I have been AWOL, a very delinquent blogger and, though no lives were lost due to my neglect of my writing, I hope I can find it within my heart to forgive myself. It’s been a crazy summer, a head-spinning summer. I feel as though a tornado swept me up, dumped me in the middle of utter chaos, and then, as a parting shot, said, “And school starts in a week.”
Yeah, well, I know tornados don’t talk. But on Friday I found, buried among my e-mail, an e-card from my brother for the hub-sand’s and my 18th anniversary. Which was last Tuesday. My mouth fell into a moronic gape. I’d known our anniversary was coming up. And then it just happened and left without a word and the two of us went on with our lives as (ab)normal.
Okay, I know anniversaries don’t talk, either. But let’s chalk this wife up to being just as bad as the most forgetful hub-sand.
We semi- made it up to ourselves: the three of us celebrated Saturday morning with brunch in our new neighborhood. Maybe one of these days the big guy and I will have a date (although there’s the issue of no longer having a babysitter). There’s a grown-up movie or two I wouldn’t mind seeing, but even a couple hours’ hike would be nice. Having a conversation without the little guy butting in would be nice. Simple joys have a simple voice. (Going to see Pippin on Broadway would be nice.)
So, you’re wondering, what made this summer so crazed? Let’s see… We moved out of our house and into an apartment in mid-June, but we still have stuff in our house and the hub-sand, mostly, has been going back and forth a lot. School ended. The little guy did an awesome day camp at the Eli Whitney Museum for a week. My hours at work increased from twenty to twenty-five. (Not that this has made much of a difference in our income. Taxes do that.)
The Little Guy and I took our annual Mama-Jonah Trip to Philadelphia. Came back. I did a four-day yoga retreat. That was just a week ago… But no—it was a freakin’ month ago. What happened?! (This is precisely what I’m talking about.) The Little Guy did a one-week camp at Mystic Seaport, necessitating our driving an hour each way, twice a day, sometimes in torrential rain storms. (Yes, we’re crazy, but Mystic Seaport is a special place and the little guy gets so much out of being there. An hour is nothing when you take into consideration that people come from all over to visit.) Then the three of us went to Boston for the weekend.
And then, suddenly, it was the end of July. Jonah and I flew to San Francisco to attend his second cousin’s wedding, visit family, and do the fun things we had to do in that most gorgeous of cities on the bay. As quickly as it came upon us, it was over, and we went back home. And between jetlag, working both Friday and Saturday after returning, and not sleeping well, I’ve been pretty darn worn out.
And now… here I be.
I’m not complaining. I’m recovering. And yes—I’m justifying my AWOLness as best I can. To you, to myself.
Not sure if I buy it.
Photos, from top to bottom: Space Boy (at the Franklin Institute); Goin’ nuts at Mystic Seaport; A guy who looks an awful lot like Benjamin Franklin in Philadelphia; F streetcar, San Francisco; San Franpsycho; Hayes Valley, San Francisco