Wormhole

The older my chidlren get the harder it is to believe in the construct of time.

They are doing things I did yesterday.  Like losing their teeth and writing notes to the Tooth Fairy:

Wrestling each other until someone gets rug burn or steps on someone else's throat.

It was a week ago, Eric and I were racing just for racing's sake across a blacktop to an undefined yellow pole over the horizon.

And practicing good sportsmanship because, like Abby's brother, mine runs like a cheetah also smokes me every time.

Wasn't it yesterday, I was following my cheetah anywhere on the globe.  Believing he would protect us both because there is nobody braver than a cheetah with a trusting cub behind it.

Kathleen, Lindsay, Lisa, April and  I just spent a summer digging out the bubbles from the bottom of a rusting toy chest in my garage.  Right next to the folding spaghetti string lawn chairs.   And a slippery bottle of tanning oil.

Because when Operation was finished, Feely Meely was over, and Kroft Superstars got boring, bubbles are always the best show in town.

Especially when the audience is captive and ever smiling.

I can still hear my own mom reminding me with her serious voice to get my Face.Away.From.The.Dog.

(I never did either.)

No way was it decades ago that we left all the caps off our paints because we weren't sure we were finished painting yet.  No way was it 35 years ago.  Impossible.

There is a wormhole in my house, letting time pour in from years ago.

My kids are mine and I'm pretending to be their mom but really?

I'm this little girl  playing with curlers in her hair and a camera in her hand.

Wondering...

If growing up is just something they say. 

Not something we do.

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

Moose Eggs

Growing up my uncle made us scrambled cheese with eggs. So much more cheese than egg that we knew the Food Police would surely cuff him to Jane Fonda and make him do thirty laps around our Slip N Slide.

It was liberating to eat so much gooey cheese for breakfast that we needed an equally unlawful name for such an infraction.

We called them Moose Eggs.  Figured nobody would go around eating the egg of a moose so what could be naughtier? 

Now, twenty okay whatever thirty years later (when we have time and coffee) I make them for my kids.

And it brings me right back to that eraser pink rotary dial telephone and teacup wallpaper in our 60s kitchen so many years ago.

In honor of great memories, I give you.....Morning Moose Eggs (Click here.)