inflatable bouncy things at the birthday party, I took in the sites: Cinderella hanging from the ceiling and the princesses, with their heads tipped a bit to the side. I sipped on a super-sugary cafe mocha and smiled at how much that little tilt of the head reminded me of the mall cat. Then I had to smile. I’d forgotten the present I bought was a sticker book of cats. Four princesses, cats, mall….there’s got to be a message in all this, right?

After hours of listening to my daughter sing to many varied renditions of You’ve Got a Friend. Addison decided to join in with his version by Elton John.

Being a parent means I get to be an expert in everything - or at least in the eyes of my children. Coco’s learning a song for a father’s day breakfast. The moment she got off the bus, she starting singing off-key (sadly she’s inherited my genes here) to You’ve Got a Friend. I joined in. She looked up at me because not only did I know the chorus, but I knew other versus, all the versus. For a few moments - before I explained to her that the song was written by one of the most successful female song/writer singers in the last fifty years named Carol King and the album was this huge success - I was in that goddess status of: mommy knows EVERYTHING.

I waited until I got into the house to explain that Tapestry was one of the biggest albums - like ever. I mean, four Grammy Awards, Album of the Year, Song of the Year. Carole King was such a big roll model for me. She did IT back in a time when girls were stuck with imagining what life “could be” like if only we could dress, act, and be more like a man - THEN, we’ll be making some serious money and get all that respect. Carole came out as herself with this one and the world ate it up.

We sang the song a couple of times over. Coco’s already got that kereoke thing down. She tilts her head and does heart-felt hand gestures to the words. We played the song at breakfast a couple of times. Addison clapped, though I spared him the brief history of the great song writer behind the words since he’s only two and would prefer to rip the CD cover to shreds than listen to what I know. I showed Coco the album cover and she said:

She’s got a cat. She’s lucky.

The bus arrived and Coco and I mouthed the words together as she buckled up. Addison blew me kisses as he was plopped into his car seat. The door shut, and I went back inside. The house was quite. I pushed play and listened to the entire album.

All of a sudden I look at a photo, and I am blown away at how much my kids have grown. Teeth fall out; teeth come in. Freckles sprout; feet outgrow shoes. When I step back, I see miniature grown-ups. Coco limped off to school today because her knee hurt. She twisted it while running. Sounds like something I would say. All grown up. She brings home this homework that’s full of intellectual stuff “we all” have decided is important: solids, vertices, nouns, verbs, spelling, geography…..

Which way is north? I asked her.

That’s easy mom, as she points upwards.

What if east was over here? I ask her, where would north be then? She adjusts her body a bit; thinks, and appropriately points to north.

Would you like to take the compass to school tomorrow? I asked her as we finished up the evening book and talked for a few minutes before turning on the light.

No! Mommy, she said as tears welled up in her eyes and her voice cracked with every syllable. That’s yours, and I don’t want the kids to break it.

Well it might be fun to show everyone how to you learned to use a compass. It wasn’t that expensive, I said. We can always buy a new one if something happens.

She shook her head, bowing in reverence as if I just asked her to reveal her deepest secret.

All right, I said. But it’s there if you’d like to use it.

She opened her brain and said her thank you for all the things she can think of that day.* She worked her way from her family, to things in her room, to her toes, all the way to the Universe. She then closed her brain; locked it with a key; and we said good-night. As I left the room, I spun her globe twice for good luck. If you asked me to reveal one of my deepest secrets, I would tell you something like this: I don’t really care what it is she learns. What I care about is how she contemplates what she is learning, and what she does with the information and how it effects everything in that spinning world. Maybe you could say after all those degrees, and careers, and titles, and all that jazz…I’m growing up with two of the best teachers in town.

*Brain opening is a strange little ritual that evolved out of bubble releasing. It’s possibly too lengthly to completely reveal here, but it gets the child to sleep.