“I’m part of the whole universe,” Jacob tells me. I am sitting across the foot of his bed, hugging my knees, leaning back against the wall. It is dark, the nighttime quiet punctuated by Lucas’s soft snoring. Jacob’s feet push at my leg from under his striped comforter. “I feel so cozy right now, because you are next to that edge, and I have my red blanket.” He yawns. “The universe is so big and we are all part of it. Like how all the sand makes the beach.”
It turns out that the trip south took a toll: Kyle and my dad are on antibiotics for pneumonia, my stepmom has bronchitis, Jacob has a spider bite puffing up his left eye, and after a night spent holding Lucas upright while he coughed and gasped, we found out this morning that he too has bronchitis, plus a double ear infection. It all started with an innocent-seeming post-trip cold. It all went downhill from there. And as I watch my people getting sicker, and sadder, and cough-ier, I’m availing myself of every wellness-aid I can come up with. Continue reading
Well hello. I had squash for breakfast today – perhaps you too? I also had it for dinner tonight, though in a slightly different form. We’ll get there in a minute. But first can we talk about the fact that my little brother Gabe is – officially – engaged? (!) As in, engaged to be married? (!!) Continue reading
When I was a little girl, my dad came up with a phrase that I think is perfect for describing life with small children: relentless fragmentation. It is that feeling we get when an important phone call is interrupted, when the bread burns because we are changing a diaper, when we attempt any of the myriad things that used to take five minutes: articles are now ingested one paragraph, one sentence, one word at a time. Emails are responded to only weeks after the fact. Books we are pining for gather dust on our nightstands as we instead read – again, again, AGAIN! – about dragons and dogs and brave, hungry kittens.
I have a hard time with fragmentation. And I have no doubt it is relentless.
My Dad is picky about his labels. He claims Radical and sometimes Progressive, rejects New Age or Hippie. But whatever you want to call it, at his teeny-tiny, light-and-love-filled, first post-divorce house, Dan and I watched MacNeil/Lehrer and the occasional episode of Sesame Street, but otherwise TV was off limits. At times we felt deprived, but really our television was so old that watching it was more an exercise in annoyance than entertainment. And what my dad denied us in cartoons and sitcoms, he made up for in other (I would now argue, far better) ways. Continue reading