Just cold enough outside to feel uncomfortable, though the willow tree has buds all over it.
I’m feeling nostalgic after receiving an email from Nora’s teacher reminding everyone that the end of the school year will come, and soon. So this morning I’m slowing everything down and ignoring the lists of “shoulds” in my head. There’s cello music coming from my headphones as I watch the people buzz about me in the coffee shop – another odd, mismatched soundtrack.
Rainy day. Wearing my fuchsia tights in an effort to bring the bright, though I had to cut the waistband off the top because I’m too old and wise to suffer for something as stupid as a waistband. Van Morrison on the turntable at work. I will take a moment to listen to the sound of cars driving through the rain, the subtle tick-tock of the clock, the hum of the radiator. All around us, a soundtrack is playing.
Headed to MIA later with my love. I decide to go grunge-chic with my look. One kid misses a bus just to keep me honest. I decide not to go into a panic and take it as it comes. This won’t matter in a month or a week. Hell, it doesn’t matter now. Life is so much bigger than missed busses.
Leisurely morning with my boy. I’ll drink coffee in my flowing kimono robe that always makes me feel like a cross between luxury and grandma Dolores. I’ll ignore the weekend aftermath around me, catch up on Girls to the soundtrack of Sam playing superheroes.
Easter Sunday. Making French press coffee today because that seems special and it’s Easter and I have no idea what to do with this day anymore. So Special French Press coffee it is. Oh, and a pound of thick cut fancy bacon for my family.
Heading home. Scouting out a local coffee shop for a breakfast sandwich and good coffee before we go. Long drive ahead but we’ll spend it memorizing Hamilton lyrics and remembering yesterday.
Good Friday. The day 30 years ago that I walked down the front steps of our trailer and found my mangled dog Benjamin lying at the foot of them. He was dead. So was Jesus. Though I had years of strong Catholic tradition behind and ahead of me, I will always think of Benjamin first on this day.
Today is a fun day with Maia in a new city, clean of memories and markers – though we bring enough between us that there is no void. We will start the day by researching “best brunch” and she will have pancakes, I will have eggs. And then everything is easy. We will move fluidly, flexibly as if we are parts of the same body – because we ARE, on one hand. But on the other hand, she is so much herself and I am so much myself and it occurs to me that this is what mothering is about.
Road trip day with Maia.
Chocolate croissants for sustenance. We’ll queue up our tried and true playlist from all those years traveling this route as “just the two of us.” We’ll save Petula Clark for the drive through Chicago – as usual. When we get close, one of us will instinctively hit play and turn up the volume and we’ll blast out “when you’re alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go…DOWNTOWN…” We’ll sing completely free with no worry about feeling self-conscious as you can only do when you’re the mom and they’re the kid and you know the love is unconditional.
And we’ll both feel the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces though it’s March and the windows are rolled up.
The song will be over eventually but it’s always there because it always has been there as far back as she can remember. And this is how, someday – years from now- when, impossibly, she drives through Chicago without me, I will still actually be there in Petula Clark’s words and in the breeze and in the sun on her face.
Easter shopping with Anna. High of 37 and windy as fuck.
Vanilla flat white. Comfy sweats. Jackson Browne.
An Absurdly Magnificent Life 