Long Enough

We traveled to Boston Took planes and trains and automobiles

Dragging Disney princesses

on rolling suitcases

behind us.

Ariel got her chance to

stroll along down a --

what's that word again?

Airport concourse.

We could only stay in Boston

for four minutes.

Four minutes was long enough to

see our two friends become one

Long enough to get our glasses readjusted

(dorks)

Long enough to swallow the

unmistakable

New England October air

and to look up at the mirror ceiling

of the hotel where

a young man asked my father

on the same weekend

seven years ago

if he could put up with

my motion sickness and

broken eyeglasses for a lifetime.

Seven years later,

my husband twirled me on the dancefloor

to Michael Buble

our flower girl daughter pouting

our angel son sleeping in the lap of Uncle Greg.

Later we would consider

passing by

our Boston real estate

where we brought home two

babies brand-new,

real estate now occupied by

some unsavories.

But then I thought how

I didn't want to spend

these four minutes in Boston

looking back

casting our life there

as some man that I had loved

but knew I could never marry.

I've had my fun/ But baby I'm done I wanna go home

*** Our host, sweet Maggie

...and her baby sister Louise (not pictured: Louise's twin bro Calvin)

FamiLee

Flower Gal waiting

Tater waiting

Jeff waiting

Lo! The flower gals arriveth

Lo! Eunis arriveth

 

Hard out here for a flower girl

Mercy. I miss Newbury St.

Kicking off her shoes for dancemania

Eunis + Jeff = 4 eva

Rocktober!

There is a smoking hot man in my bed just waiting for me. And he is waiting for me to finish posting all of my show n' tell from our superuberphun time last night.  And by our fun time, I mean the field trip I had with the kids, natch.

Once I do that, I will hop in that sack and do what I do every night.

Which is to ask my lover, Who is that on the cover of that magazine for lawyers this month? Franco who? Wait, that's his last name!?

And then Loverpants will do what he does every night which is to keep the light on for way too long reading articles in that magazine for lawyers--wait, what? Esquire is not just for lawyers?

(I was wondering why my psychotherapist lover was so interested in the litigious details of Franco person guy famous coverboy man.)

Anyway. Without further adieu.  I had SO MUCH FUN with my kids last night!! I woke up with a fierce hangover from the sheer fun of it all.  Loverpants had an all-night softball tournament (I know! He's so hard-core athletic, he's nocturnal!).

It was such a lovely and crisp Rocktober night.

My daughter then took a picture of me from a highly flattering angle in my Rocktober garb.

The kizzle and I mounted an outing to Good Dog where you can get any menu item in veggie form <3.

And afterward we hung with all the hoi polloi at Coolidge Park, fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine to see a balloon glow.  Ooooh!  Say it, balloon glow!  Doesn't it sound so psychadellic?

It was pretty amazing.  The colors, the lights, the people.

At first Baby Girl was two thumbs down on the chilly evening outing.  But then, the idea illumined her mind that all these people were gathered for a NIGHT PARTY! And then she was all banshee-dancey about it being a NIGHT PARTY! And she kept looking up at the moon and singing happy birthday to the moon and thanking that lunar globe for hosting the NIGHT PARTY!!!

Happy Rocktober, y'all.

Joy-filled Season

There is no denying that this has been one of the most joyful seasons in my parenting life. The fact that this has also been a season in which I have spent the least amount of time with my children is no coincidence. Make no mistake, I love spending time with my children, and I do spend plenty with them, despite this new regimen of classes and office hours and sprints back and forth to Mac Labs at 11 p.m. to set up technologies that will just make a liar out of me. But let me be honest: my children are smiling more and my Baby Girl has run through the Creation story in skit form and my Little Man has started spouting vocab words like woah, and I have had very little to do with all of this. Oh sure, I hired the outsourced care. I scoped out the school. I earn the scrilla that writes the checks. But I am very much the mama who rides in like a hero at the end of the day to hear all about the day's playground drama and what kind of cement mixer passed by our house. My capacity has been reduced. I am more than a freelancer, but less than a full-timer if we're really counting direct service hours in parentland. Of course my children are always on my mind, they are inextricably linked to my heavy heart. I enjoy their company more than I remember enjoying it and I attribute it to all the support I have right now in helping them to explore the world.

I am generally okay with it. The guilt does come in waves and sometimes, because I am in the South where mothers of small children with careers seem to be an anomaly, I feel sucked in and spit back out to shore by it all. I stand over my sleeping children, warm little pajama-clad marsupials breathing in all the peaceful molecules in our home and breathing out all the yawps of glee of the past day, and I think, Was I there enough for you today? Did I give you enough hugs and peanut butter today? Will you remember this day ten years from now as a day in which we put away the silverware together and talked about hot air balloons, or will you recall how I got all sorts of bent out of shape because you kept interrupting me reading a Mercer Mayer classic and FOR THE LOVE OF PEDRO CAN YOU PLEASE STOP SNARFING ON YOUR BROTHER'S SOCKS.

All of this enJOYment of my children comes in contrast, though. Had I not the privileged opportunity to stay home with them for months and sometimes whole years, I am not sure I would feel this way. Grateful doesn't even come close to expressing the hearty thanks I have to my husband for working all of those insane jobs (with the insane) to provide that opportunity for me, for us. The days of placating newborns through the witching hour, of wrangling toddlers who boycotted nap are a part of my past career, but the skills are transferable to my current position and the memories of the sweetness and the struggle inform all that I do now, all that I am now: Wife, mother, professor, hapless student of this joy-filled mess.

***

outdoor photo credits to Lovey Loverpants