I’m not in Hawaii. I could have been, but I’m not. Frank is there right now on business. I could have used some of his multitude of sky miles, could have sent the kids back to Oregon to stay with my parents, could have packed things that would be dreamy in the tropics. I’ve never been tropical before. But the kids are in school, and Oregon might as well be Bangladesh, for all the time and effort it would take to get them there. Four days in Hawaii (plus two days travel) wasn’t worth the price. At least that is what Frank and I agreed. Now he’s there, having dinner with Cynthia and her family (South Shore burritos for last night’s dinner; I wonder what he’ll get tonight?), exclaiming over the lush green mountains and driving along the North Shore, and I am blogging after sending kids to bed. Since we got back from his San Antonio business trip, Frank has been to St. Louis and Oklahoma City. Maybe somewhere else; I can’t remember. And now he’s in Hawaii, and it doesn’t feel much different to me than if he were in Virginia. I am grateful that he has access to such good company.
I should be sewing Maurya’s Homecoming dress. It will be a vision in the perfect red. Homecoming is less than three days away, and I only have the dress cut out. I should have started this morning, and I would be almost done tonight.
Instead, I limped out on my run late this morning. On a good day I’m up to almost 9.5 miles; today I think I did less than five. Walked half of those. Forgot that today was an early day out for Nora; the school called me twice while I was showering, a third time as I headed out the door. I hadn’t heard the first two calls, and until the third call, my conscience was clear and easy; I thought I was right on time. Monday’s holiday had thrown me off. I won’t say how long she waited for me in the office. The office ladies were nice as I rushed in, my hair still in hot rollers. Nora’s only complaint was that she was hungry. I kept checking her throughout the day for emotional bruising; the telltale trembling lip and ducked head. All seemed ok til I tucked her in tonight: she told me about a conversation she had with a teacher who waited with her (the very last kindergartener). They were watching for our new little green VW bug. They saw one, but it wasn’t ours. “No mommy”, the teacher said, and took Nora back inside. At this juncture in her telling, I felt like wailing. And I felt doubtful, not only about my ability to perceive injury, but also about my ability to mother.
These are not new doubts. It has been a hard week, and it isn’t over yet. In Frank’s absence, I parent alone. I still have not adjusted to the new school schedule, and to Michaelyn’s not being a part of it. I’m not getting creative time. Or enough sleep. And I haven’t gardened in weeks (the remaining expanses of hard baked clay and weeds in my yard are depressing–so was the bid we just got for an irrigation system). I wake up early with Maurya to drive her to early morning seminary. Get home just a little before a neighbor girl arrives; she needs a place to hang out until school starts because her mom goes to work early. She is welcome company. Wake up Nora, help her get dressed and breakfasted, kiss Ezra goodbye, nag Meisha to get ready instead of play with the neighbor girl. Start a load of laundry. Walk or drive the little girls (or at least Nora) to school. Come home and Michaelyn is just getting out of bed, and I feel the weight of her future resting on me (this is where I leave on my run). I’m not sure how to help her be an adult, how to help her start her new life. I believe she needs autonomy, but while her Aspberger’s is mild, it is still a major obstacle to progress. Major. Without intervention, it paralyzes her, at least for a while. My approach: gentle (or is it cautious? or hesitant?) urging and talking and coaxing and chauffeuring. I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t help that my own botched launching haunts me. Today though was a good day for her. She met with employment specialists while Nora and I basked in the grass outside, and came out of her orientation radiant. She is going to take some classes. She is going to do a resume. She’s feeling hopeful again; she just might have what it takes to get to China (well, I know she has what it takes; it’s just not going to work until she knows).
Nevertheless and notwithstanding. It was a beautiful day, but I was not beautiful in it. I was bummed. Chores were towering (earlier this week, there was a laundry debacle and a dusty windstorm), and so was my loneliness, doubt, and discontent. Maurya came home from school needing to order a bouttanier for her Homecoming date. I had forgotten to buy red thread for her dress (still procrastinating). So we left Ez in charge of Nora (Meisha was at a friend’s house) and drove off in the cute little bug whose failure to show up had broken Nora’s heart earlier that day (yes, I realize I just shifted the blame from myself to an inanimate object). I wouldn’t finish the breakfast dishes until after dinner. I never did make my bed (and now, alone in my unmade bed, I have pillows tucked all around me so I feel snuggled). And I hated that so much of my sense of well-being hinges on whether or not the counters are transiently gleaming; it all changes the next day anyway. I desperately, hungrily, angrily want to be more than the silent, lone keeper of countertops and fridges and dishes.
Maurya was ebullient. She could see my distress and expressed concern, but I told her (because I was thinking I’m a mother and mothers don’t burden their still growing daughters with the gory details of their emotional lives) that yes I was sad but I’d be ok. Her teenage laughter and teasing and the ride in the bug eased the pain out little by little (remember Mom? Remember when we saw the big truck with “US Army” in small letters on its side, and I asked what you thought it was carrying, and you said hundreds of thousands of little plastic army action figures?). By the time we were at the fabric store, I was distracted from my inner melodrama enough to become completely transfixed by the incredible variety of buttons. I was in button heaven (I’m not sure if Maurya was, but her attention span in the button section still was pretty admirable). I could design entire outfits around buttons! I could make earrings with buttons. I could collect buttons and decide what to do with them later, or never. I lingered in the buttons, choosing first this card, and then that one, and then wondering how they’d look mixed (at one point, I carried around a button that was carved like a leaf, and couldn’t keep my hands off one that was carved into a turtle). I bought three big distressed brass buttons for a denim skirt I’ve cut out (months ago). Maurya, who gave up on the buttons long before I was finished with them, had commiserated with a sick friend and offered chicken noodle soup (which I would make later while she did homework) via texts. Plus she’d plotted how she’d cover a bowling ball with faux fur as a gag gift. My heart felt almost light again.
And I did remember to buy red thread.
(Note: I failed to mention that a couple of weeks ago, Frank bought me a barely used sage green VW bug. I have overcome my initial reluctance to accept it… why on earth I felt guilty and/or resentful about receiving such a gift bought with our community money when our van is clearly in its last throes I cannot say. Ridiculousness past. It has a creamy leather interior. I’d been admiring it for months. I can plug my iphone in and play my tunes. It handles sweetly. We put a dragonfly decal on its cute little behind. I have never, ever in my life had my very own car before. Now I do–well, Nora and I do. She wants to own it too. We named it Phoebe Gwendolyn Guinevere Alice. I love it.
(Note-Note…that’s like a PPS: The bouttanier! We paid for it, but the day of the dance was a hectic race to finish the dress and it was Ezra’s birthday, and we didn’t remember to pick it up til too late; the florist’s was closed. So Maurya’s date wore a silk flower from his sister’s wedding.)
