some days

i grieve that little pieces of each blessedly unique day get lost in the way one day follows another. one night i might go upstairs to check on my sleeping son, to find him asleep in his star wars undies, having kicked off all his blankets in the toasty upstairs of the wood heated house, skinny limbs jutting out from the bed just enough that a mama has to move him back into the middle safe zone, his head lamp strapped securely around his head, blinking its strobe light at the ceiling while he snores. another night he might be wrapped in his grammy quilt, wearing his lightning “the queen” pajamas, his head snuggled up to flashlight bear, his arms snugly wrapped around sammy smiley, the t rex.

some days are tomato days. some days are pear days. some days are wash all the dishes from having the whole gang down from portland for the weekend days. some days are go and make apple cider with friends days, with children running amok in all directions, swinging at a pinata with a ninja sword, and eating tater tot casserole and boysenberry-apple pie.

on some days i wake up and sneak out of bed to hear my man calling in sick to work, his voice an octave lower than usual due to his sore throat. those days become go back to bed and wake up again at 10 days. then i take my time leaving until almost noon, when i will catch my man smiling his cute sore throat smile and jumping back into the bed as i leave. some nights i find my pillow all bunched up on his side of the bed, evidence that i was missed during his middle of the day nap.

one day a little pancake is wobbling on her feet, and (seemingly) the next day she is talking a blue streak and playing a new game where we mirror each other’s gestures. if she puts her hands on my cheeks, will i do it too? what if she raises her arms up over her head? oh you’re doing what i’m doing! ok, now twirl this way… now twirl that way and hold your arms like this. hands back on our cheeks… hands out to the side… hands on top of our heads… now let’s lay down and pretend to sleep…

papa pancake (papa is baby pancake lingo for “grandpa”)

one day i am a tree and my son is a monkey. for the entire day.

one day my son is a kitty and my man is his kitty owner. for the entire morning.

(most days, monkeys and kitties are much better at doing their bathroom chores than human boys are, if the trees and kitty owners can remember to stay in their roles.)

some days mamas forget to finesse the “hurry up, we’ll be late! brush your teeth now!” and turn it into something more like, “ok harry, hurry to platform nine and three quarters and brush your teeth so you can catch the hogwarts express!”

one day we are starting to read harry potter. some day later that same week, we are finishing the first book of the series. we are playing wizard chess. we are drawing ron and harry playing wizard chess. (ok i am drawing and quinn is coloring…) we are riding the broom around the kitchen chasing a guitar pick for a golden snitch.

some days  (like today) i change out of my chicken-run building clothes (a friend’ chicken run, not mine! yet!) and into a dress and running to the store to buy gaudily bright fall flowers for my honey’s opening night of the seafarer, and a card to go with it because his second granddaughter has decided it’s her opening night, too. (baby pancake!!! squeal with me!) oh, and while i’m at the store, picking up the local newspapers because i’m not the only one in town who finds rich to be very photogenic . he has been in every single article showcasing his play so far (n=6 and counting…) still getting the hang of how to be a theater girlfriend….

one day it is dry as a bone in the garden. the next the rain begins. one day we are in short sleeves on the bench in the backyard sun. another day we are lighting the first wood stove fire of the season and bringing all the green tomatoes in to ripen off their shriveled vines.

don’t mind me, i always get a little wistful and sentimental in the fall.