alterations...

To me it appeared to be perfectly fine.  I saw no flaw, felt no bumps, was not swallowed by any potholes, yet the road just outside my gate was apparently in dire need of repair.

It's currently all torn apart; loaded with work trucks, men in hard hats, tractors that blare out "beep beep beep" as they back up again and again.   Orange cones unclearly/clearly mark which lanes are safe to travel, yet I keep screwing up as I attempt to come and go.  Went so far as to run over one of those cones and dragged it right into my driveway, lodged beneath my jeep.

Make no mistake, the road is under construction, though it looked good to me, I guess it had problems.

If I seem alright, it's just a facade.

My macadam may be intact, but beneath the surface, there are pitfalls and leaking pipes, hazardous stones and old tree roots applying pressure from within.

It's dangerous to travel too close to the home of me.

I don't want to feel this way.

I want to be as smooth as freshly spread cement.

I want to feel as together as I appear.

I want to be finished.  My trusty road led me here.  I'm where I meant to go and so I'm done... 

And I thought I was because I signed a paper or two or three thousand and they indicated to me that the end had arrived.

Ready to move forward, no really I am, but it's not so simple as want, is it?

As E.E. Cummings so eloquently puts it, "love is more thicker then forget".

Ah silly me, haven't I learned yet that an end only signifies the beginning of something else?

And, haven't I learned that beginning something else sometimes means the tearing down of what exists?

So rip it up, pull at it, demo me and let me rebuild, shore up, reassemble what was and turn it into something new, something more, something which can endure all the new somethings, wonderful or not, that are about to cross my path.

Consider me under construction.

and I'd like to think that the ---- Grand Re-Opening will be Coming Soon...

  

Love at last, I confess....

I love him.
I don't know when it happened.
I don't know why now of all times either, especially since he just chewed my Curious George Anthology, which must have been like devouring a phone book, that Nut.  Why not choose Peter Rabbit or some other, rather delicious, semi candy coated, likely sticky, old, but far smaller children's book also stored in the garage to gnaw on?
I adored that big, yellow book about the man in the big, yellow hat.   Yet still, even after that, I find myself more attached then ever before to him.  
Big yellow dog.


Yesterday, delivering that dog to the kennel was the hardest thing I'd done in three days.  
AND maybe it was the hardness of the previous three days that had finally hit me, as I walked him, tail down, eyes full of dread, into the place he normally loves to go stay and play.   His kennel is cushy to say the least.  They call it a pet Bed and Breakfast in fact.


But we three; boy, girl and me, we were teary eyed and emotional walking away from Rosa, with her blue hair, pierced face, muck splattered boots, as she tugged our reluctant, big, yellow doggie deeper into the yard of the place he'd stay this week, while we began our camping adventure followed by days of Sea World, Legoland, fireworks and Fourth of July - our summer fun continuum.  


I never knew that I was going to love him more.   I thought I loved him already.  But I think I fell, at last.  I think I've fallen and I can't get up.


We miss you stinky boy, but I'll be back for you.  

wish you were here...

"Microscope, not my criss cope", I say. 

"So you don't have one?" he presses, hoping against hope that I have a mi-cros-cope here at home, stowed away, until now unseen, like buried treasure.

I'm confused, but I go on; "a telescope lets you see things far, far, far away, like the stars and the planets.  A microscope shows you things up close, like cells and germs, and specs n stuff."   The longer my explanation the dumber I sound.  We discuss magnification and then he asks again, still microscopically optimistic, if I do actually have that criss cope...

I don't want to break it to him, don't feel like correcting him.

I have come to so greatly cherish the mispronunciations, miscommunications,  missed concepts, misguided missives of all kinds.  They are fewer and far between, as my kids grow older and for the most part wiser.

Despite the lateness and the fact that we are in my bed, hunkered down together, somehow we continue to talk more about things in outer space.  It's late and there are these little, puffy, half moons sitting right beneath his sleepy eyes.   She chimes in.  She begins to list  for us all the planets.  She gives detail about whether they are solid or gas.  I'm always pleasantly astonished by her.   

 Jupiter is my favorite I tell them.   This leads to discussion on why and how come and what for.   Somewhere in-between my telling them that I like the name Jupiter and that it sounds as if it might be a nice place, I mention going to sleep again.  But, we've not finished our planet list... on she goes and eventually she says, "Uranus".  

They are not too young to find the undeniable humor in this name.   Hysterical.  

He adds, "To see Uranus you may want to use a my criss cope, not a telescope".

Hysterical.

When they go overnight, away from me, from the dogs, from their toys, from the stuff here, I always think I'll be so productive.   I'll run dogs, pick up toys, deal with stuff.   I'll edit something I once tried to write, work out, read, get in my closet and try on every sundress, every pair of questionable sandals, every single-ingle, retired bikini - scrutinize each and every article of whatnot.  But... all I end up doing is just mostly walking round the house, looking for signs of them, till eventually I go outside, where I sit.  I watch the sky, wait to see what stars might come, what shape and size the moon may be.

I'm really not so great at alone time.  That reality is magnified.

On the other hand...

I am  much better at sharing then I ever dreamed I could be.

screwed

My box is small, weighs light, but to me - its high, this is heavy.
To you, I'm spastic, to me, I'm  practically elastic  - compared to where I was and who I was and how, back when.


I can remember Aaron saying he'd catch me if I fell, only a short, long year ago
I looked for him today to see if he would come back, stand there, catch me if I should happen to catch my foot as I hop up.  I have this overwhelming, not entirely irrational fear of breaking my teeth while I attempt box jumps, even on the itty bitty guy.  
He's nowhere in site, but obviously still in my head, so I do it, teeth breaking fear and all.
Each jump is a leap of faith for me at my age, 47, with, as I like to refer to it, my literally "screwed up" and screwed in leg.
I can't be flexible.  Ironically, physical inflexibility, being stiff and sore, left me little choice but to at least try to become, well, flexible.   And to do that, I had to and still have to continue to literally ignore, if not surpass my limitations, all of them, mind and body.
Though I'm not strong, I can't tell you the strength I have inside and how I push  myself to try to show up.  I can't express how hard of an exercise in self discipline it is for me just to walk in and partake of this amazing, exhilarating, exhausting, excruciating, most excellent form of incredible torture and exercise called Crossfit.


I hate to talk about it and I hate to use it/excuse it and myself for having it, but it's there and it's a pain, literally and figuratively.  It's ugly and it prevents me from being remotely graceful and there is no way around it.  I'm stuck with a fuc_ed up leg... but, on the bright side, it's not as bad as it used to be.
I feel better, stronger then I knew I could and because of that, I'll jump or more like thump my way up onto that smallest box.




...what I lack in range of motion, I make up for with my wide range of emotion...


Every time I make myself show up, I feel more unexpected gratitude, which leads to an emotional latitude, which in turn allows me to feel happier  and stronger in every conceivable, inconceivable way.
Its like love, at first leap/box-jump, which means that I apparently technically love the little guy; the tiny box and I do... 




Without the patience and the ever present assistance of the trainers and sometimes the well intentioned do-gooders/can't help but want to help ya do betters, who thrive at my gym,  I'd absolutely be lost and limping.   No doubt about it. So thank you, for sure.

memorization

Do not ask me how we land on these topics...
"God and Mary weren't married?" He asks with a mature incredulousness that I can totally relate to and resent both at the same time.
"Ehh... hmm.".  Throat clearing gives me pause for thought... and just where is a nail for biting when you need one?
Emaculate conception is hard to explain even for good Catholics, never mind bad ones like me.   And so how exactly do they, children of a bad Cath, even know to bother asking about this business?  I mean, who told them about the bizarre relationship between God and Jesus; his, "long haired, barefoot son" - because those are the things that stick out about God forsaken Jesus in my young son's eyes.  But girl, she wants me to go into great detail about how exactly genes from God got into his supposed son while he was housed inside of Mary, whom God never physically hung out with.
Atheists might be onto something.
Simplicity.
But I can't do simplicity well.
So, I deflect.  
I do this initial deflection by reciting the Our Father and then Hail Mary, but I change up words so that it all sounds nicer, makes more simple sense.   I pretty them up a bit.
Have I mentioned we don't attend church often?  Yup, we are very busy apparently.
My kids want to know why I know the words for those two rather unknowable prayers and why do I know them by heart when I can't seem to bother learning the street names and common routes home in the area where we now reside; after all, this is where we choose to live.  Good questions.
I tell them its sort of like learning the alphabet, but I know inside it's not remotely alphabetical....its philosophical.    It's not wrote - it is written and in truth I have no better understanding of it all then they do and I cannot explain it well ... and so instead I deflect again.  I simply say, "Oh man, oh man, how very much do I love you?  So, so very much is how much.  Come on, come on and close your eyes".
They do.
We are done, for now.  But I'm not done.   
I am on.
I'm on inside my head.


Someone logically tell me why and just how does the world keep turning and why can I get away with so much and so little?  How can I gamble with things like love and happiness, the future, security, friendship, good health or even just stupid Blackjack and why do I win, lose, win, lose, win more, then lose a bit but win again, just not enough to make a real difference?   Why do I tread so much endless water to only stay pleasantly, surprisingly afloat?  Why doesn't the tide just carry me away?  AND - What if it does someday?   What day might that be and why have I been so lucky and unfortunate and blessed, cursed, strong and weak, loved and lonely, lost and progressing all at the same time?
I'm not getting anywhere, but then again, look how far I have gone to get here?

I'll deflect and admit that I am kinda succeeding at getting nowhere and admit also that I don't actually begrudge the journey.
Hell, I know the alphabet...
"Hail Mary, full of grace" ...

Deflecting...

"Give us this day."

More deflection... 
He must know we're worth it -

it was the nearness of you...

They call them "feel good" movies for a reason.


Not so much before, but definitely during and also for a while after, we felt good,  good in a way that none of us had all day long.   We watched a movie together.  During the film we morphed our positioning.  We'd started clumped, the three of us on the couch, my hand absentmindedly, tenderly scratching their narrow backs.   Then there were just two of us, him literally laying on me, as if I was the sofa.  At some point we were each alone in spaces throughout the room, but in the end, it was them together with the big dog, at a distance from me.  I watched them, while the movie ended and I was moved to tiny tears, partly because the film touched me and partly because my life touches me and maybe a little in part due to the big, beautiful full moon that was now visible from one of the high, pointless windows near the top of the house.   I think about these windows.  Too high to cover, letting in all the light that is lovely, but brings extra heat and a feeling of openness that sometimes seems like too much exposure.  However, they come in handy during the full moon, I realized.
In the film, the feel good movie, a person asked, "which would you choose, people or animals"?   
Ironically I was looking at my kids and dogs lying together in perfect harmony on the floor, just as this question was posed.   I looked at the moon then; bright, giving, mysterious, familiar, unchanging, alive, cold, distant, comforting and I thought to myself; I don't have to choose between people and animals.  I have no choices there.  I am stuck happily with them both.  This is the burden/commitment of being a parent and pet owner, though you chose them, once chosen, unlike lovers, they are yours for the duration.  
So what choices can I make?
Many.
Last night I chose to love the moon and if I could have, I would have touched it.
Today I choose to spend quality time with the sea... and I'm awfully curious about what my moon might have done to that ocean.
...this brings me to my point, the point I never realize I have when I begin to write anything; isn't it amazing that we can have both?  Isn't it amazing that we don't have to just choose to love only one, not the other.

I am forever amazed by the way the things I can not help but love seem to move one another, morph together...

might as well...jump

I reached far to pat myself on the back.

Remembering to show up to.... get this... sharpen pencils today at the school office for next week's state testing, though they'd already been sharpened by some other willing parent by the time I arrived, felt rather significant to me.  I've been overloaded by the newness/nothing-is-at-all-familiarness of my recent days, to the point where actually showing up when I'd been asked to felt like an accomplishment.   I'd followed through, whoop-dee-do.  I'm back.  Kinda, sorta back.  "Thank you so much though", she said anyhow, even though I'd done nothing other then actually attempt to do what I said I would.   I smiled as I walked away, "You are very fu_king welcome and might I add that it would have been my great pleasure, in fact", I thought to just myself.  

I never get tired of watching my kids have fun.   My little guy bounces and jumps and rolls exactly like the 70 some odd other boys at this public trampoline, but his face is a beacon to me.  I focus on it.  I find it instantly in the crowd.  "Watch this", he screams.  It looks like every bounce before, but maybe it feels different to him.  Maybe to him, that latest hop felt like a big, giant, scary leap of faith.... and so I watch carefully and call to him, filled with wild enthusiasm that springs from somewhere inside of me, a place not covered in yellow, sticky, remind me to remember, post it notes.  I say, "You are awesome!!"... and I mean it.   He eats this up.  For every big bop of his, there is an equal or greater reaction from me.  "You're incredible.  You're a star.  Wow, you went so high that I could barely see you!"  None of it is true, but it's all true as hell at the very same time.  He is a star, he goes so high that I can hardly see him, he's incredible, awesomeness personified.  I'm positively dazzled. Just jumping is more then enough.  It's everything.

Surprised by the magnitude of energy it requires to adjust myself to simple, necessary changes in my daily life, I realize that everything, E V E R Y T H I N G is a jump, everything is a leap, no matter how natural, necessary or mundane our tasks seem, when they involve others and when we take care with those tasks, when we come through, then those things are actually "something".    And wouldn't it be nice if some person called out, "YOU are awesome!" for each of these efforts we make to propel ourselves forward?  For each attempt to hurl ahead there should be an equal or greater reaction.  And so, because the effort alone is something,  I echo to you, yes you Reader; "You are a star, I can barely see you from here, simply awesome."

Let me close with a, "YOU are incredible... just for showing up and trying."