Silly morning, and so forth

This morning at 4:20am, I was awakened for the second time by darling Oliver. First he was thirsty and needed to go to the bathroom (OK, great, but why this needed to involve me is unclear); then, wait for it, he was beset by dueling boogers, one in each "nose" as he calls his nostrils. "Mom, do you have Kleenexes?" "Of course, honey." "Can you help me with the boogers in my nose?" "OK." "First this side, yuk."

Yuk it was, and I'll spare you further detail.

"Now there is one in this nose." "Got it, Ol." "Where is Tool Sheet?" "Honey, I don't know. Please go back to bed." "OK, Mom. I love you. I want to kiss your nose."

This is all very dear but I suspect Oliver has mastered the art of loving, procrastinatory BS. Ya think?

By 5:40a, I was starting to feel hostile so hauled it down to the basement where I slept until 8:45, then woke with a start, raced upstairs to make sure everyone was fine, found that T had actually made lunches and was about to take the kids to camp (husband of the year) and then noticed a very strange tinge to Ol's legs. As I came to find out, he had taken it upon himself to color his body with black marker. Jack had very helpfully smothered Ol's back in this nightly hue, and then they had sort of air-brushed everything with their hands. Long story short, Oliver looked rather gray all over but it was too late to do anything so I simply sent yet another email to camp, this time clarifying that no, the children aren't filthy so please ignore all discoloration. Truly, it is always something. And I sometimes question my fatigue and spaciness. For the love... They are pretty amusing children most of the time so there's that.

I just got back from the doctor because two days ago, the baddest day, while in the dressing room of a favorite workout wear store indulging in some serious retail therapy, I noticed a golf ball-sized lump just to the left of my upper spine. I'm not much in the way of a physical health worrier, but this was odd so I scheduled a look-see. People, it seems it is a lipoma which is nothing more than a fat deposit. Is it all the ricotta I eat? Shite, this is just nasty but benign it is, so c'est la vie. The doctor said I could get it ultrasounded (ridiculous; this is the prob with our healthcare system; to his credit he did not recommend this!) or just wait and see. I'll just wait and see.

Always something.

Study of Wondie, gorgeous jam

Since his birthday, Oliver's love for Wonder Woman has not waned in the slightest. While in NC last month, I bought him a Wonder Woman coloring book, and you'd have thought I'd given him the greatest gift in the world. Perhaps it was! Since camp began, Ol has drawn at least one picture of "Wondie" every day, and because he seems slightly bashful about his love for her -despite my entreaties that he be proud; she is cool- he has his counselors (or maybe he does this by now) wrap each picture up like a scroll and tape it shut with painter's tape so the paper doesn't get nicked or torn. At pick-up, he proudly though somewhat shyly presents me with his newest work(s), and I am excited anew because these are truly wonderful and darling. Sometimes Wondie lacks arms, and in one -gasp- she wasn't wearing her star-spangled undies, but Ol never forgets her tiara or golden lasso. Sometimes Wondie is alone on the page, at other times, she's amidst words or some other scene (see: hand-crabs). I treasure these pieces and had to share.

It's another gray day here but blessedly both kiddos are at camp (especially blessed because I slept in the basement with Jack last night and was kicked more than once, coughed on and awakened by his loud shout-outs to Oliver and other subjects playing prominently in his dreams), so I've enjoyed quietude and coffee. I'm about to get back to work on my newest puzzle but did make a glorious batch of peach-apricot-almond jam earlier. Just four half-pints and I spooned the rest over some fresh yogurt for a wow breakfast.

It's actually that color- incredible, yes?

Lastly, an enormous thanks to all who wrote in response to yesterday's post. I'm so grateful that you read Em-i-lis and let me know when things resonate with you!

One of those days

Readers, I am having one of those days.

One of those days where I feel flat as matzoh (I know that's not the expression, but really, pancakes fluff in a way matzoh does not; hello leavening agents!). One of those days where I wonder if what I'm doing is what I should be doing and/or if it matters in the slightest. One of those days in which "is this what it's all about?" flutters through my mind frequently with a "don't answer that!" following close on its heels.

With about a 90% chance of accuracy, I can probably blame said malaise on some shitty hormones in concert with the 4-day holiday being good but long. Too many early wake-ups/unread everythings/half-finished conversations/too-quickly done whatevers. And, it didn't end today like it was supposed to.  

Jack stayed home from camp today, sick with a croupy cough, though his fever has stayed at bay since Friday night. I cooked dinner for the Grands while he took one hour to write/draw a thank you note (it is spectacular but that pace leaves a tad to be desired in the efficiency department, yes?). A little Harry Potter here, some of a new puzzle there, to the Grands', to pick up Ol...I am hoping for a return to regularity tomorrow, but I kinda suspect it'll be Camp Mommy again.

All day I was hounded by a sense of insufficiency. That's not totally right, but it gets at part of what I felt. Here's what I know: I cannot just be Mom; I must, however (because I want to), be a stay-at-home mom. So, how to negotiate this?! And yes, I am fully aware that this is a luxurious, 1%er type of dilemma, but you know what? It's real, and hard, and painful, regardless of who is struggling with it.

I want very much to be the primary person raising my children, but I also want to honor and pursue and stay connected to the woman I have become and now am. I want to model for my children that mothers are multidimensional beings with lives and interests that both evolve from and are completely unrelated to them. Plus, we have friends and spouses and jobs and such. But I digress.

The point is, it's really fucking hard to balance it all and sometimes, I feel like I'm the one getting the short end of the stick despite my very best efforts pretty much all.the.time.

I've written about this dilemma so many times before yet I've never arrived at an answer that is either sufficient or reasonable, not least both. This evening, my constellation of disgruntled queries found focus in a questioning of Em-i-lis. Now approaching its 2½-year anniversary, I love writing it each and every day but it what does it mean, and to whom, and why? Is it a worthy undertaking if the audience is relatively small?

To me it is I think because I receive kind notes of "thanks" and "yes" and "I love what you write" on a regularly regular basis. But I'm not The Pioneer Woman or Smitten Kitchen or any of those other behemoths and I don't know if I could be or would want it.

~~~~ Pause... ~~~~

At precisely that point, Jack started wailing from his room, refused medicine, asked for tea and then had some cockamamie idea about making cookies. I acquiesced, asked him to read me the recipe (as a result we now have a teaspoon more of salt than called for but so be it), and got those puppies in the oven. He doesn't want them anymore.

~~~~

So now I'm back, cookies all over, knowing that tomorrow will be another Camp Mommy, somewhat dreading the revisit to the pediatricians' office, somewhat inordinately thankful it can be me there with J. And I'm again left hanging in the balance between two often-competing identities of import.