Keep on Plugging

I feel somewhat stuck in a rut. Gray clouds are gathering overhead, challenging my perspective. Maybe it's a post-vacation hang over. Or maybe it's because I'm having an incredibly hard time conjuring up a bit of quiet, reflective, reading time of my own. It could be that Atrain has developed a silly/snappy/stubborn alter-ego I've deemed his 'Darth' side that requires me to endlessly nag and remind him about good and bad choices and their coinciding consequences before he obeys (and after he disobeys). And I don't have the patience of a Jedi knight.

It's hard when I don't feel like myself, and when I don't like the self I seem to be. I've crumbled to my knees a lot lately--especially when I remember that I forgot again to say my prayers--seeking inspiration and more peace of mind. That's hard too; turning to God to ask for help when I don't quite feel up to par. It's kind of like going to a cousin's baptism with my son who stained the seat of his pants on a slide doused in Gatorade. We go on anyway. I pray on anyway. God came to Earth to mend the brokenhearted and strengthen the weary. He can also help me relocate the bit of myself that I somehow misplaced.

Missing Texas

Home is sweet. As soon as we walked through the door I felt my entire body exhale. It’s good to be back in our beds. It’s good to be back by our neighbors (two of my favorites helped me carry in all the bags from the car in one trip—a fete that is rather impossible when attempted alone). It was even good to greet the pile of laundry in the hallway.

But we will miss Texas. We will miss the pool. We will miss the produce (the best cantaloupe and avocado I’ve had in a long time). We will miss the escape from ‘real’ to do lists. But most of all we will miss the husband.

Tonight Atrain ran to the door and swung it open when he heard that dada was on the phone. The husband usually calls around quittin’ time, and Atrain loves to greet him at the entrance to our apartment building. I tried to explain to him that dada is still in Texas. His face scrunched as he screamed, “NO! Dada will be home in five minutes.” I tried again to tell him that he is still in Texas. Atrain repeated his “NO!” response. He is very tired from the plane ride yesterday, and almost everything was a battle today. It didn’t take long for me to become exhausted with explanations about how “it will only be three more weeks.” So I just stopped trying and let Atrain believe that “NO—it will be only one minute!” I sure wish.

Hello Party

I'm crying. We don't want to leave the husband. We have been packing and planning a goodbye party all day to hopefully leave with smiles rather than tears. Silly me. I don't know why I tried.

We picked up the husband from work for the last time in Texas and not long after we told him of our party plans Atrain changed his mind. "I don't want a goodbye party," he said glumly. "What do you want?" the husband asked. "A hello party," Atrain replied. Me too, Atain. Me too.

I'm sorry

Sweet Atrain, sometimes sorry isn’t enough; like when it’s said while you’re hitting your mom, thrashing your body against the floor, and wailing about forewarned consequences. Sorry is a magic word, but not magical enough to get you back into the pool. You still have to sit on time out. I know; I hate it too. I really, really do. It would have been a lot easier to just lazily ignore your repeat-offender misdeeds tonight; not that you’re a bad boy, you’re not. You’re an incredibly good boy—the best. But everyone makes bad choices. And when we make bad choices we get bad consequences. You know that. We talk about it a lot, but the things in your head will never sink into your heart unless you do them (or in this case, have them done to you). That’s just the way it is. I’m sorry.

Like a Pig

Today I took the boys to the zoo. It was a great Texas adventure. There were bathing baby elephants, an albino American alligator, gorgeous greenery, and an incredible collection of serpents. But between exhibits the boys' attention always turned to the hot, humid, Houston heat. “Texas is SO hot…my legs are feeling tired…I need to ride in the stroller,” was Atrain’s chant. Jdog was without a mantra, but his big sweaty rolls and blushing cheeks spoke heaps. But we pushed on and enjoyed an afternoon of animals, play and especially profuse perspiration. It was zoolicious. I felt like a little pack of wart hogs: darting in and out of the shade, hiding in cool caves, craving the opportunity to roll around in mud. I’m just glad we weren’t on display behind plexiglass. It sure felt good to jump in our water hole when we got home.

The Price of Rice

Good news. The car and the phone are up and running again. It only took $1,054 to literally put the spring back into the step of our little old Ford. It was really hard to swallow that one. We honestly considered selling it and using the money to buy a ticket home for the husband. But there were a few glitches in that plan: close to no one wants to buy a broken car; even if the car is practically worthless, it sure is handy when the husband needs a ride to his rotation at 5am; and, of course, without that little red car the husband’s bike would be without a ride home.

The phone, on the other hand, made a miraculous recovery for $1.89: the cost of a bag of rice. Yes, let it be known to all who own a phone that failed to swim when it fell into the pool, rice can rescue it. Take it apart, put it in an airtight bag of rice and let it sit overnight. With a little patience, the phone was as good as new. Thank you for the tip Pdiddy. I do love having a phone that is smarter than I am.

Dear June,

Welcome. It’s hard to believe that you are here already, but here you are. We are half way through the year. I am living in a sublet apartment in Texas as the husband invests two months of 2011 to bolster his residency applications. And then I wonder where residency will lead us. Temporarily setting up shop here has thrown my mind into imagination mode. I can’t stop looking at real estate websites and online house plans. I can’t stop pondering the possibilities for the future: our city, the kid’s schools, Atrain’s audiologist, the climate, the culture, our apartment, or even (gasp) maybe our house. Though that would rock my world harder than Elvis rocked Rock ‘n Roll, all that really matters is that we rock on together. Or something like that. Home is where the heart is.

Time to refocus. In just a few days I'll be returning to our apartment to spend the rest of your month with half of my heart. That’s right. I’ll be leaving the other half in Texas with the husband. But don’t worry; he’ll take good care of it. He always does. Besides, in an attempt to ignore the bleeding hold in my chest cavity, I’ve been making plans: swim lessons, family reunions, rock climbing, summer reading series with the boys, cousin sleep-overs, spiritual renewal, home improvement (de-clutter) projects, gardening, etc. etc. etc.

I’m excited about our plans—about being deliberate in the outcomes I want to achieve with the kiddos. I want us to be happy, to learn (which means occasionally being sad), to adventure, to find buried treasure, and to patiently await the day daddy will return when we will all celebrate at the theaters with Lightning McQueen, Finn McMissile and the rest of the Cars 2 gang. It won’t be perfect, but at least that’s what we’re shooting for. For now, I have seven days of you left with the husband. And we’re going to have a blast.