A day at the lake
July 19, 2015
Today, I hurled myself into the world like a shark who had recently watched a Woody Allen movie.
I woke up late, last night’s pajama bottoms became this morning’s yoga pants. While looking for a shirt, I gulped a half cup of two day old coffee. I brought the other half with me when I headed over to support a dear friend teaching her first strength training class.
I thought I could lurk in the background, play with playlist, squat a few times and be done with it. I was there for support.
I rowed, curled, lunged, squatted, pulled and pushed. Can I tell you what a fabulous job she did? She made me do all that- on half a cup of coffee.
Home. I had made plans to head out to Ponkapoag pond with my friend, her three kids, my daughter, my son and two of his friends.
There was only time for a quick conversation about who likes mayonnaise, who wished I’d bought salami instead of ham, who thought cookies for lunch was a really good idea, and who thought we didn’t have enough worms or marshmallows.
When it was announced it was time to load up the car, everyone under the age of forty had an urgent need to use the bathroom.
There was fishing equipment, snacks, drinks, lunch, swimsuits, goggles, reading material, three cans of insect repellent, jackets, extra fishing equipment, worms, marshmallows, in case the fish don’t like the worms, and changes of clothes in case someone fell into the lake before putting on their swimsuit.
In other words, no time for coffee. So I hopped in car. Last nights pajamas and this mornings yoga pants became today’s hiking shorts.
We made it by noon. Everyone was hungry from watching my friend and me pack the car.
An hour at the grocery store, 10 minutes discussion, 15 minutes of prep, everything was consumed in about 5 minutes. Truth, Katy and I were done in 2. My friend took her son to the lake to swim. I told the leftovers for a hike in the bogs.
When we got back to the dock, I was tired and hot. My son and his friends were fishing about 20 yards away. I was happy to settle in a beach chair and listen to the boys while they fished. Colin is fourteen. when I catch a glimpse of him, I usually ask him why I never see him any more. To which he responds-
“I have a life. I have friends. You’re my mom.”
It was easy to listen to them; no one had told them that fishing is a sport of quiet and meditation.
They were laughing, and yelling, and telling stupid stories that seemed to have no beginning or ending.
I was enjoying them but I was sharing the dock with one woman doing a water color, two little girls braiding each others hair, and a gentleman trying to nap under a large book.
I walked over and said- “Boys, you have to keep it down.”
Colin looked up at me, and smiled.
“Mom, I have to run something by you,” he smiled again.
“Colin, I don’t think you should tell her.”
“I have to tell her. She’s not stupid, you know. We have to bring them in the car.”
I beamed for minute. My son told one of his friends that I’m not stupid.
Then I caught it-
“Colin, what are you talking about? Who are you bringing to the car and why doesn’t your friend want me to know?
“Mom, be quiet. You are embarrassing me. Everyone is looking at us!”
This statement from a boy who made fart sounds with his hands so loud they woke up the gentleman sleeping under the really big book.
Long story short, and it is a very, very long story that I don’t think I will ever truly understand, my son and his friends had kept six of the fish they’d caught. These fish were swimming around in a very large bucket. The boys wanted to transport them from Ponkapoag Lake to a pond in the cemetery where we live.
While we negotiated, Colin kept looking in the bucket. At one point, he bent over, frowned. He scooped up a fish and brought it over to the lake where he bent over and placed it gently in the water.
“We don’t want to hurt them, Mom. We just need to bring a couple to Dead Man’s Pond. It’s only a few minutes down the road.”
We were at Ponkapoag, a Wildlife Preserve. I’m pretty certain that it would be universally frowned on to take some of the fish living in Ponkapoag Pond to another pond, just because my fourteen year old son and his two friends thought it was a really, really good idea.
My son was excited.
These days he gets excited about rap music, staying out until 11:30, Arizona Iced Tea, football practice, and being told he can order anything off the menu.
We negotiated. I agreed to let them take two fish., They promised to never, ever take any more animals, including but not limited to snakes, really cool insects or a wandering goat, away from their home, wherever their home is. Even if the animal asks politely and the visit is only temporary.
When we got to the graveyard, all three boys hopped out of the car. They walked as fast as they could to the edge of the pond, carrying the bucket between the three of them. They lifted the fish, and placed them in the water, one at a time. They all leaned over the water. Thirty seconds later, Colin turned around and gave me a thumbs up. The fish had survived the journey.
I took a picture when they weren’t looking. From behind, leaning over the pond, they look like they are about ten years old, looking for frogs, trying to catch a snake, daring each other to go for a swim.
Colin went over to his friends house afterwards. He got home about 11:30. His shoulders were down. I asked him what they’d done with the rest of their night.
“Just hung out, mom. Nothing much going on.”
It’s a Saturday night. Colin and Steve are at the age where they know that Saturday nights are supposed to be wild and crazy, on Instagram and Snapchat it looks like everyone is having an amazing time being wild and crazy.
Colin and Steve were watching tv in the basement.
In Woody Allen’s movie, Annie Hall, Alvy Singer told Annie that relationships are like sharks, if they don’t keep moving, they die.
That may be true about relationships, though I don’t think I’d ask Woody Allen for advice about love.
But people aren’t like sharks.
it’s important to sit still sometimes, eavesdrop on your teenagers, catch a fish, read a book, watch television with a friend.
It’s important to be okay with sitting still, but that takes time to figure out.
This is why I don’t get much sleep.
June 19, 2015
Tonight, when I was going to the gym with Colin, while listening to “Shut up and Dance with Me,” I got a little carried away. Since it is virtually impossible to dance in the car while driving with your son in the passenger seat, I conducted the music, with just one hand, since the other one was busy steering the car.
Colin told me there is no chance the Pops will call on me if Mr. Lockhart needs a little time off. He said he wasn’t sure if I had developed a serious twitch or I was demonstrating how to stir pudding. I like pudding, though I didn’t know there was a lot of stirring involved in it’s consumption, especially since I buy it in the single serve packets at the market.
While walking the dog, Katy and I played graduation. I had to smile at her, hand her her diploma, (a rolled up takeout menu that’s been in the backseat since we bought the car,) and shake her hand.
My handshake was limp, my expression was off when I handed her the diploma/stained menu and I had lipstick on my teeth.
I’m not going to make it as a principal, or in any other position that calls for me to regularly bestow awards and degrees, unless I can do the bestowing by mail or that Skype thing catches on.
Katy said we could practice all night, and there really wasn’t any point. She told me to pay attention tomorrow to what Mrs. Kincannon does, but I don’t think she has much hope I’ll improve by the time she graduates high school.
I’ve told Colin and Katy many, many times that every night before I go to sleep, I lay in bed and think of ways to torment them.
I better get to work. I set the bar pretty high today.
The Times, They Are…
June 18, 2015
June has been a pretty major month for us.
I finished my degree at Quincy College, a degree I’ve been working on for the past four years.
I left my job at the South Shore YMCA. The Y is one my favorite places in the whole world, and I consider the people of the Health and Well-Being Department family. But I needed to make space in my life, for my full-time job at the college and my kids.
My daughter is graduating on Friday from 5th grade. We are saying goodbye to Collicot Elementary School. There will be no more field trips or cafeteria duty. I won’t be walking her to school next year, or even picking her up from the school bus. She is making her own plans, I’m no longer negotiating play dates and or making delicate inquiries to other parents about whether or not she’s old enough to come home to an empty house. (She’s been coming home to an empty house from time to time for over a year now but I didn’t admit it to almost anyone.)
My son has completed his freshman year of high school. I know that doesn’t sound like an ending, he has three more years to go.
In the beginning of this year, he’d tell me what he had for lunch almost every night, he was excited about the salad bar and the after school options and playing football under the lights.
Now, he won’t tell me what he had for lunch, or maybe I stopped asking. He doesn’t get excited unless he’s mad at me. Then he’s very excited.
Since I’m done with my classes and only working one job, I’ve had a little spare time.
I started cleaning.
It’s spring, I was busy all winter- it was time to put the house in order.
I emptied drawers. I sorted thru clothes. I swept underneath the couch.
I found the Nerf ball we used for games of catch at Andrews Park. I dusted and polished every single one of Katy’s sculptures. I found Cheerios under everything; they quit eating Cheerios a year ago. There were stickers from the dentist and bottles of bubbles from birthday party gift bags.
And there were photographs, some of them curled, more than a few incredibly embarrassing, and all of them more than a year old. These days, memories are stored on the cellphone or on the cloud.
All this cleaning and sorting- I felt like an archaeologist or a nosy neighbor.
I didn’t remember what Colin’s voice sounded like before it changed. I can’t believe Katy ever got excited about Dora Explorer light up sandals.
I spent a lot of time in the past two weeks, (and yes, it’s been two weeks, I’m not kidding when I said the house needed a lot of cleaning,) mourning and moaning about how I missed the two kids in the pictures, And that being a parent means having to say goodbye on an almost daily basis to the people you love to make room for the latest version of the same people, slightly taller and surly.
Some nights, I would look at my children across the table and wish I was sitting across from the people in the snapshots I’d been mooning over.
Today, there was no time for cleaning, or dinner, or a walk with Sophia the Most Patient of Puppies. I had to take Colin to basketball, attend a committee meeting, help Katy find a dress for graduation, walk the dog, and then, at ten pm pick Colin up from the Y.
Colin had had an even longer day than I did. He spent all day studying for finals and finishing projects in school. After school, he played a basketball doubleheader, before heading over to the Y for an hour and a half weight lifting to get ready for football in September.
As soon as we got home, he started his homework.
I went on the computer to check emails and to search for a recipe that will use up the two pounds of ground turkey in the refrigerator that probably went bad yesterday. I was looking for a recipe that called for a lot of garlic.
All of the sudden, Colin yelled. He was sitting on the sofa, pulling papers out of his backpack. looking for a Science packet due tomorrow. He’d been working on it for weeks. It wasn’t there.
I went to him.
He was crying. Tears didn’t fall down like rain, they fell down like torrential rain, one of those Florida downpours that make creeks overflow and cars float.
I found went thru his books and found the packet inside a sleeve.
I showed it to him, helped him take off his sneakers and sent him to upstairs to sleep
I brought him up a glass of ice water and wiped his face with a clean shirt I found at the end of the bed. He rolled over, but kept talking. He told me about how he dropped a weight on his foot at the gym. He told me what he wants for his birthday. He told me thanks.
I put pillowcases on his pillows and kissed him goodnight.
I don’t know why I’ve been grieving. I have two amazing kids, right here with me, sleeping under the same roof.
Yes, their voices are different, their friends are different, and they certainly feel differently about me than they did a few years ago.
Pining over lopsided bowls and faded snapshots is a waste of time.
I might miss something.
I can do that later after they’ve left.
For now, I’m going to pay attention to right now.
Because right now is wonderful.
Maybe by Breakfast
May 2, 2015
Tonight was my daughter’s fifth grade dance. After careful negotiations, I was allowed to serve as chaperone.
I was the cotton candy ice scooper.
When the 5 gallon canister was empty, I had a chance to linger on the sidelines. I would have been dismissed, but I was the ride home.
I talked to some of the other moms, but mostly we looked toward the dance floor and smiled and nodded and sighed. We moms would shift our weight from one foot to the other in time to the music. We would flutter around the floor with phones and cameras aimed at the action or picking up half empty water bottles and forgotten cookies. We juggled and stowed coats, sweaters, pictures, snacks, and ipods.
And we watched.
The kids were fireflies and shooting stars. I know it sounds like I’ve been listening to too much Katy Perry, but they were. I couldn’t even get a decent snapshot, Katy raced from one end of the dance floor, to the water fountain, to her friend with the long hair, back up to the stage. She was a laughing blur that knew all the dance moves, even from songs that came out before she was born. Her friends, all the kids, moved with grace and confidence and joy. They took photos of each other, without pausing to rearrange themselves, or find a smile or a pout. They held and shot and moved on to the next thing, a snack or a dance or another photograph.
Tonight was a beautiful blur, and I wonder if any of the pictures we all so diligently snapped will capture any of it.
And now it’s almost ten, and Katy’s brushing her teeth upstairs and I’ve got the Macarena stuck in my head.
Good night, Kaitlin.
Please be my little girl again by breakfast.
Just until it’s time for lunch.
My husband never sees the kids. So when he pulled in the driveway at 7 pm, and announced we were going out for fro yo, it was a Big Deal.
Of course, I had to finish writing a letter for work.
And Katy wanted to pick out an outfit for tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Monday. And it’s important to pick out Monday’s outfit in advance.
Colin needed to find the right pair of sneakers. The forty pairs of shoes in the bottom of his closet were not the right shoes for fro yo consumption with the fam.
We left the house by 8. We took the dog. Sophie the Best Dog Ever doesn’t really like rides in the car. None of us are good at sharing dessert. But since was such a unique situation, (I mean he’s never, ever at the house at 7 pm, ever) there was no precedent. Sheldon wanted her to ride in the trunk. One step away from a Republican, I’m afraid.
Sophie rode in the back seat. She sat in the middle so that she was able to devote equal attention to Colin and Kaitlin while they licked and nibbled and spooned and dripped. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her watch them ignoring her.
She didn’t even get to lick the cups.
So we took her to Andrews Park. It was 830 on a Sunday, one dog peeing on the baseball field, one dog owner on a smartphone.
Colin ran out first, Sophie followed. Katy, in hot pursuit behind Sophie. Katy back to the car for a sweatshirt. And to tell her mom to get out of the car. Now.
I followed Katy, and Sophie, and Colin.
I thought we’d play some kind of catch, or walk around the field arguing about who had to the dishes when they got home, or even just look up at the sky, agree that none of us can recognize a constellation and go home.
Colin had unlocked the gate to the play ground. Katy was twirling around on a swing, one of those big swings, with a reclining seat for a chair. When I asked her to push me, she hopped off. She pushed me. She pushed, heaved, twirled, I was spinning around, rocking from side to side, swinging up, crashing down, laughing and nauseous. There was no time to look at the stars.
I pushed Katy on the swings as hard as I could. I wasn’t able to make her twirl, swing,crash and rock all at the same time. Katy will be a better mom than I am. I hope she’ll take me to the park again.
Colin had taken Sophie to the jungle gym. When I walked over, he was perched at the top of the slide, Sophie seated on his lap, paws up, tail wagging. It wasn’t their first time.
And then we decided it was time to go. We got back to the car, realized Sophie had taken a detour, and Colin had left the leash on the monkey bars, and that none of us wanted to help find either, but we did.
I didn’t write down the last time Katy asked to hold my hand while crossing the street. I didn’t take a picture the last time Colin opened a present he thought was from Santa Clause.
Tonight, I went to the playground with Colin, Katy, Sophie and Sheldon.
I can’t tell you what the stars looked like, or if they’ve filled up the sandbox yet.
But I can tell you that tonight I found out Katy is incredibly strong, and Colin is still the magical boy who can convince Sophie the Scared to sit on his lap and slide all the way to the bottom.
Then get her to do it again.
The Day After Winter
April 19, 2015
Sunday April morning in New England, I am at Houghton’s Pond, in Canton, Massachusetts.
Even though only it’s fifty degrees, (in reality it’s maybe fifty degrees in direct sun, probably more like forty if you actually checked on a thermometer, I don’t have that app on my phone yet,) people wear shorts, or tank tops, or flip flops.
Everywhere I look, there are shivering shoulders and chalk white thighs, pale feet, curled toes, owned by faces pointed upwards towards the sun.
While I take Sophie the Sun Starved round the water, I find myself squinting. I’m not used to all this light. I get warm fast, and tie my sweatshirt around my shoulders.
On the way home, I will pick up lawn bags, bulbs, dirt, stuff to feed the dirt, maybe a book about what to do with the bulbs and dirt, and I will celebrate the way Home Depot intended.
Or at least until I’ve gotten the yard cleared of Sophie’s leftovers, mysterious shards of plastic, and sweet musty piles of leaves. There is no snow left in our back yard.
I can handle the leftovers.
Yesterday it was explained to me that I am actually insane for insisting someone eat scrambled eggs and toast for dinner instead of frosted flakes.
Today, when I picked up the other one from after
school at 4:30- she reminded me about a band concert this evening, except I’d never heard about the concert in the first place.
After we established that- yes, there was going to be concert that every other family with a band loving child in Milton knew about, and my daughter really, really wanted to attend, the possibility was again mentioned that perhaps I’m losing my mind, because of course she would have mentioned it, I mean , Mooooom– (Mom, I have to wear black pants, a white button down shirt, and it has to be clean, mom, like real people’s clean, and I need socks, I forgot about the socks, and shoes, black shoes, and they have to be… )
All explained to me one hour before she was due at the high school to practice.
It was a lovely concert. I was introduced to the band director, had the chance to see some good friends. So many of the kids on the stage I’ve had the pleasure of being in the audience for- either a Celebration of Spring Chorale, or Holiday concert, or Easter Egg Hunt or Isn’t Our Town the Best Town in the Whole World Parade or The Annual Mother’s Day March for Peace .*
The music was unexpected, for me anyway. The different bands performed the works of modern composers. I heard hope, terror, joy, grief, got a glimpse of spring, with just the right touch of “Let it Go”. (I think it’s going to years and years before the fans of that song take the advice spelled out in the chorus.)
The two people the closest to me have told me that I am completely insane and totally losing my mind.
Either one of those two statements might have really pissed me off, except- well, they reached this consensus a long time ago, and somehow I still remember to pick someone up for practice and sign someone else’s test and I’m the only one that ever remembers to feed the dog.
And somehow, I don’t point these points out to them on an hourly basis.
But I am really happy listening to the band, I even plan to tape the recital. I love cheering for the team, whatever the season. “Go Team” is ok, as long as I don’t use any names. Or at least not his name.
It’s been a good day.
And tomorrow, there is nothing on my calendar. No one needs a ride. No one needs anything baked, or bought, or delivered or signed.
Tomorrow’s going to be great.
*At the annual Mother’s Day March for Peace, moms aren’t the audience, we are organizers and leaders, some of us sharing and spilling grief, some of us are there to listen, a lot of us sing. And while we march, everyone keeps an eye on the children, who tag along behind, or limp beside, sweaty sticky palms inside someone’s slightly bigger palm, or race ahead, carrying signs, calling to friends, not looking for us at all, (because they know we are somewhere). Pretty similar to all of the other special days, I guess, except our name is in the title. And for the record, dad’s are welcome.
Walking with Sophie On A Snowy Night
February 19, 2015
Katy, my eleven year old, left for a ski weekend with some family friends tonight.
I dropped her off about nine pm. She packed her own bag. I remembered the toothbrush.
I got home and found the leash. I slipped the clip thru her collar and led Sophie The Sweet outside. I was surprised- she did not pause when she saw that the snow, and the sleet, and the sidewalks lined with sharp salt crystals- it was all still out there. Tonight, she led the way.
I’ve a head cold for weeks, tonight it felt like there was a spike stuck thru the middle of my forehead. I put on O. A. R. on Spotify. Snow started to fall. We walked down the middle of the street, Sophie and I. The flakes glowed in the dark and took their time on the way down. It was only 9:30 but the houses were dark, and the cars were all parked and cold in their driveways . It was our world, our black, white, and wet world. As my headache fell away, I turned up the music.
We went around the block about three times, which is a record for us. Lately, Sophie wonders everyday when we are going to move to Florida or at the very least, invest in a litter box the size of our guest bathroom.
I miss Katy, and I have the feeling that the next couple of years, I’m going to missing both my kids a lot.
At the same time, I hope there’s time for me to know them, in between games and tests and snapchats and swim meets and all of the stuff that has already started to pull them away.
I want to know what their favorite music is, and what they like to eat, and how much sleep they need and what makes them laugh. Because I think these things have begun to change and I know in many cases, I will be the last to know a lot, but I do want to know.
I hope I can send them away when it’s time, with grace and a little bit of me, but not too soon. And I hope I don’t try to hold on.
But that when I want to, I hope I know to find the leash, and to slip the the clip thru the collar.
I’ll wait for Sophie to gather herself and lead me outside.
And I’ll walk, and sing along to the music, and let time pass while I circle the block. And I”ll let time pass while Sophie and I circle the block without looking at my watch, or wishing that it would just stop.
Letter from New England
February 14, 2015
Milton, Massachusetts feels like another planet. (For those of you not in New England and aren’t interested in watching the weather channel to hear about the weather in New England, we’ve had some snow.)
The ground is elevated about two feet, it is glows ivory under the moon.
Katy and I went to Andrews Park last night. Instead of swinging on swings or throwing a frisbee, my girl scrambled up the side of a glacier. For the first time in her life, she cried out “I’m king of the glacier.” I didn’t follow her up to the peak, I don’t want to be king of a glacier. It’s never going to make my bucket list.
The sidewalks are lined by white walls about five feet tall. People are more prone to lean on their horns in traffic and more likely to make conversation while waiting in line for coffee. Of course, all anyone talks about is the weather, or shoveling because of the weather, or where they are going to escape the weather. But there is a sense of – we’re all in the same frosty boat, let’s share a moment and make it suck a little less.
We aren’t traveling this February vacation, so it helps a little, with the overall frustration, the shovel/bad hair day burnout, and the claustrophobia, to try to see my hometown through a strangers eyes.
It is a beautiful, fierce, quiet place at night. People stay home, even the teenagers. The only noise comes when a car gets stuck and the peace is shattered by gears grinding and wheels spinning. Or when the plows go through and all the dogs bark because they are convinced it’s the end of the world. It’s the end of the world about three times a night.
During the day, all the white blinds people. I walk the dogs, with my hand shielding my eyes, like a farmer surveying a field. I’m looking for spots with the least slush, and a path wide enough to accommodate me and two dogs. Both of the dogs require large amounts of personal space. I try to do my best for all of the people and animals I love right now. We all need to be extra kind to each other while we live in this strange, cold world.
Of course, when there is finally a few days without snow, it will look a little less ethereal and exotic and a little more this is what comes out of the car exhaust and the Christmas puppy.
But I don’t think that’s going to happen for a while.
Winter in New England or I Really, Really Need to Get To the Gym
February 6, 2015
My son was due at a game at 8, so we left at 7:30. The Parish where his team plays is only a mile away, but he wanted Gatorade and I wanted to take my time.
When I tried to pull out of the driveway, I got stuck in a snow drift. I gunned the engine. I spun the wheel. I tried to reverse. I spun the wheel. I snarled at Colin to get out of the car and “do something.”
He hopped out, ran to my side of the car, watched my wheel spin in mountain of ice and more ice, thru his hands up in the air.
I told him to get back in the car.
Well, I didn’t tell him anything. I think I honked, twice.
He got in, eyes looked straight forward. I gunned the engine, hit reverse, thru the car into drive and somehow, something somewhere gave. The car rocked forward, then shot back, straight into a snow bank six feet high.
I put my foot on the gas, and we lurched forward towards the gas station, toward the church, toward all the other mini vans shuttling their boys to the game on a night that really should have seen everyone home wearing flannel or footsie pajamas.
I said- “Colin, you gotta believe in me. I’m a complete bad ass!”
I had broken a wall of snow and ice. I had conquered my minivan and made it my b^&*ch.
“Mom, bad asses don’t tell people their bad asses.”
All of the sudden, there I was.- a suburban mom in a 2008 Dodge Caravan with an unfortunate predilection for listening to Eminem at the gym.
I dropped him off and wished him luck.
So maybe driving in the snow doesn’t make me tough.
But I got him to his game on time. And I didn’t bang my fists on the steering wheel, or curse New England in February or try to run over a squirrel.
So maybe I’m not a bad ass.
But this winter has made me fierce as hell.
Bring. It. On.
julierichmond 