Do you remember pleasant drives?

Road trip day one...

Thursday run an extra errand, just because. Don't stop to ask the three year old if she needs to use the bathroom. That's what carseats are for. And surely you'll appreciate the opportunity to remove the seat from the car, wrestle the cover off and wash it. Once you look carefully at the cupholder you'll call for Lysol. Yes. It's that good.

With the carseat removed, you will be struck at home, the better to pack. However, it will make getting the pets off to board harder. Never mind, that lovely husband is taking a half day so you can drive off at the school release bell. You'll just run them over when he gets home.

At 2:00, decide to do everything you can to be ready. Wait for his car to drive up. Do not, do not, do not give in to your exhaustion. Okay. Turn on the tv so one child is occupied as the other naps and close your eyes. Don't look at the text. Fine. Do. But don't get excited. The promised offer on your house will in fact not come through (not today or ever). Sleeping would be better.

Sigh when 2:45 rolls around without the car rolling in or the peace of a nap and get ready to go to school pick up. 

Let the kids run at the park for the better part of an hour. And then, only then will you see the kids run to Daddy - as you get to run to the pets.  Praise everything holy when the cats both decide not to pee on you today. It is the beginning of some good luck.

Head out of town. At the start of rush hour. Thank everything holy again for a sleeping baby. But don't look at the odometer. Yes, it just took an hour to go 30 miles. I know we have another 220 to go. Shhhh. Denial is powerful.

Stop when someone requests a bathroom. This is prudent. Find a restaurant and have dinner. Wonder where an hour just went.  

Get back on the road. Be grateful for sleeping babies and happy big sisters. (That extra errand, where you got little craft boxes for those girls was worth it.) Fly through the last town with motel chains you know on the wings of optimism.  Let the big girls have chocolate muffins. Why not.

Stop when the baby is done. Go to the nearest motel. It's past everyone's bedtime. Decide this is brilliant. Until you see the first room (bed half made) and then the second (bathtub beyond gross, towels grey, sheets dirty). Decide to LEAVE. Try to be nice to the staff member on the way to the car since they were kind, but go.  Go. 

Kiss little heads and tell them tummy aches will go away if they sleep. (Hmm... maybe the cupcake was dumb.) Play music. Learn that Celtic harp music is known now as 'the robot lullaby.' Try to sooth a fussy baby for thirty minutes. The image of the room will keep you from wanting to stop again. Drive. She will sleep. Right?

Kiss the floor when you arrive at the family's house. Be grateful they left you a key. Since they're out. Do not try to figure out how it took 5 1/2 hours to go 200 miles. Do not think of the next 50 miles.

Sigh as everyone cries at once. Exhaustion isn't pretty.  Collapse into bed as soon as they all sleep. Do not contemplate the effects of this late night on tomorrow. Shockingly, tomorrow will go smoothly. Especially the next 50 miles.

It's the next day that you need to worry about... 

Crazy may.

This is what we've done the course of two weeks  ---
 a concert, a recital, a karate showcase, a bingo night, two award ceremonies, four swim classes, two violin lessons, a birthday party (at our house), my first try at leading a girl scout troop (no one is more surprised than me on this), and we've taken our first road trip as a family of five.

Of course, half of that was me solo parenting.

And you can just imagine the fits from over tired girls. (Did you hear something at three today? Sorry.)

May. It's insane.

I can't imagine what this will look like in two more years when I have two in school. 

I keep believing I'll find calm ahead. I think it is a false hope. First, I clearly enjoy a full life. And second, well, you know parenting and calm aren't really friendly.

Instead, I'm looking forward to no more evening activities and a return of the bedtime for sanity. I'm yearning for park time and play time and chatty times and girls squeal. With joy, I hope.

I am slow, so slow to learn.

What is simple is not always easy.

What brings joy is not always fun.

And I guess that is why there is a whole lexicon of words, for those of us who try to pin down this ephemeral life.

Sitting

I got a best mom of the year magazine, featuring me! (Never mind for a moment that every mom in Grace's class got her own.) Me!!!

As I happily read through her answers about what I love, I paused - do I cry or laugh?

"My mom's favorite thing to do outside: sit."

Sit?

Really?

What about the gardens I have kept for years? The joyful walks in nature? The pauses to look for birds, for her? The hours on beaches looking for rocks and shells? Swimming? On boats?

Okay, I haven't taken her hiking or camping yet. But I've told her stories glowing with the joy of outdoors.

Sitting?

I guess being grossly (meaning huge) pregnant and then carrying my bitty baby, I do like to sit. Unless I can lay down. Or sleep.

Amid the mess

Today, pleased with myself for keeping the house on the sunny side of the filthy line, as I thought wow, I just have to do the dishes and out away laundry, and a quick sweep would be nice... I walked into the bathroom. My jaw dropped. 

To protect the sweet innocent thing, I'll just say that something didn't end up in the toilet, as it should, and someone kindly tried to clean it up, learning a trail of filth. 

It didn't take long to clean, really. But, you know, I hate cleaning. I want to play and read and engage in something other then the bathroom floor. 

And so began the litany of common complaints - the chores, the house, the fits, the poor sharing, the late hours, the... on and on it goes. You know that tune, right?

But today, I won't sing along.

Because just this month ---
A friend's friend lost her baby to a genetic disease.
A dear friend nearly died.
A friend's marriage is crumbling around her in spite of her best efforts.
Someone I know was afraid in her own home (don't worry, we're on that).

I am lucky. So lucky.

Blessed with three children. 
In a healthy body.
With a partner who respects and adores me (it's mutual).
In a safe home.
With enough to eat.

I'm considering changing this Mother's day around. I think I need to thank the four people who let me play this most delicious role, surrounded with kindness (even in the raised voices) and love (amid the mess). 

Save the date

We got a save the date card for next July.

One of my husband's many cousins is getting married. To a wonderful guy who has supported every dream of our cousin's, moving his life to stay together. They are truly happy, and they want to start a family. We're thrilled for them too.

My husband was asking what we should do, what we can give them to show our love and support. Honey, I said, I think treating them like any other couple would be the very best gift. You see, my husband's cousin, he's also a guy.

Love is powerful and glorious. The commitment of marriage to a partner through thick and thin is awe inspiring. Whoever is loving and committing their lives to each other.

Tired eyes.

My oldest daughter wants to be an artist. We encourage her passion with supplies and time, trips to the museum, and good books. Lots and lots of them. I recently added Allen Say's book Drawing From Memory to our collection. It's a gorgeous personal memoir. 

His teacher, a truly great man, said that drawing is seeing. 

Writing is too. 

Both require a deeper sight -disarmingly focused. 

Right now, my eyes close more than open. They yearn for the calm dark undersides of my lids. Once the baby and I (re)learn to sleep, these eyes will joyfully look out, seeking to see deeply again. But now, my sight is flat and mundane - though my life is not. It sparkles. And I feel it.  But, I cannot focus enough to capture it. 

So, please, pardon me. I may not be here much for a little while. But I plan to come back, with eyes open again.