Thursday, June 9, 2011
The last week of school. Today was the sprout's last day of preschool. For 18 months he has decided to wave to me through the front window of his school, or not, while I walk away, backwards, from the front door to my car. When he decides to wave, I weep when I can no longer sustain eye contact. I walk slowly backwards to the car, waving and blowing kisses, and when I get there I sometimes run back halfway and do it all over again, because I can see his smiling face, his waving hands, his blown kisses through the glass. But, eventually, it's time for him to start his day and for me to drive away but I'll tell you: he's never the first to brake contact. It's always me. Eventually, he will be the one in this two-some to be the first to walk away but for now, it's me. I have to walk away, and I'll have to do it in kindergarten, too. Today I walked away, broke contact, looked back to see that he had walked away as well. I had to pull my car down the road to turn around and while I was driving by his school, there he was, like he'd never left, waving with all his might through the window and I waved back and kept driving, weeping.
Friday, May 27, 2011
I picked the kids up at school today and took them to Whole Foods where I put a 2 dollar-per-child limit on any treat they wanted. Two of them chose bags of gummi candies and one chose a bar of Newman's milk chocolate. I also bought a gallon of local organic milk for $6.99, a pound of organic butter for north of $4, a basket of organic strawberries for $3.99 and a bag of brown rice chips for $2-something. I paid in cash. I went to the bank yesterday where I deposited a check from my husband's secondary income and withdrew $200 and the only thing I'd spent it on thus far was a latte from a coffee shop I like to go to so I had plenty of cash in my wallet. We loaded back into the car and headed for home, turning south on Main St. At the corner of Main there was a woman in her 30's holding a sign that said: "Family In Need". Her face was relaxed as she held her sign. She smiled at the cars in traffic, but only slightly. It was a self possessed smile, a relaxed smile. It wasn't drug-driven, it was simple and pleasant. She was cleanly dressed and her long, long dreadlocks were well tended. I considered the money in my purse, tucked in my wallet and at the moment decided the timing inconvenient for passing something through the window: traffic was moving. In my Volvo SUV, behind my Chanel sunglasses, listening to my children joke and giggle in the back seat, I drove by the woman on the corner, only to realize that I didn't recognize her because she wasn't wearing glasses. This woman has a son a year younger than my oldest child and had offered to babysit on many occasions. The last time I'd seen her she was working at the Whole Foods we'd just left, many years before. I'd forgotten about her. I knew her when I was pregnant with my second child and worked in a cafe where she sometimes came with her husband for lunch. But now I was half a block away from her and I could hardly do anything about it, could I? I haven't stopped thinking about her, her son, her husband, in need, without even her glasses.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Well. It's been a while. I'm checking in because I was looking for a recipe I laid out on this format and...well, I made it and I butchered it. It was pretty sad. The flavors were surprisingly comforting, but like a big, heavy blanket that smells slightly of your Grandmother's neighbor who certainly didn't smell as nice as your Grandmother, if you get what I mean. It was fine and it was edible and it was satisfying in a way that you'd rather not discuss with your friends. Like cheap pizza or rough sex. You may discuss personal waxing with your friends, or even your husband's circumcision, but not the way cheap cheese pizza dipped in ranch dressing reaches into your lizard brain and accesses your pleasure points.
I'll hope to come here more often.
I'll hope to come here more often.