So, I don't want to suggest that things are out of control around here, but Raphael played a double-header tonight.
Yesterday Jennie arrived for her summer visit. I got to go pick her up this time, because Clay was on call, and couldn't really hop in the car and drive 2.5 hours when he might be required to go to work at any moment. Which he was, so it was just as well.
Years ago, Max started begging me to let him grow his hair long. I was against it. I'm not a fan of long hair on males of all ages, to be quite frank. As far as I'm concerned, little boys in particular should be clean cut and respectable looking.
Max has come upstairs to say goodnight - pushing the time, as usual, by juuuust a few minutes. He's in the kitchen behind me, talking to Clay.
There are, in my life, a few dark spots. Areas of shame, if you will. I think I read somewhere that confession is good for such things, so here goes:
When I was a young teen, we lived in the middle of nowhere. A useless, if beautiful, valley carved out of the desert mountaintops in New Mexico, Jemez Valley was equal parts cruel and breathtaking. I mean that in every way - the people, the history, the culture, the landscape, the winding mountain roads that were built with less than rigorous attention to the angle required to keep people from hurtling off random curves. Breathtaking and cruel.
Tonight I was at the gym, while Clay schlepped all three boys to baseball practice. He is a gem, I tell you. Now, I love going to the gym, I really do. This surprises people sometimes. Occasionally I'll run into a friend after leaving the gym, or go from there to someone's house to pick up a child after a playdate, and they'll look at me a bit askance.
One thing I've always been amazed by is how very forthright many bloggers can be about intimate physical issues. Infertility bloggers allow readers into their very uterus (uteruses? uteri?), frankly discussing ovaries and hormone levels and... mucous. Weight loss bloggers not only post their weekly progress, but will tell their actual, for-reals, to the decimal point weight. The mind reels. Even my very own Mir used to have her vagina as a central character on her blog, and now her breasts have a reoccurring cameo role.
The most amazing thing happened this weekend. I got on a plane and went to Atlanta.
They were SUPPOSED to be downstairs, flossing and brushing before bed. Instead they were relentlessly spilling back upstairs, bringing reports of their brothers' misdeeds. And lo, the misdeeds were many.