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This has not been a week of happy summer afternoons spent lazily by the pool watching the kids frolic and splash. Here’s why: doctor appointments. I hate them. They aren’t for me either, they are for the kids. I still hate them. They are necessary but they are not fun. They are always time consuming. One way to really lose an afternoon, or a morning, is to simply schedule a 20 minute doctor appointment somewhere in the day. Anyone, who’s even attempted to parent a child understands what I am saying here.
First, it means getting up and getting dressed. I’m not talking about the kids here, I’m talking aobut me! As a teacher, I just don’t like getting dressed during the summer. It’s too much work. In fact, I usually don’t. For example, it is right now almost one in the afternoon and I have still not exited the pj’s. Never mind that I’ve been up since 5:45 this morning because my oldest daughter left to go to a ten day choral academy out of town. If I do manage to stop whatever I’m doing long enough to get out of my pj’s, then I’m hopping into a swim suit. Usually the chores around my place involve maintaining a pool, hot tub or garden all of which are better suited to promoting my tan if they are done in a swim suit. I’d go nude but the old men in the houses around me would collapse of heart failure and I might be up for some criminal charges of sorts, I suspect. It certainly wouldn’t engender positive feelings with their wives either, I’m sure. I’m also just a bit shy that way, but I digress.
The doctor’s appointments. This afternoon my son has his second appointment this month. The first was his physical, since he’s entering middle school in the fall and wants to play sports. The one today is a routine three month check up to keep tabs on his ADD/ADHD. (Yes, I medicate him. Yes, I can post at length about the years of studying the pro’s and con’s about that before making that decision…if anyone is really interested. No, that’s not the point of this post.) Yesterday, out of the blue, I had to schedule one for my oldest daughter, the one who left today because her allergies were acting up. She’s going to a place in Oregon where the allergies are rampant. If you don’t have allergies when you go there, you will by the time you leave. She felt it might be a good idea to refill her prescriptions and I concurred. Filling the prescriptions required an appointment first, of course, and so it was good-bye to my entire afternoon. This afternoon’s agenda: my son’s doctor appointment. Tomorrow, my second oldest daughter, has an ortho appointment. Three of my afternoons this week have disappeared in some medical professional’s waiting room or at some pharmacy filling a prescription.
I am a big believer that one’s time is their life. I hate the thought the sum total of my existence for three afternoons this week can be found in a doctor’s office. It’s depressing at points. So now that I’ve waxed melodramatic about that situation, let me just say that I am incredibly grateful for a number of things here. While I hate incredible disruption to my fairly hedonistic and fun lifestyle during the summer, I must say I’m glad for quality health care. I’m glad for a job that gives me freedom to get my kids to their appointments. As a single mom, I can’t rely on the other parent and I have no family in the area to support me in this effort. It is up to me and me alone. I am grateful for the time during the summer and the sick time during the school year that my job provides so that I can keep my children healthy. But, most of all, I’m glad for the time this afternoon will give me with my son. This time will give just the two of us, without the demands of other siblings and priorities, some much needed time to just connect. He is the only boy in a family of very verbal, opinionated, outspoken women (yes, do feel sorry for him, he’s earned it). He is also the son of a busy, harried, single mom. Sadly, he is often outnumbered or overlooked. He yearns for a brother but that won’t happen for him I’m afraid. We love each other very much, but because I’ve been in survival mode this year, it has been difficult to spend any kind of really decent time with just him. Things are looking better for us as a family. Post divorce rebuilding isn’t always smooth or easy. It has been tough but it has also been very, very positive. While I am annoyed that part of our afternoon will be absorbed in a hot car and a boring office, I’m pleased for the up side to this annoyance. And, I believe there is always an up side. This afternoon will provide the two of us some much needed time together. I am looking forward to it and I know he is too. And, now, the very worst part of it all: I must get dressed!
I should be getting ready….but I’m not. My relatives will be here in just about an hour…and I have not even showered, dressed or done the dishes that are still sitting in the sink from last night. Ewwwww! I know, it’s deplorable. I don’t have one of those modern conveniences known to most as a dishwasher in this late 70′s model ranch-style fixer of mine, so dishes invariably stack up, either in the sink before being done or beside the sink after being washed. I really “should” get moving, but this is more fun.
I was up early this morning, watering the back yard before the sun turned up its scorch-ometer. I got distracted. I began trimming back a rose bush, moved on to adjusting a few of the flower bed retaining bricks, and stumbled upon a huge toad in the process. There it was, burrowed down in the mud where the water from the lawn was flooding into the holes in the unfinished brick walkway, big bulbous eyes watching me. It almost startled me, he was so unexpectedly sitting there minding his own business and I was reorganizing his world. I stopped and moved carefully around him. I love the toads that inhabit my back yard. In the evenings, the combined noise they make is nearly deafening but, to me, the sounds are music to my ears. I am entertained every evening of the summer with a beautiful orchestra of natural sounds made by these interesting creatures.
My reverie was disturbed by my youngest daughter, Claire, now seven, calling, “Mommy! Look!” I glanced up to see my blue-eyed blondie, with hair flying like some wild Medusa, come careening around the corner of the house holding firmly but carefully in each hand a very large toad. I opened the gate for her so she could join me where I was. We marveled at her find. Since her youngest days frogs and toads have been among her favorite creatures. We have a collection of ceramic frogs and toads in various locations throughout our home. They are all Claire’s. The two toads were nearly as big as the one I’d discovered. Claire brought her trophies to me, beaming with pleasure. She knows by now how to handle the creatures with care, but she still cannot resist picking them up and handling them whenever possible. In this instance, the toads had hopped over to the dogs’ side of the yard and were in danger of ending their lives early. Claire was bringing them over to the side of the yard where the dogs were not allowed and where toads were most welcome and safe.
I motioned to her to come closer and told her of my find. “Where?” she asked. I pointed. She didn’t immediately detect the camouflaged creature who had retreated even further by now so that his eyes were just above the water line of the puddle. With my hand on Claire’s shoulder, her hands full of toads, dangling in mid-air, I pointed to the third toad. Claire gasped then chortled with delight, “Three huge toads!” She put the other two down on the bricks next to the third one. Then like the considerate animal lover that she is, she stepped back and just watched. We enjoyed that moment together, the two of us, watching three beautiful toads remain motionless as they in turn watched us. Soon the toads would relax and begin hopping toward more suitable hiding places. I was concerned that if they were not removed further away from the gate that they might soon end up as playthings for our two dogs. I suggested that Claire move the toads to the flower beds on the other side of the yard. She willingly and eagerly complied.
This is how my summer mornings are usually spent. This why I love summer so much. It is during this season, that I can putter around the yard moving at whatever pace I desire, from project to project as suits my fancy. I am truly led from one distraction to another until the yard is weeded, pruned, trimmed and watered. It is the toad moments, however, that make it all worthwhile. The sun warming the unfinished brick walkway. My tanned daughter, with the sun glinting off her blonde hair exploring the far reaches of the yard for the millionth time uncovering worms, spiders, insects and, yes, our friends, the toads. These are the moments I cherish. These are the memories that I vow to take with me into the school year when the weather turns colder, the yard goes dormant and the stresses and demands of a single mom of four, with a full time career push back into my life. It is these memories that will provide my mini vacations throughout the school year, providing brief moments of serenity until, finally, after the mad dash through the seasons toward spring and the end of another school year, I can return to my backyard and visit with the toads.
Now, an hour later than when I started, I am no further along than when I began, but I am happier and more at peace internally and that is really where the quality stuff of life exists. But now, I have people buzzing in on IM, children desiring my attention, guests on the verge of appearing on my doorstep, dishes still to do and a shower to take, so while I’d love to disappear here for a bit longer, I must go. Until next time, be sure to enjoy the simple unexpected pleasures of the toads in your backyard!
This is a season where all caution is being thrown to the wind. No, not all caution, all routine, schedules, or any semblance of an ordered and sane life. And, by season, I do not mean the time of year. I mean a passage of time, a leg of the journey of life. It is 2:06 a.m. early on a Saturday morning. I am not up blogging because I cannot sleep. In fact, I am quite certain that were I to head to bed right now and just stop moving and close my eyes, I would be out in seconds, maybe even nanoseconds. I am not up blogging because it is too hot in my house. The air conditioner performed rather effectively…once I turned it on…and there is a nice cool almost imperceptible breeze filtering through the back screen door. I did not just return from going out nor did I have such a great or lousy evening that I am compelled to record it just to get it out of my system. No, I am up late and keeping these bizarre hours by choice.
There have been a number of changes in my life in the last several years. I take that back. The last seven years of my life, the only constant has been change. In fact, the strangest thing about this most recent year (from early June 2007 till now) is that the chaotic change of the last seven years has slowed and come finally to a screeching halt. The only changes I really deal with now are the seasonal changes inherent in the life of a teacher who works 9 months out of the year and the changes that accompany the normal cycles of a family with three teens and one school aged child. (As if that isn’t enough!) My life now definitely seems more manageable and sane than it has for nearly a decade.
So, why the late hours? What’s up with that. It isn’t like me.
I don’t know.
I suspect some things, but I am not certain any of my suspicions are really valid…or they might all be.
One possible reason is that my home is really, really quiet at night. It’s not exactly raucous during the day (well, okay, it is on occasion, but not often). As I sit here and play with words and ideas and try to scrutinize the pale color of print I’ve chosen for this particular blog, the only sounds I hear are the occasional warming of the laptop, the steady, tick, tick, tick of the kitchen clock I recently repaired and the sporadic hum of the thermostat on the hot tub clicking on, then off,…..then on, then off….(I really have to get that fixed). The house is just more deeply silent than during the day, even if I were alone during the day. There is no sound from the neighbor’s yard, no car driving by, no airplane overhead and no birds. I can concentrate in this kind of silent stillness.
Another reason, I might be choosing to stay up is that I am really, really feeling the need to make a consistent habit of blogging. I need to write daily and get used to seeing my words on the screen and I need to begin putting myself out there for others to read and respond to. I am one of those people who works better by focusing for long uninterrupted periods of time rather than taking frequent breaks or changing tasks often. I can work with interruptions, after all, I am a parent and a teacher of young children. I have learned to adjust and remain flexible. But I prefer to work and focus deeply without interruptions. This time of night assures me that I will not be interrupted.
I think the main reason I am keeping these crazy hours is because I can. It feels almost naughty to be staying up so late, knowing that I don’t have to get up until I want to. And I don’t have to the next day or the next day after that either for about ten more weeks. It feels good to break the routine, if only for a night or two here or there, throughout the summer. This could never be my norm. I will wake up without an alarm tomorrow at about 7 and I will be ready to face the day. I cannot do that for long before I’ll simply collapse. I know this about myself. There have been so many demands, burdens, responsibilities, and obligations that have weighed me down over the last year and a half. The stresses of blending a family and failing miserably (trust me the kids were not the problem), the pain of divorce, the financial stresses in the aftermath of divorce and the daily duties of just caring for a family of five on my own all have left me with the feeling that I’m old and tired and burdened. This staying up late is in some small way, an opportunity for me to have a bit of a “do over”. I get to for a short period of time behave like the young single professional teacher with no encumbrances. I can stay up late, sleep in late, read a book out on the back deck till one, cook eggs at one-thirty, set up my blogspot at two and type till I’m all typed out. I don’t have to endure the hostility of a partner who is angry that I’m not keeping his hours, and the children are already sound asleep so they don’t care. They are nicely trained, even the youngest, to get up quietly and fix their own breakfast if they’re hungry or watch t.v. quietly until I’m up. And, I’m usually up before they are watering the lawn, feeding the dogs and going about the normal daily tasks that define my days. Keeping the crazy hours helps me feel less burdened, more youthful and in a strange sort of way more rejuvenated and revitalized than I would feel had I kept to the normal routine. I don’t get it, but it feels great to keep these strange hours.
Even as I write this I know it is time to conclude. My head is beginning to hurt just a little bit, my butt hurts even more from sitting on this hard kitchen stool now for nearly an hour and a half, and my words have begun to run out. Not that I said anything incredibly profound anyway, but I said it. And I experienced it. I stayed up because I wanted to and because I could with no serious negative consequences at all. It really feels almost like a guilty pleasure to do something weird like that, knowing it won’t matter, and enjoying every minute of it. I mean, it just isn’t really the most responsible thing to do.
I am finally, for the first time in my entire adult life doing what I want to do instead of what I think someone else wants or thinks I should do. It is a gloriously freeing sensation. It isn’t a selfish my way or the highway attitude I’m copping but instead it is an inner confidence based on my own increased self-awareness and self-respect. I know more what I’m about than ever before and I can choose wisely for myself. I like that! This hasn’t always been true for me and life was bleak and dismal because I didn’t listen to myself. I’m filled with more optimism each passing day in this new life of mine. I have more energy and even though there are still stressful times I am happier and more at peace. And if staying up stupidly late on occasion helps me stay in touch with that part of myself well then that, my dear friends, is the best reason yet for my keeping these strange hours.
