We're sitting in the car in the Target parking lot, and we're both having a bad day. Maybe lack of sleep, maybe teeth, maybe this barely 60 degree weather in July, but whatever it is, we're grumpy.
I'm about to turn off the car when the familiar guitar plucks of "Rainbow Connection" come on the children's xm radio station. This, I think, is happening just for me. This makes me happy. This is comfort. I get you, Kermit, and you get me. Someday we WILL find it, Lovers and dreamers and all.
Next song: that crazy "Polka Dot Afro" song from Madagascar 3. Day back to lousy.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
we nearly died
I'm sitting here in the car with my sleeping child, and I hear tapping on the passenger door. I gasp in fright, certain someone is trying to rip the door off and kill us both, when a little robin pops his head up and lands briefly on the windowsill. He was probably there for five seconds before flitting away. Ten minutes later and my heart rate is starting to return to normal.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
maybe...
Maybe I have become one of those people who goes to the gym to workout for only fifteen minutes before snagging some towels and heading to the shower so that she can have thirty minutes alone while someone else makes sure her son isn't grabbing plastic garbage bags from the trashcan and putting them over his head.
And maybe I've become the person who uses the handicapped shower stall so that she can sit down and close her eyes for a few moments and pretend the warm water is actually a hot tub and imagine she's somewhere warm and not in a rainy swamp forest that causes every pine needle and piece of dirt in western Washington to be tracked through her living room, and subsequently on her son's clothing as he tears across the house in an army crawl.
And maybe I am now the person who just wasted five minutes typing all this on her tiny phone because, as much as she enjoys writing, it is nearly impossible to do with a 8-month-old who wants to copy everything his parents do, and insists on sitting in her lap and banging away on the laptop keyboard to the point where his mama's laptop screen is upside down and everything is in Spanish.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
And maybe I've become the person who uses the handicapped shower stall so that she can sit down and close her eyes for a few moments and pretend the warm water is actually a hot tub and imagine she's somewhere warm and not in a rainy swamp forest that causes every pine needle and piece of dirt in western Washington to be tracked through her living room, and subsequently on her son's clothing as he tears across the house in an army crawl.
And maybe I am now the person who just wasted five minutes typing all this on her tiny phone because, as much as she enjoys writing, it is nearly impossible to do with a 8-month-old who wants to copy everything his parents do, and insists on sitting in her lap and banging away on the laptop keyboard to the point where his mama's laptop screen is upside down and everything is in Spanish.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
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