Tuesday, July 22, 2014


Today the bigs are at tennis and the little is lying on the couch, resting. She was sleeping, she fell asleep in the car on the way home and for once when I carried her in she stayed asleep, snoozing gently in front of me in the sunroom. So quiet here. When I came back from the kitchen, where I was getting a huge glass of Pellegrino, she was lying on the floor. I asked, did you fall or did you climb down? No answer.

People came over to swim today, as usual in the summer. I feel myself getting tired, the socializing is wonderful but also a little like Christmas every day. The season is so short I feel like we can't (of course we can't) not do it - not have a little party every day. But sometimes I get tired.

And maybe (not maybe, for sure, most definitely, of course) I'm more tired today than other days because last night I had to put my dog to sleep. He's (no, not present, past, I have to work at that). He was a little old man dog. Sweet like the sweetest puppy, he was thirteen and had a bad back and an intense dislike (inability?) to go to the bathroom outdoors anymore. So it had to be done. However.

And so the babysitter came, she held Sophie who cried so hard, and this surprised me. Not that Sophie cried. That Noelle held her and Sophie was okay with that, since Sophie usually only wants momma but I guess since the consensus in the room, summed up by Stella, was that momma had murdered the beloved family pet, Noelle would do.

I couldn't sleep last night then. I sound like every other person who has been through this or anything traumatic when I say I just kept seeing it over and over but damn if I didn't just keep seeing it over and over. The moment when he was suddenly not. Not Henry, not alive. Just not.

Soon we will go get the ladies, as we say. And the ladies will be hungry and tired and I can't think what to feed them. There are things that sometimes become nearly insurmountable in my life on occasion and currently it is cooking. Something I love to do, and really this is usually very true in the summer. But lately it angers me when I have to cook for them. I think I know why, and it doesn't surprise me, that it is because my audience has no interest and generally doesn't much like what I prepare, that I always eat either alone or with the ladies. Of course it becomes mundane, annoying, grudge making. But this acknowledgement doesn't change the fact that it must be done, they must be fed. I think sometimes of Jeanette Walls, and The Glass Castle, and I know that I could totally be that mother. Lying around eating hidden chocolate bars and reading books while my kids starved. Perhaps not, but I can see where she was going with that.

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