Getting ready to board the plane. My son is plastered to the window at the gate watching the planes taxi up and down. It's his first flight. I wasn't too much older than him when I was flying by myself. Short trips off to see a cousin on the other side of the state. I can't imagine putting this kid on a plane by himself. Is that because to a mother a child seems way smaller than she ever was? Or is it because the world has moved on?
The first Monday after the end of daylights saving time always kills me.
I'm not a morning person; this we know. You go ahead and get the worm. I'd rather sleep another two hours and have a muffin anyway. But to be back to waking up in pre-dawn hours is just too rude for words. It's hard enough for me to match my clothes with some daylight to aid me, you know?
I love the long afternoons though.
I glance out the car window at the tree strapped to the roof. "Well, that was pretty easy."
"Yep. I think we're set now." In the rear view mirror a pile of small fir branches are waving around, awaiting wreathage at home.
"We still need mistletoe."
The kid pipes up from the backseat. "What's mistletoe?"
"A parasitic plant."
"Sucks the life out of trees."
"Probably full of narguls."
"The ancient druids nailed it to the doors of newly-weds to increase fertility."
Meet Weasley, lately of the Yolo County Animal Shelter. He's about one year old. He has a few freckles on his nose. The whiskers on the left side of his face are mostly black, and on the right, mostly white. There are tufts of fur that stick out between the toes of his rather large feet.
I picked up the junior version of Apples to Apples over the weekend, which was an instant hit with my kid. He needs help with the occasional word but for the most part it's a great game for small fry. We don't quite have enough people in the house for a good rousing game, so a stuffed rabbit sits in as our fourth, and wins the hand more often than you'd expect.
I was halfway through writing a flippant post about trivial things. It will have to wait.
I got a text from my dad this afternoon. Call home, is what it basically said. With gravity. I had time to think, “Dad’s had to make too many of these calls lately,” before I went outside and pushed call back.
Out of respect for... out of respect... Jesus, I don’t even know. I’m not going to share it. That’s the point. It took Dad a full five minutes to get the words out to tell me. I don’t know what I could possibly say to you.
Getting dressed on Saturday morning for our family outing took longer than usual. Luke shuffled back and forth through the box we pulled down for him, modeling different outfits and mismatching pieces before he finally decided on a Peter Pan shirt under the long tunic with the wooden sword. While he filled a pouch with coins from his piggy bank, Shawn and I took turns doing each other’s hair. Shawn hunted down various peripherals while I decided what basics I could manage to carry in a costume with no pockets what-so-ever. This is why I generally dress as a peasant.
It’s funny how a littlest thing can change your perspective. My dad recently gifted me a little redwood cabinet he made ‘round about the time I was born. When I was a kid, it hung in our kitchen. There were creamers in it. Two of them were shaped like cows.
I don’t know what happened to the creamers, but the little cabinet found its way to my house and on Sunday, I hung it in our bathroom. Which prompted me to sort through all my hairpins and corral them into little jars that fit nicely in the cabinet. Shawn and I stood back to admire the addition.