----(HEY!! my blog will not leave spaces between paragraphs, so I had to write lines in there to signify a break. It's ugly, but it gives you a breath)----
I sold two chickens today. One red one that didn't really have a buddy and lately had been standing by the water dish like, hey, nobody talks to me. And a buff colored one that was our youngest chicken who had A.D.D. and was sort of a spaz. Now they're living with someone named Diana in Long Beach who is a nightclub singer but who looks like she runs a gym and makes bratwurst.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That was at lunchtime. At ten a.m. I was in Emma's class helping decorate the cupcakes we made to celebrate the fact that they helped collect $598 dollars in coins for the school to buy books. I gave up my Maggie time to be in class for Emma because lately her best friend for 2 years has decided she likes Scarlett better and has started spending all her time talking to Scarlett and leaving Emma standing there by the water dish like hey, nobody talks to me. I have to work at being diplomatic in this situation, trying to listen to Emma as she's crying all the way home from school and asking why her friend doesn't want to talk to her anymore when all I can think is
I hate you Annabelle, I hate your people and I hate your grandpeople. In the meantime, I say a bunch of horrible things like "If she is walking away from you, she's missing out." "Remember you're still worth it." It's like lobbing a wobbly ball toward a tiny person, who stands there limply not catching any of them, because having a friendly friend go unfriendly is one of the most tragical things that can happen. I wanted to say "that's happened to me all the time, but I was always the person that left other people, I was never the loser, I don't know how you feel." But then I remember being the loser, lots of times. In fact, I think I still hold that title and I'm having t-shirts made. -----------------------
Maybe if we did have t-shirts made of our worst fears, the sting would go out of them. Like "Incredibly Boring," "Fairly Unsuccessful," "Can't Cook a F*#*ing Thing," "Farts in Libraries," and "Faking It."----------
As painful as it is, I do think Emma is learning a good thing. That people earn their way into your heart, and that it's a long and slow and sweet process. If the person decides to take off (and the way they decide to take off), that just shows who they are, and how they value you. Maybe their gold inside isn't as rich as your gold, and you have to see that, after crying a whole lot. And as my old dentist used to say, that just leaves room for something else to come along.-----------------
Then I taught a piano lesson to a kid who was vibrating off the bench because he ate two cupcakes and because he vibrates anyway because being 8 and a boy makes you need to climb things and whoop like an indian chief, not sit at boring pianos. -------------------
By dinnertime we were at Nathan's Open House at middle school, where he has a whole adult life apart from ours, where he's half apeman, half regular kid Nathan (the one I know), standing silently in the middle of a tornado and watching everything fly around him. Because everything's so interesting. Nathan is the guy on the other side of the echo, buried deep in the mountain, sitting in a lounge chair and when you yell up, he takes awhile to return your echo because he is so far away. I hope I learn how to let him grow the way he wants to grow. It's hard to know as a mom when to guide, when to step back, when to yell (wait, I have that down), when to stop being afraid. Trust.-----
As for Lilly, she's the valedictorian of her preschool. The other day we were cutting out letters from an old shirt to spell "Lakers" for Emma to make a Lakers shirt, and Lilly was at the corner of the table cutting out paper. When we finished our shirt, Lilly said "I wrote my name," and we turned around and by herself she had cut out "Lilly" in paper and arranged it on the table.
The only reason I didn't take her directly to Yale was thankfully, she had arranged them all backwards. That was the best part. Being 4. Being the last kid is so much better. You soak up all the intelligence of the older kids, you eat more candy and you get a later bedtime.------------
I feel like having three kids splits your apple into three pieces and you can't really give any of the pieces all your attention because you have to go make grilled cheese sandwiches for one of the other pieces. That's the saddest part, not having enough time. And I'm home with them, and that isn't enough time. Especially when I spend so much of the time trying to hide so I can read. --------------------
But I baked a hundred cupcakes. For the school. My life is like a stained glass window, all chipped colored glass that looks like a jumble up close but from far away it's art.
A hundred cupcakes in your car smells really good. Emma's going to be okay. Nathan's going to be okay. Lilly's going to be an astronaut. The chickens in Long Beach will visit the aquarium there. Barry and I will go to the movies again. This was only a Thursday.
You're also going to be making sandwiches until you die.