The Age of Miracles

It’s Friday afternoon and June fell asleep and Rosie and Ari were watching a movie and Ed was *about to* mow the lawn, and so I snuck out for a few to read.

I like the open air feel of this new and painfully hipster food truck restaurant, Fleat. I like that the girls here, out early from work or maybe not yet punching in somewhere, aren’t wearing makeup on their pretty, plain faces. And they are happy and relaxed. I like the young social worker next to me with her gorgeous black boyfriend, just sipping lemonade. I like the girl outside with her little baby in the stroller. I like the guy in the dirty boots who looks like he went in early and got out early from build site and is ready for some wings and a beer.  It feels very ‘live and let live’ here.

(I 95% forgive them for replacing my favorite shady Chinese restaurant.)

After all of this Nazi ‘Alt-right’ bull shit in Charlottesville, I needed this. Someone on FB said that there were only hundreds of those nutjobs at this gathering. And that is after months of planning the event. Someone else spoke of the young age of most of the protesters, and of their repeated mention of having ‘big balls’. Is this an angry young man thing? Is it a phase? Can we try to brush it off?  Who ARE these people?  I’d like to think the ideal of equality and acceptance and fairness is a real, attainable concept. I know conflict is part of human nature, but if enough people knew and were raised with such peace and inclusion, couldn’t we continue to do better as a whole society? Is that naive to think?

I sure hope not.


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Current obsession:

The contradiction between what the video seems to be at first and what it really is… love it.

Also I kind of get off on seeing things like organized Tupperware being knocked from off the counter and neatly shelved books being knocked around.

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JuniperSome moments should be indelible. I want to pick them. Here: nursing June on an empty beach, on a smooth cool sheet, from a swollen breast that I was just complaining about not fitting into a new swimsuit. Whispy curls of her baby hair trembling, watching her face fall from tense to sleepy to achingly still. The sound of the girls splashing in the distance, playing like children ignoring that they are growing out of childhood. This is where i want to live.

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Father's Day

I was a neglectful s*** this year and didn’t get Father’s Day cards out to my dad, or my step-dad.  They both deserve at least a card.  I called and left Facebook messages, but I’ll feel guilty for at least a month about the lack of cards.  I wasn’t even lazy, just didn’t make time for it.

It sounds like an excuse, but this is someone who gets 4-5 hours of sleep a night and then even during waking hours can’t regularly bathe.  If something needs doing, time needs to be carved out of the rigid stone of already occurring activities.

We went out to dinner with Nick’s family, for Japanese of course.  And then we just managed the day, driving, keeping kids alive, tidying house.  I watched the boys fill buckets with cool water in the little pool, play in the dirt, investigate the yard for bugs.  June ate spinach from a pouch in the yard.  The evening turned cooler (a welcome relief right now) and we sat out front and lit ‘snakes’ from the dollar store.  The boys said they were like scary ‘arms’ growing and reaching out.

We had a bonfire last night and the kids (mostly strangers to each other at the beginning of the night) spent an hour catching fireflies in the dark.  The tore around the yard in a loose group, directing one another in technique and style, until they had a jarful.  After, they sat in a circle on the trampoline and had a ceremony to release them back into the night.  They took turns offering a word about the fireflies, their glowing, the meaning of it, a little something they had learned about the creature.

Cleaning house today I found the open jar in a pile of clutter.  One little firefly was still in the bottom.  The poor little guy was still kicking.  He was obviously wounded from some marshmallow-pumped 7-year-old’s exuberant capture, not alive enough to fly away upon release, but not squashed enough to rest in peace.

The hardest decision I had to make today was whether or not to kill this damn bug.  His sacrifice was admirable.  Every parent out there knew that screeching pack of hyenas were probably accidentally killing fireflies by the dozens, but their joy and innocence was too great; how could we stop them?  Yet here was a victim, staring me in the face.  Did I have to put him out of his misery?

Hell no, I decided.  I’m not a damn bug doctor.  He looked ok. Maybe he was just lazy.  Maybe he had gotten into one of the many open containers of alcohol and was just then waking up with a horrible hangover, twitching back to life, wishing his little butt-glowing companion would bring him some coffee.

I dumped him in my favorite flowering plant out front and wished him well.  I’d just watered it and the day was warm and humid and pleasant.  If little dude cashed in his chips today, at least his final moments were not in a mason jar on my dishwasher.



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That In-Ground-Zero-Entry Pool is Right Around the Corner


Luxurious Summer Yard Living

Every summer we get the $20 inflatable K-Mart special pool and indulge in it relentlessly until it is full of holes and useless, and then we send it to its landfill home sometime in September.  Because what is more American than disposable plastic entertainment?  We got this year’s model on Sunday.

At some point it’s always hot enough that even Nick and I lounge in it after bedtime, usually drinking cheap beer, taking a moment to look around the yard and contemplate all the effort we would put into making it look less like an urban jungle if we had the time.  Rosie and her friend were ‘swimming’ in it after school today.  Nothing is more adorable, as a parent, than your 13-year-old and her friend wearing goggles and cute teen girl bathing suits in a kiddie pool.

This is (most likely/God willing) my last summer with a little baby at home.  Time goes so quickly now.  Regardless of living with the haze of exhaustion and stacks of to-do lists, I have with an acute awareness of the need to appreciate these silly things.  Don’t get me wrong, I am very much looking forward to finishing that last Dark Tower novel that I started WHEN I WAS PREGNANT FOR JUNIPER (who is now 8 mos old), but also, I know now to enjoy at least a few dips in the water with the babies crawling all over me and splashing my hair and face, without rushing or scolding.

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404 Not Found

13 was just a blank page tonight. No error from the host company, no page misdirect.  In several browsers (ok I checked two) there was only blank space.  For almost FIVE WHOLE MINUTES I trouble shooted (shot??) but I decided I could probably just maually delete all of those old files and start fresh.

I feel like every day lately I yank on the starter cord for my life, getting that engine to noisily roar to life, and then wince as it dies back out.  Am I out of gasoline?  Do I need oil?  Am I just old and who knows what machinery isn’t working properly?  I’m sincerely not sure, but I can’t just let the entire lawn go to shit.  So here is another little jump start.

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