staycation

staycation

all the kids

all the kids

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Quilt








I only made one pie this summer. It's like summer got on it's running shoes and dashed off leaving me with an empty plate and and apron on, yelling "hey where ya going?"

Nathan is 11 and off in the masses of kids at the Big School. In three days he's turned grumpy, insolent, dark, in fact he may be a vampire. And he hasn't seen any of those movies. Except when his friends are around, he's back to his light and airy self. When the friends go, apparently they take the Good Times, and we are left with the gravelly, angry parts. The bedtimes, the homework, the rules. I'm going to bargain with him to try and get back perhaps HALF of the Good Times, I may even takes the Friends to court to try and get custody rights. I'd take visitation.

Nathan is best in motion. On his bike, on his feet, moving or building something, he's his best self. He prefers to be engaged. Then he's talkative, happy. Perhaps we will start our own cooking show. Then we can eat afterwards, and we'll be busy together. I guess puberty is on its way, and growing hair on your body takes alot of the fun out of life. It's apparently exhausting. So I'm trying to be understanding, and supply alot of grilled cheese sandwiches and not yell so much.

Lilly got new grandparent pink shoes and she's hurtling toward preschool. Running so fast, it's good she got shoes with traction.

It was her first day this morning and she was so happy she could barely talk. We run up to school on the bike and I can barely make it I am not used to the bike ride - and then the school doors open and she is the first one in. Miss CeCe, the 12 year old teacher who taught Emma and Nathan says, "Come on in, Lilly!"

She got to make a cupcake (what a great first day, sugar by 9 a.m.), and then went to play in the pretend kitchen with a fat kid named Junebug (is the fat kid going to be our friend?) All the moms are fresh faced and 22 years old, except for one older mom who is so loud I'm doubting we'll be close. But still hoping. Maybe she's just nervous.

So then it comes time for me to leave, all the parents are leaving or have left. And there's this big empty space, where I am leaving and she is not. She's staying. Of course I start to secretly cry, because all of parenting is pain and saying goodbye, and making it okay for them to say goodbye, so they'll be strong and groovy grownups. But dammit, she's 4 and she's really really cute.

I go out to the waifish, stranded bike, my metal friend. We go home together, and riding a bike home from preschool is the best thing because you can cry and nobody cares and I pass Emma's school where she is inside and I think oh my god, all my kids are in institutions, but then I slowly stop crying because there are birds chirping, one really loud one, and the wind is blowing in my face, and I am a part of the world. And the world is lovely.

So I understand for a second my mom having trouble kicking out her alcoholic son. I understand that mothering is tough and terrible job, and if you're doing it right, you're crying alot of the time. Yesterday I was so happy thinking I'd be getting three hours to myself, to do all the things I want to do while Lilly is in school and then here it is and I don't want to do anything! I want to be frustrated and irritated, wrestling kids into carts at Costco and breaking up fights and yearning for Diet Coke. I'm really GOOD at that.

I guess it's all rolled into one, the riding the bike home from preschool, the wind, the wrestling, the crying, it's all fabric, and this is one gratifying and beautiful quilt we're making. This family.