It’s been 35 years, one week, and one day of togetherness now. We have had some pretty good times. Remember how you used to scramble up the tree down the street to save yourself from the danger of being the youngest kid amongst the oldest kids? Remember those endless summer days swimming round and round the pool? Remember how you used to sail across the rink to impress that pimple covered bespectacled boy? Remember how you used to train 3 hours a day to be able to keep up on the court?
I remember. I saw one of those postcards everyone is endlessly posting online the other day. It read, “I wish I was fat like the first time I thought I was fat.” Well, the first time I thought you were fat was in high school. You were a size 8, Perspective sure does change this many years later huh? I feel like we are so far apart. Me…………………You.
Well body, the time has come to reconnect. WE need to work together again. I’d really like to scramble up a tree with my daughter. I’d really like to spend an endless summer day floating across the pool with her. I’d really like to sail across a rink holding her hand to impress her tall, dark, and handsome daddy. I can’t say I’d really like to train three hours a day, but we certainly can work something out.
So what you do you say body? Are you in? I’d dare say that you really have no choice now. Because I am in, and since we are together and all, guess what? You in too! I know it’s scary, terrifying really, but we can do this. We have to do this. It’s time.
The dog days of summer. They really just began.
Frolicking in the sand (box),
trekking to the giant ice cream cone for a lick or three,
waking up with the sun only to stretch once and then drift back to sleep,
floating across the pool after jumping in cannonball style,
rolling to the park before the slide is too hot,
catching lightning bugs only to feel sad for them and ultimately let them go.
Summer isn’t over yet. But it’s close.
The first sign is the aisle after aisle of brightly colored school supplies that inevitably call my name as I walk by.
The second sign is the ding of that first email sending the school supply list for the fall.
The final sign arrives in the mailbox. It hasn’t come yet, so my summer will continue as planned.
Excuse me while I go frolic, trek, wake, stretch, drift, float, roll, and catch.
For just a bit longer. But I’ll take it while I can get it.
I know a vault. You may think you know one. Someone who can
lock it away. No matter what the “it” may be, they can secure it and no one can
crack that combination. Your vault may be a best friend, a sister, a mom. Most
of the time we treasure the vaults we know.
The trouble is this: I really need to crack into this particular vault. In this vault sits the pain of
a broken family. In this vault lies the heartbreak of parents dating someone
other than each other. In this vault rests the realization that everything is
changed and will never ever be the same. This vault is overrun with the fear
that all this means that there this just a little less love to go around.
Of course, this is just what I suspect is in this vault. Because it’s
just that sealed up. The best thief in the world can’t crack this one.
But… some of my heart sits in this vault too. I hope that if I close my
eyes and concentrate, that maybe, just maybe, my heart can shine with enough
love to bring some light in. If I can find a sliver of light, I might be able to
find a way in.
She needs someone to find a way in.
I’m floating in the crystal clear water. Lazily drifting around and around with my toes dipping into the wetness. I run my fingers alongside the raft and feel the cool water cascade between them. I feel the heat of the sun and bask in its glow. I sigh, totally content in my backyard oasis. The fuzzy fabric rubs against my face and… wait, fuzzy fabric!? I slowly open my eyes, fearing the worst, yet knowing it to be true. In fact, I am not contentedly floating around without a care in the world. My oasis has sprung a leak- so I find myself floating on my couch instead. Imagining.
It’s just not the same.
Hell has frozen over. Not a phrase you toss around lightly I know, I know. Let me set the stage for you. Almost four years ago we brought Maddie home from the hospital and what you need to know is this: I already had a baby at home, a furbaby (I say meekly, hiding behind my hands, in utter embarrassment). Well, Gabby, my persnickety Siamese did not take kindly to this THING I so rudely brought home to her world. For four years we have existed as so:
Get the picture? Gabby no likey Maddie. Now to the freezing over part, pigs flying, part, whatever you’d like to call it…
Four years later my animal loving daughter has made it her life’s mission to get this cat to cuddle on her chest like she does with mommy. You can imagine the look of pure disdain that the cat shoots her way at the first tsk tsk tsk. Persistence and miracles prevail however, and the other day I walk into the living room and…
See? Icy blue eyes melted by the heart of a four year old girl.