pomegranatesandpaper

Sleeping Weather

 

 

After a few weeks of very hot and humid weather, I walked outside from work last night to  a huge thunderstorm deluge. My cute red patent leather loafers were almost floating off my feet at one point, but the upshot was the humidity cleared away and dawn came with cool weather. 

I know this because the big dog had me up at 4:30. Bad doggie.

I HATE sleeping with air conditioning, but there's been no way around it for the past week. Last night I was on the sofa watching TV with Mr Pom (actually he was watching the Yankees and I was on my laptop). He went upstairs before I was ready, so he shut the TV, and I stayed on the sofa, enjoying the breeze from the screen porch.

After I watched an episode of Grace and Frankie, I closed my eyes for just a SECOND - and woke up at 3:45 on the sofa. It was glorious! NO air conditioning, beautiful fresh air from the porch,  and no snoring by man or beast. 

I always think that life slows down in the summer. But you know it never does. Work seems to get more complicated or maybe I'm just not in the head for it. So spending as much time as I can outside - even if it's quasi-sleeping on the porch -  is a good thing.

 

I guess it's technically too late for a summer reading blog. I have collected a few new titles and somehow in my mind I think I'll be reading them all on our week away in August. Ha! I could read them all, but I'd spend the week on the hammock with a book AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT? 

Nothing except for the 7 other people who will be expecting me to HAVE FUN with them. Which you know I will. (AMAZINGLY, we are now a family of 9- when did that happen? I love it more than anything in the world.)

I will use the time to create the FALL READING GUIDE for you. 

We are going through some heavy stuff here. Mr. Pom has been has been suffering mightily with back pain since February. All the usual treatments have failed and it's  gotten worse instead of better and he's worn out.  Bottom  line is that A 30- year old discectomy, 28-year old spinal fusion, and 16 year old anterior fusion,  have all begun to out live their useful lives.  The last time he was this bad it only resolved with the surgery, but   frankly, at 62, he's not about to have the next level fused because it involves taking out the rods from the prior fusions (can you imagine??). 

So we are facing big decisions that we are not ready for financially or emotionally. I am happy when he walks in the door and yells , "Hola!", and those days are few and far between now.  I get a little scattered when we are on this roller coaster and I tend to withdraw and do nothing much than dwell on it, which is not helpful. So praying for miracles and appreciate it if you'd think of him and send some healing vibes.  

The best medicine, of course:

 

The Return to Everland

Nauset Light

 

Sitting on the side porch this morning side by side with Mr. Pom, coffee in hand, and noticing that the cicadas have begun their mid summer whirring. I want to scold them that it is not midsummer, what with Fourth of July being only one week ago, but they go by nature's schedule, humming away the passage of the sun across the sky. It is quiet and I am racing to finish reading a book that traveled back and forth to the Cape but remained unopened.***

We returned on Friday, caravaning down I95, meeting up at Mystic for a long break while the baby got out of his car seat, ate some lunch, threw most of it on the ground for thedog, and entertained all the patrons on the Starbucks patio with his loud commentary of giggles and gibberish on everything from the dog gobbling up leftovers to his mother's stern admonishments not to feed her.

 

 

Our House  Inn in Chatham

I will miss  waking up to his yells from the crib to rescue him and his shy tucking in of the head when his mother carries him out of the room, sleepy-eyed, to say hello.  Our days were long and uneventful, and full. There was the flurry of meals, where we all we seemed to was nursery food: pasta with butter and cheese, grilled cheese toast, raspberries by the handful, blueberry pancakes, avocado chunks and hamburgers with ketchup.  We managed one restaurant meal out, picked for its   high noise level, which was propitious since the baby was in rare form, squealing, giggling, and chattering, delightedly finger painting with ketchup on the paper covering the tablecloth (thank goodness).  After one particularly loud baby belly laugh, the couple at the next table  leaned over and said, "We'll have what he's having."

Except for  weekend visits by my son in law, the procession of visitors were all female, a phalanx of aunts and cousins who blew bubbles, held chubby fingers yearning to walk all over the beach, help carry the indispensable baby beach equipment of umbrellas, shade tents,  thermoses of water, and tote bags full of lotions, changes of clothing, and sacks of cherries.  Our heads hit the pillows hard at night by ten at the latest and there were no late night runs to the beach to see the stars (though several dawns were witnessed). My resolve to keep to my usual Cape routine of disappearing from 7 to 9 to sit with coffee and write or paint dissolved quickly into rinsing blueberries and slicing strawberries, buttering toast triangles, and sitting in the backyard while the baby examined every single piece of gravel on the entire terrace.

 

Rose Hips

 

The two weeks flew by and went slowly, were exhausting and relaxing, were close to home and far afield, at least from a baby's point of view, and were different but the same. We saw the beach from ground level up, examining sticks, shells, pebbles, and crab legs that were destined for someone's mouth. We made friends everywhere and watched the baby watch his first parade, where he was particularly mesmerized by the ambulance's flashing lights. We all stood up to go the Fourth of July fireworks until my daughter wryly noted that someone had to stay home with the sleeping child.  By the end of the two weeks, he was saying my younger daughter's name, the dog's name,  mum mum and "diddy", and maayyybbbee saying "g'ma" (at least I heard it!).

If we had stayed even a day longer,  I don't think I could have forced myself to return. The quiet slide of sunny days fragrant with sunscreen and baby smell were narcoleptic. My mind was reverting to the long, slow, local days of early motherhood. The endless hours of sitting on the floor with plastic bits and board books; the walks around the yard to discover wooly caterpillars and ant hills; and the constant stream of  cheerios and sippy cups and diaper changes. All my pants have greasy tiny handprints that no stain stick will remove. I automatically cut up people's food into tiny bits from force of habit. I sweep the floor with my eyes as I walk from room to room, on alert for large cookie crumbs or clumps of dog hair that might find their wayward way into a little mouth. 

 

                Nauset Light Beach

 

I just took a look at my IG feed. In the last few weeks, I haven't there isn't a pic  that doesn't feature the baby.   My hand hovers over the "send" button as I wonder if I dare to post just one more photo of something I consider adorable but know that many  do not.  So yes, it's turned into a grandma feed, as I've been cautioned.  If   I had a second, I'd discover I've lost  followers and even friends, but that's life.

One out of five is allowable, no?

 

At least that is  my life right now.  It is is amazingly and exhaustively full with work and family, and on most days  I honestly  cannot fit a hairpin into an empty second.  There is a large teepee in my small living room, baby books falling out of a basket, and a high chair taking up the space by the window that the dogs covet. There are floors to vacuum for crawling, groceries to buy, meals to cook, and work, work, work to prepare for.   Make room, make room I tell myself.  Let it all in.  Revel in the excess. I hear my  Italian grandmothers whisper in my ear, "The thin edge of the wedge is almost nigh. There's plenty of time  in the grave."

----------------------------------

A proper post on summer reading will be coming. I have read some great books in fits and starts!

 

-

Mid Point

I haven't taken a two week vacation in several years. 

It feels like eternity.

Halfway through, we have had a change of guests, cycling from nieces to aunties. 

What have I done for a week?

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

We have eaten lobster, had Bird Breakfast Sandwiches more times than my pants will allow. 

Watched Squishy watch his first parade.

Wash sheets and towels. 

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

 

Made s'mores which surprisingly go well with white wine. 

Smelt of woodsmoke despite two hair washings.

Endlessly gaze adoringly at Squishy. 

Wash sheets and towels. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

 

Crafted decorations for Squishy's upcoming first birthday (I know!)

Been too lazy to go to the fireworks (no see-um's; crowds; traffic).

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Had pizza for supper at the beach.

Wash sheets and towels. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

Fight over who will get Squishy out of the crib from his nap. 

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

 

Did not eat ice cream, to my eternal sadness, when everyone else did.

Discovered the joy of cooking bacon in the oven for a crowd.

Wash sheets and towels. 

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Have Squishy lead me all over the house and yard with two fingers as he learns to walk.

Taught my cousin shit she didn't know (Never rent your house for the Fourth of July; if you do, raise your rent.)

 

Discovered that hammock naps only make you a feeding trough for mosquito cocktail hours.

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Wash sheets and towels. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

Vacillated endlessly between buying groceries, sous chefing and chefing, sweating over the grill, cleaning it all up ( I hate fresh corn prep and clean up), or spending 40 bucks for 3 burgers, 3 fries, and soda. \

 

Have the jitters constantly from too much coffee/cappuccinos from Sunbird. 

Lure everyone in the house to Sunbird several times a day. 

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Wash sheets and towels. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

 

Call fence guy about one foot gap in new fence that dogs sail through. 

Call exterminator  AGAIN about RACOON IN THE ATTIC AGAIN AND DID I MENTION IT RIPPED OFF THE METAL LOUVERS INSTALLED OVER THE ATTIC VENT TO KEEP IT OUT??

Call plumber about leak in outdoor shower. Pay plumber enormous sum for twenty minutes of labor. 

Call plumber -again- about septic smell in house.

Take pics of Squishy naked in his blow up pool and realize I can't pose on Instagram or I'll end up on CPS list. 

Buy ridiculous cheesy things at Christmas Tree shop to "beautify" the backyard since we hae no sprinklers and tenants wait for "someone"  to water anything planted, which turn to sticks in a few weeks. 

 

Say repeatedly that I need to vacuum. 

Wash sheets and towels. 

Buy stuff for beach lunches. 

Read half a page in one of the ten books I brought before Squishy does something cute and I am distracted. 

AND THE NUMBER ONE ACCOMPLISHMENT THUS FAR OF VACATION:

Teach Squishy to snort through is nose like a pig.

Which he does.

Repeatedly

While nursing.

Repeatedly. Much to his parents' chagrin. 

 

 

 

 

Be back in a week crying over returning to work. 

Glass half full/half empty/ Where's the wine?