Oh Hey, May

Oh Hey, May

That moment when you blink and some months have passed.

I’m now 36. My husband is now 35.

I’ve now gone on my first cruise and we’ve decided that, yeah, we’re “cruise people.”

We’re in the middle of baseball season which means I’m simultaneously loving it, praying for rain, cursing the fact that I’m missing Penguins playoff games, sweating, freezing, mumbling under my breath, clapping, holding babies, and eating soft pretzels with cheese.

I love soft pretzels with cheese.

School ends on Friday. On Monday, our oldest son went to the middle school for a tour while I cried into my coffee at home. Today Marley went to school so our oldest son could do a presentation for “Teach the Teachers” on White German Shepherd Dogs. I have no pictures because children swarmed us. Marley thought it was the best thing ever while I practiced deep breathing. Tomorrow that same kid goes to Akron to watch a minor league baseball game. He’s so excited he could burst. Thursday brings the Awards Ceremony and Friday is Fun Day.

AND THEN IT’S SUMMER VACATION!

Remember in past years when I was all, “blah, blah, we don’t do summer bucket lists or any bucket lists,” or something anti-whatever-is-currently-popular because I’m sometimes a jagoff? Well, this summer I want to do all of the things. My bucket list bucket is so deep I’m not sure how we’ll do all the things, but we’re gonna give it our best.

I sit on my front porch a lot lately, mainly because I planted all of the flowers, including our first every Fairy Garden which ended up in two big pots because I over-purchased. I still have a few things I want to purchase for the front porch, but it’s slowly becoming the porch I imagined when we bought the house five years ago.

Five. Years. Ago.

I’m hoping to get the new deck built by the end of summer. We’re, SURPRISE!, going on vacation with my family to the beach this summer. The boys got to go last summer while the parental units (us) stayed home and worked. Life is different now, so we get to go, but that involved moving money from our Early Summer Deck Rebuild Fund to the June Vacation Fund. The Late Summer Deck Rebuild will be just fine.

I’m back in yoga. Which means my arms and shoulders and abs and FEMURS kind of hate me. But I needed yoga in about eight different ways. A new studio opened in Zanesville, and I’ve fallen back in love with my body and the weirdly strong things it can do even though it’s been over a year since I regularly practiced yoga. I assume my arms will stop aching right about the time we go to build the new deck which will, yes, cause them to ache again.

It’s a cycle, this life.

I mentioned on Twitter (which, btw, is still alive and kicking and where you can keep up with the complete downfall of our current government) that I receieved my first rejection letter of 2017. Which means, yes, I’m writing again. It feels good. It feels right. Now is the time to do so. And so I am.

I can still do hard things.

I still have hard days, but I’m allowing them to be solitary and not take over entire weeks or months. Mother’s Day and the dreaded day before felt really hard this year for so many reasons. Then I woke up on Monday, went to yoga, and allowed myself the grace of starting again. In short: My medication, therapy, and positive affirmations seem to be working. I’ll stick with them and thank everyone and thing that brought this current state into my life—some of whom are you, so thank you.

I have pieces for this blog rattling around in my head and on various pieces of Post-Its and journal pages. They’re coming, all the words. I move a little slower with them now, think a little more, weigh the words before and as I type them, but oh, they’re there. It’s a really, really great feeling to move from black nothingness in my head to the creative space I prefer to dwell. I like it here.

All this to say: I’m here. I’m okay. I’m a blonde now. And most days, save for Hallmark holidays, I am happy.

Who would’ve thunk it?

 

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At Least He Had Fun

At Least He Had Fun

I ran to the Post Office, drove across town, and picked up the boys from school. I picked them up early, thus ruining the last nine weeks chance of perfect attendance, but I picked them up exactly on schedule to make it to the dentist.

We sang a few songs on the interstate. BigBrother told me he did well on his spelling test. (Spoiler: He admitted at bedtime that he did not, in fact, do well. That bedtime confessional still runs true.) I somehow managed to avoid traffic, and we pulled up to the dentist’s office at exactly two o’clock.

I’ve never been on time for the boys’ dental appointments which is exceptionally embarrassing as my mother-in-law works there. I usually call from the interstate.

“We’re coming. I promise.”

Which is better than the time I called and said, “We’re supposed to be there now but I completely forgot and we’re at home.”

I have a paper planner. I utilize the calendar on my phone. But sometimes, and especially during baseball season, I get a little lost in the details. Or completely go off the rails. Either or.

So I smugly walked into the dentist’s office and sat down in the swanky waiting room. The receptionist said hello, and we sat for approximately ten minutes.

And then my mother-in-law appeared.

“Your appointment is tomorrow.”

“I know. The boys’ is today.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I have a text from…” Scroll, scroll scroll. “The pediatrician.”

I didn’t say “shit” out loud but it was definitely implied.

I rushed the boys out the door, hustled them in the car, and voice dialed the pediatrician.

“Hi. Yes. We have an appointment at two, and now it’s two-ten. I accidentally went to the dentist instead of the pediatrician. We’re about five minutes away.”

The woman on the other end of the phone laughed but said she had to check with the doctor. Which, I understand. I kept driving. And hitting ALL THE RED LIGHTS. She came back on the phone and said they’d hold my appointment. So I kept driving and HITTING MORE RED LIGHTS.

I squealed into a parking space and rushed my not-so-little-kids into the building, waited for the elevator, waited as it stopped on another floor to pick someone up EVEN THOUGH THAT NEVER HAPPENS IN THIS BUILDING, and nearly ran into the office. I told the woman sitting at the desk our name.

“Your appointment was 20 minutes ago.”

“I called. I went to the dentist instead of here. The woman who answered asked our doctor and she said it was okay.”

“She did?”

No. I’m lying. Who makes up a story that makes them look like a total moron?

“Yes, she did.”

“Okay, you have to fill out eleventy billion new papers for this year.”

“Thank you.”

Or something like that.

We didn’t wait long at all before a nurse ushered us back to room eight. She asked about their eating habits and school and baseball. She took them off for weight checks, measurements, and ear and eye test while I wrote the same information on approximately 72 pieces of paper. (It was just two, but why does it always feel like so many?)

The boys returned, donned their gowns, and in just a few minutes our doctor walked in.

Can I tell you how much I love our doctor? We inherited her five years ago when our previous doctor, whom we also loved as he was so patient with my First Parented Child Overreating, retired. We love her. Her smile is contagious. She’s very encouraging. She backs me up with the boys when she asks about technology time and even reinforced with LittleBrother that, yeah, he’s supposed to be in the booster seat for another four and a half inches and, sorry buddy, but just because your friends don’t ride in one doesn’t mean you get to skip it.

Sometimes I want to hug her.

I don’t think that’s appropriate.

Anyway, she found it HILARIOUS that we went to the dentist first. She literally laughed out loud.

“That sounds like something I would do!”

Then I loved her more.

The older of the boys got three shots, which none of us expected, but the nurse who administered them gets a big gold star for knowing what questions to ask and when as she gave him all three shots. Like seriously. Major kudos.

It’s not all great news.

One kid needs glasses. This was not a surprise as I got glasses in fourth grade and my husband thinks he was in fifth grade when he got his. LittleBrother will be near the end of third grade when he gets his. This also possibly explains the headaches he’s been experiencing. To which he said, “Yeah, I sometimes get a really bad headache in class and get aggravated with everyone.” Really, kid. Tell me these things before appointments with the nice doctor, okay?

The other kid’s hearing has worsened in his bad ear. We knew this. He failed the school test. Again/always. His volume when he speaks has increased, and not just because he’s genetically a Swearingen. We have another referral to the audiologist to figure out what’s going on.

Did you know that hearing aids are 100% NOT covered, even with ACA? Did you know that even with vision insurance, we’ll fork over hundreds of bucks for LittleBrother to see clearly and not experience headaches that make him vomit? And some of you want to reduce our health care that we, as a family of four, already pay mightily for? Uh. Okay. Here’s my middle finger.

We got home in time to sign agendas (…) and relax for a bit before the rain started. I thought, “Ooh! They’ll cancel the baseball scrimmage and we can spend time at home.”

It’s like I’m new at this baseball mom thing.

The scrimmage was canceled but our practice was moved to an indoor gym. I got 1.25 miles from home (I know because running) when BigBrother asked, “Did you bring his baseball stuff?”

No, I didn’t. Thanks for asking. So we turned around, grabbed the gear, and then drove a little more quickly to the gym.

After I got LittleBrother pushed into he gym, I read the novel I’m working on for a half hour and then worked for an hour. BigBrother watched practice, but I wouldn’t let him go get his glove to participate because his younger brother needs to be able to experience things on his own from time to time. When he came out of the gym, he was all smiles.

“I had fun.”

Crazy day in which my husband worked and I did all of the things wrong and it rained and I felt alone and like a failure as a mother? Worth it with those three little words.

At Least He Had Fun