3:47pm

Home from morning
filled with new friends
a water slide
homemade smoothies
the color of malted honey. 

Nobody wants for anything because there is this humming of my children.

And for a while I glide
into a slippery sleep
where legs feel weightless
while gods blow on ankles with hints
of where we're going next.

I am not the leader here -

Off we go toward stars of blues
that dot the highest trees
promising
to taste like minted lime
if only I would try.
And oh, this view
of zebra feathers stealing time
between a lightly purpled maze
of Queen Anne's lace,
it's just so pretty here.

 

My hair is long in wispy trails like an anime named Hannah.
This isn't me but I don't care because
someone else
plays with this hair
and oh God please let me stay for dinner.

 

I know we've got more worlds to see
To be, to try hard not to need

But then,

"Mommy, can I watch my show?"
"Mommy, is it time to go?"
"And what about this salamander?"

I skid and bump toward tacks and spines
feathers gone now, only rinds
and just in time
A dimpled sky goes dancing.
Cinnamon trees bend their knees
While sticky frogs whiten up their green
in ponds of pillows overflowing.

I can't stay long, I tell him how
I want I feel I cry I bow
but now my feet are that of clay,
it's time
to be the leader.

Domesticia

Andy and I have been two ships passing in the kitchen for a few weeks now.

I have tried to take on all of the pre-move sorting, house keeping, children raising, school volunteering, dog walking, general Domesticia (sounds so much more importante when in bad Italiano) when he is under the proverbial gun at school.  Problem is, he has remained under the proverbial gun at school since school started ten months ago. His load never lightens, my responsibilities at home never lessen, and the folded laundry never reaches its final destination.   

Graduation is fast approaching so this too, shall end but in the meantime...

To help out with his stress of school deadlines (week long research papers coupled with ridiculous amounts of required reading, etc.) I've tried to give the man some space in his garage.

In turn, I had no idea we were selling his road bike and our trailer.  But yesterday two different men drove up in our driveway, exchanged folded bills for handshakes with Andy, and business was done.  Transaction complete while I blinked the glint of confusion out of my eyes.

Look out Kingpin.  There's a new Craigslister in town.

I went on to make Beef Bolognaise (ground chicken goulash with orzo), helped Abby create her Shabbat table (complete with costumes, kiddish cup, challah scarf) and fielded phone calls/texts related to our move.  Overall, dinner turned out to be surprisingly fun.

 

 

 (I am getting a lesson about proper Shabbat blessings here.  Even though Google says yes, Abby says no.)

I don't know about your house but dinner is usually the time our family has a collective hypoglycemic crash and civil unrest is so close you can see gunsmoke rise from Abby's cranium.  But not last night;  Grayson ate excuses and drank water but overall, dinner was fun.   

After climbing into bed,
I snuggled with my pillow.  "Huh.  There's no pillowcase on my pillow."

"It's on there, must be backwards," says my barely audible husband.  I check.  Still no pillowcase despite further scrutiny.  "Nope, not on there." I peep.

"I played three hours of baseball with Grayson, sold two of our biggest moneymakers, and made three beds by myself so we could sleep on sheets instead of a mattress cover.  I missed one pillowcase.  One.  Pillowcase."  His words bang on my Domesticia guilt like a soft drum.

"And you found it." *cymbals*

Birthdays, Reunions & Break-Ins

Grab your slippers and a bookmark, this one's a doozy.

We had a weekend built around Caped Crusaders.

 

Although today is Grayson's official 6th birthday, we celebrated it on Saturday afternoon.

 (Those are Tshirt capes.  I made them!  They all seemed to like them except Grayson.  He didn't wear his for one minute.  Stupid Mom with her stupidPinterest.)

 

 Once the moonbounce was set up and the tables decorated, we had two well coiffed solicitors mosey up the driveway to try to sell me magazines and children's bibles.

 

These men were trying to pass themselves off as high school boys working hard to make money for college.  Between their poorly covered up neck tattoos and their slick (well rehearsed) talking, I knew right away they were not as interested in selling Highlights as they were surveying our living situation and the contents of our garage.

One of the men knelt down to talk to Abby and Sparrow.  Sparrow growled.  I let her.

"Be careful, we just got her.  She's unpredictable," my instincts warned..

Handsome solicitor continued to try winning over Sparrow as his eyes darted from her to Andy's mountain bike.  Second stranger smiled brightly while keeping his shoulders pointed toward the street.  Both men gave away their day jobs with every fiber of their body language. I respectfully declined their advances by letting them know we are a military family (guns in the house, go away now before I go get one) who does not take kindly to strangers (sick him, Sparrow).

They scampered down the driveway without much fuss and wished my superhero a Happy Birthday.

The day went on beautifully as seven of Grayson's buddies sweat themselves silly before pounding the tar out of a Batman pinata.

 (Strategically located.  Just kidding.  We moved Batman.)

We ate hot pizza,

 

delicious superhero cake (compliments of my sis-in-law, isn't it awesome?),

 

and enjoyed a most excellent time with our friends.

 

Old friends and new friends. 

 (Sweaty haired me with Baby D and his supermodel mama.)

 

 (This is the same baby D I helped fake doula into the world a few weeks ago.  Weeks old and smiling already.  Isn't he moon beams?)

The night came upon me quickly.  My 20th high school reunion was happening in a couple of hours.  I had successfully dodged the actual event but happily accepted an invitation to have a pre-reunion dinner with some friends I haven't seen since graduation day back in 1874.

One problem.  I just threw a birthday party.  Going out anywhere, much less trying to look nice meant a miracle needed to take place to transform my Frantic-mom-ragdoll-hair look to Of-course-I-always-wear-this-push-up-bra evening look.

I needed a shower, smelling salts, and some Spanx.

Alas, I only had mere 30 minutes to pull my sh*t together and get myself out of the door and into a Bethesda parking garage.  In Andy's truck because mine (along with my GPS!) was in the shop.  So there I was without a GPS, scribbled directions on a Post-It note in one hand and handling the very same truck I once reversed onto a fire hydrant in the other.  A recipe for success if ever there was one.  At least I had on something understated and safe.

 

Understated as a disco ball.

Believe it or not, I only needed to circle East-West Highway twice before finding a garage.  For free, no less, score!

 (FYI:  Alvin the Chipmunk pumping a fist is never a cute look.)

I found one friend sitting with her husband and sat down gawkwardly across from them.  Within seconds I shed my coat and far too many intimate details of my life. Panicky oversharing:  it's a gift.

Friend One sweetly helped me calm the freak down by handing over a menu while the rest of our party showed up.

First K, then R, then M!  I could practically see the years flash before my eyes as we scrambled for each other and hugged tightly singing and humming how good it was to "...finally see you again."

I'm pretty sure I even cupped R and M's face in my hand like I was their great Aunt Matilde so proud of the beautiful ladies they have become.

But I am.  So very proud of the beautiful ladies they have become.  Each one is gorgeous, wip-smart, and hugely successful in their own right.

I was the only SAHM in the bunch and it made me both embarrassed and exotic.  Some ladies who work full time outside of the home looked at me longingly while others gave me that sideways eyeball, waiting for me to order a barrel of wine instead of only one glass. 

I ordered only one glass.

Conversation flowed easily and criss-crossed over a table of nachos, uneaten salads, and empty glasses.

As I was beginning to slip out of my shoes and really dig in to the night, L and S strolled through the door....SURPRISE!  I didn't know they were coming!  Joyous rapture, more childhood treasures dating as far back as Kindergarten.  We knew each other before training bras and JAM shorts.

Yes, I cried softly to myself and took a thousand million mental pictures of each of their faces:  M's soft waves around a palette of those gorgeous freckles I've missed so much over the years.  L's pretty smile and warm giggles that made me want to hyperspace back in time to when we would play together in her backyard making mud pies while our mothers sang country tunes in her kitchen.  There was S's silky black hair and her same kind, calm presence dating back to our monkey bar days .  K's quick sense of humor unmatched by boyfriends, husbands or BFFs.  R's sparkling eyes that show me she still loves me after all these years too.  We were all inside jokes and choke-y tears.

It could not have been a better mini reunion.

I felt so overwhelmed with gratitude and love for these girls women that at two points in the evening I had to talk myself out of passing out right onto the table.  As in vertigo, body tingles, and tunnel vision.  Maybe my one glass of wine should've been preceded by two glasses of water.

When it was time for my dear friends to walk to their main event, I felt heavy in the chest.  Why didn't I just buy the darn reunion ticket in time?  Why not spend even more time with these people I never get to see?  What about the other dear friends just around the corner?  What about more wine?

But my truth keeps me grounded.  I am no good in crowds.  Anxieties win every time and turn conversation into a staccato exchange of useless small talk.

I got what I came for.  Here, at this dark bar in Bethesda and its undercooked potato skins, I had the chance of a lifetime to hold several meaningful conversations with solidly awesome people of my past.  And it was good.  It was exactly what I had hoped for. 

Unwilling to let go without a scene, I held my arms wide and tortured each one (and their patient spouses) with yet another girl hug.  A goodbye hug.  An I love you hug.  A Please Know This Night Has Meant the World to Me hug.

Then I walked back to the Bethesda parking garage alone and filled with tears that wouldn't dare fall and ruin such a perfectly spectacular evening.

****************
(Bookmark goes here, come back after you check FB.)

The next morning Andy and I walked our dogs and our kids (in that order) around our neighborhood.  We saw three police officers parked in front of a neighbor's house.

Never a good sign.

One officer came over to us to let us know there had been a house break-in and the thieves got away with lots of things.

"Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?" the officer asked.

No we told him in new concern and fresh worry.

Then I remembered the handsome strangers from right before Grayson's party.  Could it have been them?  Is that why typically quiet Sparrow got snarly?

After hearing from a few neighbors, I think it is quite likely it was them.  They were definitely running a scam and up to no good.

I'm so very thankful for Sparrow who growled at them the second she could.

And I'm so very thankful I had the foresight to let her.

 After a weekend like this one?  Pass that barrel of wine, please.

The Brady Bunch

My husband and I shared a bed last night.  Not in the biblical sense, this is a family blog and those are things of which we don't speak.

Andy has been sleeping on the couch downstairs for weeks now.

Remember when I was all, "I LOVE the new school hours, he's always HOME!" and so on?  Well, once again, I am dumb.

It's graduate school.  It's military graduate school.  It's an intense one year military graduate school.  It's like he has another family.  Hidden in the library.  Waiting for him in the conference room.  Bringing him coffee at Barnes & Noble.

Oh this new family isn't only getting the best of him.  They are also getting the most of him.  They even get him every weekend.  I bet the new wife is a really good cook and an excellent...accountant. 

I fought off the single parenting idea but it's part of sharing your man.  Before I accepted it, I spun my wheels in resentment, disillusionment, and the kind of tired that brings dreams of moving in with the retired couple next door. Who are in their 80s.  And recovering from knee surgery.  Probably not great candidates for floor puzzles and Hair Salon.

We do win him back for one thing, though.  Regardless of her penchant for cinnamon buns and pumpkin spice latte, they don't get him for dinner.  He sits down with us for at least 30 minutes to eat, hang out, wash a few dishes, and then balefully kiss us goodbye as he heads downstairs to be with them until 1 on the morning.  That hussy accountant and her silent offspring, I bet she even lets him watch Bill O'Reilly in bed with her.

Hmph.  I think I'll make him steak and potatoes for dinner tonight.  A little something to remember us by.

Fast Car

This weekend was a blur.

This whole year has been a blur.

Last night I asked Andy if his head feels cloudy too.  He said it did.  I asked him what he thought it was.  He said it was fatigue, burn-out, work, children, but not marriage.

(Smart husband.)

It got me thinking and wondering how long we can exist at this break-neck speed?  Will things ever clear up if they don't slow down?  Life has become pedal down, radio blaring, HOV all the way.

Yours too?  What do you do to bring it down to 25?

I'm desperately stomping the brakes in hopes of enjoying the scenery between lane changes.  That isn't happening;  I get used to the left lane.

You got a fast car,
And I want a ticket to go anywhere
 
Hopefully this year with both kids in school, time will stop pushing us over the speed limit, my comfort zone.

Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere

Or we will figure out a few shortcuts and detours to bring us back to a small town, shorter streets with stop signs at every other intersection.
 
Because this way is making me dizzy.  I can't even tell if the Chrysanthemums have bloomed.  Have they?

I'm a Volkswagon Bug, not a glossy Beemer.  Andy's a Beemer though and for that I can be grateful.

You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so we can fly away

Hopefully that means he can throw a hitch on my bumper and tow me right into the next town until we can stop again for coffee for our next leg of this blurry trip.

We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way





*Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Bird Feeders

What began as a keep-the-kids-from-self-destruction-while-I-cook-dinner activity turned out to be pretty cool.


The kids chose materials thoughtfully and according to what they felt the birds would like.

Grayson's birds must be of northern descent (notice the snowflakes) and have allergies (yep, that's a tissue.)

 

Abby's are more a southern breed with an appreciation for Easter pastel and googly eyes.

Both are creations almost ready to occupy our backyard as soon as I brave up and cut feeder holes into the plastic.

Or maybe I can jam some Christmas lights in there and call it shabby chic.
We're down with the shabby,

still working on the chic.