Southern Woman on the Skids

  Today is a transition day. That is what Rob and I have come to call the days when the kids come back home to us. Everyone's a little off and unsure. Either too polite or aloof. I read the things telling me all the contradictory ways we should be handling these moments. Telling us to give them extra attention, to let them alone, to make them their favorite meal, to just be normal. No matter how we slice it, it always just feels like a transition.  We have learned to just BE in their absence. To focus on each other and Welles. We try to rest and regroup. But the house is very quiet. Until it’s not.  Their energy is palpable when they return. I try to quell my urges to coddle them, and instead take the temperature of the room and just be here if needed.  But it is always a transition. They will be a little needy. They will test the new boundaries a bit. And then they will settle in, and just be home. 

  Today I woke up ready. Ever have those days? Where you know you won’t stop. So you actually never do. After I put the baby down for her nap, I started my laps. Pacing laps. Some days my nervous energy is too much so I write and pace around the den noting the grit under my feet more than usual. I could stop and sweep it all up but I prefer to just walk through it on days like today. Sort of like walking over glass, those crumbs are teaching me something. Right?  Today I have reason to pace. Another competition. I love the knots they bring. I savor how these writing challenges force me to laser focus on each word I have written. Todays is a special kind of torture. I post my book pitch on Twitter and if an agent or publisher likes it, I send it off to them. I can get rejected, or I can have hope and then get rejected. How could I say no? This goes from midnight to midnight. I have three chances to post my pitch.  Now, I pace. But maybe first I’ll just sweep up a bit.

  I have one of those late in life babies. I have a sixteen year old and a ten year old and then Weldon Leigh came along. Having a baby after such a long break, and so much life lived, is very eye opening. She is vastly more independent. This is probably because we set her down and take off. Days are spent shuttling kids and trying to stay on top of laundry and the faux flowers in the garden. So she is very content most days to sit and play, for at least a few moments, and watch us all go by. In the mornings when I am busy trying to keep up with my 365 days of writing, I plop her on the floor of her nursery while I sit by and write and watch. When left to her own devices it’s amazing what she gets up to. She scuttles around the room however she feels works best at the moment. Rolling scooting, dragging one leg and clawing the carpet. It all works. I watch her laugh at herself and she wobbles and scoots. Amazed at herself and how far she has come. She is fascinated by the strangest ...

  This summer we don’t have much planned. We are going to the mountains for a week. Then we are home. We have had enough adventures to last us a lifetime in the past few years so we are looking forward to slow mornings, and sprinklers to run through, and dinners outside while watching the lightning bugs come out. So why do I feel so guilty? My mom planned amazing two week trips for us; California, Boston, Europe, you name it. Don’t be confused. My kids have been all over. Their Mimi and Papa spoiled them with trips to Disney World and various other places when they could. But our lives are busy. And complicated. And expensive. When I was still up several times a night with the baby, and trying to plan some perfect summer trip, I had a realization. I realized that I didn’t have to plan biannual magical trips for my children. I couldn’t in fact. Some years we may decide that we need an escape. But some years we may need to be in our lives, with no escape. We may need to keep our feet...

  The garden is tended. The baby is napping. The weather is nice and the sun is out. Today Rob and I will… Oh hell no. I see you squirrel. Here I am minding my own business, enjoying the lovely morning and watching my sweet little bird friends have their snacks. And you and your fluffy little tail decide you want some too so there you go, shimmying up the little pole. Your cute little paws pulling the feeder toward you. Okay so that’s pretty cute actually. And that little bird is just snacking right there next to you. Maybe that’s your little friend. Maybe this little bird told you there was a house that had a little woodland creature buffet and that everyone could come and enjoy some treats. Okay. Well, don’t hog all the seed. I mean I suppose I could get you your own little feeder. What’s that little squirrel? A squirrel picnic table? Well, I mean yes I have seen those. Okay. I can do that. What now? Oh well thank you! I mean I think the wildflower patch is nice too. Okay Blue Ja...

  Yesterday I became aware that some of my lovely blooming meadow flowers were, in fact, weeds. I was telling my wildflowers good morning like all master gardeners do, when I saw several little sprouts that had been choked out by a certain yellow flower. Said yellow flower had been very successful in my lawn meadow. I thought it was due to my tending. I was wrong. I pulled one of the deceiving yellow non flowers out by the root. The little wildflower sprout, freed from the suffocating grasp of the yellow lie, grew a full inch. It even gasped an almost inaudible, “Thank youuu…” Clearly this story is mostly untrue. Except the part about the realization that my yard was becoming overtaken by a form of giant dandelion. They were lovely, but they were in fact killing my actual wildflowers. I’m sure that they have some benefits but they were stealing the spotlight from so many others, and had been for too long. So I spent most of yesterday in a muddy and vicious battle ripping apart my l...

  Rob is home for the summer. We went to sleep last night not long after the baby and today we woke up to a quiet house.  I was rushing about as usual and Rob stopped me. “Go write.” So this morning he is playing with Welles and giving her breakfast and singing her silly songs. And I’m writing and watching the birds.  Rob has been going nonstop for the past year. In three years he has become a father of three, a special education teacher, a husband, the sole breadwinner of our family and held me up while my mom began to disappear. He has chronic pain that we never hear about because he moves through life determined to do right by others, remain selfless and humble, and be the first to raise his hand when needed.  He works with kids that have no voice. They are the ones that are pushed aside by society for being different and complicated and misunderstood. He teaches with the most incredible and humble human beings I have ever met. And he more than fits in. He shines....