The first two

OMGY'all thepasttwodayshavebeensuchawhirlwind. Really, they have been nuts. Happy but full-on bonkers.

The kids reported each having a fabulous, "awesome" first day of school. Afterwards, hell-bent on treats from Baked & Wired, we schlepped from Bethesda to Georgetown, a trip I must never before have made either ever or during the post-school hour. I do not recommend that you do this. We weren't yet at Glover Park when the kids started in on the "what is taking so long? Are we just around the corner?" We were not.

However, the ginormous brownie (Ol) and chocolate chip cookie-vanilla ice cream sandwich (J) made up for the drive. Sated and happy, we decided on a stroll by the canal. 96 degrees does not make a leisurely stroll fun in the least, so we spent approximately 8 minutes studying the locks, the ducks and the dirty water before hightailing it back to our car.

I was determined to cook a great dinner for the boys and for T and me so once home set J up with his homework, plunked Ol down with a Halloween costume catalog I received yesterday and on which he immediately became fixated - "Mom, I cannot decide between Boba Fett and Jango Fett. How will I decide? One has two guns but no holsters. The other has a missile launcher on his arm but only one gun. One is green but too dark of green. One is blue. Maybe that one." - and made sliders for J and salmon for O while also making... wait for it... a plum tart.

I love how T is always like, "Oh, Lady, you're making another plum tart" before diving in for a wedge the size of Texas. What is a girl to do? I mean, plum season doesn't last forever, yo. So I make 'em until I can't anymore.

Later, because my dear tomato friend is still rolling in tomatoes and, thus, so am I (read it with the gratitude that's there y'all, but really, there are only so many ways to eat tomatoes), I made a new tomato dish: stewed in my Lodge with olive oil, garlic and fresh oregano; topped with smoked mozzarella, breadcrumbs and pecorino and then broiled until melty and crispy. Quite good, BUT, not the sort of yummy-slop that photographs well. Just go with it.

Today I spent the morning at school taking pictures of all the kids. What a darling bunch of children, and boy do some love the camera. Little girls can really strike a pose! I'm heading back there soon. Hope that everyone who is "back to school" in some way has had a great start.

Summer storms

Ominous thunder warned us just moments before the skies opened and this gully-washer rolled in like an ambush. Nothing so torrential can last too long, so I'll enjoy it while I can. I delight in being inside and quiet with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen and admire. The thunder rumbles deeply, resonant in my core, like an aching hunger, for food or longing. As I wander throughout my home, the varied surfaces being slapped so aggressively by the water's fall respond with equally contrastive tunes; the whole is a grand percussive symphony that is at once dark and regenerative, and I am riveted. Timpanic patters, crashing cymbals, muted brush strokes across taut canvasses. I feel rocked and lulled but also alive and excited; I'm suspended between two worlds of being, and I love it.

It proceeds in fits and starts; momentary thrills are chased away by idle periods of tranquility, leaving me uneasy in the best sort of ways. I worry about the more fragile of my plants, the food I just poured into my bird feeder, the tiny animals who must, literally, weather the storm in all its gushing strength. At the same time, I am grateful for this deluge. The ground is so parched, a dusty plain struggling to stay put much less nourish and support life. This means one day that I won't need to water somberly in the heat, hoping it's enough, feeling greedy because so many others are in drought.

Quickly, too quickly, the storm has passed, flying authoritatively to its next site. Its departure leaves me lonely in a way. As if offering crumbs, sporadic rumbles beckon to me remotely, tantalizingly audible but decidedly out of reach.

Ironically, I just cleaned the yard a few hours ago, tidying up after last night's downpour. When I wake tomorrow, the sprinkling of new arboreal detritus will flood me with memories of tonight's concert, and I won't mind cleaning anew because of the why and the when.

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.