One of the greatest things about working part-time from home is the flexibility of my schedule. If the 5-year-old needs to sleep in one day, well gosh darn it, she can. I don't have to squeeze errands in on evenings or weekends. I can work out in the morning or afternoon.
The biggest challenge I find, however, is the lack of decent running options locally now that J is no longer in the stroller. [Note I have multiple friends who think it's no big deal to push one, or God help me, sometimes TWO kids who are above preschool ages in large jog strollers. For this and many other reasons they are better people than I am.] Sure the neighborhood is fine - 3.1 miles of fairly hilly and self-contained streets. But what if J doesn't feel like biking those hills? What if I want choices? I am easily bored and distracted, and need the constant challenge of something new to keep me motivated. I heave a melancholy sigh each time I read about the Rave Runs in Runner's World. I look back with longing for the days when I had access to miles of paved trails within walking distance from my old house.
The closest park with a run/walk trail is a good 20 minutes away, and though not inherently a logistical tragedy, its one-mile loop has a prohibitively steep hill for little girls just getting there sea-legs on two-wheel bikes. And it's not like I can leave her at the playground while I run - 1 mile is just to wide of a loop to keep her safely in view.
I know, I know. Enough already about my 99.9% perfect life. But, you see, I wake up each day with a fire inside, wondering when and how I can get a good run in. It's like there's a voice in the distance all day, asking, "Is it time yet? Feel your legs - they're ready. Feel your heart - it's ready. Go...go...go..." Everything I do, from schlepping to the store, to brushing a child's teeth, to writing project plans, is colored with the fact that it falls either before or after a workout. And more than a just chance to stay healthy, sweating is a release to me. It's a daily chance to feel OK, relaxed, at peace inside.
Thus today I was on a mission. Before lunch, J and I headed out to explore a park I recently noticed up on a hill, a mere 10 minutes from my house. There appeared to be a track, as evidenced by an oval fence, bleachers, and tall flood lights visible from the road. A track is perfect for interval training with a child in tow. I can plunk her in the middle, slather her with sunscreen, plop down some toys and water bottle, and keep my eye on her the whole way around. But CURSES - there was in fact no track - only unpaved athletic fields. A small pavilion and worn playground sat at the rear of the parking lot, with a small section of parking oriented perpendicular to the main lot. J scrambled with delight out of the back seat and up onto the grass, little brown arms and legs pumping hard to get her up to the playground. I stood quietly wondering how to turn this disappointing scenario into a decent workout.
The playground stood about 10 yards off the lot. To the north and east there were baseball diamonds, and a large soccer field where a lone practitioner kicked 3 balls the length of the field with no sense of urgency, slowly loping to the far side as he completed each round like a one-man, life sized game of gnip-gnop.
"MOMMY MOMMY, come play with me!"
"In a couple minutes...Mommy has to run...somehow," my voice trailed off at the end. Can I run the length of the soccer field without getting in this guy's way? Can we possibly leave and head to the nearby school where there is certainly a track? No - it's crowded with construction vehicles and equipment as they try to complete a new building before the new school year. And J will be so sad if she has to get off the jungle-gym. We just got here.
I turn and squint to the south, across the little parking lot down to the enormous fenced-in soccer fields. All gates appear to have padlocks on them. Now what? It's 30 minutes before J will start getting hungry, there are rain clouds on the western horizon, and we're at least 30 minutes from any other park. My eyes settled on the parking lot. I noted that its asphalt loop appeared to comprise about an eighth of a mile total. Oh well, I sigh, here goes nothing.
Six speed loops (each fast enough to make we want to vomit, but not so fast that I had to slow down) and seven jog loops later, I joined J on the playground. We climbed over rusty bridges. We attempted tic-tac-toe with the spinning plastic cubes where the x's and o's had long-since worn off. We pretended to be on a fishing boat. We explored branches and exposed roots under the parks mature trees. I explained what lichen is. She showed me piles of sand near the car.
As we hopped back in the car before the rain, the voice whispered, "You should do an easy 3 later at home, maybe while she bikes." I nod, organizing the other tasks to be accomplished today, all to be labeled 'after part of the workout.' At least it's better than nothing...
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
A day of 'yes'
Originally, today was supposed to be filled with a play date, some exercising for me, then a swim birthday party in the late afternoon. The play date got derailed for reasons not worth mentioning, so we spent most of the morning at home.
I lingered in front of the computer as I am wont to do, and found that a few work items bubbled up as I finished my coffee. J was impatient, ready for action based on her previous understanding of the day's schedule. At first she suggested starting a collection of things (sesame seeds from her bagels, a plan I scuttled with a silent frown). Then she piped up that she wanted to make a salad.
I knew immediately what point of reference she had for salad making. Last year she watched in amazement as one of the neighbor's kids 'made a salad' - the then-6-year-old harvested spring greens from the garden, brought them gingerly into the kitchen, drug a chair up to the sink so he could rinse them, and after setting them gently on paper towels to dry, he gathered them into a small plastic container so his mother could have them for her lunch. This independence was something J hasn't really attempted in the past, and you could tell just by looking at her she was thinking, "Wait - what? I can prepare food for someone ELSE?! Fascinating."
She now gazed at the mini, recently harvested bounty sitting by the sink - several pea pods, a handful of string beans, the odd strawberry. I sat quietly, stopping myself from shooing her into the other room to play with her toys rather than upending the kitchen. "Can I Mommy? Can I make you a salad?"
"Sure, sweetie. Do you want to get some parsley and basil from the garden too?"
"Yeah!!"
Let me tell you, she took that damn salad so seriously. Laying out the herb leaves just-so on the counter while she figured out where and what the colander is. Solving herself the issue of hands too little to comfortably snap beans by digging the safety scissors out of her craft bin. I could her her snipping away from the powder room. Proudly pronouncing that she was done and my salad would be chilling in the fridge for whenever I'm ready.
"Should we add some cherry tomatoes, Mommy?"
"Well, we'll want to slice those. It will get too soggy if we add them now. Let's wait til just before we serve it. What do you think?"
She nods sagely, quietly.
Later, she proclaims she wants to make a lemonade stand. After cleaning up the remnants of salad making, I roll my eyes, before stopping myself. I told her to make the signs while I researched the recipe. While she made the signs ("How do you spell...uh, st...st... S! T!...."), I admit I got distracted by an overwhelming need to clean the floor. By the time she finished, she had kind of worked the project out of her system without a drop of lemonade being produced. She disappeared upstairs to play with Bunny, humming happily to herself. I kept cleaning, humming happily to myself.
Watching the clock, knowing the afternoon schedule, I thought to make lunch a bit early while she played in the basement. Hesitating a moment, I grabbed some lemons from the fridge and the sugar bowl. The look on her face when I called her down to eat was priceless. She could not believe I had made lemonade*. We both agreed it was a little strong. And next time maybe I'll try some fresh OJ as a softer sweetener. The afternoon sailed on with more work, a tempo run, and finally, FINALLY, swimming with friends.
On the ride home, I uttered my first real 'no' of the day. After 2 slices of pizza, chips, carrots, MORE lemonade, fruit and an enormous slice of cake, no, you cannot have the Starbursts in your goodie bag. J got over it quickly, noting there was also A! Sticker! Book! in the goodie bag. My GOD the fun. The fact that there was an amazing sky outside helped too. She was introduced to the term 'Thunder Bumper', and we conjectured if the clouds piled miles high looked more like ice cream or whipped cream.
On an unrelated note (and please, if you are sensitive, avert your eyes for the following), we had an unusual occurance on returning home. J played with JBL in her usual frenetic, weeknight way as I checked emails. Throughout the famous 'Do This' game, I heard him exclaim at her, "Did you just gassie? Did you just gassie again?" Laughter ensued as it often does. More playing. A trip to the bathroom, and then back together on the sofa for a quick game of Uno before bed. I hear JBL then cry, "What is THAT? It...it smells like DOG POOP! And it's on your FOOT!"
Sure enough, she had 3 or 4 Milk Dud-sized turds on the bottom of her left foot. He scooped her up and carried her into first the powder room, and then, realizing what ultimately had to be done, the laundry room. All the while he interrogated her, trying to figure how in the hell we had been home for 45 minutes before these little nuggets were discovered. In the meantime, I scampered all over the house looking for telltale signs of fecal footprints, answering the barrage of questions. "Yes she had her shoes on when she came home! No, I didn't smell anything in the car!"
Amazingly, I found no evidence of poop anywhere. Nothing in the carpet, on the hardwoods, even in the bathroom where she had been, and miraculously, none on the pale yellow sofa. My conclusion - when farting some pooplets had escaped and fallen on the floor when she peed. How it got nowhere else, well, I have no idea. I have coined a term for the event: shitmata.
So, other than the shitmata, it was a lovely day and evening. I am proud that all my yesses contributed to what will hopefully add up to a day of happy summer memories.
*One glass of lemonade was comprised of the juice from one and one-half medium lemons, one tablespoon of sugar, about 4 ounces of water and lots of crushed ice. She drank half of it, and finished it before bed when all the ice had melted in the fridge. I think it was nearly perfect with the addition of the melted ice water.
I lingered in front of the computer as I am wont to do, and found that a few work items bubbled up as I finished my coffee. J was impatient, ready for action based on her previous understanding of the day's schedule. At first she suggested starting a collection of things (sesame seeds from her bagels, a plan I scuttled with a silent frown). Then she piped up that she wanted to make a salad.
I knew immediately what point of reference she had for salad making. Last year she watched in amazement as one of the neighbor's kids 'made a salad' - the then-6-year-old harvested spring greens from the garden, brought them gingerly into the kitchen, drug a chair up to the sink so he could rinse them, and after setting them gently on paper towels to dry, he gathered them into a small plastic container so his mother could have them for her lunch. This independence was something J hasn't really attempted in the past, and you could tell just by looking at her she was thinking, "Wait - what? I can prepare food for someone ELSE?! Fascinating."
She now gazed at the mini, recently harvested bounty sitting by the sink - several pea pods, a handful of string beans, the odd strawberry. I sat quietly, stopping myself from shooing her into the other room to play with her toys rather than upending the kitchen. "Can I Mommy? Can I make you a salad?"
"Sure, sweetie. Do you want to get some parsley and basil from the garden too?"
"Yeah!!"
Let me tell you, she took that damn salad so seriously. Laying out the herb leaves just-so on the counter while she figured out where and what the colander is. Solving herself the issue of hands too little to comfortably snap beans by digging the safety scissors out of her craft bin. I could her her snipping away from the powder room. Proudly pronouncing that she was done and my salad would be chilling in the fridge for whenever I'm ready.
"Should we add some cherry tomatoes, Mommy?"
"Well, we'll want to slice those. It will get too soggy if we add them now. Let's wait til just before we serve it. What do you think?"
She nods sagely, quietly.
Later, she proclaims she wants to make a lemonade stand. After cleaning up the remnants of salad making, I roll my eyes, before stopping myself. I told her to make the signs while I researched the recipe. While she made the signs ("How do you spell...uh, st...st... S! T!...."), I admit I got distracted by an overwhelming need to clean the floor. By the time she finished, she had kind of worked the project out of her system without a drop of lemonade being produced. She disappeared upstairs to play with Bunny, humming happily to herself. I kept cleaning, humming happily to myself.
Watching the clock, knowing the afternoon schedule, I thought to make lunch a bit early while she played in the basement. Hesitating a moment, I grabbed some lemons from the fridge and the sugar bowl. The look on her face when I called her down to eat was priceless. She could not believe I had made lemonade*. We both agreed it was a little strong. And next time maybe I'll try some fresh OJ as a softer sweetener. The afternoon sailed on with more work, a tempo run, and finally, FINALLY, swimming with friends.
On the ride home, I uttered my first real 'no' of the day. After 2 slices of pizza, chips, carrots, MORE lemonade, fruit and an enormous slice of cake, no, you cannot have the Starbursts in your goodie bag. J got over it quickly, noting there was also A! Sticker! Book! in the goodie bag. My GOD the fun. The fact that there was an amazing sky outside helped too. She was introduced to the term 'Thunder Bumper', and we conjectured if the clouds piled miles high looked more like ice cream or whipped cream.
On an unrelated note (and please, if you are sensitive, avert your eyes for the following), we had an unusual occurance on returning home. J played with JBL in her usual frenetic, weeknight way as I checked emails. Throughout the famous 'Do This' game, I heard him exclaim at her, "Did you just gassie? Did you just gassie again?" Laughter ensued as it often does. More playing. A trip to the bathroom, and then back together on the sofa for a quick game of Uno before bed. I hear JBL then cry, "What is THAT? It...it smells like DOG POOP! And it's on your FOOT!"
Sure enough, she had 3 or 4 Milk Dud-sized turds on the bottom of her left foot. He scooped her up and carried her into first the powder room, and then, realizing what ultimately had to be done, the laundry room. All the while he interrogated her, trying to figure how in the hell we had been home for 45 minutes before these little nuggets were discovered. In the meantime, I scampered all over the house looking for telltale signs of fecal footprints, answering the barrage of questions. "Yes she had her shoes on when she came home! No, I didn't smell anything in the car!"
Amazingly, I found no evidence of poop anywhere. Nothing in the carpet, on the hardwoods, even in the bathroom where she had been, and miraculously, none on the pale yellow sofa. My conclusion - when farting some pooplets had escaped and fallen on the floor when she peed. How it got nowhere else, well, I have no idea. I have coined a term for the event: shitmata.
So, other than the shitmata, it was a lovely day and evening. I am proud that all my yesses contributed to what will hopefully add up to a day of happy summer memories.
*One glass of lemonade was comprised of the juice from one and one-half medium lemons, one tablespoon of sugar, about 4 ounces of water and lots of crushed ice. She drank half of it, and finished it before bed when all the ice had melted in the fridge. I think it was nearly perfect with the addition of the melted ice water.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I'll never call it 'dumb' again
I'm sitting here after lunch and a conference call, thinking yet again about how I am smack dab in the middle of the bell curve for many marketing areas right now. How irritating. Aren't I special, unlike every other almost-middle-aged mom out there? No, not at all.
I find my car is fairly common when I scan for it in the grocery parking lot. I look forward to 'GNOs' as much as the next working-from-home mother, cornering and close-talking to anyone with a pulse after a glass or two of chardonnay. I have a sensible haircut that causes me incredible stress to finance a couple times a year. I have lots of capris and t-shirts. I feel guilty when I don't organize play dates enough. I spend too much time worrying about how clean my house is. I get poison ivy after gardening in my yard. And I know ALL the pop songs from the 70's and 80's (and the 90's too, but they're not on commercials or in many movies yet).
Don't you get sick of being pegged like this? Or this? Maybe that's why the grocery store music gets under my skin. The fact that I know all these songs makes me feel common. If I wasn't there, someone else would be humming along with something terrible, something that no one ever wants to hear again while eyeing the avacados. In this way, I am one of millions, and it would be meaningless on many levels if I weren't making my meager contribution to society. I mean, really, what has changed all that much since the time of Betty Draper?
But wait. I chose this - to be where I am right now, and it is exactly what I want to be doing, after getting to do the whole career/MBA/buying my own damn house and car thing in my twenties. And not every woman can say that. Maybe I am unique in some ways, and maybe not. But I can tell you that at The Dumb Food Lion last weekend I was the only woman in workout clothes, hair back in a pony tail, rushing around to get home quickly because my husband had some stuff to do and didn't want to be on kid duty too long, but singing every effing word to this - my MAN! (I bet Ryan is pissed that one of his songs was chosen to be played at a sub-par grocery in EBF, Maryland, right after 'I Want a New Drug' by Huey Lewis and the News.) And underneath it all, lots of other seemingly black-and-white people are techinicolor, getting back in there mini-vans or sitting at a desk job, singing along with who-knows what that I haven't even heard of, going home to happy lives that are much more than common.
If you're one of those people, let me know next time you get a good babysitter. We'll go out for chardonnay.
I find my car is fairly common when I scan for it in the grocery parking lot. I look forward to 'GNOs' as much as the next working-from-home mother, cornering and close-talking to anyone with a pulse after a glass or two of chardonnay. I have a sensible haircut that causes me incredible stress to finance a couple times a year. I have lots of capris and t-shirts. I feel guilty when I don't organize play dates enough. I spend too much time worrying about how clean my house is. I get poison ivy after gardening in my yard. And I know ALL the pop songs from the 70's and 80's (and the 90's too, but they're not on commercials or in many movies yet).
Don't you get sick of being pegged like this? Or this? Maybe that's why the grocery store music gets under my skin. The fact that I know all these songs makes me feel common. If I wasn't there, someone else would be humming along with something terrible, something that no one ever wants to hear again while eyeing the avacados. In this way, I am one of millions, and it would be meaningless on many levels if I weren't making my meager contribution to society. I mean, really, what has changed all that much since the time of Betty Draper?
But wait. I chose this - to be where I am right now, and it is exactly what I want to be doing, after getting to do the whole career/MBA/buying my own damn house and car thing in my twenties. And not every woman can say that. Maybe I am unique in some ways, and maybe not. But I can tell you that at The Dumb Food Lion last weekend I was the only woman in workout clothes, hair back in a pony tail, rushing around to get home quickly because my husband had some stuff to do and didn't want to be on kid duty too long, but singing every effing word to this - my MAN! (I bet Ryan is pissed that one of his songs was chosen to be played at a sub-par grocery in EBF, Maryland, right after 'I Want a New Drug' by Huey Lewis and the News.) And underneath it all, lots of other seemingly black-and-white people are techinicolor, getting back in there mini-vans or sitting at a desk job, singing along with who-knows what that I haven't even heard of, going home to happy lives that are much more than common.
If you're one of those people, let me know next time you get a good babysitter. We'll go out for chardonnay.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday morning
Sitting here, getting my work bearings for the week, and cleaning up various straggling tasks to be done from the weekend. J is sitting next to me, playing the Wii. I am alternately encouraging and critical (in what I hope is an encouraging way). "Great!" "Move your guy! MOVE YOUR THING AROUND!" God help me. I am going to be one of those parents shouting from the sidelines at the soccer games. Someone put a gun to my head...
We had our annual summer party Saturday night (a huge success, thanks in no small part to all the help I received from friends and family, along with the cold, hard cash we laid out for a moon bounce rental), and the preparations for said party forced me to loosen my normally iron grip on small, meaningless things around the house. For example, J spread small crumbs of play-doh around her work table multiple times on Saturday, and I barely raised an eyebrow or considered how many times I would have to re-clean the floor before the guests arrived.
While I was folding a batch of laundry, she lamented having to put the play-doh in tubs before going on to other toys. "But Mommy, I love the cupcakes I made!"
"Why not take a picture of them?" On any other day, I would have worried about the camera more than the preservation of J's creation, but on this day of scrambling to get an impossible number of things done, I thought it would be worth it for her to be playing independently for just a little while longer. Almost immediately I realized she would love the grown-up activity, and find lots of successes to buoy her confidence. Her little head close to mine, we held the camera together as she got the hang of holding down the button until the photo had been taken. She moved on to turning the flash on and off, and figuring the right distance away from an object to stand in order for the camera to focus properly. And that's the last I saw of her for over an hour.
When I got the camera back, I was in for a treat - a view of our home and property from her perspective. She did an amazing job, IMHO.
I should have realized sooner that she is more than capable of taking on bigger-kid things. This is a lesson I hope to keep in mind as we start the second half of summer, sliding slowly downhill towards kindergarten (sob!). She was so proud of herself and her new skill, and I was thankful I had actually let her explore something new without micro-managing her every move. I guess we both found successes to buoy our confidence....
P.S. Yes, JBL's shirt DOES say 'I'm kind of a BIG DEAL'. And, yes, his desk IS nothing more than two filing cabinets with a cheap door on top. But, no, those are not two festive beverages on the desk. They're actually water cups. Honest-injun.
We had our annual summer party Saturday night (a huge success, thanks in no small part to all the help I received from friends and family, along with the cold, hard cash we laid out for a moon bounce rental), and the preparations for said party forced me to loosen my normally iron grip on small, meaningless things around the house. For example, J spread small crumbs of play-doh around her work table multiple times on Saturday, and I barely raised an eyebrow or considered how many times I would have to re-clean the floor before the guests arrived.
While I was folding a batch of laundry, she lamented having to put the play-doh in tubs before going on to other toys. "But Mommy, I love the cupcakes I made!"
"Why not take a picture of them?" On any other day, I would have worried about the camera more than the preservation of J's creation, but on this day of scrambling to get an impossible number of things done, I thought it would be worth it for her to be playing independently for just a little while longer. Almost immediately I realized she would love the grown-up activity, and find lots of successes to buoy her confidence. Her little head close to mine, we held the camera together as she got the hang of holding down the button until the photo had been taken. She moved on to turning the flash on and off, and figuring the right distance away from an object to stand in order for the camera to focus properly. And that's the last I saw of her for over an hour.
When I got the camera back, I was in for a treat - a view of our home and property from her perspective. She did an amazing job, IMHO.
I should have realized sooner that she is more than capable of taking on bigger-kid things. This is a lesson I hope to keep in mind as we start the second half of summer, sliding slowly downhill towards kindergarten (sob!). She was so proud of herself and her new skill, and I was thankful I had actually let her explore something new without micro-managing her every move. I guess we both found successes to buoy our confidence....
P.S. Yes, JBL's shirt DOES say 'I'm kind of a BIG DEAL'. And, yes, his desk IS nothing more than two filing cabinets with a cheap door on top. But, no, those are not two festive beverages on the desk. They're actually water cups. Honest-injun.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
(Pinching the bridge of her nose in dismay)
Over lunch:
J: "Mommy, Kate sure has a long way to go before she becomes a mom."
Me: "Yes, she does." [Hopefully.]
J: "And I have way longer than she does!"
[Oh, boy, where is this going?]
J: "First I have to be a big kid, then a teenager...."
Me: [Let's test these waters...] "...and a grown-up, then fall in love and get married, and..."
J: "Wait, no, Mommy! You don't have to get married....I mean...do you?" (insert dubious look here)
Me: [OH MY GOD WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M CRAZY?? Stay calm.] "Well, you don't have to, but that's the better way to do it..."
As my voice trailed off, I thought of her announcement to Jon last week that she does not believe in Santa Claus (because, obviously, reindeer can't fly...I mean come ON). His insistence that Santa's reindeer are special apparently fell on deaf ears. I am holding out hope that she still has a slight inclination to believing. Five can't be the end already, can it?
I stared at her for a minute, waiting for more questions, but J pretty much got bored with me and changed the subject. I thought of K, who at 9 was convinced you could only get pregnant if you were married, and at 11 had to be told there is no Santa Claus. I am so screwed with this one.
J: "Mommy, Kate sure has a long way to go before she becomes a mom."
Me: "Yes, she does." [Hopefully.]
J: "And I have way longer than she does!"
[Oh, boy, where is this going?]
J: "First I have to be a big kid, then a teenager...."
Me: [Let's test these waters...] "...and a grown-up, then fall in love and get married, and..."
J: "Wait, no, Mommy! You don't have to get married....I mean...do you?" (insert dubious look here)
Me: [OH MY GOD WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M CRAZY?? Stay calm.] "Well, you don't have to, but that's the better way to do it..."
As my voice trailed off, I thought of her announcement to Jon last week that she does not believe in Santa Claus (because, obviously, reindeer can't fly...I mean come ON). His insistence that Santa's reindeer are special apparently fell on deaf ears. I am holding out hope that she still has a slight inclination to believing. Five can't be the end already, can it?
I stared at her for a minute, waiting for more questions, but J pretty much got bored with me and changed the subject. I thought of K, who at 9 was convinced you could only get pregnant if you were married, and at 11 had to be told there is no Santa Claus. I am so screwed with this one.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Continuation
Why are robins' eggs that exact shade of blue? Pale, with a hint of yellow. I study two-thirds of one, sitting here on the table under the umbrella next to my laptop, courtesy of J. It's main break is fairly clean, and only one peck whole mars the otherwise intact portion. Its inside is milky white with only a hint of the feathers and bone it encased not long ago.
The girls - J especially - asks me why questions that I confidently answer, alternating between, "God made it that way," and some semi-detailed scientific explanation. I see the answers as the same, after all. At the chemical property level, it is defined that the egg shell will be this shade. But why? It doesn't blend in with the nest very well, so I would think it might make the egg more vulnerable when the mother is not sitting on it.
Maybe the God answer is the only one that works in this case.
The girls - J especially - asks me why questions that I confidently answer, alternating between, "God made it that way," and some semi-detailed scientific explanation. I see the answers as the same, after all. At the chemical property level, it is defined that the egg shell will be this shade. But why? It doesn't blend in with the nest very well, so I would think it might make the egg more vulnerable when the mother is not sitting on it.
Maybe the God answer is the only one that works in this case.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A slower season
July is possibly my favorite month of the year. Work is about the same as any other quarter-end - busiest the second and third weeks, peppered with meetings and administrative tasks. Home responsibilities continue unabated in their pleasing-if-mindless rhythm, the burden of chores like errands somewhat eased by the lack of need for winter coats or mittens.
But no other month compares in terms of weather - summery and warm, but not yet hailing the end of the season as with August's droughts. Birds still frantically chirp at dawn and dusk, feeding their babies and defending their turf. We are greeted over coffee by the house finch, the pheobe, the cardinals, mockingbirds and robins. While working outside, sparrows and warblers keep us company. The swallows dart and swoop at dusk, picking off unseen mosquitos before the bats take over, and the fireflies begin to rise from the grass.
Flowers are still bursting at the seams - everything from annuals to perennials. Lavender and phlox, begonias and vinca, roses and coreopsis, lilies and impatiens. The black-eyed susans are ready to pop, as are the hydrangeas. My yard full of mismatched, shaggy and overflowing beds brings me delight. The vegetable garden has already yielded bushels of peas and green beans, along with many bunches of herbs, and offers the promise of tomatoes, cantaloupe, jalapenos and watermelon still to come.
But nothing, and I mean nothing is better than working at my job and around the house while having both girls at home. They laugh and bicker, they swim and bike, they upend the toy room in the basement and then read and flop in front of the TV. Their browned, soft-skinned bodies still smell like sunshine and sunscreen after their showers. They sleep soundly as we kiss their slightly sweaty foreheads and peach-soft cheeks before our bedtime.
Their summer vacation always makes me feel more at ease, inspired to pick berries or turn on the sprinkler. Trips to the grocery are more light-hearted, with K pushing J in the cart down empty aisles, then chasing her in an overly-dramatic frantic way until J nearly falls out in a ball of uncontrollable laughter. Trips to the library are calm and sweet, where K will take J's little hand as they walk between the bookshelves, and snuggle her close as they flip through new books. Play often ends outside, whether swimming at friend's pools or getting dirty in the yard. Shoes are shed, hands are covered with sidewalk chalk, grass clippings cling to hair. Dinner is often enjoyed al fresco before impromptu tennis matches begin on the street.
K is still burdened with moving between two households, but spends more time on her own terms during the day, rather than being overwhelmed to exhaustion with a schedule dictated by someone else. Reading and swimming are her favorite tasks, and sleeping-in is the goal of most weekday mornings. J is more quite than usual, even as she struggles to give K personal space. As I write this, K is reading on the sofa, and J is sitting almost on K's hair, stroking her forehead gently with an adoring, almost motherly smile on her face. It fills my heart to bursting. I can't believe how fortunate I am.
So here's to this new season, filled with relaxation, adventure and quiet loving moments. May it last like a long summer twilight...
But no other month compares in terms of weather - summery and warm, but not yet hailing the end of the season as with August's droughts. Birds still frantically chirp at dawn and dusk, feeding their babies and defending their turf. We are greeted over coffee by the house finch, the pheobe, the cardinals, mockingbirds and robins. While working outside, sparrows and warblers keep us company. The swallows dart and swoop at dusk, picking off unseen mosquitos before the bats take over, and the fireflies begin to rise from the grass.
Flowers are still bursting at the seams - everything from annuals to perennials. Lavender and phlox, begonias and vinca, roses and coreopsis, lilies and impatiens. The black-eyed susans are ready to pop, as are the hydrangeas. My yard full of mismatched, shaggy and overflowing beds brings me delight. The vegetable garden has already yielded bushels of peas and green beans, along with many bunches of herbs, and offers the promise of tomatoes, cantaloupe, jalapenos and watermelon still to come.
But nothing, and I mean nothing is better than working at my job and around the house while having both girls at home. They laugh and bicker, they swim and bike, they upend the toy room in the basement and then read and flop in front of the TV. Their browned, soft-skinned bodies still smell like sunshine and sunscreen after their showers. They sleep soundly as we kiss their slightly sweaty foreheads and peach-soft cheeks before our bedtime.
Their summer vacation always makes me feel more at ease, inspired to pick berries or turn on the sprinkler. Trips to the grocery are more light-hearted, with K pushing J in the cart down empty aisles, then chasing her in an overly-dramatic frantic way until J nearly falls out in a ball of uncontrollable laughter. Trips to the library are calm and sweet, where K will take J's little hand as they walk between the bookshelves, and snuggle her close as they flip through new books. Play often ends outside, whether swimming at friend's pools or getting dirty in the yard. Shoes are shed, hands are covered with sidewalk chalk, grass clippings cling to hair. Dinner is often enjoyed al fresco before impromptu tennis matches begin on the street.
K is still burdened with moving between two households, but spends more time on her own terms during the day, rather than being overwhelmed to exhaustion with a schedule dictated by someone else. Reading and swimming are her favorite tasks, and sleeping-in is the goal of most weekday mornings. J is more quite than usual, even as she struggles to give K personal space. As I write this, K is reading on the sofa, and J is sitting almost on K's hair, stroking her forehead gently with an adoring, almost motherly smile on her face. It fills my heart to bursting. I can't believe how fortunate I am.
So here's to this new season, filled with relaxation, adventure and quiet loving moments. May it last like a long summer twilight...
J funnies - July edition
JBL and I are bantering back and forth over coffee, joking and laughing as we move around the kitchen. It gets a little boisterous. J, at the island, munching on a bagel, wants to be involved.
"My temper is getting up!"
JBL: "Ha! Are you going to have a temper tantrum?"
"I'm not having a tempro tamption! My trempro is just going up!"
"A tempro tamption?"
"Yes. I'm just having the tempro. Not the tamption."
"My temper is getting up!"
JBL: "Ha! Are you going to have a temper tantrum?"
"I'm not having a tempro tamption! My trempro is just going up!"
"A tempro tamption?"
"Yes. I'm just having the tempro. Not the tamption."
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