Thursday, August 19th 2010
Yearning, Learning. A Yot.

Today the boys went to back to school. Mike is in town, and when this is the case – he takes them. Especially on the first day. I tend to walk them to classroom doors and look at them with the big eyes until they feel obligated to freak out and make me feel better and wanted as a mom and really, we all just need to avoid that whenever possible. I should emotionally damage my kids at home, not on school property in front of their friends.

I knew they’d be fine.

I thought I’d be fine.

I stood in my closet and had time to consider what to wear. And that was disturbing. I do not WANT time to consider what to wear.

By 9 am I was looking into Charlo’s green eyes and having a motherly chat with him about his health and how he probably needed to put on his fluffy, kitty jammies today and not eat anything weird that might upset his ulcer. I needed someone to mother, and the cat was just going to have to do.

By 10:30 am I was in Target on a crucial mission to find my favorite brown hair elastic thingies. I wear one on my wrist almost always and I don’t know how or when they disappear, but they do. And all the stores have been out of them. So there I was. (you have one on your wrist at all times too, if you live somewhere windy, love lip gloss, and have long hair) Crisis solved. I bought hundreds.  Put me on a reality tv hoarding show. It’s a bit like a discreet security blanket, that brown hair elastic thing on my right wrist. And today – first day of school – I needed them by the hundreds.

By 11 am I was wondering if I should start my Christmas shopping. I am not an early Christmas shopper. I just had no idea what to do without my three babies. Mike called and asked me if I was okay and if I wanted to have lunch. This does not happen except maybe a couple times a year. I should have said yes. Instead, I said I was quite busy with my carefully choreographed Filling The Time and I just couldn’t possibly. It had more to do with when to eat and still have time to get groceries AND still run at the gym while staring at a golf green for an hour and a half. That was the goal, but it’s waiting until tomorrow morning. I told Mike “more notice next time, please.” (Yes, that is SO obnoxious I get why these invitations are so few.)

By 12 I’d started talking aloud to myself about the genius of Ray Price. What a guy! Saw him in Austin last month. I suppose it was just too quiet without the chatter of the kids and talking out loud helped.

By 1 I’d decided if I actually DID run at the gym as long as I’d  planned, then I’d be limping the rest of the day and long runs are better at night because then I just limp for a small amount of time before bed and am fine the next morning. And I couldn’t be all limp-y for the rest of the afternoon when the boys got home. For some reason. I mean, it made sense at the time. Now, not so much.

So I did get a lot done. Despite the Sudden-Onset Empty Nest Syndrome.

I even went to the inconvenient, across town grocery store I like because it has really great veggie sandwiches that my regular store doesn’t.

I cleaned out my purse and the car. There was a bikini top in my purse I have no memory of putting in there, but looked as if it had been quite at home for a very long time. And about 3 pounds of paper, 2 pounds of spare change, and  a melted chocolate bar from Caden-6yr’s teacher. But it isn’t mine.

Then I thought up a new reason not to send LaLa my measurements. Actually it was an old reason I’ve already used on her, but I’d forgotten it. It’s still valid. Where is one’s waist REALLY, because wasn’t it defined differently in the high-waisted 90s? I kinda think it was. Where is one’s waist now, in 2010…. or where was it then… and are we sure we’re thinking the same place? Maybe we’re not. Maybe you’re a lot more fashion forward than I am (duh) and your version of a 2010 waist is really where I’d think it would be in 2007. Right, LaLa? I have a point here, right…?

If I get nervous, I show up early to wherever I’m going. (If I really like you, I’ll probably be five minutes late.) But when I’m really anxious it shows up in extreme earliness.  So of course I showed up to school early to get the kids.

The kids were fine. They enthusiastically assured me that not one of them missed me at all. Really, this was unnecessary. They didn’t have to do that.

But I wouldn’t have traded today for anything becaue Seth-4yr got in the car and earnestly said, “I yearned  a yot today. A whole yot.”

He didn’t learn how to pronounce the “L” sound. And I’m glad for that.

He yearned. A yot. If you’re going to yearn, it  should probably be a yot.

I yearned a yot today, too.


4 Comments on “Yearning, Learning. A Yot.”

Heather Ivester
August 20th, 2010
4:00 pm

Oh, how cute. :)

It’s weird for me too, with all my kids at school. Especially after an extremely noisy summer. My dog and I are hanging out, enjoying the peace. So far, I’ve made two trips to the Salvation Army, cleaning out the stuff my kids won’t let me get rid of when they’re watching. heh heh.

August 20th, 2010
11:38 pm

Okay, sweet pea, you’re allowed to yearn a yot and to talk to Farlo in a meaningful way if it helps. But if you don’t send me those measurements (you’re waist is where you want it to be) I’m going to send Mom with her tickly cold hands over there. And then you’ll both be yearning a yot, probably in the shrieky range. :)

August 21st, 2010
11:59 am

Heather, this is a brilliant idea and I need to do the same thing. A giant purging of all the plastic little thingies! This will be great.


“Your waist is where you want it to be.”

That is SO interesting, that statement. Remember that cute hot pink, quilted vest from Coldwater Creek that i ordered and the darts made the boobs way in the wrong place? If only CC had that same theory: Your waist is where you want it to be. Your boobs are where you want them to be. (Not where WE say they’ll be) Your BUTT is where you want it to be. Why is that one so much more unrealistic? It is, though, huh?

New problem: I don’t really know where I want my waist to be. But this is a more empowering problem than the one it replaces – how to know where to measure.

OH YEAH! You don’t crochet. You knit. EXCUSE ME. THey’re both crazy difficult for me. Remember that one scarf thing I tried to knit? It was like, 3 inches across at the beginning and 7 inches across after I’d been at it for a couple hours.

August 21st, 2010
1:02 pm

We call that “free form” knitting. You were going off-road. :)

Don’t think I failed to notice how your philosophical interest in the placement of your waist/butt/boobs was meant to distract me from real numbers. I’m on to you, toots.

Leave a comment

CommentLuv badge