Sunday, June 16, 2013
Remember how I whined the other day about how crazy pants our summer has been so far?
Well, good news, we got gutsy and decided to just claim the weekend. Name it. Claim it. That was the beginning and end of our plan.
But first, we had a few things to attend to. Good things. Great things.
They talked about their journey toward God and I kept sinking my shoulders into the hunch that they might know him every bit as well as I do. Maybe better. They sauntered and swaggered and slinked across the stage. They want to be chefs, nurses, librarians, construction workers, computer programmers. They've seen enough to know that dreaming is allowed after all, and that they deserve a future. Tell me you wouldn't have cried, too.
Then we went to dinner. At 9pm. And all of my kids fell asleep at the table while I licked goat cheese off my fingers like it was 5 o'clock, easy.
Saturday we celebrated our nephew's birthday.
And then we had a sitter for the rest of the day. It was so freaking high time.
Here's the thing, though. Sometimes we wait just a day or two too long. It's not our fault. But we wait until we're over-extended. We wait until the thought of changing into something pretty makes me want to cry in a bad way. We wait until the only logical conclusion is to part ways and take naps in separate wings of the house. And by wings, I mean upstairs/downstairs.
Sometimes we do this and we forget to wake up.
Sometimes it rains and there are no good movies showing and the fancy restaurant intimidates us with its perkiness and we decide we're just going to stay in and watch a movie. Maybe go whole hog and get ice cream.
But sometimes we rally. Inexplicably.
It was one of those nights. I'd saved up for a month for our fancy dinner date, a combination birthday/new job sort of thing. Hallelujah, we were going, dangit. The night was our oyster and who gives a rip if I didn't look all that fancy? Not me, that's who.
So we dined. I took a picture of my salad to show you, but as it turns out, I can't share. Cory upgraded today from his Droid to a slide phone, eerily similar to mine. A dramatic budgetary shift will do that to a dude. Also, inmates are known for lots of things, but burning up your inbox isn't one of them.
All I can say is, we narrowly escaped the clutches of marital decimation early in our marriage, we brought three tiny babies into our world, we adopted a 19-year old felon, we cashed in a dream, we built a house in the hood, and we parent 4-7 kids together on a daily basis, but I daresay nothing has been or will ever be more unifying that the shared social isolation of a throw-back cell phone with technological advances only as far-reaching as the standard text. Solidarity, Babe. We got it.
But back to the salad, because I know you care: Bed of baby greens, sliced golden beets, sliced strawberries, whole raw almonds, goat cheese, sherry vinaigrette. Oh my cow. Or as my Grandpa would say, "Great day!"
Then word came in that Calvin had a fever of 100.8
No big thang, right?
Long story short, I spent last night and most of today in the hospital with Calvey. He's feeling fine, which might be what makes these experiences so defeating. Nothing like spending Father's day in the hospital with your not-sick kid. We had even risked potential eternal condemnation by passing on a family reunion because we just really needed a day - just one day. Together. With no plans. And then we end up held against our will. Prisoners, practically. (Robert might take exception with my analogy here, but whatevs.)
The best news is, of course, that he's mostly A-OK. Bored, but good-ish. He should be home later tonight.
The second best news is that I spent multiple hours reading The Lonely Polygamist (PG-13). It was slow going with this book initially, but now I can't possibly shake it. It's the kind of book that makes me think I should just leave it to the pros, you know? Maybe I'm meant to be a reader, not a writer. No shame in that. Homeboy makes mean business of character development. The story is fine and all, but in the end, that's never what sinks this ship. It's the writing. The soul-clutching, evocative, luscious, wit-laden stringing together of words. Paint me a picture and I'll hop right in. Paint me a picture like his and I'll probably take mental notes while I read.
Third best news? We enacted the changing of the guards and I got to come home to eat and shower and, you know, sleep.
Dear Hot & Sour Soup,
I have no idea what your flavors are.
You boast chunks of tofu and your texture teeters on gelatinous.
You're the underdog of the Chinese buffet soups and Cory loathes you.
But I'll always be a victim to your charms and I appreciate your nerve.
There's an image of peach upside-down cake lodged in my psyche.
I'm officially obsessed with Desiree's season of The Bachelorette.
I guess that about wraps it up.
PS - Winner of the Olivia necklace is Tiffany! "You should know that there are people who read every post but never comment because commenting on a phone is a pain. Sorry about that. But we love your blog just the same!You should also know that the best way to pick a watermelon is to look for a dried shriveled stem. If the stem is still green, it's under ripe. If the stem is completely gone, it's over ripe. :-)" Email me, Sister!