Today is a day of big feelings.
Like, really big feelings. And horrid weather. (Related? Probably.)
Today is March 1st, and in three days it’ll be March 4th, and I am trying- I am so trying- to march forth. (Hopefully three days lead time will be enough. I may need to stretch.)
***
Happy birthday, Rog.
I just heard on the radio that today is Roger Daltrey’s birthday (happy birthday!) and so, in his honor, they weren’t going to play the 3.5 minute radio edit of ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’ that was necessary to guarantee air play in 1971, no sir. Jasper and I got to listen to the full 8.5 minutes which, yes, was glorious, but also yes, a tad long for casual radio listening.
Then I started thinking during those 8.5 minutes: 1971. It’s now 2018. What happened? What happened? We’ve done SO MUCH but also? We now have weekly school shootings and, simultaneously, events like the Pennsylvania vow renewal service where attendees carried AR-15s and wore bullet crowns.
Cool. Cool. Any time you’re ready, Mothership.
Hang in there, kitten.
***
Nora is eight.
She’s still very much so my baby/eldest child/people pleaser, but she’s also an almost-tween. Oh, not just yet, but it’s definitely on the eye rolling horizon. Yesterday, she and I watched one of our favorite movies together after school- one of the old Nancy Drew films from the ’40s- and she even held my hand. The name “Mommy” was uttered once or twice. (Wanna talk “big feelings? Oof.) But when it was done? There were some awfully deep sighs and under-breath muttering regarding siblings and devices and backpacks and lights out, please. And I’ve noticed that I’m only with her, really, for about three hours a day now and, try as I might, it can’t always be quiet, quality time. (I already miss her.)
Susannah is six.
She’s been my bundle of hilarity since the moment we met her and my favorite quote machine. But kindergarten tends to turn babies into people and, little by little, she’s having her babyishness peopled-out. It’s good, mostly. I love how she’s learning to self-regulate her (craaaaaay) temper, and when she spouts off scientific factoids? Hard not to be enthralled with that. But every now and then I see a very grownup look in her eyes- and an exhaustion at the end of a long day- and hear her tell Nora that something’s probably not a great idea, it wouldn’t be the best use of her time, and part of me wishes she was still sucking her thumb and beaming out at the world from the window sill. (I already miss her.)
Jasper is four.
And, like, two minutes ago he was sitting right next to me. (Literally. Now he’s across the room and jumping around like a caffeinated kangaroo.) The past year was when he grew four solid inches and lost every last bit of his cheek chubbiness. He still holds my hand on sidewalks and in the morning and very, very late at night as he attempts to burrow between my blankets and pillows like he’s always been there, like the whole time, ‘night Mom. He doesn’t want to snuggle his Taffy Giraffe(y) too much these days- except when he does. And he’ll ignore his lovey pile for weeks at a time, until one afternoon when he’ll dump the whole shebang onto his floor and exclaim “Aw, remember this guy?” And I do- of course I do.
And because I’m so full of feelings regarding his sisters, I’ll suggest we lay on the floor with the puppies and bears and giraffes and blankies for way longer than he had intended to in the first place, at which point he’ll gently suggest that we go read his Star Wars books and make things explode off of his bed. (I already miss him.)
***
Ten.
This June, Lollygag Blog will turn TEN YEARS OLD. I mean, what? It’s been fun and silly and nostalgia and big feelings-inducing, but also irritating and exhausting and- sporadically- the cause of my needing to avoid social media for great swaths of time. (That’s not entirely true. Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Google and Snapchat and YouTube do that as well.)
And I love this blog for its digital scrapbook of my children’s formative years- and I love it for the opportunities it’s provided for my family. And I know this sounds like a breakup letter and it totally isn’t.
But there’s so much NOISE, you know?
None of this changes anything.
This whole post could be subtitled “Big feelings: but none of this changes anything.”
***
It won’t always be Thursday.
And it certainly won’t always rain (in the low 30s) and I won’t always want to throw a blanket over my head. (…Right?) Eventually the anti-inflammatory pills kick in and the sunshine feels like a gift straight from heaven and you start to realize that maaaybe having kids who know how to put on their own jammies is worth most prices of admission.
That day is decidedly not today.
Heck, it probably won’t even be tomorrow.
(But it might be, you know?)
And maybe having bigger kids means that I’m eventually going to have grownup road trip pals who already think my music is fantastic because that’s what they were raised to believe.
And maybe- just maybe- we’re hitting rock bottom as a nation because…I don’t know why. Maybe to make sure we’re all paying attention? (Hoo boy, am I paying attention.) And maybe something will…happen? Yes? Maybe?
And I’m fairly sure the only reason that driving rains come around- beside hydration and the various cycles of the Earth- are because they’re a cosmic sign that someone– could be anyone, really- needs a nap.
Don’t worry. I’ve got this one, guys.
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