Where'd The Sun Go?

What is that sound? Oh, silence! I’d quite forgotten what silence sounds like! I’m alone in the house for the first time in 4 months. My kidlings are all in school this week, and I’m in a place of happy with Butterfly being back at college. She’s good, so I’m good.

It was a spectacular summer filled with swims in the lake, weekly movies, dates with friends and dining al fresco. We vacationed on a tropical island as a family, and Super Hubs and Little Squirt spent some father/son bonding time at a camp in Upper Michigan. It was a season filled with sunshine, peace, and healthy, life-giving friendships. Whew! No drama. I am refreshed, restored and ready to tackle this next season of my life. I see some exciting projects on the horizon; blurred edges beginning to form.....sailing closer......here they come. I’m ready to board! More on that later.

I acquired new glasses early in the summer, which was a turning point of sorts for me; an admittance that certain body parts may not be functioning quite as they did when I was a youngster. So I’ve been wearing my glasses mostly for reading, and I’ve taken a liking to them because A.) they help me see more clearly and B.) they are a cute and trendy fashion statement. We enjoy reading together, my glasses and I. But I’m still trying to get in the habit of wearing them when I need to.

A few days ago I relaxed in the morning with a cup of coffee and the paper, and then I realized that I didn’t have my glasses on. I grabbed my purse, put on my glasses, and continued reading the paper. But the room seemed a bit dusky, so I turned on the light and scanned the paper. Ten minutes later, Butterfly entered the room, started at me for a few seconds with concern, and then asked, “Mom, why are you wearing your sunglasses in the house?”

(Sigh.) My mother used to do spacey things like that all the time and I swore I never would. But now I’m all merrily reading the newspaper with my sunglasses, and pondering why the print is dark and blurry.

My eyes are aging, my brain is aging, but it’s all good. I’m owning it, and thankful that, for the most part, my body is working darned well. 40s are the new 20s, don’t you know? And a little fish oil, white tea and ginkgo biloba on a daily basis will become part of my new regimen. Along with keeping my prescription specs in a different place than my shades.

Rat Who?

I have been trying to soak up every last bit of summer. One of the many blessings of having an 8yo is that I get to live the life of an 8yo all summer long, right alongside him. We spent 3 sunny days on the beach last week; he frolicked in the lake, and I relaxed with a book.

On Wednesday evening, I took the train downtown all by my lonesome to meet Super Hubs. When I say “lonesome” I am being ironic. I relished the solitude from my comfy upper platform seat, watching the towns rush by my window, and devouring a yummy novel. Super Hubs met me at the Chicago station, and we grabbed some sandwiches and strolled to Millenium Park. We met my b.i.l. and s.i.l., sat on blankets by the orchestra pit, and enjoyed the delicious repast; good cheeses and apricot chutney spread on French bread, Italian subs, fried chicken and white wine. We listened to the symphony on this perfect summer night, encircled by magnificent high rises. Bro and Sis are a lot of fun, and we laughed til our cheeks hurt.

When the concert was over, Super Hubs and I walked the 5 blocks to the parking garage. The weather was magnificent as the light softly faded; a comfortable 72* with no humidity or bugs. When we were one block from the garage, I heard a pitter patter right behind me, and I turned to see a little rat scurry by. It came just inches from my flip-flopped foot, and I shuddered! Then we came upon two more ugly rats, one chasing the other, in the parking garage.

I am a suburban girl, and other than Petland, up to this point I’d seen only one other rat in my life, over 20 years ago. It was a ginormous one that lived by the dumpster in the backyard of the apartment Super Hubs lived in while we were dating. I am not usually squeamish about rodents. We’ve had pet hamsters and gerbils, and I loved “Ratatouille.” But disease-infested city rats that feast on garbage? A big fat UGH!!

It had been a perfect summer evening, except for The Rats. If our Date Night was a fairy tale, what is the moral of the story? I pondered as we drove home, and I had an epiphany: Ignore the vermin in my life. There is so much beauty from day to day, marred only by annoyances, inconveniences and toxic people. I’m going to choose to celebrate the sunshine and music and laughter. The Rats? I’ll pretend I don't even see them! Rat Who?

Insanity. Don't Knock It Until You've Waited For A Red

I was Insane this morning. I proudly own my Insanity. It worked in my favor today, which isn’t always the case.

At 0520, I was sitting in the only car in the parking lot of Little Squirt’s school. It was quite dark and silent. I believe I was the only one in the entire neighborhood actually outside. I was there to wait for the distribution of the school year parking passes, and I wanted a coveted Red one.

I have had 4 nightmares in the past 2 weeks about this very morning. Nightmares in which I didn’t hear my alarm clock on this momentous morning, slept in and couldn’t get a parking pass. After each nightmare, I’d wake up in a tachycardic sweat. Let me explain: A parking pass at my son's school is like a ticket to a rock concert in the world of the schoolyard. People fight for these parking passes. They get up at the ungodly hour of 0500 to have a chance to obtain these parking passes. They sit in a car in a dark parking lot hours before the parking passes are distributed, to be one of the first in line. It's a necessary annual ritual of the bizarre. It’s every mom for herself.

We live a bit too far for Little Squirt to walk to school, yet too close for him to need the bus. So I drive him every day. The school has an organized "pick up" system that is envied throughout the district. There are three dismissal times and assigned parking spaces along the drive way. The Red parking pass enables me to park in my assigned space, enables LS to be dismissed at the first bell, and then we can zoom home without any hassle. No long car lines, no jockeying for position in inclement weather, no trying to spot my child in a sea of children from a street corner. But once the parking spaces are filled, there no more parking passes. (Shudder.)

This morning I sat safely in my car until 0525, when another car pulled into the lot. The other mom and I walked to the front door of the school, formed the beginning of a line, and sat down on a blanket for a long wait. Two more parents showed up a few minutes later, one a sweet friend who brought me a Starbucks coffee and blueberry muffin. We chatted. A few more parents trickled in.

By 0700, a long line looped around the corner. By 0715, the principal opened the door and welcomed us in. I was first. I asked for a #7 Red pass. First Bell, First Parking Space by the door where LS is dismissed. I got my #7 Red pass. Score One for the Insane Mother!

In summary, I waited for two hours by the door of my son’s school this morning. Crazy sauce? Absolutely! But you already knew that. And I got the freakin’ #7 Red pass. Sometimes Insanity works.

A Dog Day Of Summer

He isn’t attractive. His manners are gauche. His social ineptitude is sky-high. And frankly, he’s dumb. Box of Rocks Dumb.

He arrived right before Christmas, the same year we lost our beloved pug. We were a family of four, back then. He was the other half of a litter of twins, and his brother was deaf. We had wanted a female short-haired red dachshund. We came home with a male long-haired dapple. The breeder called him “Funny Face," so I couldn’t resist this little pup, and promptly wrote out the check. “Funny Face” made me laugh, and I’m all about the humor.

There are days when I want to be dog-less, I’m not gonna lie. Like when Rudy gets a stomach bug, and I am cleaning the carpet from one end of the house to the other. Or when he snacks from the cat-litter box, contributing to his fetid breath. Or when I find my garbage cans knocked over, and half-chewed chicken bones or dirty tissues all over the house. Or during Barking Palooza; the annoying, nails-on-a-chalkboard yippy-yapping that occurs every time the door bell rings. He has absolutely no discernment. Friend or Foe or Housefly? He indiscriminately woofs at them all.

But he loves his family with a passion, and for that, I can forgive all his character flaws. He wriggles excitedly when we return from a 30-second jaunt to the mailbox. He falls into a deep depression when we leave town without him. He refuses walks, hiding under the bed when he sees his leash, not wanting to miss one second of the exciting goings-on of our household. And he’s been fiercely protective of Little Squirt since babyhood, guarding him day and night, always vigilant for Bad Danger lurking around his boy.

Happy 11th Birthday to Rudolph, the Black Nose Doggie-Dear. Barky Von Shnauzer. Sir Stinkinpoopin. Our beloved furry family member, Rudy. We love our Roodles!

Wild Men

The campers are home and just in time! I morphed into a Workaholic Cyclone with wheezy lungs, going from room to room, decluttering, straightening and organizing. When Little Squirt is home, I live the life of a Phlegmatic 8yo. But while he was away, I took advantage of the Squirt-Less time to engage in Project Home Reorg. It was, thankfully, a mad success, and I’m grateful to my daily protein shakes for the energy boots. But my asthma was kicking in full-steam by the end of the weekend from all the dust.

My guys had a wonderful time, and I am so grateful for the opportunity they had to get away to the beautiful wilderness, have some daddy/son bonding time, and engage in real manly activities. Little Squirt generally lives a quiet life in the suburbs, where “roughing it” means walking to the park as opposed to biking. He plays soccer, video games, and a has a myriad of safe, scheduled activities. Rarely does he get to let loose, get dirty, and channel his inner Wild Man.

That’s one of the many things that makes this camp so special. There was a whole lotta Man-Wilding going on. My son and his dad got covered in mud from head to toe while catching crayfish and frogs in the rain. They canoed, climbed a rock wall, shot bows and arrows and BB guns. They made s’mores by a camp fire, hike through the woods, and slept in a cabin. I’m quite sure not a lot of teeth-brushing went on! It was all fun and naturey and boyish from start to finish. I’m not sexist, and I have many women friends that love to camp and adventure and climb walls. Good for them! It’s just not me. I’m a Girly Girl who loves a daily shower and a regular pedicture and eating lovely shushi at the mall. So I am beyond grateful that Little Squirt has a daddy who will take him to camp and love on him and indulge his every boy scout-ish whim for a few days.

(But why in the name of all that is Holy was my baby allowed to ride solo in a kayak? On a river?? This wasn’t Disney World, for Pete’s sake!! Oy.)