Halloween, another year

A bird is cawing aggressively outside my window. My tubby cat is next to me on my favorite couch, on his back, legs splayed, purring. I have just sunk into these cushions for a couple hours of stillness and work.

Yesterday, as the Mueller news spilled forth, I grabbed our pole saw from the garage and took to our trees with nervous energy to burn. My arms are fatigued today, in a good way, but all the limbs that scraped across our house in Sunday night's rainstorm are now piled in the driveway, and Papadopoulos has pleaded guilty, and I slept soundly last night for the first time in too long.

Today is Halloween, Oliver's favorite day of the year. He is dressing up as Sputnik -"not the probe" he told his friends- and as I packed his costume last night, I smiled. Sputnik is his favorite character from one of our favorite books ever: Sputnik's Guide to Life on Earth. You all should read it regardless of your age. Oliver convinced my mom to, and she has found it utterly delightful and dear.

It is not a spoiler to tell you that some see Sputnik as a dog while others see him as a man clad in kilt, sporran, aviator hat, and goggles. It is the latter version that Oliver will be in today's school Halloween parade and tonight for trick-or-treating. He is supremely excited, and I have to say that we pulled the costume together in grand fashion. 

Jack is going as the Joker. "The scary Joker from The Dark Knight," Mom, "not the one from the Michael Keaton Batman." You got it, buddy! So as to look extra authentic, he has been growing his hair out for weeks now so that we can dye it instead of his wearing a wig. 

"I don't know how you women deal with all this hair, Mom. It's driving me CRAZY!" I do understand. This is the reason for ponytails.

This morning, Facebook sent me photos from Halloween four years ago. Both boys were Captain America. That choice always struck me as funny as neither is terribly keen on any of the Marvel superheroes, a fact that'd have told you as readily then as now. Maybe the shields were too appealing to turn down. I don't know. But they were darling.

four years ago.

And I'm flabbergasted by how much bigger they look today. And how much older they are and act. What four years in the life of a child often is. 

A few weeks ago, Jack lost a molar. I'd forgotten to tooth fairy that night so the next night, after Tom and I got home from a dinner party, I attempted to sneak in and replace tooth with two dollars (interest, you know). 

Jack was still awake so I sent him to the bathroom to re-brush his teeth as he'd clearly been snacking on Cheerios. How that child sleeps with Cheerios, in dust, crumbled, and full forms, in his bed is beyond me, but whatever. Anyway, as I was fumbling with the bills and the tooth bag and Jack's pillows, he walked back in, and I was sure he'd busted me, and I'd not finished the job, and so I said, "Sweetie, I have some news. I am the tooth fairy."

He started crying, and then I teared up, and we got into bed together. Jack was eleven in July. It is infinitely dear to me that he still believes in Santa and was 50% on the Tooth Fairy and wants to cuddle on a daily basis. 

"Mom, I was pretty sure you and Dad were the tooth fairies, but it's just sad, you know?"

"Absolutely, honey. It is so sad."

"But, I swear I caught Dad tooth fairying one night."

"Well, you may have. The thing is, sweetie," (and here I decided to appeal to his rational science side which is almost all of him) "it does seem a little odd to pay you for a physiological function. Like, your baby teeth are going to fall out. That's normal and optimal. So essentially, we've been paying you for a bodily process.”

At this point Jack laughed. Hard. "Mom, do you still have all my baby teeth?"

"Of course, honey. Do you want to see them?"

And so we went to my closet and opened my jewelry box and lifted the tray and took out the small clear blue plastic Container Store box in which were nestled all of his teeth. Some were cracked, some were slightly bloodied despite all the rinsing I'd done, some were sharp, others more blunt. We looked at each one, and as he fingered old incisors, he slipped one arm around my waist, and said, "Do you believe in Santa, Mom?"

"I 100% believe in Santa, honey. Do you?"

"Yes," he replied. And I kissed the top of his head and then walked him back to bed. Oliver refuses to give his teeth to the tooth fairy (Jack once said, "Oliver, don't you want the money?" to which Ol replied, "It's not all about the money, Jack." and I am still dying laughing over that and also, YES!) so frankly, I don't know what he believes. But Jack won't say a word, and again I look from above and think, my gosh, my babies have turned into such mature young men. 

I'm not sure Oliver would have worn a kilt in the school parade even two years ago. The likeness to a skirt would have probably made him balk, worried about what peers may have said or, more concerning, thought. I am so proud of his growing confidence in himself. He is so much like me, and his confidence, like mine, is and will continue to be hard-earned. 

I think this is one reason I've tried to embrace Halloween. It's never been a holiday I much love, but it is important to Ol. It is important for his self-expression, for exploring ideas and identities, for trying things on both literally and figuratively. It's also about the candy and the fun and about "scaring people," but all that is just the tip of the iceberg.

He said to me earlier this month, "Mama, I know you don't love Halloween but you work so hard to make it so much fun for me. Thank you."

As I so often am with Ol, I was floored by the depth of his thought and awareness. (And I was profoundly touched). I know adults who don't reflect and perspective-take like my eight-and-a-half-year-old does. 

For those who will go trick-or-treating tonight, be safe and have fun. I am still hoping that at some point I get to stay home and hand out candy, but this year is not that time. Instead, I'll be walking with Joker, Sputnik, Bane, and whatever Ol's friend is dressing up as, and feeling as if the world will be alright if always we have such teams around us.

Happy Halloween!

The end of an era

After 36 years of work, and lots more in school, my wonderful father is finally retiring. I have always been enormously proud of my dad as a man but also as a physician. He is the sort of doctor that listened as well as he examined, asked and heard as deftly as he tended and scoped (he is a gastroenterologist*). Those are too few and far between, and we are sicker and less understood for it.

Dad's last day is two weeks away, but this past Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, parties were being held in his honor. I wouldn't have missed them for the world. Not least because his birthday, and is he ever a fan of his birthday, is tomorrow, so we got to celebrate many things.

Mom and I thought we'd surprise him, so I caught an early flight on Thursday, Mom picked me up in Lake Charles just after noon, and we headed towards his office where subtle texts to and from his nursing staff promised he'd be.

SURPRISE! He was not surprised, as someone had spilled the beans weeks ago (grr; don't do that, people)! That's me, reacting to him saying he knew. LOL.

Nonetheless, it was wonderful to walk through his office doors one last time and hug him tight. The parties, including a roast complete with skits and song, were full of love and appreciation and memories and pride. Truly, I am so thankful to have been at them all.

My alarm went off at 4am this morning, and dear Mom and Dad returned me to the Lake Charles airport for my trip home. I'm not feeling terribly cogent right now but wanted to share a few pictures and give another shout out of Congratulations and Happy Birthday to my dear Dad. You deserve this retirement so much. 

Clockwise from upper left:
Pics of Dad at as med school graduation and more recently, the retirement guest list book, and a colon;
Sharon, who has worked with Dad for 21 years, and Mom;
Dad and Mom;
me, Sharon, Patsy (I think she's worked the whole 36 years with Dad), Mom, Nechelle (she took care of my Nanny and then started working at Dad's office, Lisa (there for many years too!);
the girls of the Endoscopy Lab all of whom gamely wore stocking caps to look bald + fringe hair and mustaches to better resemble Dad + glasses (it was HILARIOUS);
Dad and one of his best friends.

*I once went to Take Your Daughter To Work day with Dad and afterwards, fairly yukked out, asked, "Dad, of all the specialities, why did you choose GI?" "Well, honey, I'm good with my hands."

Sweet baby jesus. 

Cakes of the weekend included Retirement (white cake with almond frosting; delicious) and Birthday Chocolate (made by me; also delicious).

A blur

I am so tired tonight I can hardly keep my eyes open. Ol was up at 4am with a nightmare, and I was never able to get back to sleep. I spent the day at school taking photographs of students new and old, some nervous, some utterly at home, some keen on talking, some inward and unsure as we all have been some or many times. Some of these bright faces I've known for up to six years; some of those are like my own nieces and nephews. When I interact with these children, I feel lucky that my own boys get to learn and spend time with them. 

I didn't bother counting how many of the same routes I drove on repeat today. I was just happy I could keep the windows rolled down, a fall breeze gusting through as (mostly) good music played. 

Sometime, ages ago, I made it to yoga. I had to leave early to be at school, but the 65 minutes I spent centered on my mat were tremendous. And I don't mean that in any way but literal. The woman next to me twice dropped bagged crystals from her cleavage -I am not kidding- and finally laid them all on her blanket. Beyond that momentary distraction (and, admittedly, the time I spent periodically throughout today pondering substantially-sized crystals housed in billowy mesh bags of various pastel hues tucked in a lycra yoga tank and yet still tumbling forth), I was so grateful for the quiet time in which I was to focus on me. My breath. My practice. My strength. My connection with all around me. Yoga. From the Sanskrit "yug" meaning to join, unite, yoke.

There's also an element of subjugation in that Sanskrit meaning, but I'm not going there. Except in the ways it makes me consider how often I do subjugate my needs to those of the loved ones I tend and the issues I care about and advocate for. Which are decisions I want to make. But still. It is essential to step back sometimes, and yet, despite decades of practice, I continue to find doing so a challenge.

Tom hugged me last night, and half-jokingly quoted from Good Will Hunting: "It's not your fault, it's not your fault." 

"It is!" I replied. "I never say 'no." 

"No, honey, I know that. I mean, it's not your fault if another volunteer doesn't step up. That doesn't mean you have to fill in."

Food for thought. But I am getting better.

The boys have had a marvelous first week of school. Their school. That dreamy, exceptional place whose cost makes me quiver but which always seems worth it. And god are we forever so damn fortunate to be able to do this. Truly. I think about the rather lousy education I had access to growing up, how flummoxed by everything I was when I got to college, how desperately I had to work to catch up. I learned so much during the catch up, but it was a bear of a challenge, would have been easier to build along the way instead of tacking up a foundation, shell, necessities, and an addition all on short notice. But alas. My lucky boys.

Today during my pictorial tour of the student body I happened across Ol's class. He didn't see me at first but I saw him. Racing across the playground, sweaty and mussed, eyes flashing with joy, voice without a care in the world calling out to old friends and brand new ones. He spotted me and ran over, draping himself atop and across me. "Oh, mama, I love to see you at school. I love you! Can I help you?"

Did I ever feel that gleeful and free in third grade? In second? In fourth? I am nearly certain I didn't. What about the glee I felt today in Ol's embrace? And in Jack's when I picked him up? Hard to articulate that, really.

And yet in this soft, fuzzy skein of love also threads a few strands of overwhelm, a chokehold that I thought would have loosened by now. No one tells you motherhood doesn't get easier. I mean, it does in some ways, but in others, no dice. 

We desperately needed to go to the grocery store this afternoon, after I'd left the lower school, raced to the middle school to get Jack, raced back to the lower school to get Ol. I had been gone from home since 8:30am and was sweaty and beat. And the thought of taking both kids with me to the market just before the 5pm crowd descended was not something that made me enthused. It made me feel yoked and overwhelmed and pissy about being out of milk. 

The kids were not badly behaved, but let's just say they weren't calm, either. We left with milk but also three pints of ice cream and the most bizarre assortment of items for "picnic dinner." And my head was spinning. I felt like one of those malfunctioning Fembots in Austin Powers, all blowing gaskets and puffs of smoke and lolling eyes. 

I don't have any words of wisdom to tidy this post up with. I feel rusty and dry here which vexes me to no end. But I made it to yoga, and I saw my boys in their elements today, and I helped out and met some new people and hugged lots of old friends and the greatest teachers who guided my children and are now friends, and I still managed to cook us all dinner and tuck my boys in. And there is a lot of love swirling around. Lots of memory of this day sixteen years ago when I lived in New York and a dark plume of smelly smoke and ash and char and destruction blew up the avenues towards my apartment. 

Out of darkness most always comes light, even when you can't see it for a bit. I see it today but boy am I tired. Hope y'all are well.