It's a busy busy time. Putting the garden in. At last. Negotiating our new life with Mama Booty mostly currently unemployed for real money. Being strung tighter as a result. Getting scrappier and more frugal, cutting not just corners but whole sides. Slashing the extraneous, downshifting the fluff, making new fun. Focusing on what's been left behind and aside for months now.
Soooooooooo many dental appointments. Pain, discomfort, sucking it up. Huge-ass dental bills.
And continuing to parent Ziggy, in the toughest yet phase of this journey. Wonderful, smart, highly verbal, poetic souled, oh-so-passionate, challenging, funny, delightful, sometimes hysterical with glee or upset, getting closer to three and, wanting to nurse around-the-clock, very-Mommy-focused-because-Dad's-gone-7-days-a-week-to-work Ziggy. Phew.
Yesterday, because I am the meanest/worst Mommy on planet earth and can not re-order the day around ever-changing whims and needs despite my best try to simply hold center, say no and proceed as kindly/gently/quietly as possible, the poetically heartbreaking accusation, hurled through torrents of tears: "It's not my favorite thing! You're doing something wrong. You're scaring the birds outside, Mommy!"
A few hours later, pure bliss and delight at picking up Daddy from work and announcing (from his recently forward-facing carseat, er, throne), "We made a mistake, Daddy."
And then The Sounds baseball with my Mister's workmates, though we spent the best part of the evening taking turns walking Ziggy 'round and 'round the stadium, then the three of us at the play area where Ziggy repeatedly enjoyed his go at "standing in line!" and hitting the baseball. Yes, he can hit. At age two.
Then home for a banana popsicle and watching Obama accept his "presumptive" nomination.
Ziggy fell asleep nursing on the couch. I trundled him off to bed. The Mister and I had an all too rare bit of time to sit together and talk and be calm.
I forgot to tell him that I'd earlier in the day scared the birds outside.