Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-One
Game day. I really need some more red.
He obliges and lets me take a picture. I forgot black socks. I don’t really shop for menswear.
Relishing the quiet of being the first one in.
I tell her it’s my one good deed of the day. And if that is the case, then I’m glad this is it.
She sends us a picture of a set of three chicks in scarves. Two white and one brown. We laugh. I hope she bought them.
Gloves on, open air, laughter.
I’m starting to feel the stretch.
I am always trying not to jinx myself.
Not what I expected.
A learning moment for every one.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy
Monday and Monday’s uniform.
“Seek lofty ideas, and illumination will be close at hand.”
This pumpkin-spiced creamer was a mistake.
What even is this question?
I could claw my own eyeballs out.
The only thing about not being in the office on these days is that I actually do miss seeing them.
That was disappointing. Maybe I just need more tape?
That fluttery feeling is back. Maybe it’s the coffee? Maybe it’s the reduced hours of sleep. Maybe it’s the medicine. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
This time with them makes me so happy even when my patience is being tested.
Go to sleep.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Nine
Yoga day!
I stare out over the golf course and watch a white crane float over and around and above the willow tree. So peaceful.
Every chapter I listen to makes me rethink everything.
“Stamped from the Beginning.”
Four out of seven completed.
I think of time, the passage of time, and the shifting shape of time, and what I am doing with it. How has it served me? Or have I been serving it?
Don’t forget your magic.
Craving cassoulet.
Learning to not read too much into things.
They’ll be here soon.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Eight
A Saturday that feels like a Sunday.
Don’t forget to bake the brownies.
Just when you think you’ve seen it all, then there’s this.
Awfully close to the double yellow line.
Fortunate.
It is warmer than I thought it would be. I had two jackets and gloves but I’m already taking off one layer.
Four Thousand Weeks.
How am I supposed to take notes?
I promise them that this is the last day of leftovers. Note to self: make less sides.
Third time’s a charm?
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Seven
Friday already.
Bacon and eggs and coffee with vegan creamer. Ironic.
Oh, emails.
Basketball, basketball, basketball.
When you see things that no one else can see, it takes a certain kind of strength to stay married to your vision.
Wait. How did all of these pieces of glass off the back of the phone break off? How come no one ever knows anything.
Two hours later and we have a resolution.
Have we not done enough?
Since the experiment failed, back on the medications.
I think I’m ready for the tree now.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Six
Turkey Day.
Slice the apples, sprinkle the cinnamon, Potatoes zipping back and forth on the mandolin. Finishing two sides dishes and realizing that you need a lot more cream.
Haven’t cooked like this in so long. Still haven’t seen the children yet.
Charcuterie board and feet up. Counting Fantasy points.
He calls me back from the car., tells me I would know if I called more. “I think that’s called ‘a read’ or ‘throwing shade,’” I say. “Oh, it’s definitely shade.”
Family call holiday check-in. Seeing all of the faces on the screen makes me wish we would do one big Thanksgiving again.
Still sitting on the sofa, still thinking about all of the things I love about life right now.
One step done. Now the harder part begins.
Seconds?
College women’s basketball game. #19 versus #21 in the country. No one is there to inbound the ball. “Who’s supposed to inbound the ball?!” I yell at the screen. “See, even the pros do it,” we laugh.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Five
Up, up, great day for up.
I get back into he driver seat and head south on 29 to see her. Three hot air balloons dotting the sky. Everything is glittering and bright.
How I missed her energy.
Jury summons.
He’d rather drive than take a shower.
I love my basketball families.
Two loaves of bread and sweet potatoes and green bean casserole are done.
I kick him out of the driver’s seat. Not this drive, not at night.
They go and get the decorations, turn on Christmas music, and start placing things around the house. Can’t believe it’s already time.
Here on this sofa with them. The deep dark of night sitting against my back behind the big glass window. A little bit of wine in the glass. All of it just feels right and good and the perfect way to begin the holiday.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Four
I like this sweatshirt.
Flower arrangement still going strong.
I think I’m ready for the tree.
I tell him to turn left because we don’t have enough time. Oh, wait. Ok. We’re going to cross the bridge. Thank goodness there are no cars coming.
Sometimes, it’s just a mess.
I put the posters up on the wall and wonder if it’s the right idea or not. But I see them looking up curiously. I explain what they are, that I want to get them in the habit of having goals to work toward. I think they like the idea of them. We will see.
She looks like she can barely control her excitement.
Perhaps I was being presumptuous.
Goal setting.
That was a surprising reaction.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Three
Monday. Cold morning. Leggings and long sleeves.
Still no keys. I can’t believe I lost my keys.
Squeaky clean gym.
Not pushing hard enough.
Did he really think he was about to convince me to let him drive his friend home real quick? Oh. No.
She keeps saying things that are the things that were just said, which makes me laugh because of course she is. This is how the universe works: sending you sign after sign as a test to see if you will ignore or abide.
Waiting. Always waiting.
She asks me if my job is why my Instagram is so aesthetic. I giggle a little. I sometimes forget that’s public.
Did I listen? I did.
I wish they thought as highly of themselves as I think of them.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-Two
Those darn Britney Spears videos.
This one might be my fault.
“I think everyone had the same idea as us,” he says to me as he grabs a pound of butter. It’s the week of Thanksgiving, how does he need only one pound of butter?
I stumble down the back stairs and make my way down to work. The sun is bright and golden and everything is wet but the air is crisp.
This is one of the better 3-year-old parties I’ve been to: tacos, wine, and wide open spaces.
Op-ed draft.
She agrees with me that he is indeed a scary driver.
Everyone always wants to play on the mini hoop. Thud, thud, thud. Three boys.
I laugh at him. That’s silly. Go to bed.
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but oh, boy. I think this might be the year. I look at my Year 1 Goals: Conditioning; Reduce points against; 8 league wins; Increased parent participation; Spanish translation for parent meeting. It’s happening.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty-One
Needed that.
Waffles and bacon. Giggles at the table while they eat.
I finally find a copy of the latest issue. I scan the table of contents to find the spread, even though I know I will never reread what I wrote. I just like to have it in hand.
Am I trying too hard?
I reread his text and decide I’m going to ignore it. Maybe I’ll get over it. Maybe I won’t.
He tells him to head south because he doesn’t want him to cross the bridge. Yellow leaves and wet pavement and gray sky. The weight of everything.
But would it be the worst thing?
I know what the gaps are. The question is how to get them filled.
The exact kind of Saturday I needed.
I think of how she asks me what I want my title to be. What the next thing is. My instinct is to say nothing. I don’t want a title of any kind. I just want to be me.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Sixty
Game day. Red-and-white-hair-tie-day.
He gets into the driver’s seat, checks his mirror, connects his phone to the Bluetooth. I look off in the distance and see the hot air balloons sitting low on the horizon.
Not as scary as I thought it would be. I do my work emails and basketball posts while he drives.
Success.
We talk about possibilities, where we feel expansion, about reframing our relationships with time, about the magic connections we can have with teenagers, about meaningful work.
In the note, she says that she thinks I’m an interesting person. It makes me smile. I lean my head against the window and listen to the rain.
No energy. They have no energy in their face.
1-1.
Chicken tenders and sweet potato fries, a vanilla milkshake with rainbow sprinkles.
The audacity of his text message after all of that.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Nine
No pants.
I make a full pot but forget that I’m meeting someone for coffee, so I didn’t need any of this.
Yogurt with a bunch a dried unsweetened coconut flakes.
“Less but more perfect.”
He says that it is a beautiful morning. It is a very beautiful morning. He reminds me that the rain is coming.
Irritated by the rub.
I talk out all the things and she said I did a great job and sometimes I think you just need to hear that from someone who doesn’t know you.
You always hope that you’re doing the right thing.
I get out of the car and walk myself to the passenger side. “He’s driving now!” I yell to him. “Take care of your mother!” he says.
“I prefer her.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Eight
Game day.
Black dress seems right for today.
A missed connection.
Something about the way these sentences fall out of their mouth affirms that this isn’t right for me.
But this pumpkin creme brulee.
The click-clack of my boots against the cold pavement. Brown and yellow leaves and moisture in the air. No sun. Fall.
She asks me how I’m feeling. I tell her I’m always nervous on game days. That I felt like I wanted to throw up after I crossed the Pope Street bridge. How many years do I have to do this before I stop feeling nervous?
I misinterpreted all of the noise. Too close. Too close.
Yeah. I have a good feeling about this year. 1-0.
Forgot about these sleepless nights.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Seven
A little bit of rain.
The coffee is calling to me. Half hot oat milk and half coffee. That will be okay, won’t it?
Red and white sweater. Lucky sweater? First game for the younger girls. Can. not. wait.
She’s real, and that’s what I like about her. An hour well spent before heading into the office.
At least she makes me laugh.
I never expected to see that email.
Need to make our layups.
I change out of my sweaty basketball clothes and back into my work clothes before walking into the gym to sit beside her on the bench. I scan the bleachers and count pairs of parents, people who look like they might be related. I think I see more than I’ve ever seen.
9-0 at the half. A win. Their first win. A great way to start the season.
He meet him the hallway. He’s still dressed in his whites. I look up at him and say, “You had a pretty great day today. Drove a car for the first time and played in your first Varsity game. Not a bad day at all.” A little chuckle and a smile. Kinda all I hope for these days - a smile.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Six
4:08 a.m.
That was not a good sleep.
Maybe if I write about it, I will feel better.
I write about it. I feel better. The light filtering through the morning fog gives the room a soft glow.
Avoiding the real work by making homemade tomato soup and croutons. Getting that done will help me write better, right?
Sales calls.
I tell her the contents of the last 16 hours of my days, and she is aligned. So grateful that we get each other. What would I do without her?
Always the same.
He asks me if it’s homemade. I tell him it is. “Why,” I ask. “It tastes really good.” And that one comment is why the procrastination was worth it.
Two days.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Five
Tea, crisp morning air, the quiet.
A long walk with one of my favorite humans and their four-legged friend. The bright yellow leaves and the firm ground. A bright blue sky and streaky clouds.
He almost seems nervous that we’re here. He doesn’t know what to say.
What I really want to do is go to sleep, but I don’t think that’s the right thing to do.
I think he’s getting taller.
Just want to keep it positive.
That is not how I thought it was going to go. But I believe that we will make it work. I believe it’s going to be okay. Do I have any choice?
Did I take that blood pressure medication?
Reset.
Tomorrow. There is always tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Four
Practice day.
I don’t recognize who is he at first and then remember that he and I had a long chat one morning, last Saturday morning, waiting for the grocery store to open.
“Everyone is on time!”
I feel the focus. They are being the people they said they wanted to be.
She tells me it’s 9:30 and she has to go to work. I wrote a plan for two hours, not ninety minutes. Two hours is never enough.
Four days.
So. Freaking. Tired.
I bring all the things upstairs with me to bed even though I know I’m just going to fall asleep.
When he’s looking me in the eye, that’s when I know he’s listening, when what I’m saying is resonating. “You are the leaders now. This year wasn’t the only year. Next year could be the year, too, if that’s what you decide you want.”
Callings.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Three
I really need to sleep more.
Morning light. She reminds me that the Halloween candy is on sale; I should buy that instead.
I begin my setup: a table for the bagels and fruit and stickers. Large sheets of paper posted to the wall for the post-its. Pens and index cards. Team retreat day.
We read each others’ reasons for being here, our expectations of one another, our goals. The good news is that we are all here for the same reasons. We all want the same things. And if that is true, then we are halfway there.
They want more.
I pull the sheets of paper from the wall. I realize I am spending too much of my life not doing the right thing. This feels like the most right thing. I think this is my most right thing.
We stop in the olive grove and he asks me what I think. I don’t know what I think, but I know what I feel. I feel like I’m in some holy space, a magical place. I feel like I want to bottle up this feeling and have it forever.
I don’t want to make this call.
Clean bathrooms. Clean floors. Trader Joe’s frozen samosas. Not enough water.
Not how we imagined it would end.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Two
Only three hours. I will pay for this later.
Hot tea. Yelling goodbyes through closed doors.
The light is breathtaking. Everything is bright and alive.
I remember why I don’t drink coffee anymore.
One 90-minute meeting, and it feels like it’s 6:00 p.m., not 11:30 a.m. I really need more sleep.
And then, sometimes, small things happen to remind you that the bigger things are on their way.
I think he’s offering to be a mentor. I feel a little lucky.
Maybe it’s just going to be one of those seasons. But still, no negative parent emails yet, I tell her.
Yes, more of this, please.
These cookies are gross and disappointing. I can’t believe I stayed up an extra 22 minutes to make these.