I Wanted To Write Today

"My daily affairs are quite ordinary;

but I'm in total harmony with them."

~ Layman P'ang

I wanted to write today, but first I had to sit in the backyard on a warm September morning and drink a cup of coffee. I exchanged gratitude and sweet text messages with someone I adore. I read my email. I learned that a friend was sharing a reflection on his year with cancer at a Yom Kippur service this morning. And it was being live streamed. So I listened and cried a little.

I wanted to write today, but I had to make cinnamon swirl French toast with raspberries and powered sugar for my kids. And we needed to talk a little. About stuff. Then I caught up with a dear friend who does not get the attention she deserves from me. Oh, and I sent a message to my friend with cancer to tell him how moved I was by the hope, love, gratitude, acceptance and life in his words. And I tried to atone for my absence in his life.

I wanted to write today, but every dish in the house was dirty and piled up on the kitchen counter. So I listened to my new CD by "The Civil Wars" and washed them all, one plate, one pot, one fork at a time.  And I swept up the little dots of paper from the hole punch my son used 3 days ago, scattered like snow flakes on the dining room floor. There was laundry in the washing machine that had been waiting for its turn in the dryer for over 24 hours. I helped it find its way. Then I needed to hustle the kids. They had pool parties and soccer games to get to.

I wanted to write today, but I had to go to Costco for a case of beer and birth control pills, doing my part to advance the reputation of single mothers everywhere! Then I hurried to the soccer fields to watch my son's team play an exciting come from behind match, relishing the sunny afternoon and the exuberance of 12 year old boys. And I went to the grocery store to buy eggs and mushrooms, Swiss cheese, heavy cream and frozen pie crusts, ingredients for the quiche my daughter needed to make for a youth group fundraiser in the morning.

I wanted to write today, but I had to walk the dog on the bluffs above the ocean by my house before dinner. I had to watch the sun begin to sink toward the horizon. I stopped to  watch and experience awe and wonder. There's a law that says you have to do that when you come across a sunset. I think there's a law that says you have to share a photo of it on Facebook now too, but I didn't do that. I watched the shadows lengthen and felt the air grow chilly. Then I walked home and my kids and I got  big, fat burritos from Chipotle. After dinner we dished out bowls of mint chip ice cream before settling down on the couch together to watch a movie. We are exploring science fiction these days, questioning reality.

I wanted to write today, but life happened. And I decided to show up for it.

New Terrain

"If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading."

~ Lao Tzu

September is upon us. My kids are getting back into the routine of wearing shoes, packing lunches, doing homework, rushing to soccer practices, and hitting the pillow worn out from a full day. The circus has come to town and I have begun my juggling act in earnest. Most days I can  get everyone where they need to be sort of on time, walk the dog, get dinner on the table prior to bedtime, make sure homework is getting done, and keep the house from descending into total chaos. This is all old hat after all.

But this Fall is different than previous years. With my son starting 7th grade, we have left our beloved little elementary school behind for good. We are now fully immersed in junior and senior high school. There are no more playgrounds and cute class productions of The Hobbit or The Lorax to look forward to, no more class trips to Monterey or Yosemite with parents I have come to call friends. I am no longer on a first name basis with my children's teachers. In fact, I don't even know the names of all of my children's teachers and would not recognize them on the street.  We have entered a time of increased responsibility and independence for both kids. I am learning to loosen my grip on the reigns a little, and trust that they have the necessary tools to navigate this new world.

This Fall is different from others in another big way too. For the the first time, I had to check the box "child lives with mother" on the school emergency forms and enter a separate address for their father. It gave me pause. I was the one who put the wheels of divorce in motion, but it still made me sad to check that box. It was a box my mother checked on my school forms from 5th grade on, a box I swore I would never check for my own kids. And yet this Fall I did: "Child lives with mother."

My kids are private with their feelings. They do not say much about the divorce and are uncomfortable when I bring it up. So I watch them. I see them using computer games and the Internet as an escape more than I would like, and I worry about that. I tell them I worry about it and they respond with a perfect teenage eye roll. But I see other things too. I see them meeting the challenges of new schools and divorced parents with acceptance, strength and grace. They have not been toppled by this sea change in their lives. They have risen to meet it.

My son Miles is working hard to stay on top of the demands of junior high. He is taking responsibility for himself in new and unprecedented ways. He brings me every form that needs to be signed. And he gets straight to his homework after school or soccer. He is warm and affectionate with me and will even let me read to him sometimes. He keeps his sister and me informed on the latest scientific research and always asks me to turn on NPR in the car.

My daughter Frances is so responsible with school work that I rarely have to nag her about it. She has a maturity and solid inner standards that she works hard to maintain. She has a strong sense of self and does not cave to peer pressure. She is moving out into the world, focused on friends and activities outside the family as is appropriate for a fifteen year old. And yet, she still enjoys the company of her family from time to time. She's always available to share an episode of Star Trek with us, or a good dessert.

This summer in the Eastern Sierra Miles, Frances and I hiked a trail we've hiked many times before -- the Lundy Canyon trail. We were with some of our favorite people. We took pleasure in the familiar beauty of those majestic mountains. We found comfort in knowing just how far it was to the rest stop where we could take off our shoes and cool our feet in a cold stream, take a dip in the pool at the beaver dam, and eat a snack in the shade. We love this trail.

This year there was no snow as we climbed higher up the canyon so we were able to hike farther than we ever had. Gradually the trail became less familiar, and it was hard to even see among loose shale rocks. When the switch backs gave way to a near vertical climb through those loose, slippery rocks our party paused, unsure if we should go on. My kids were among those who wanted to press on. And so we began to climb, using hands and feet, taking care with each step to find a rock solid enough to place our foot. It was best not to look too far ahead. If we looked too far up that steep trail, fear would rise in our bellies (well, in mine anyway).  But if we concentrated on the next secure spot to put our foot or grab onto with our hand, we could do it, one step at a time.

At the end of the week I asked the kids what their favorite part of our vacation was. Without hesitation they both said, climbing Lundy Canyon. I had to agree. There was something about accomplishing that difficult climb that built our confidence. And doing it together gave us a common bond.

The shape of our family is shifting, the terrain unfamiliar. But I know my children have what they need to navigate this unpredictable trail. They have two parents who love them more than anything. And they have the strength and the confidence to climb up the loose rocks one step at a time, especially if we climb together.

We're going to be just fine.