You ruined my nearly perfect food day...
who does that?
Who wakes up cursing graham crackers? ....from yesterday?
Apparently, a lot of people.
Today, Sarah. Today.
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| smokestack painting from 1st year in art school |
His hands up over his head, breathing soft as ocean mist.
And I have to admit, for a second, I felt a pit sink in my gut.
He is my last baby.
I gave away all my pregnant clothes.
I told everyone that I was done. And I am. I have to be. The husband is "fixed."
Yet there it is...the ache.
I feel this ache whenever a period of my life ends.
When I move from an apartment, and stand in it's clean, bare center after all the scrubbing is done.
I kneel down and thank Grace for the times I've had in it.
When Jeff and I moved from the cabin in Big Cottonwood Canyon, we cried in the doorway together.
Not sobbing. Just an awareness of tears in both of our eyes, and a huge welling wave that pushed us out to the next landing place.
I am a preschooler hanging onto Mom's skirt, burying my face in it, begging her to stay.
We cannot stay like this.
I'm afraid for my family to grow up.
I dropped off my sister yesterday at the hotel where she lives.
She lives there, and she's addicted to drugs.
We used to be little. I used to sleep in the same bed as her.
Share clothes with her. I can picture her eyes when she is listening to me.
She'd chase me, wild as a cat on fire, and try to punch me with all her rage when I'd tease.
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She says goodbye in her chipper voice, but it flakes away in the wind.
This is adulthood. Not for everyone. But for us.
And I wish I could pack her into the mini-van with the rest of the kids. I'd take her home.
Make her some french toast and set her on the couch to watch Mary Poppins.
Instead, I drive home with that ache and watch the steam rise from refineries along the freeway.
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