A string of bad things came into my daughter’s life today, bam bam, two in a row, and I feel kind of inconsolable. I feel every one of the 1,744 miles between us. She is suddenly the little 4-year-old girl in my heart, the one who’d crawl into my lap, the one who would cry into my shoulder, the one whose trouble I could solve, and I wish I could solve the things that came to her today. She’s strong, and kind, and she loves her family, and she always tries her very best. Always.

She’s the one who has made special little treats every day this month and put them in her husband’s lunch, for a 2-week stretch of Valentine’s Day love. Sweet little things, treats that took time and heart. Just because. She is the one who makes sure our family traditions are carried on, because they mean so much to her. She is the one who always makes me laugh with her dry and wry sense of humor. She is the one who wants to be our family’s solid, strong anchor. She is also the one who came to NYC last year (a year ago, yesterday) and brought her brother back into our lives. She is the one who is obstinate, and stubborn. She is amazing, my first child, and I never wanted any bad thing to happen to her, ever. Of course she’s a human in this world and so bad things have happened to her from the beginning, and I’ve hated the guts of every single bad thing.

So in my impotence, I share this terribly alone feeling with you, other parents, who certainly know what I mean.

Today, I opened my tiny NYC mailbox and inside was a puffy envelope — unexpected, what?! Tammy, my friend from Connecticut, mentioned and photographed in the pages of this blog, sent me an adorable little project bag she made, in bright spring colors. The sweet note commented on how she knew the winter had been getting me down. What a thoughtful and sweet friend, sending a thoughtful and sweet surprise.

It is indeed a big old goofy world. It’s one way for a while, then it’s the opposite way for a while. If you don’t already know John Prine, you might enjoy this little video of him singing the song he wrote that gave this post its title. He said his mother liked the little sayings — eat like a bird, quiet as a mouse, etc., so he strung them all together into this song.

If the rollercoaster is flying you down right now and you’re squealing whee!!, enjoy it! If it’s slowly and painfully climbing you up a hill that’s so steep you can’t even see the top, hang on. I’ve thrown my hands in the air and tipped my head back to yell WHEEEEEEE!

will and katie, 6 years ago

Strictly speaking, of course, that photo is not from this past weekend, but it summarizes my weekend in the best way possible. Katie is my oldest daughter (she lives in Austin), and Will is my only son (he lives here in Manhattan). The story is long and terrible and makes me prone to hours of tears, but Will has been hiding himself away from our family for the past 5 years. He hasn’t spoken to any of us since he appeared at Katie’s wedding, 2.5 years ago. Estrangements are always complicated and this one certainly is, but I promise that you can’t imagine the pain of it, unless your child does such a thing. The only thing worse is death.

Katie came to town Saturday in order to find Will and do a kind of intervention; she had letters to read that we’d all written, and she made a big photo album. She was not going to let him keep doing this without being forced to hear just how much it hurt us. I thought it was a mission doomed to fail…..find him? Here in NYC? Even that seemed impossible.

But find him, she did (she’s a force of nature, that one). And talk to him, she did. And listen, he did. And last night I got to see him, and sit next to him, and touch his face. We cried and laughed and cried, and it was awful and terrible and wonderful. Katie’s here until Wednesday, and they’re spending much of tomorrow together. Will and I will make a date to see each other again. It’s too much to hope without caution; we’ve all been so hurt, we’re all taking care of our hearts, but I’m the mother so I’m in all the way, no matter what happens. O happy happy day….

I have too much work to do to knit or tend to blogs (either as a reader or a writer), but I wanted to show you something. When I was lucky enough to visit my daughter Katie in Austin, last October, I taught her how to knit. She took to it immediately — a natural knitter, she is. We bought her some beautiful apple green yarn, and she launched into a great scarf. When I left her, she was a few sections into it, and going strong. Then her little dog grabbed it one afternoon and ate a chunk out of it, which kind of took the wind out of Katie’s sails. She frogged it back to before the chomp, and tried to get going again. Then she decided she might like to have another project underway too, so she picked the Habitat hat, by Jared Flood. Kinda intense for a brand new knitter! Especially since I live too far away to just pop over for a quick here’s-how-to-do-that session. WELL! Look what she did, her very first-ever FO:

Katie's husband Trey, wearing his new hat

I’m completely blown away! Here’s her project page on rav, if you want to see more pictures. This time I am bragging. Mama’s rights.

Back to trying to teach stats to people who don’t like stats. And editing manuscripts by people whose imaginations exceed their writing grasp. It’s one of those days, friends.

In most of the photos from her first months, you never see my face or head, because it was always leaning down into her crib. I never let the poor little thing alone; I held her all the time, nursed her all the time, never let her out of my attention. (Note: I really learned my lesson, and when baby #2 came along, she learned how to cry a little bit and wait for half a minute!)

All my thoughts today are with my daughter Katie, in Austin. The person who made me a mother, and saved/created my life in doing so. Happy birthday, Katie-Kate. (And Katie, look at the music widget below the photos. )

LOTS of photos after the jump:

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