Parting Seats

I told myself I wasn't going to do this. But, my husband's and my anniversary is on my mind. Along with the annoying creak in the ceiling fan. The faint headache from the one glass of red wine I've consumed. The tightness in my shoulders. The frustration with writing a blog at all. Writing a blog. What the hell does it mean, anyway?

My husband is on a business trip for the first time in our history together. Meanwhile, our wedding anniversary came and went last Tuesday, mostly uncelebrated since it's rather hard to celebrate with a person who isn't in your immediate vicinity.

Earlier tonight, I was putting up wedding photos of us. Ssshhhh. It's a surprise. And, my heart's belly flipped a little. There we were. Walking down the aisle hand-in-hand while the orchestra of crickets and faceless figures awaited our approach in the nearing dark.

The woman in that photo is clearly me at one point in her life. A thousand years ago, on the most idyllic night of her life. And yet, the whole event was a production, a party, a coming-out.

After three years of marriage, sometimes I feel like I've lived thirty years with my husband. As if, somehow we are already those two old fogies on the porch, sharing the knitted blanket so and so made us. What was her name again? That was so long ago now, dear, wasn't it?

Many other times, I feel like we met thirty days ago. He came over last night, carrying a rose for his first forgotten phone call. Then, he's on the couch, playing my old Gibson, singing his heart out. No matter that there's only this audience of one. I am in awe and definitely in serious like.

Then, we're broken up, eating breakfast on a sunny Sunday. The day is moving on, and it's getting hotter on the restaurant patio. And, I've never been this happy in my life, except we aren't together. I am just realizing this guy is my best friend and wishing I could grab his hand.

Then, there we are. In that photo. Holding our breath in, our legs somehow moving, although we aren't conscious of how. But they're taking us down the aisle. Across the cement patio, through the parting seats.

I love you like no other.

Giving up Karma

You think you have this mom thing down. It's been, what...over a year....psshhh. You have it in the bag now. Not that it's easy. It's not easy, but more rewarding and magical than anything you can imagine. Every day is a day to Charlie's chocolate factory, even if sometimes you don't have the winning ticket and have to stand in the cold. I am assuming it's cold. Wasn't it cold in the Depp version? Anyone with me?

Your adorable, extremely active son went down for bed as usual. And, two hours later wakes up screaming with a fever of almost 104. How can this be God's green-ish earth? Must this be part of the job description? I'd like to edit some of my duties. I'll even take on less sleep and even more rock gathering.

It just seems ridiculous and impossible. But, you do it, worrying the whole way. For some reason, when his fever gets this high, it tends to stick around like a desperate ex, refusing to stop calling until you've broken your phone to bits and moved out of state.

Mmm...I am sounding a bit nuts. It's just that the nights when you and your husband are up until beyond the break of dawn, holding your feverish child in your arms remind you how great all those other nights are - even the ones with interrupted sleep.

I'll take the skipping record, the one person food fight every night, the hitting in the face followed by a sweet hug, and the sidewalk tripping. Even the running away from you in public. The fevers, the drooping eyes, pale face, and refusal to eat...I'll sacrifice a little karma if someone wants to take those on for me.

Hummus with your Humanness

So what if it's awkward. Or that people will judge you. Everyone is awkward, and everyone - barring those more evolved than you and I - is judgmental. That sentence sounds awkward, doesn't it?

Anyway, I had my first "meet-up" today with the mom's group I started here in Frederick. I simply had a few ladies and their children over to my house for coffee and hummus. Good combo, no?

I began this mother's group since Frederick seems to have a shortage of them. And, since the vital lesson I learned last summer was that other stay-at-home moms are essential to your survival. It's hard enough not to feel like Betts from Mad Men, smoking up a storm and telling her little rug rats to "go watch TV." So to speak.

In other words, the feeling of being on a remote island can take over when too much time is spent alone with a baby or a toddler. If you saw Castaway, you get the idea. Those who already have kids, don't even need these references.

So there I was, standing in my kitchen/sitting room among three strangers and their kids, serving coffee and hummus. Introducing everyone, like I am introducing one group of friends to another. Awkward. But, still OK. It went fine, and I enjoyed everyone - and their kids - which rarely happens, even in a group that small.

We're all strangers in a strange land, anyway, right? Meeting new people felt exactly the same when I was in Atlanta, my home of twelve years, as it did in Frederick, MD, my home of just over twelve days. Still the awkward silences. The not knowing whether I should be "the hostess." Whether I was who they expected? Do I sound stupid? Have I asked each person enough questions? Still the same humanness, at its best.

The God of Rocks and Bunnies

In times like these, I feel blessed for snack time, picking-up-rocks time, wrestling time, banging-on-things time, and so on. Blessed for my supply of good coffee. My love of reading. My son's ability to find pleasure in watching rabbits - especially a bunny we've named Bub-bub - sit still as statues in the yard.

No matter where we are or what's going on, we have these moments. All of us do. Yours are different and the same as mine, and yours probably keep you grounded during major transitions or hard times, like mine.

This isn't a major revelation, but it's my focus while I stretch and pull on the fabric of my new life. This is the time when building an herb garden is coming into fruition. When decorating for Halloween is a thrill. When painting my toe nails seems like a good idea again.

Know what I mean?

Nowhere WoMan

I had a first sentence in my head, but it left. Packed up and wandered off to cuddle with some dust bunnies. I've actually stopped sneezing now that we're in Frederick, Maryland. Pulling demons and monsters, angels and ceramics from our garage in Roswell left me a red-eyed, stuffy-headed mess for weeks. Am I allergic to my past?

Now, we are on the other side of the ledge, after leaping a great distance. I said to my sweet Eric that "moving to a new place is hard," and he replied, "no, it's not" (gag, puke, ug). And, I was in a good enough mood to recognize the truth in his words. What's so ironic, in a sense, is that this move has not been difficult. My mother lives nearby and so do Lynne and Henry, Eric's aunt and uncle (thanks for the pie and flowers!!). Therefore, this move has been a landing, an insertion of established roots back into somewhat fertile soil.

My sense of isolation, my uncertainty that this place is it, my nostalgia for what was, my peace with my life as mommy - all those things still exist. There and here. It's all the same.

Of course, there are friends and family whom I already miss - and already missed as my taillights turned to face them back in Atlanta. Good-byes are not my strong suit (for another entry). Needless to say, this is it and always was. I am now living the part of my life where I've left the town about which I used to bitch for years. I am living the part when I've moved farther north to my husband's childlike delight. (He is still bummed we're below the Mason-Dixon line, however).

I am living the part when my husband has a shining new career. And, I have a shining little boy who says three new words each day and laughs at inside jokes we have. No kidding.

I am at that chapter when everything could have been different. We might not have found a place to rent or tenants for our Georgia home. We might not have figured out we just needed to drug the cats in order to do a long road trip with them. We might not have noticed the job opening in Rockville, MD at the time when the general manager was waiting for the "right" fit.

But, we did. And, here we are. To you, I haven't gone anywhere. :)