As of tomorrow, 3rd & K

Suddenly, we've got a 3rd grader and a kindergartner on our hands. Granted, the boys obviously aren't old; for pete's sakes, they aren't even in middle school, but I start to have real and vivid memories around the age Jack is now, and I certainly remember clear snippets of third grade. So, long story short, tomorrow's start of school seems, in some ways, big. And different. As if he's started down a new path. One that little Ol just isn't on yet. (Thank goodness). We spent our Labor Day reviewing just what we were having a holiday for (because really, no parent whose kids haven't yet started school needs a holiday; they need school to commence; stat.) and making our way down to The Big Maze installation at The National Building Museum. Eighteen feet tall at its highest point with a 60' x 60' square footprint, The Big Maze, inspired by labyrinths and old English garden mazes, is, simply, fun. The outer perimeter marks the high point of height; each subsequent, interior perimeter sinks slightly lower. When you reach the center, you can view the walls around you as they grow up and away. The maze is built of maple plywood and in certain spots, because of the Building Museum's gorgeous skylights, it is positively aglow.

We went through as a team, in pairs, having spun and "lost" Jack before following his lead and pretty much every variation of all that. After ten or twelve trips through, excited calls of "dead end! No, this way!" clanging all around us, we finally tired, broke for lunch and then headed home for a lazy afternoon.

T gave the boys haircuts, we picked out their outfits for tomorrow, I read to them from Winnie-the-Pooh, we studied the remaining fish and took bets on Lightning Strike being the next loss, should death visit our aquarium again, had more snacks, more stories, more kisses and finally, sleep.

I just went in to kiss the boys again, marveling anew at how such utterly kinetic beings can become so peaceful and still in just minutes. I donned a latex glove, taped it at my wrist so as to keep my bandaged pinky dry, showered quickly and gratefully and am now in bed.

Jack, my third grader, will be in an upstairs classroom for the first time, his fifth year, at this marvelous school. It seems so purposeful and meaningful, this trip up the stairs instead of down; down into the safe womb of littler and younger and more innocent; down where Oliver will go. I know they'll hate this physical separation which will come earlier, geographically, than it did last year. But I also look forward to this, for them, for us all.

His teachers sent a query to their class; Quakers like queries, and really, what a magnificent way to consider and learn. Anyway, this query involved a picture of two circles on a chalkboard: one is "you"; the other, just beyond "your" perimeter is "where the magic happens." Isn't that wonderful? Before sleep struck, Jack and Ol and I talked about all we'd learned by jumping into the next circle.

"I learned that swimming was so much fun."

"I learned that Camp Calleva was awesome."

"I learned that being your Mom was amazing."

And so, with smiles on our faces and eagerness in our hearts, we look forward to tomorrow with excitement and gratitude, ready to jump into another new circle and open ourselves to the magic which will come.

Settling back in with a couple fish deaths and a trip to the ER thrown in for fun

Mom left today, and, as always, her departure made us all feel blue. She took Tom and me to the movie - A Most Wanted Man - and dinner last night; we went to Le Chat Noir, and it couldn't have been a more perfect evening to do so. They had all their floor-to-ceiling windows open, and a marvelous breeze blew slowly through all night long. We drank a sublime bottle of Aligoté, supped on endive salad, poached pear with blue cheese, onion soup and on and on, and then made our way home where we all quickly crashed. All night long I dreamed I was awake which is such a pits of a way to waste sleep. I felt positively gaga today but happy nonetheless.

After sorrowful hugs outside Terminal B, the boys and I made our way to the farmers market where they gobbled a margherita pizza from The Red Zebra, popsicles from Pleasant Pops and many, many slices of everything Toigo Orchards was sampling. We came away with loads of peaches, some Italian prune plums, wax beans, and tasso for the freezer as my stores were empty after last week's marvelous tart. It was hot as blazes by that point, so, sweating profusely, we came home with the definite plan to remain inside for the remains of the day.

On Friday, we'd gone to Pet Smart to purchase fish for the aquarium I'd set up Wednesday. Our local Pet Smart seems to be the place that folks who might love animals but have lost all love for humans as well as all happiness in life go to work. It is an experiment in depression to go there and interact with the employees, particularly the middle-aged woman who micromanages the cat adoptions and occasionally spends some time in fish and at the check-out and the much younger woman who appears to work solely in aquarium-based animals like fish and hermit crabs.

When we adopted Jack's hermit crabs, Young Gal, so unbelievably stern and unsmiling, helped us until a crab pinched her. She tossed him back into the tank, ran into the back without word, and we never saw her again. I finally had to go ask someone else to assist us. And all the damn crabs went and moped around in our lovely tank, shed their shells and died odd, naked deaths; one in pieces, limbs torn akimbo, and the other forlorn in the food bowl as if he just could not go on.

Months later, when we adopted Nutmeg, I seriously wondered if Older Woman would accept our money and our plea for the Nut. I mean, doesn't she want to place the cats into loving homes? We were basically crying with joy; she never broke even the idea of a smile.

Recently, Oliver suggested we try hermit crabs again, a proposal I emphatically and immediately rejected. Later, he mused, "What about fish?"

"Ok, Ol, fish are much more interesting. We can do fish."

Fast forward to last Wednesday, and I ask Young Gal to help me prepare: what did I need? How did I go about readying the tank? How many fish can fit in a 10-gallon aquarium? I said I'd return the next day, with the boys, so that they could pick out the fish.

"Oh, NO!," crowed Older Woman from a ladder down in frogs and crabs, "I'd wait at least a week. At LEAST! You need to let your tank adjust." And with that she went back to whatever she was doing near the ceiling.

Young Gal largely concurred: "You want to let the good bacteria build up, and the water temperature equalize..." Whatever.

"Ok," said I, "we will not come back tomorrow." I told the boys we should wait a week, but they were so eager, and I'd been so fastidious with the cleaning and measuring and preparing, and they really wanted Mom to be there, and so, after 50 hours, we returned.

Young Gal clearly recognized me but made no move to say hi or acknowledge that, by this point, we definitely know who each other is. I felt like I was skipping detention and the Grandmaster Tattletale was watching me and judging, thinking, "You fish killer, you. Didn't you listen to me and Older Woman?!" Her eyes burned into my back, but my love is with my darling boys so they picked out five fish: two neon tetras, one yellow GloFish, one black something or other and one orange and black. Their names were to become, respectively, Ning, Raider, Sunburst, Black Swimmer (nickname: Night Fury) and Lightning Strike.

Young Gal gave us the fish without smiling, and we hurried them home and transferred them with thrill.

Raider died this morning. Sunburst died this afternoon. And I swear to you I feel like that Gal sent us out with a hex so I'd learn my lesson. I'll have to don a wig to go back for replacement fish. The stress of fish, for the love.

And tonight I nearly chopped the top of my pinky finger off while cutting cheese for the boys' dinner so I spent two hours at the ER where seemingly everyone had cut their hands. Unlike the kale incident three years ago which left me with four stitches in my index finger, tonight I've only been dermabonded and bandaged, a treatment for which I'm feeling most grateful.

The boys are STILL up, but I've shut off my on-duty lamp and am off to bed. Tomorrow is September! When? How?

Threes

Three ways I know the boys are home:1. I found tee-tee droplets on my toilet seat. 2. The milk and all bagged snacks were gone immediately. 3. Trails of underpants, markers, general nature flotsam and other objects map the boys' various paths around the house. Bonus 4: my bath tub is full of Lego Star Wars characters.

Three one-sentence movie reviews: 1. Mandela: Patience of Job, determination of Sisyphus yield incredible results. 2. August: Osage County: Other than Big Charles, one character is more fucked-up than the next, and I'm glad I don't live there. 3. A Most Wanted Man: Middling German accents build into a "did you see that coming?!" end and a mourning for Philip Seymour Hoffman that will leave you staggering .