Dennisport, MA, Saturday:

I’m on the Cape, in the charming little house we rented for a few days.  The kids and I came down Thursday morning, Clay joined us Friday afternoon, and now on Saturday afternoon they’ve left me for a little “Mom retreat.”  The house feels so empty… I can’t believe there is really no one but me here.  Now that we have Gus, I’m never, never truly alone.  I keep looking for someone to check on… listening for the jingle of the dog tags or the pat-pat-pat of little feet walking across the upstairs bedroom after nap.

It’s supposed to be sunny and bright today.  The online forecast is still insisting that it’s sunny here, but it is actually an overcast sixty degrees (if that).  I wonder if they have driven out of the clouds an into the sunshine.  I have an insane desire to jump in the car and follow them, saying, “Wait!  I didn’t mean it!  I don’t ever need rest or sleep or refreshment, just so long as I can be near you guys.”  Suddenly it seems perfectly natural that I should wake up at least once in the middle of the night to someone calling “Mommy!”, and that I should be up at 5:20 to either walk the dog or to crossly insist that he lay down on his bed (only to have him jump up and follow me as soon as I try to go back to bed).  I find myself, even now in the rental house, washing sheets and swiffering up dog hair– and I don’t really mind all that much.   In a flash of insight I realize that, yes, that’s not just what I do, that’s who I am.  And though in some moments it’s my worst fear to ‘just’ be the mom/housekeeper/driver/cook, right now it feels like that is actually my dream job.

This is the paradox of a modern mother’s life.  We’re educated, trained, encouraged to be ambitious– and thank God for all of that.  And yet for all of history we have been the nurturers and caretakers.  I think– for women, anyway– the consequences of living in our world of opportunity are that we always feel we haven’t begun to live up to what we want to do.  If you know how to make a permanent peace with that idea… write a book and make a million dollars!  For me it’s a matter of peaceful stretches punctuated by periods of hyperventilating inadequacy.

Back to the retreat– a few days later, as I abandoned the blog to be sure I would do some of the other kind of writing (the fiction I was actually there to write).  One thing I loved, loved, loved about the getaway was the lack of “stuff” around me.  If you know how to make your home as empty as a vacation cottage (while still being able to function in day-to-day life– you know, paying bills and returning school forms on time)… write a book and make another million dollars!  It was so restful to get away from my projects and piles!  Here are some snapshots of the quiet, uncluttered spaces.  Such a modest little place, and nothing particularly special about any one feature or any of its furnishings– it was all just simple, attractive, functional, harmonious. Reminds me of the William Morris advice to ‘have nothing in your home which you do not think to be beautiful or know to be useful.’  How have I forgotten that for so long?  And how do I groom back to that notion?  Again, if you know how… WRITE A BOOK!  Or better yet, hire me to write the book for a small cut of your million dollars!

Better sign off now.  My venti iced Americano is dry, and my little boy is waiting for me to come snuggle him down to nap.  Hope you are enjoying warm sunshine and a cold drink, wherever you may be, my friends!

I think of this coffeehouse conversation at least a couple times a day.  A thought will pass through my mind and I’ll think about sharing it, and whether it would start a “comment conversation” like we used to have here.  I’ve GOT to start jotting them down, because whenever I get a moment to write, all those things I wanted to talk about or ask you are gone like yesterday’s clouds.  But here I am anyway, snatching moments between Mom requests, drinking my usual guatamala antigua with– oooh– cream this time (just because we’re out of milk!).

It’s been a lonely, hard couple of months for me– as you already know.  But now that Spring is a little more forthcoming, and a little less teasing, I’m feeling like the world is softer and kinder.  For one thing, the Gus walks are far more pleasurable when I’m not bundled to my eyebrows and still freezing.  I’ve had a chance to observe Spring’s arrival more closely than ever before– to rejoice in the outbreak of little purple violets among the trees by the path, and to see the baby green buds creeping along the wild shrubs.  Those shrubs are Bittersweet, I think– an invasive plant species that grows over everything (isn’t that an interesting parallel to life?).

My mom sent us a basket of planted bulbs for Easter– they’re pictured above.  From dried up onion to foot-high flower in something like 8 days!  That’s some serious awakening.

Back to Guster. I wanted to tell you all that he graduated from basic obedience class last week!  He did a great job– right up until the part where he ate his diploma. We just got a new one in the mail yesterday– in case he needs it to apply to grad school, I guess.

Signing off now to spend Spring Break time with all the kids.  Are rare alignment of the planets has us all leaving the house at the same time for errands and an early lunch at Panera.  Or maybe it’s just the food incentive.  Either way, I’ll take it!  Talk with you all soon!

The littles and I made an ATM stop the other day.  This being New England, everything is maximally inconvenient and drive-thru ATMs are rare, so we parked the car to all unload and go inside.  But then we spotted… the Easter Bunny meeting and greeting in the bank lobby!  The kids were so excited.  “Mom,” Claire asked, “Is it the real Easter Bunny, or a helper?”

“I don’t know, Claire.  Could be the real one, but I think it’s probably a helper,” I answered.  We went inside, got our money, and collected lollipops and high-fives…er… high-paws?  The kids were psyched.

Outside again, getting into the car, Claire quietly told me– so that Quinn wouldn’t hear– “Mommy, he was just a helper.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw his flip flops under his furry feet, and those aren’t very good for hopping around.”