Monday, March 19, 2007

No Topic

I don’t have a topic to write about, although lots float around. Am I privileged? How does this affect my blogging, my writing, my voice? What about our vacation to Disney? Should I post a few pictures, talk about Mickey?

Today is such an ordinary day, except it’s my birthday. It’s a Monday, which means my husband worked all day, and then came home for a short time, before heading out for his weekly volleyball game—it’s hard to object to this, this non-adjustment of his schedule to accommodate my birthday, when his birthday falls every year on Hallowe’en. Sometimes I make him wait for his birthday; mine can wait too.

So it’s an ordinary day. Boo woke up at 7:30, and I nursed her. I don’t know when I’m going to give it up. I thought she would have weaned herself by now, but she hasn’t, so we continue on. Then Geister gave me the little gift of sleeping in to 8:00, which meant I had time to get myself up and dressed, face washed, hair quickly brushed and contacts in. When I got him up I told him it was my birthday, and that meant no matter when in the day I felt like a hug, he had to give me one. So he whispered “Happy birthday” to me in his morning voice and gave me a hug.

Then we all had breakfast, and I packed the diaper bag, consulting the list I keep on the side of the fridge—it helps me remember all the basics, even though I’ve been doing this for three years.
My husband called from the office, wanting to know would I be interested in seeing the von Trapp family children? I answered his question at face value, trying to assess my true interest level, when I realized of course this was a query targeted at finding a birthday present. I heard a few more clicks of his keyboard, as he continued his internet search. “How about Ricky Martin?” he asked. “Christina Aguilera?”
“I want a spa day!” I said.
“Nope. Boring!”

I called A. to see if she was willing to come to the indoor playground (which of course she was since it’s my birthday and I got to decide). She called K., while I called R. It’s an ordinary day, except that R. is grieving the loss of her sister-in-law’s baby, who died on Saturday. The baby died in utero, two weeks before the due date, the cord wrapped around her neck six times. She was breech; was she trying to turn herself around, getting ready for her own birth? R. is going to the funeral on Friday, and she herself is 39 weeks pregnant. How can this be?? But it is.

So we all agreed to meet at the playground, and I packed the snacks for the kids, grapes because they’re healthy, and gold fish because that’s what Geister will eat, and I got everyone in the van. I hit Starbucks of course, and treated myself with a grande size latte instead of the usual tall.

We got to the playground in decent time; I think the morning routine is increasingly efficient, although without much margin—a last minute poopy diaper can still make us late to anything.

The playground was fun—we hadn’t been in three or four weeks and in that time Boo had matured considerably, her taste in toys now completely grown up. She played independently in the toddler area, and even played in the sit-in cars (what do you call them?), propelling herself backwards with a surprising amount of control. Geister climbed up into the tubular play structure for the first time, and then got (predictably) stuck when he refused to come down the towering slide. I had to help him out, but he did so well to venture up in the first place. His friends have been doing this for while, but he’s cautious, and that’s OK.

After the playdate we went home for lunch, my parents sent me flowers, and I tried to minimize the time I spent playing cars with Geister, and tried to maximize the time I spent reading my magazine.

The day slipped on from there, reaching the home stretch to bedtime, a time when we all perk up; me, with the anticipation of some down time, and they with the last bursts of energy for the day. Geister got me to play cars one more time, creating a “crash” of cars so large, that he could only look on and quote Richard Scarry, “This is what I would call SOME ACCIDENT. You can see from yourself.”

Boo went to bed well, after a bottle and one last diaper change, a story, prayer, and song; then Geister went to bed, peacefully listening to my (always abbreviated) reading of the aforementioned Richard Scarry's Cars and Trucks and Things That Go. I tucked him in, lied down with him till he fell asleep, then snuck out.

It’s such an ordinary day, but it’s mine. It is and has been, and when I look at my children I am so deeply thankful that they’re here, living this life along side me, given to me by God, given a chance to reach their birthdays, too.

3 comments:

bubandpie said...

I can't even comment on this. I just keep heaving deep sighs.

Mommy-Like Days said...

Well, it is the worst nightmare--and the more details you know the more painful it gets. I know her name, I know she looked perfect when they held her in their arms, I know that it was her sister's birthday party when it happened. I know that I had trouble sleeping after I found out, and I know that I don't even know how to pray for them, because I've tried.

Her Bad Mother said...

Oh. What B&P said. Oh oh oh.

(and, meekly and solemnly - happy birthday)