Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixteen
Looks like a fire sky.
Coconut MCT.
Is too much daydreaming dangerous? It’s dangerous not to daydream at all.
Another sick day is not worth arguing about. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. I am more concerned about what others may think than what makes sense.
Nothing.
Essentially I tell him I’m going to give him the gift of time, but he’s probably not going to use it.
We all make eye contact. Did we all hear the same thing?
I tell her she might want to consider another training video.
He squirts lighter fluid over a pile of wood. People take turns using the extinguisher to put out the fire. We joke that it’s a no burn day. Didn’t I say it looked like fire in the sky.
Two more days.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifteen
Tuesday.
I found the frother.
He tells me he isn’t feeling well. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells me he threw up. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells us he’s still feeling bad. I tell him to get in the bed.
I call her as soon as I get into my office. We don’t have four hours, but we have enough time to make it meaningful.
They get me.
Like toy soldiers.
At least there is this to look forward to.
Familiar faces. Not enough time to talk between the bells. The setting sun. They say they are sweating from the air horn. We step in time. I am imagining things. I am not imagining things.
Two helpings of chicken pot pie.
“I'm waking up/I can feel it all/I'm waking up/I can breathe, I can love for you?/But I know that you want me too/I feel it burn/I feel it burn.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fourteen
Special delivery day.
No fog, just sun.
The gift of a few extra minutes, though he is missed.
I didn’t expect anything different.
Lies.
I tell her the day has gone by so quickly, too quickly. I’ve been counting too much time.
Hot.
We have come to the same conclusion: they aren’t worth the stress.
A wave of nervousness washing over me. Where has the confidence gone?
Now or never.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirteen
So tired.
Fully dressed but reading in bed.
Remembering left items: a trophy; a baking dish; sunglasses; two computers; four camping chairs; a cooler full of beer. At least it’s a short walk over.
But does she remember she invited us over for pizza?
Where’s season two?
Hot.
She wants all the things to make tofu soup.
She sends a picture of the four of them. He has on a button-up shirt. He must have bought that when they went thrifting. They are all smiling. it was a good idea, after all.
I go for a regular old pepperoni and cheese, and drink the Houndstooth 2016 Pinot Noir.
Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twelve
She texts to say she’s sick and needs to cancel. Secretly grateful.
But I can’t go back to sleep, so I lay in bed with my eyes closed, waiting to feel the light return.
Back to these late nights.
Already time to get him out the door and on our way.
The airport reminds me of KCI twenty years ago. Or Chattanooga today.
He gives us a noncommital wave with his back to us as he walks through security.
Hot.
I just want Patrick Mahomes.
Draft day. Ribs and tri-tip and sausage rolls and wings and pasta salads and salads and brownies and cookies. I wonder what the new guy thinks of us. Hopefully, all good things.
Oh shoot, it’s already after midnight.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Eleven
Work-from-home Friday.
Sometimes, I feel a little guilty about it.
He forgot the syllabus.
Coffee with the principal. I think the theme of the morning is “refreshing.”
What in the world is going on here?
He forgot his socks.
No, she wasn’t joking.
I had forgotten about the late afternoon sun and these metal bleachers and the unrelenting heat.
Freaking out.
It’s going to be a fun season.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ten
Thursday.
Can tell it’s going to be a warm day. Something about the clarity of this morning’s sky.
At least it will be a fun day. There is that. I am grateful for that.
Learn something new each time we do one of these.
Staring out across the vineyard. Eating grapes off the vine. Standing in the shade as the breeze comes through and the neighbor’s dog barks. Right where I want to be.
Maybe this is the right moment to reign the conversation in.
If one of our worst attributes is telling too much truth, then I’m okay with that.
She tells me she thinks I would be good at running these with them. I don’t disagree. I tell her that we tried to make it work.
Nurse Ratched gives him a lobotomy.
Wait. A whole two hours alone in the house. I listen to the school board meeting while I clean the bathrooms.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Nine
Wednesday whites.
He asks for blueberry muffins. Insists that I have enough time to make them. I line the muffin tin and begin.
Reclaiming my time.
They bring out a mariachi band as a surprise.
Sandwiches and truthtelling and laughter.
Research and development.
Always waiting.
I listen to her talk about the flowers, and how she wants to hug the bees, and how the rock is a good place for eating a snack.
Watching the last few minutes of football practice while sitting in an air-conditioned car.
Not in a hurry, but ready.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seven
Attention.
Green juice and a sweet apple with creamy peanut butter.
Caged.
Of course, we’re moving the meeting again. Nothing surprising here.
Harvest toast. A little champagne in the sun is a good way to start the day.
Snack cabinet.
“Nothing from me today.” I’ve never had to say that so many times.
I really should be going, but I feel like I can’t, and that is a problem.
At least I have her.
These evenings at the table. Pure gold.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Six
Monday.
Work-from-home Monday.
I dress slowly, make the coffee slowly, cut up my apple slowly.
Is it silly that I still want to drop them off and pick them up every day? I say that I can’t wait until he can drive himself - drive all of them. But that probably won’t be true when the time actually comes.
Everyone keeps asking me how the school year is going and I’m afraid to say how it really is because I don’t want to jinx it.
Small, tedious things.
I tell her that I think I’m the kind of person who needs a lot to do in order to be productive. I am too bored.
A cooler night for practice.
7:00 p.m. is the new dinner time.
At some point, it has to stop.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Five
Slow Sunday.
I lay in bed and make the meal plan, the grocery list. Determined to eat a real meal every evening this week.
Too early for the Sunday Scaries.
You can feel the next transition in the air. You can tell by the color of the light.
I tell her that I think I need a nap. I’ve had too many late nights in a row.
Samosas and old seasons of Ru Paul’s Drag Race.
I tell her that if she’s in the gifting mood, I’ll take another large Lego set. I need something to do.
Pizza next door. We’re told to bring nothing, but I carry a vase of flowers through the door.
If only this were a Saturday night.
Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Four
Meant to turn the alarm off.
Slivers of golden light filling the room.
Weak. But this arm has been trouble lately, so I’m not surprised.
This is not an estate sale. This is not a garage sale. So very disappointing.
Four copies of The Phantom Tollbooth. Pandemic buy.
Schedules and times and spreadsheets. Order today, ease tomorrow.
Black dress. Need heels.
I choose a bottle of 2022 Orixe Sotela Nebola. He asks me how last weekend’s dinner went. I tell him I’m on my way to another one.
What a really small world.
The stars in these skies.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Three
Friday. For real.
Water, water, water.
I talk myself through all of the hypotheticals. I could be overthinking it. I could be not thinking enough. I might be paranoid. I might be spot on.
Sweating.
Two hours and ten minutes.
Weirder and weirder.
Compressed melon salad with prosciutto and gazpacho and picpoul.
The pressure, the pressure. Sweating.
Flip-flops on turf are probably not a great idea.
I watch the colors of the sky change as the minutes tick down on the clock. Back to Friday night lights. Everything is different, and yet it all still feels the same.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Two
Thursday. Almost like a Friday.
A list of gratitudes to push away the worries.
Arrival routine: Carry bags upstairs; turn on the computer; take refillable cups downstairs - one for water and one for the newly-appreciated decaffeinated green tea; come back upstairs and make your list of to-dos and meetings; scan emails; wait for her call or call her and begin your day with some laughter.
Water, water, water.
Weirder and weirder.
At least, maybe, I might be excited about something again.
He laughs at us for wearing sweaters in our office when it’s 100 degrees outside.
I tell her that I know how to keep a secret. She says she knows.
They share a thought. I tell them I thought the same thing. I’m glad it wasn’t my imagination.
Football Family Cookout. It’s going to be a fun year.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & One
In the dream, they are at my front door crying, sobbing, telling me that their father has died and they do not know what to do.
Thursday.
I deliver the book to her door and pick up the one she left for me. Isn’t this a treat?
I tell her that so far, everything is going so well. They all sit next to one another without any complaint. Everything is so good. I don’t want to jinx it.
Whoa, wait. What?
Exactly the same as every other time.
What. A. Mess.
He says he will not forget us.
We eat cupcakes and drink champagne and describe our favorite episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” This was a good idea.
At least we have each other.
Ten.Two Thousand One Hundred
I still need to remind myself what day it is.
It’s already hot.
Things were not as they seemed. That is a good thing.
We talk about his upcoming trip and the Barbie movie, and the poem she wrote.
Or maybe they are. I listen but try not to look like I’m listening too closely. I can’t differentiate between the quirky way in which he talks and his nervousness. My gut tells me it’s his nerves.
It’s a bit anticlimactic, unfortunately.
We make a few stops on our way back. The extra time feels like a gift. I don’t really have anywhere to be.
I tell her I’m not sure if it’s still Covid brain or life, or maybe it’s just that I don’t care anymore, but I feel like I have no more creativity left.
I tell him that the day was just weird. That everything is getting worse.
They don’t get it.
Ten.Two Thousand & Ninety-Nine
Work-from-home Monday. No coffee.
But I think about her being in the office all alone, and I wonder if it’s a good idea after all - even though I know it’s better for me mentally.
Something must change.
He asks me about my list blogging. I tell him I’m just on an Instagram break, but it’s here. It’s always here. I sometimes forget how many people read this thing.
It’s the season of football hoodie. But the hood is not up anymore. Things are changing.
I can’t tell them what my real plans are for the day.
11? What happened to 17? His answer is logical: there is no 17 in any other sport he plays. So 11 it is? Eleven it is.
She calls me and tells me things that also make me concerned, but my job is to try to maintain a sense of calm. What I really want to tell her is that it’s time to run.
He (rightly) tells them I’m unavailable for more volunteer positions.
The Mandalorian lego is done! And it shoots projectiles.
Ten.Two Thousand & Ninety-Eight
Don’t want to get up.
Struggling. That tightness in the clavicle and the numbness in my elbow. Yoga is hard today.
Meal plan drudgery.
The sun is already coming out.
“What happened to the mirror?” “What?” Must have been the carwash.
I don’t want to do anything, and I am trying not to feel bad about it.
No work.
Mandalorian time. This looks more fun to him now.
Six instead of seven.
School night. Phone retrieval. Not too much fighting about it.
Ten.Two Thousand & Ninety-Seven
Football practice.
Sweatshirt and jeans and a Yeti of coffee. Foggy and overcast skies. The feeling of turf underfoot.
Cleaning, cleaning, more cleaning.
I love this home.
I move things with my mind. That could go there, and this should be here, and maybe we add one more over there. My body is too tired to do it, though.
Where is she?
I want to scream and throw things. This is not about this, but about other “this”s. I think of what can be done. I slide my feet into the sandals and walk a loop. It helps a little.
I grab the Mandolorian lego kit and sit on the floor of my bedroom and decide that this will help but I am missing two pieces. I can’t go any further.
Traditional Ethiopian food. 2011 Trimbach Gewurtztraminer. Pound cake with a fig compote. I tell her that next time, I’ll make macaroni and cheese.
Way past my bedtime.
Ten.Two Thousand & Ninety-Six
Friday from home.
This feels more like it.
I make a coffee that I don’t drink. That short little stint is over.
I gather the data and get excited about what we might be able to do with this information. If only I could do more of this.
What am I doing this weekend? Going to football practice.
There are things that just don’t make sense, and maybe it’s not my job to make it all make sense.
I miss this.
I am tired. Too tired to do all of the things I meant to do after the “real” work. I remind myself that it is okay to rest.
Tomorrow.
I know what I need.