The other night Oliver asked me if he could buy lunch the next day. He was excited about the pizza and the chilled sliced peaches. My heart warmed and I broke out in laughter; the details of the chilled and the sliced included.
This was our first week back to school. Back in person, in new schools for Lucas and Penny. After so much time of being disconnected, separated, idle and lonely it was joyous to wake them up, dress them up, pack them up and walk them out of the house to see friends and neighbors emerge to a new day. They are connecting with old friends while trying to make new, figuring out which way to walk and which way to look while I obsess over who might be mean and if a year practically lost academically will be recoverable.
Lucas comes home and complains of the age of the school and the lack of windows. He’s not quite vibing yet as he’s adjusting to the new student body that will be his world for the next four years. Penny is excited on certain days when she sees her closest friends and dreads the other days because she has Math. And Oliver is simply happy and content and easily reports the news of the day, no social anxieties plaguing his day.
I am excited and apprehensive of the next four years that await Lucas. I know I, as a parent, need to step up my game and learn all the things that matter to colleges while ensuring he’s well adjusted, well rounded and well liked. I am anxious for Penny because she is my daughter and navigating friendships and herself in these next two years is probably the most transformative and fraught. And I am comforted by Oliver. Before angst and moodiness, before he cares about his outfit, before he gets too big to pick up, before I am no longer his center. He simply looks forward to tomorrow and his chilled sliced peaches.
June 2014
Tagged: childhood, parenthood, photography, Writing
We celebrated 13 on the cusp of lockdown; friends warned and armed with antibacterial wipes everyone still showed up and celebrated. A year later with schools just starting to reopen and not sure how comfortable people felt, an outdoor venue was selected in the hopes a few would show up. All showed up. So either everyone is itching to get out or they just love this kid. 
How do you carry your heart of gold? Are there some mornings where its sheer weight makes it hard to rise? Does it push and pull other organs, throwing its weight around? Does it flow blood the same, push beats the same, feel love the same?
If I lived in a gingerbread house every day would be sugar-coated, the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger would waft through the house filling my soul and satisfying my taste buds and my neighbors would all have impeccable taste creating a healthy competition in seasonal landscaping. Each night when I would sleep the skies would fill with gum drops and each morning when I would wake fresh snow would fall. I would believe that everything is possible, that dreams come true and all mankind is inherently good because I live in a gingerbread house, after all. 
