Let Them Eat Cake

Another candle on that cake today.  Despite the fact that Rob is telling the kids I'm 40, though I only LOOK 38, I do indeed have two more years until the big four oh.  Someone in this household WILL be 40 in 2013, but not for another six weeks.

This morning as I was lying in bed, trying to ignore the buzz of the alarm clock that had already been slapped into snooze submission three times, I realized how very lucky I am.  Everything I need, much of what I want, so many people to love and be loved by, new ideas for a new year....  a good day to be grateful.

If you had told me me twenty years ago that I would be married to a fabulous, funny, smart man and have two clever, healthy, beautiful kids, still be bffs with my bestie and have friends in not one, but two hemispheres who are talented and generous and make my life so much better for knowing each one of them, I would have considered my cup overflowing. 

Feeling grateful for the great variety of family and friends who want nothing but good for me in this life.  Who are willing to hold my hand on the way, laugh with me, hold me, to just be.  I have no clue how I got to be so lucky, but I'll take it with both hands and hug it tight.  Thank you for allowing me to share my life with you and for sharing yours with me.  I know these are deep thoughts for 6:45 a.m., but there you have it.  Forever thankful nor for what I've got, but for who I've got.

Dear Reader,

It has been a long while, too long a while, since I have written in this space.  I  have often composed the words in my head, only to have them dance away again.  The leaves have turned from green to yellow to brown and red and loosened their grip from the trees. Strong winds and rain have sent them skittering to the ground, across the dying yard and into the road.  Today it feels like that is me.  Clinging desperately, battling hopelessly against the inevitable, losing my grip and destined to fall and shatter, yet hoping that tomorrow is better.

The boy and I are at loggerheads over school.  Who knew grade six would be this horrible?  Oh the MATHEMATICS.  The email reminders about missing assignments and failing grades.  I ask about homework and he is clueless.  "Mom, it's fine!" alternates with "I don't know!" and "What is WRONG with me?"  And he comes home without the right book, or hasn't written down his assignments or can't explain what this means or.... blergh.  We've changed study routines and times and tried reorganizing his notebook.... and still the beat goes on.  Louder, and louder until my head throbs with coefficients, distributive properties and equivalent expressions.

The girl is 8 going on 18.  She insists she is old enough to dress herself, even though her fashion sense is less than stellar.  Black and brown mixed together, Uggs and shorts, summer dresses in the winter.... it dements me.  She's decided she should be home-schooled because the boys at her lunch table mix all their food together and "it completely grosses me out Mom!"  We'd last ten minutes before one of us exploded I reckon! I'd say odds are high it would be me doing the exploding.

The sun sets before 6 pm now.  My body tells me it is bedtime long before I have finished with the day. Crawling into bed at 8 sounds perfectly reasonable, but is in fact counterproductive.  The laundry, dishes, lunch boxes, baths.... I'm quite certain that the world will end if it isn't done.  Perhaps I should leave them alone today and see if the Mayans were right?

It is all too much.  No end in sight.  School, sports, music, homework, work....  Time and energy to pursue things untried is slipping away.  Soon, if only, when this finishes, or that wraps up.... there will always be something new to fill the calendar.

So, I am taking a risk.

Going out on a limb and doing something that is absolutely for me and is highly unlikely to bear fruit (at least financially), but perhaps it will bear fruit in my head and in my soul.  As the busyness only increases, I realize that the timing will never be perfect for me to do it.  So I've coughed up a considerable sum to take a writing course.  Gulp.  I keep thinking I could have purchased matching end tables or a new headboard, or repainted the kitchen with this money, but hey, I think I might have earned a little something for me.  I won't have anything to show for it.  Nothing with any trade or resell value, nothing tangible at all.  But what of it it it is something that brings me joy and satisfaction and the knowledge that I wanted something and I'm taking a shot at it.  Who knows, three months ago I couldn't run a mile and on October 6 I ran a 5K.  I'm doing this.

Taking a chance on me.  I think I'm worth it.

My Dad

September is here.  Crystal clear days, cool mornings, coleus, mums and pumpkins are appearing at stores and on porches and doorsteps.  The beautiful beginning of fall brings with it the pain of September 20, 2005.  No, it isn't the gaping, black pit of physical, mental, emotional horror as it was in those first weeks after my brother died, but life has not, will not, ever be the same.  Each Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthday, wedding reminds me that our family picture will always have a hole in it.

My brother Sidney got married in July.  A beautiful day filled with beautiful people sharing love and laughter and commitment.  But when I look at the photo, the bittersweetness overwhelms. How much more precious are these days when we are together?  How I wish there were six of us in the photos, instead of five.

I think I find it easy to relate to Mom.  Her pain resonates with me because I am a mother too.  In many ways, I've thought the loss was probably harder for my dad.  He's a fixer (like me).  He's always been able to solve problems.  To support us financially, emotionally, and academically.  Dealing with his own pain and watching helplessly while the rest of us suffered was brutal for him.

I don't talk about him often enough.  I saw him briefly yesterday and I was overwhelmed by how much I love this man.  By how his slightly quirky personality, his funny walk, his inability to pronounce the word camel or flustered (he says flustrated) has kept us in stitches.  My dad wears white socks with anything.  Doesn't wear shorts.  Is almost 71 and could work circles around someone half his age.  Would rather be in his shop than anywhere in the world.  Lined up a job at ACE hardware BEFORE he retired, so never really retired.  Never met a pickle he didn't like.  Spells the word "enter" as "inter" (because you are going IN!  HELLO!) Complains about the TV but loves the History Channel.  Thinks everyone understands incline planes, pulleys, velocity and all things Physics because he does.  Can't get his hair (what's left of it anyway) to lay down flat for anything. Couldn't manage to look suave with the entire GQ style team in his corner.  Doesn't email, facebook, text or tweet and won't read this unless it is printed out in 20 point font on a sheet of paper...  and he is STILL too cool for school. 


A few years ago I was driving him somewhere, I forget why or where, but he said something that shocked me.  He said:  "I wish we could have given you children more."  It was a moment when everything sharpens and clarity comes in an instant.  The proverbial pole falling on the head.  Could I, my siblings, be anymore lucky?  My parents HAD given us more!  So much more than most kids who "have" more.

No we didn't have a lot of money.  I'm not sure how much or how little.  My parents told us there were things they couldn't afford and there were no new cars, Members Only jackets, Swatches and the like in the budget and when I was very small my dad worked three jobs to make ends meet... but they never said things that would scare us.  I know we did things together:  yard work, church, meals, camping, kitchen duty.  I know my parents did us a favor by telling us "no" when it would have been easier to say "yes".  That they were there, are there and will be there for us always.  No matter what.  What a gift to have that kind of security, as both a child and as an adult.  It is why Mama and Daddy, Christie and Sidney are HOME to me now... no matter where we are, we are at peace when we are together.

 So thanks Daddy, for giving us everything that matters.

The Running Woman

Millions of people do it every day.  Lace up their shoes, pop in their earbuds and take off.... running.  Add me to the ranks of those millions.  Just not the really fast ones or the ones who can go for miles and miles and miles.

I'm only up to almost 2 miles (and at least two-tenths of those miles are spent walking and trying not to DIE).  My knees are slightly achy, my shins hate me and my chest is thinking of burning my sports bra in protest.  But I'm doing it.  I don't LOVE it.  But I'm doing it.

For a person who has always thought of serious exercise as a mostly spectator sport, this is a real revolution in thinking!  Being on the dark side of 35 and possessed of a genetic history of heart problems is an excellent motivator.  So is the sense of pushing through and doing something I really didn't think I could do.

 (Blurriness not due to speed, but a rather poor attempt to take a picture of my own foot, which I lack the coordination to pull off effectively)

I may not look glamorous doing it and the weight isn't falling off like I'd dreamed it would, pounds and pounds laying in my wake as I pound out the miles, but it feels.... kind of good.  And in deference to the serious eye-strain I might inflict on others, I do try to run after twilight (and after homework, booksbags, baths, etc. for the kids) when my huffing/puffing, sweating like a pig, ancient ipod packed with uncool music (okay Tina Turner will ALWAYS be cool, the Captain and Tenille.... eh), running shorts uncomfortably bunched by thighs that are NOT toned and slender and a crazy dog darting in front/behind due to the slow pace won't cause anyone to drive up a tree.

It's worth it.  The sweat, the soreness, the commitment to doing it 5 times a week.  Even if I set small milestones (I can make it to the mail box... the third pine tree up ahead.... the curve in the road.... the light pole at the end of the drive...) towards the 5K goal.

I'll get there..... eventually.

Schooled

And you thought school started in the Fall?  No.  It has drifted, week by week, day by day, all the way back to August 1st!  Ah... back in the day we had the ENTIRE month of August to pedal our bikes around the block, run barefoot until our feet were coated in dust, dirt and bits of grass, drink lemonade and wear out our library cards (the ones they put used to manually put through the carbon copier when you checked out a book).  School didn't start until Labor Day weekend... September!  Those were the days kids.  The golden, halcyon days of a three month summer.

I may be repeating, "already??" in my head over and over, but it is indeed time to purchase new shoes, school clothes, paper pencils, erasers they will never use, pens they'll leave at home or school or both, hand sanitizer and boxes of tissue and new lunch boxes.

And... my wee boy, the one who really was starting kindergarten yesterday, I swear it, will be in the 6th Grade.  Rob took him shopping for new shoes last week and the child wears a 9.5!  In a man size!  His foot is bigger than Rob's by one full size.  Today we went for a check-up and he measured 5 feet 1 1/2 inches!  He needs a small shift from the men's section.  He's leaving boyhood behind, quickly.  And I'm not ready yet! 

When did he quit needing a hug before bed and outgrow bedtime stories?  He needs deodorant and a good face soap and he still can't remember to brush his teeth without a reminder (or 12).  And when on earth did I blink and not put it all together that we have been marching past milestones, never to be repeated, at light-speed?

 Middle school.  The age of puberty and teasing jerks and learning about girls.  I am trying to "keep calm and carry on" but on the inside?  I'm freaking out a little bit.


So tonight I am going to sit on the back porch with a glass of wine and watch the full moon and soak in the stillness and the last few hours before we start a new chapter... one I hope is tucked in the adventure category and not the horror section lived out by many a geeky, awkward tweenager!  Gulp!  Maybe Tower of Terror WAS a fitting open to our summer vacation?

Summer

Long days that begin with lazy sunrises and end with 8:30 p.m. sunsets.
The scent of sunscreen and chlorine in humid air.
The happy screams and splashes and calls of "Marco!  Polo!" from kids in the pool.
The white flakes of a peeling sunburn.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity!"  (Really.  It's both)! and "Is it hot enough for ya?"
Star gazing on the back porch with a glass of wine (Ursa Major, Hercules, Lyra).
Line-dried towels and pillow cases and sheets.
The rumble of thunder in the afternoon and the flashes of cloud-to-cloud lightening... a free fireworks show.
The whine of mosquitos and the hum of cicadas at twilight.
Ice cream and popsicles and frosty drinks.
Fresh garden offerings:  Blueberries, peaches, watermelon, okra, tomatoes, squash and cucumbers.
Freshly cut grass and the stinging bite of fire ants on bare feet.
The icy blast of air conditioning vents, flipping the pillow to the cool side and the lullaby of ceiling fans.
Sweating at 6 a.m. and 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. . . .
In the summertime.

We Were Riding, Riding in My Car (but Not Fast)

I confess I've given serious thought to how much it would cost to install one of those privacy screens that seem to come standard on limousines.  Or all the limousines in the movies anyway.   It would be especially wonderful for the 300 mile trip to Orlando and Disney World, the happiest place on EARTH!  Can you see Rob's happy face in your mind?  Yes.  That is sarcasm.  Rob isn't going to be happy because Walt Disney decided he should be.  He really isn't going to be happy while Disney is telling him to be happy and plucking money from his wallet.

The silence would be greatly preferred to the constant squabbling, poking and complaining that emanates from the rear passenger seats, it would also mean missing out on some pretty interesting, sometimes baffling, conversations that take place on the way to here, there and everywhere.   And I wouldn't channel my mother so often with the words:  "Don't make me pull this car over!" and "Don't make me reach back there!"  and "I WILL turn this car around RIGHT NOW!" Which should be yelled through clenched teeth for unintelligible yet effective conversation stopping capability.

I guess it's only fair to MY mother that I get paid back for some pretty terrible renditions of 99 Bottles of Milk on the Wall and "How much furrrrrrrrrrrrttttttttttttthhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr???????" pestering.

Recently overheard from the backseat:

"Such and such would be a great idea!"
"I thought that before you did."
"But I said it first."
"So.  Have you seen Jurassic Park?  Do you think it mattered who discovered the dinosaurs first or who said they discovered them first."
(Yeah.  Doesn't make sense to me either.)

"Mom.  When we get home I want to FaceTime with Imogen!"
"Abby, it's 3 a.m. in Queensland right now!"
"Oh.  So I can't FaceTime with Imogen when we get home?"

"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Interrupting cow."
"Interrupting c-"
"Moooooooooo!"

AND

"Mom.  Did Dad leave his CD in here?'
"Nope!" (technically it was IN the car, but it wasn't IN the CD player if you want to Bill Clinton the definition of the word here). 
"Great.  It's Mom's boring music again."  Why yes, yes it is.... if by boring they mean AWESOME!!