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Laundry morning.
13 yo son does all the boys' clothing  I conquer sheets and towels.

That night a 13 yo son pitching a housewife's fit from the boys' bedroom as he tries to get ready to go out, "Where are all the underwear?  Who has them!!!  I washed and put everything away!"

Time to ponder.  Who is lying in the living room and just what, besides the soccer ball did the 7 yo son use to fill out its flesh?




IKEA can't beat this underwear storage idea.






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Feet paddling, arms out palms down superman style,
Waiting for that surge of surf, that aligning catch of swell;
Waiting patiently, rolling over Poisidon's shoulder and soaring,
Bodysurfing, cresting above blue green seas, below blue gray skies
to the rhythm of seagull cries.
Towards shore and unloading tumble into sandy foamy salt, sometimes with splats.

My Dad in his short 1970's trunks, soaked white t-shirt and sun blackened skin must have shown me how a thousand times. Ever fishing-hat-hatted.  Ever with a grin.

I wiped out a thousand and one, wondering how ten pounds of sand could fill a bathing suit crotch lining that was impossible to remove in public.
Again and again 'til lips turned blue with chill and momma noticed, or the absolute official maritime ender of lessons and joy swelled in.

Damned Jelly Fish.

Riding waves of shoulders, an Uke soaring circles to softening mats and satisfying controlled thumps, minus the salt, unless sweat counts; but it doesn't.
Then being the shoulder, whose timing, coordination and patience needing an ocean's wave worth of alignment wipes out a thousand and one with splatting bumps of uncontrolled thumps.

Again and again, 'til, a wayward surge of apology causing tentacles of stinging doubts, the self-conscious martial ender of learning and joy, swell in.

Damned Mental Jelly Fish



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Something unusual happened this weekend.  On Saturday afternoon my husband and I drove our two youngest out of town to spend the night at a big sister's house so she could take them to a children's symphony and feed them lots and lots of sugar.

That in itself was not unusual; my two oldest children both live on their own in different cities within driving distance and regularly invite siblings for a night out.  However,  this Saturday the planets aligned, deer bowed their heads in awe throughout the State of Tennessee at precisely 5:00 p.m., and the prophecy of the recent blood moon was fulfilled; two of our other children were out of town hiking and the fifth child had a late date.  That made seven children accounted for and most importantly, simultaneously NOT AT HOME.

Yes, my husband and I had sole possession of our house for a full half-day.   For the first time ever as a mom I told a child, "Do NOT come home early from your date."  This of course reminded her of a scene from "Failure to Launch" and she was very very afraid....

My husband and I felt like adults.  We could watch what we wanted.  Everything we put down stayed where we put it.  It was like.... we owned our own home.  We finished conversations. 

It was everything I ever dreamed it could be.

But, I did leave a block fort barricaded by army jeeps in the center of the den.  My husband and I stepped over it all evening- because it was nice to know that our house mates would be coming home.




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Sometimes memories take your breath away with a swift kick to the solar plexus.  When I saw a recent Instagram photo my 15 yo took of her older sister it was one of those kicks and gasps of what-could-have-been because:

as every parent of teens knows, any phone conversation that begins with, "I'm o.k.," means that your peace of mind and the money saved for new carpeting is about to disappear.

A little over a year ago I got a phone call from my oldest daughter that began, "I'm o.k. but Sarah thinks she may have broken some teeth."  They had gone long boarding...

Neglecting to also inform me that Sarah was covered in blood led me to direct them to meet me at the Dentist.  Poor dentist. poor alarmed hygienist, waiting patients, secretary- I've never seen so many eyebrows at full alert of alarm as when I walked in the office to find out how much "fixing a couple of teeth," would cost.

We went straight to the hospital.

It's funny now, sort of, how when the E.R. doctor walked into the exam room holding her x-rays, he almost tripped and then walked out again only to return a few minutes later.  I didn't know why until later, when Sarah was out of the room, he explained that he'd seen x-rays like her's before but those patients were all unconscious and permanently brain damaged as a result.  Walking into the room and seeing Sarah drinking a coke and making jokes made him believe he had entered the wrong room.

The difference was, when Sarah's borrowed long board hit the rock at the bottom of the steep long hill she was zooming down (typing that makes me want to smack her even now) and launched her airborne, she automatically did something Karate class had trained her to do: a front breakfall.  It saved her life.

Her jaw was still fractured in triplicate, her chin was still pretending to be an expensive jig-saw puzzle, her road rash was still painfully impressive and she still had to spend the next 3 months miserably horizontal.



But.... because of that successful breakfall a year ago here she is- belt-testing.



Isn't her jaw pretty?






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