She Laughs at the Days

The story begins with a haircut, a boy who wanted to grow his hair long like all of the California surfers he sees suddenly decided he wanted it short again. I obliged. It also begins with a long conversation about mortality, the fact that all things living die someday is something we decided not to hide our children from, but to allow them to experience it as early as possible so that it forms an essential part of their world view and hopefully keeps them from the kind of trauma many of our viscerally insulated society experience when we first encounter death. We also think its psychologically beneficial to realize this about ourselves, and helps us to live more authentically. (Yes we are nerds and spend a lot of time talking about these kinds of things. What can I say? I liked the fact that he had a degree in philosophy.) It leads to interesting conversations sometimes. I don’t remember the convoluted route that the bedtime conversation took to get to the Boy saying, “But I don’t wan

I was given a free pedicure last week. I have never had a pedicure before. I know, I can hear your shocked gasps now as you wonder how a woman could get to 29, for real, I don’t have to start faking it until next year, without experiencing the bliss of sitting with her feet in a mini bath while another person massages, softens, and moisturizes her feet and then makes the nails look pretty. I’ve asked myself this several times. Maybe it’s because we didn’t have the cash for luxuries like that when I was little, a haircut was something my mother may have been able to fit in the budget once a year, so I didn’t ever go with the girls in my family. I’m sure that’s when it started. As I got older the practical part of me wouldn’t let me pay for something so, well, frivolous, but I always hoped that perhaps someone else would think that maybe I deserved on and get it for me. I dropped really loud hints about how nice it would be at my bachelorette party if someone came and gave pedicures. My

I felt the baby for certain for the first time last night. I was pretty certain I felt it about three weeks ago, but last night as I lay on my back in bed I felt the unmistakable fluttering of another little being rolling their way around inside my belly. It went on for quite a while and has been with me all day today as well. I lay there, not moving in case shifting around made it hard to feel, this person is not yet large enough to make me pay attention with every single movement, and I said hello to my third child for the first time. To me it feels like our first meeting, the moment when we first connect and our relationship is forged. I pushed and prodded at various little tiny parts that pushed back as we had our first silent conversation, and the mommy tears trickled down my temples and into my ears before finally wetting my hair. And then I marred it by getting up to tell the Genius Husband about it. “I can’t feel it yet you know.” “I know, I just thought you’d like to know

The Boy is going to his first ever professional baseball game tonight. Padres vs. I don’t know. Since he’s not all that familiar with baseball, though in typical boy fashion he stops to watch it if he ever sees a game on a TV screen and says that it’s SOO COOOL, I took him through the Padres website and pulled up pictures of Petco Park and players and tried to help him realize that what he’s going to do is sit in the stands with his dad and uncles, while a bunch of men throw a ball around a field for a couple of hours. He thought this was really exiting and did some of his signature cavorting; half cartwheels, ground rolls, loud exclamations of delighted anticipation, and, my favorite, looking as though he’ll burst if he stands still another second. “That will be so cool mom, I’m going to watch the game…” Are you ready for this, the mid-sentence segue? “…and someday I’m going to go and watch DANCING ON ICE!” I choke back a surprised chortle and through a very wide grin I ask, “Do

I’ve not posted in a while. I’ve been too sick and tired and miserable to write anything I’ll let other people read. Most of my writing has been ugly, dark and whiny the last few weeks, and I won’t inflict that on anyone. The combination of being pregnant, stuck at home (as in no vehicle and no public transit stuck), far away from friends and family, missing them and the city I used to live in, and the Genius Husband working 11 hour days and weekends, combines for a lot of unpleasant emotional breakdown and a lot of frustration. I’ve come out of the funk a little bit, one new friend has helped, and perhaps some perspective, so I will survive, and maybe even write things I like again.