Sunday and the P-O-O
Late Saturday night, I read the blue note paper on my desk. It said, "Music, Lamb of God," which was a reminder to myself that I was supposed to sing during the service on Sunday morning. I said to myself, "Self, tomorrow morning you can get up early and run through it. No problem."
I am clearly delusional late at night.
Sunday morning dawned and I woke and then rolled over and convinced myself that "five more minutes" of sleep was essential. My husband left at 7:00 a.m. and still, I snoozed. Finally, at a bit after 8:00 a.m., I said, "I have to get up! I have to sing! What am I going to wear?"
From then on, I was in full panic mode. Shower quick! Fix hair! Wonder why I have so much hair! I was completely sweaty after straightening my now too-long locks. Babygirl woke and then I busied myself getting her ready, too. I went downstairs to remind the boys that they should be completely ready--"including shoes and brushing teeth!"
An hour after I crawled from bed, I was dressed, complete with make-up and semi-tamed hair. Babygirl was ready. YoungestBoy was ready. The twins? Not. No shoes, no brushed teeth. I pawed through my books, found my sheet music, sat at the piano and ran through the song, hollered when TwinBoyA tapped me on the back and asked me to fix his hair--"I AM TRYING TO PRACTICE!", figured that my children will definitely choose to be atheists by the time I'm finished raising them, combed his hair, finished practicing verse three and shouted, "GET YOUR SHOES ON!" once more and left the house.
With the kids.
We arrived early enough for me to tell the sound guy that I would be singing from the piano and that I wouldn't be doing a sound check. Then I sat in the front row (it's like the bulkhead of a plane--more leg room) and waited for church to start.
Babygirl sat and wrote on a notecard for a few minutes, sat through one song and indicated that she'd had enough. She wanted to go to the nursery. Problem is, she won't stay in the nursery by herself, but I couldn't stay either, because I had to sing. Quite a problem, really. We went downstairs and found her favorite little friend in the nursery, with her mother.
When I told Babygirl I'd be right back, she cried and clung to me. I told her I had to go, but I'd be right back and walked out while she wailed.
I sang my song and went back to the nursery, where Babygirl was momentarily silent, but sniffling and hiccuping from the screaming she'd done. She began crying again and we left the nursery so I could calm her down. She said to me, "Mommy back." I said, "Yes, Mommy came back." Then she said, "I was sad." I almost laughed, but instead I said, "Yes, you were sad."
(I'm sorry this is so dull, for anyone still reading. This really is a personal journal above all, so sometimes this is going to happen!)
After church, we left fairly quickly--sometimes we stay during the "Coffee Hour" and visit--but today, we didn't sit down (although YoungestBoy did make sure to fill his pockets with cookies). Because my husband had to stay and perform a funeral service, we went through the drive-through and ate McDonald's in the car.
I meant to put Babygirl down for a nap, but I was reading a book ("Rosie," by Anne Lamott) and watching the men's Olympic marathon. She was laying down on the bed, asking me to cover her with pillows, and then wiggling around and jumping. Finally, I decided that I'd let her skip her nap and then she'd go to bed earlier.
We meandered downstairs eventually, went into the back yard and discovered the clouds had parted and the air was warm and it was still summer! I said to YoungestBoy who was wandering around with a garden hoe, looking for things to chop, "Hey, you want to go to the P-O-O-L?" I spelled so Babygirl wouldn't know what I was saying. YoungestBoy said, "Sure." So, then I said to Babygirl, "Hey, you want to go to the pool?"
She said, "Go to the P-O-O!"
So, we rounded up everyone, while Babygirl chanted, P-O-O and P-O-L and on the spur of the moment, off we went to swim.
At the pool, the sky was vivid blue, the sun was warm, yet autumn definitely lurked just out of sight. A chill in the air reminded me that summer is leaving and I feel unusually sad to see it go. I watched the big kids try to drown each other and felt the sun on my shoulders and felt wistful.
I'm trying to muster up some enthusiasm for autumn--my favorite season--yet, all I can do is grieve for what's ending, for the loss of Babygirl's babyhood, for the close of this chapter. I remember how sweet YoungestBoy has been these past few years, how I wish I could have freeze-dried him as a four year old and reconstituted him to savor later. He just wouldn't stay four forever, and now he's six and going to first grade and the thought that he'll be gone all day, every day, makes me sad. We won't have our mornings together. No more funny conversations and wrestling around on the floor, tickling.
My twins are on the brink of adolescence--TwinBoyA just told me how much he hates me because I scolded him for calling his brother "jackass"--and I feel nostalgic and falsely long for their younger years--even though those years wore me out and found me hollering and wondering if they would ever stop throwing sand in each other's hair.
I just want to say, "Stop! Stop fast-forwarding everything! I want to see, really see this part! Slow down!"
But instead, the whisper of fall is in the air and the P-O-O is going to close and did I take enough pictures? Did we have enough fun? Did we fully enjoy the summer? Did we waste the time we had?
We stayed at the pool last night until almost 7:30 p.m. and when we came home, Babygirl was eager for bedtime. I was so sleepy, so worn out, but when I came out of the baby's room, my husband said, "Hey! You want to watch a DVD with me?" I didn't really want to--I hadn't even been downstairs and I knew the laundry was mating even as I stood there--but I said, "Okay." I kept falling asleep through "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" and my little snores would wake me.
When it ended, I finished reading "Rosie," and fell into a deep sleep in which I dreamed about going to the ultimate garage sale.
I am clearly delusional late at night.
Sunday morning dawned and I woke and then rolled over and convinced myself that "five more minutes" of sleep was essential. My husband left at 7:00 a.m. and still, I snoozed. Finally, at a bit after 8:00 a.m., I said, "I have to get up! I have to sing! What am I going to wear?"
From then on, I was in full panic mode. Shower quick! Fix hair! Wonder why I have so much hair! I was completely sweaty after straightening my now too-long locks. Babygirl woke and then I busied myself getting her ready, too. I went downstairs to remind the boys that they should be completely ready--"including shoes and brushing teeth!"
An hour after I crawled from bed, I was dressed, complete with make-up and semi-tamed hair. Babygirl was ready. YoungestBoy was ready. The twins? Not. No shoes, no brushed teeth. I pawed through my books, found my sheet music, sat at the piano and ran through the song, hollered when TwinBoyA tapped me on the back and asked me to fix his hair--"I AM TRYING TO PRACTICE!", figured that my children will definitely choose to be atheists by the time I'm finished raising them, combed his hair, finished practicing verse three and shouted, "GET YOUR SHOES ON!" once more and left the house.
With the kids.
We arrived early enough for me to tell the sound guy that I would be singing from the piano and that I wouldn't be doing a sound check. Then I sat in the front row (it's like the bulkhead of a plane--more leg room) and waited for church to start.
Babygirl sat and wrote on a notecard for a few minutes, sat through one song and indicated that she'd had enough. She wanted to go to the nursery. Problem is, she won't stay in the nursery by herself, but I couldn't stay either, because I had to sing. Quite a problem, really. We went downstairs and found her favorite little friend in the nursery, with her mother.
When I told Babygirl I'd be right back, she cried and clung to me. I told her I had to go, but I'd be right back and walked out while she wailed.
I sang my song and went back to the nursery, where Babygirl was momentarily silent, but sniffling and hiccuping from the screaming she'd done. She began crying again and we left the nursery so I could calm her down. She said to me, "Mommy back." I said, "Yes, Mommy came back." Then she said, "I was sad." I almost laughed, but instead I said, "Yes, you were sad."
(I'm sorry this is so dull, for anyone still reading. This really is a personal journal above all, so sometimes this is going to happen!)
After church, we left fairly quickly--sometimes we stay during the "Coffee Hour" and visit--but today, we didn't sit down (although YoungestBoy did make sure to fill his pockets with cookies). Because my husband had to stay and perform a funeral service, we went through the drive-through and ate McDonald's in the car.
I meant to put Babygirl down for a nap, but I was reading a book ("Rosie," by Anne Lamott) and watching the men's Olympic marathon. She was laying down on the bed, asking me to cover her with pillows, and then wiggling around and jumping. Finally, I decided that I'd let her skip her nap and then she'd go to bed earlier.
We meandered downstairs eventually, went into the back yard and discovered the clouds had parted and the air was warm and it was still summer! I said to YoungestBoy who was wandering around with a garden hoe, looking for things to chop, "Hey, you want to go to the P-O-O-L?" I spelled so Babygirl wouldn't know what I was saying. YoungestBoy said, "Sure." So, then I said to Babygirl, "Hey, you want to go to the pool?"
She said, "Go to the P-O-O!"
So, we rounded up everyone, while Babygirl chanted, P-O-O and P-O-L and on the spur of the moment, off we went to swim.
At the pool, the sky was vivid blue, the sun was warm, yet autumn definitely lurked just out of sight. A chill in the air reminded me that summer is leaving and I feel unusually sad to see it go. I watched the big kids try to drown each other and felt the sun on my shoulders and felt wistful.
I'm trying to muster up some enthusiasm for autumn--my favorite season--yet, all I can do is grieve for what's ending, for the loss of Babygirl's babyhood, for the close of this chapter. I remember how sweet YoungestBoy has been these past few years, how I wish I could have freeze-dried him as a four year old and reconstituted him to savor later. He just wouldn't stay four forever, and now he's six and going to first grade and the thought that he'll be gone all day, every day, makes me sad. We won't have our mornings together. No more funny conversations and wrestling around on the floor, tickling.
My twins are on the brink of adolescence--TwinBoyA just told me how much he hates me because I scolded him for calling his brother "jackass"--and I feel nostalgic and falsely long for their younger years--even though those years wore me out and found me hollering and wondering if they would ever stop throwing sand in each other's hair.
I just want to say, "Stop! Stop fast-forwarding everything! I want to see, really see this part! Slow down!"
But instead, the whisper of fall is in the air and the P-O-O is going to close and did I take enough pictures? Did we have enough fun? Did we fully enjoy the summer? Did we waste the time we had?
We stayed at the pool last night until almost 7:30 p.m. and when we came home, Babygirl was eager for bedtime. I was so sleepy, so worn out, but when I came out of the baby's room, my husband said, "Hey! You want to watch a DVD with me?" I didn't really want to--I hadn't even been downstairs and I knew the laundry was mating even as I stood there--but I said, "Okay." I kept falling asleep through "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" and my little snores would wake me.
When it ended, I finished reading "Rosie," and fell into a deep sleep in which I dreamed about going to the ultimate garage sale.
posted by Melodee at Monday, August 30, 2004
4 Comments:
You so stink. You made me cry with this post (half happy half sad tears). I've been having that feeling all month, summer is running out...we've had a blast. My daughter is 3, almost 4, and she is such the entertainer. And my son is seven and trying so hard to be more like 10. And I just want it to last and last. But now I'm off to the pond to swim with them...thanks for the post!
I think back to Ms. Corporate mom. The one you spoke about a few weeks back.
I can tell you she doesn't have even half of the special memories you have. She hasn't noticed the season's approaching change.
She is busy thinking about work, work, work -- and all the bills she has to pay to keep her fancy lifestyle.
How lucky you are :)
I used to wonder after yelling at the kids to get ready for church (my husband had to leave earlier) what the kids thought as I changed from 'evil mom-lady' to chipper Sunday school teacher lady.
I can picture my oldest son thinking 'oh sure, she talks about how God made the rain and the dirt, but getting any ON you, and it's pure evil!. I'm sure my daughter was thinking 'i wonder when her head will spin around?'. My youngest son wasn't paying any attention to me at all...he learned THAT early. He was probably planning his future...'i'll go to college, but then quit, and move back in with them, and tie up the computer, the phone, empty the fridge, and do ministry work that will make me look like a really great kid, but secretly i will drive them insane faster than chinese water torture'.
My husband and I wondered how we would cope when they grew up and left us. At least once during dinner, my husband will look at the youngest (age 20) and say, when did you say you were moving out?
How cool that you can sing! I wish I could...I like doing the harmony but would never be able to carry the melody...I want to say something bright here involving your name, but nothing I think of sounds very bright...
Your baby is a genius learning to spell like that!
~Tina
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