Tomorrow, Mother’s Day. Struggling with preemptive sorrow and malaise. Fighting it with yard work and criticism – the way my pioneer ancestors would have wanted. Too many things in transition make me want to run. Nose to the grindstone today. Monday will be time to take stock. 

Lovely Saturday. Sun shining. Slight breeze. But I’m hiding from the children and tensions are high. We’re all trying to claim existence. So I bought fancy coffee and we’ll have a “farmer’s lunch” – lots of protein and good carbs. I’ll lower expectations and maybe the best we’ll do is to get the sheets washed and go for a walk. 

Driving to brunch with my family. Car Talk on the radio transports part of me back in time to a blip in my childhood when we’d drive seemingly for hours. My dad would turn the volume way up and we’d hear the laugh of “Click and Clack” in harmony with my dad’s as he smacked the steering wheel for comedic emphasis. I didn’t get the humor back then just as my own kids don’t get it now, but there was something vaguely comforting about hearing my dad laugh, unabashed and carefree, like he left the door cracked open to a secret world. So now on Saturday mornings I leave the show playing even though everyone groans because I want them to pick up, somewhere in their subconscious, a glimpse into that same secret world that I got a glimpse of everytime my dad laughed. 

Tough morning. A lot on my mind and again, windy as fuck. Eyes hurt and head hurts. Wore comfy clothes for running errands but feeling like I’m constantly talking myself down from panic. Line for the Starbucks drive-up was ridiculous and unacceptable. Settled for a sub-par cappuccino from somewhere else and immediately put Patsy Cline on the turntable.

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.