Sunday, September 15, 2013

A Sunday in 2013

I will, I will, I will reclaim the habit of these moments.

I woke up today having slept ten hours but with an escalation of the cold I'd had since Wednesday.  The extra sleep was from the second and third grade girl sleepover I'd hosted Friday night.  They were awake until 12:30 and up again at 8am.

For my own mental and physical health (and maybe the health of others I might encounter), I stayed home while my family went to church.  Shower, yoga pants, no make-up, laundry, Irish tea, my seat next to the front window to begin my book club's October assignment, Brooklyn, a book I've had for years and nearly given away but then kept through premonition of this moment.

The family comes home and life escalates, as it should I guess.  My son's best friend was outside, and eventually the gaggle of neighborhood kids ended up in our yard and the back of our pick-up playing.  As I cooked a pot of spiced lentils with chickpeas and quinoa, I kept hearing chantings of "Ready? Steady? Go!" through our open windows.  There were a lot of ninja costumes outside.

 I heard crying at one point, a neighbor girl who was at the sleepover with a cut finger.  A fair amount of blood as I washed it, rinsed it, put antibiotic cream and a band-aid, redoing it once to situate the flap of skin in the right place as the big sister told her to be brave and squeeze her hand as hard as she needed.

My husband and I went on a solo trip to look at couches, since we've been living without one since the first of the summer.  We stopped by a cool liquor store on the way home and spent a little bit of money, then on to the grocery store together, a trip to buy food and booze with no children.  It felt a little like a date.

I made a very large pan of lasagna to keep in the fridge for later in the week as I talked on the phone with my dad who told me all about my sick uncle.  We talked a lot about family drama and how Southerners are better at community support than folks on the west coast.  When my father-in-law died last month, he and my sister sent two huge boxes of sweets from a favorite bakery with a heartfelt note attached explaining the significance.  The note made me cry and the family here gobbled the Southern-style cookies.

It eventually started to spit-rain but the kids remained outside on front and back porches which was handy since I'd moved on to cleaning.  As my kids came in, I reminded them that I'd asked them to help with nothing around the house and to "just remember that."  They put their laundry away and, on their own, swept and mopped the basement.

We sat at the dining room table, my son eating lentil stew and my daughter eating leftover breakfast oatmeal, reading the book Why Should I Help?, found at a library sale the day before by our pastor's daughter who was spending the day with us post-sleepover.  We took turns reading page by page, my son very proud to have read large chunks on his own.

We all unloaded the dishwasher together as my son ate huge bites of cold oatmeal from breakfast.  I made their lunches for tomorrow as I told my husband how much I loved this mug I saw on fb that said, "World's Okayest Mom." They got in pajamas and settled in to bed.  I poured a glass a my favorite savignon blanc, and my son only got out of bed twice to tell me that he couldn't sleep.  Now my gray cat Bang Bang is purring on my lap as I nibble sweet potato chips and finish my glass.  The dog Gus Gus growls behind me, curled in sleeping position but senses atuned to every dog walking past our house.  My husband watching Newsroom in the basement, kids well on their way to sleep. 

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