oh, hi. you're still here?

Has it already been a week? Oops. I've been trying so hard to think of my Freedays Tuesdays as RememberThatBlogYouUsedToWritedays, but I think there are just too many syllables for that to ever really catch on. Not to mention all the ungainly capital letters in the middle of the word. But, it's either that or the ever-so-over-used hyphen to get my runallmywordstogether point across and I get confused when I have to hit that key up there with my pinkie finger instead of the one down there with my thumb. On the keyboard. Sicko.

Where was I? Oh, yes, Tuesdays. I'll blame my lack of posting last week on the fact that daycare was closed last week so the proprietress could go on vacation. I know. The NERVE. Not that you were really looking for an excuse or were really all that surprised that I hadn't thrown anything new your way in the first place. But it gives me the opportunity to whine about how I had to take care of my boy all by myself! All day! For a whole week in a row! And do stuff with him! Like talk to him! And fix him food instead of blogging! Whaaa! Anyways, what are you complaining about? I gave you back to back to back posts the week before.

It's not that I didn't get out there in the blogosphere. I read all of your posts and then I got all excited and all "I should totally post all about that hi-larry-us time when I took Aaron to Costco and he got all mad at me because I insisted that he ride in the cart and then he was screaming at me while I pretended not to hear him and to look for the milk and then he had to go potty but I wasn't completely sure that he really needed or if he was just using that because he knows that is the one thing I will stop whatever I am doing to take care of so I wound up taking him to the bathroom and he did actually have to go and I was so glad that I had listened to him and I realized that he's a pretty good kid until he refused to leave the door alone while I was peeing and then I was frustrated with him again and didn't feel like letting him play with the hand dryer and that pissed him off so we had to go back out of the bathroom with him screaming and then I couldn't remember where I had parked the cart and was just about to scream "eff it" at the top of my lungs but then I found it and when we got to the checkout line the guy actually asked me how my day was going and I just gestured at my wailing brat and glared at him but then I felt bad so I forced myself to make small talk with him and he was actually quite funny which put me in enough better mood to jokingly ask the lady at the exit if I could just leave Aaron with her and she did that thing where you raise your eyebrows and look all shocked and pretend yourself into believing that you would never EVER talk that way about an innocent child, especially when the little angel was so obviously upset which pissed me off and then I took it out on the sweet little old lady who put her effing blinker on for my spot before I even got the damn thing unlocked by u-n-l-o-a-d-i-n-g e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g o-n-e p-i-e-c-e a-t a t-i-m-e and then walking the cart back to the cart holding area before I strapped my screaming hellion into his seat and headed back home the end." I never read that book about all the things that you shouldn't post on your blog, but I'm guessing that reading that kind of drivel day in and day out would drive the limited readership that I have into deep hiding if not therapy. My filter says "You're welcome."

Meanwhile, my life is filled with very unbloggy things. Summer is upon us (finally), so we have joined the thronging minions at the local pool for the ritualistic "throw your young children into highly treated water and trust that the preening teenagers will react before they reach the bottom" swimming lessons. Aaron loves the water. Aaron loves his coach. Aaron loves his classmates. Aaron loves splashing water on his coach and his classmates. The floating and kicking and flailing his arms in any kind of regular order is not so much his thing. Unless said floating and kicking and flailing results in his coach or classmates getting splashed. Every day we talk about being a "good listener" and "following instructions" and "waiting turns" on the way to lessons. We talk about good alternatives to splashing and spraying others while he waits for his turn. We talk about being kind and respectful and responsible and imaginative. He gets it, he really does. He sang his "ABCD's" no less than 6 times today, hanging onto the side of the pool, changing things up with the occasional "bob" or spurt of bubble blowing. And then there were still 10 minutes of class left to go, so he let go of the side of the pool just to see what would happen. He has no fear. No common sense, but no fear. I'm trying really hard to keep focused on the positives.

So he's in the pool MTWTh, 30 minutes each morning, for two weeks. Friday mornings he goes to gymnastics. We'll take the following two weeks off while Josh is in Ecuador. Did I tell you that Josh is going to Ecuador? No? Oh. Josh is going to Ecuador. To climb some mountains. Because they are there. We are going to sit home, pining for him for exactly 4 days and then we are going to go to the mountains ourselves. Somewhere in this vicinity. I have directions, I just haven't really looked at them. We are going to a cabin in the woods with sticks and rocks and a creek to throw sticks and rocks into and probably no internet service and maybe no cell phone service and possibly no cable tv. We are going to live on crap cereal in tiny boxes, PBJ's, and frozen pizza. Up with the sun (unless the trees block it), to bed when the crickets start chirping. Naps will be mandatory. If you can follow these rules, you can come, too.

We're signed up for two more sessions of swimming after we get back and expect Josh to come back sometime around then. I am trying not to think of all the possible ways he could come back, trying to stifle the sudden panic that strikes when I realize that I don't know how he pays the Comcast bill. It's silly, really, these roles we've fallen into -- he is no more equipped for the task of bill paying than I am, yet he does and I don't. Unless there is a check to be written. The ancient art of check writing is mine alone. We will take the next week-and-a-halfish to put our limited affairs in order, to transfer usage of our PA account to our CA account so that I don't run out of checks. Life insurance is paid up but no matter as climbingagoddamnedmountain is considered a high risk activity. Still, I want him to go. Selfishly, it means one less soul for me to nurture, one less account of the day to catch up on over dinner. Selflessly, it means two less souls for him to nurture, two less accounts of the day to catch up on when he gets home from work. We both need the break, some time alone to spend some alone time with our respective selves. Some time alone to refresh our desire for some time together. Some space to grow independently in order to catch up with our recent shared growth. Oddly enough, it is just when we are at a place where our relationship has never been better that we are both yearning to be apart. Maybe that isn't so odd. Maybe it is the stability, the confidence of knowing where we are headed together that gives us the courage to strike out on our own. Ha! Who needs therapy now?

Why are you still looking at me? That's all you're going to get for now. Unless you're looking for details on how I'm going to squish daycare, swim lessons, back to daycare, and a dental appointment into the time before nap. Then again, if I can't get that figured out, I might decide to stay up and make cookies. You're always welcome to lick the bowl. And then we can paint our toenails and play truth or dare except we're much too old for the dare part, so it will really just be more of us sharing our most heartfelt secrets until 11 we can't stay awake anymore and then we'll stumble up the stairs to wash our faces and brush our teeth and floss because damn if I don't know how to party.


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2 comments:

Curiosity said...

I wouldn't worry about it.

I am planning to have leftover stir-fry and a pear for lunch today.

Might be my best blog post yet.

susan said...

Curiosity - I'll be right over to share. I can bring a half of a ham-n-cheese sandwich, a handful of strawberries and a baggie of pretzels. Do pretzels go with stir-fry?