Wasn’t it just Friday last week?
I remember walking you guys to the post office to mail a query and a package like it was five minutes ago. It was so hot out and I’d taken the heavy stroller. The post man behind the counter asked me if I were sweating, tossing his eyes toward my glistening neck. I was like, um, yeah…
It’s been one of those days, babies, already.
“What is it? Are you mad at me?” your dad asked on the phone.
And what is it?
Feeling like there is so much writing I want to do–I’m cleaning up this old project of mine, and it’s messier than I thought–
Feeling like there is never enough time, what happens to the time?? How can I spend years of my life working so hard, and still have nothing to show for it?
Feeling like I can do better, it’s in me, it’s just so much to pull it out…
Feeling like I screwed up our family vacation, how could I not check to see if you can take cars on the ferry?
Feeling like I need something, maybe sleep, maybe peanut butter, maybe coffee…
Feeling like that sip of your whole milk I had last night to check the temperature before I had a sip of my wine was really gross…
“I guess I am frustrated,” I said.
I’m thinking of Nanny, coaxing you guys into the backyard earlier this morning saying come on, guys, let’s go! And you both running out the door behind her. I heard the trampling of little bare feet taking off down the hall. Then, one coming back as if you’d forgotten something…You, Baby Boy, stopped by my side and held out your hand. “Thanks, Buddy, you came back to get me.” I placed mine in and we walked out side by side.
I’m okay, I should revise.