This Week

I'm hesitant to announce that I'm back to work in fear I'll fall off the work wagon again, but I went back to work this week.  I'm tackling life 30 minutes at a time and that's working for me, particularly when I start worrying about May and June and next year.  Or tomorrow morning.

Our refrigerator is woefully empty.  The girls are buying lunch and I'd have to cobble something together for dinner each night if it weren't for our amazing Village.  I owe the universe many, many delicious meals. And cookies. And some Tupperware.

On the sidelines of Big Sis's soccer practice I struck up a conversation with a dad who gravely surveyed my work clothes, my infant (being slung around cavalierly by Little Sis), and her scrimmaging Big Sis.  Our life is a little crazy right now, I acknowledged.  We talked about how hard life can be, even when it's wonderful.  And how wonderful life can be, even when it's hard.  We connected enough to hug goodbye before gathering our kids to head home.

Tonight Big Sis beckoned me to the computer to admire what she'd built on Minecraft and I geared up to exclaim seasick interest in the aerial, diving view of her pixelated landscape, until I realized she had created a version of Camp Half Blood from descriptions of that setting in her book The Lightning Thief.  I suddenly gained new respect for the game and the amount of time my daughter wishes to dedicate to it (almost as much as she dedicates to reading).  Kids, make a Minecraft Book Report!  (Works every time).

I called my cousin, whose mom, my aunt, my mother's big sister, died last week.  I marveled at my cousin's maintainenace of her sense of humor amidst her grief, admiration, and affection for her mom.  My aunt was so creative, artistic, generous, smart.  My cousin has her charisma and fortitude.

My therapist suggested a hot bath with detoxifying salts tonight and I'm pretty much doing what wise (calm, balanced, serene, and kind) clinicians are telling me to do these days, so I lit a candle and soaked.  Little Sis came in and scrubbed my back with lavender sugar and giggled at her Mama in her tub.  I felt like her child for a minute there.

My sister called from the airport; she's heading here to see my uncle (by heart if not blood), who is ailing.  He was my first uncle and a real one to me in the absence of any others.  He was one of the first men to make me feel beautiful and smart as a child (while beating me mercilessly at Scrabble).  He is wise, kind, generous, and faithfully calls me "Fer" after my toddler name for myself.  Dancing with him at my wedding is a cherished memory.

So many families grieving this week.

Today was a rich patchwork of thirty-minute segments.  Despite sadness, anxiety, and uncertainty, I'm thanking myself for being here for each half hour.