Sometimes...

you just have to take matters into your own hands--

and fly to Boise.

Looking Good

Being a mostly stay-at-home mom, I have fewer occasions to leave the house dressed up than I had about five years ago. The trick, I have learned over the years, is if you need to leave looking particularly nice, don't put on your clean, dry-cleaned attire until you're 10 minutes or less away from leaving.

Tonight, I played with fire...and got burned. In an effort to get out the door promptly at 6pm for a writing assignment I've recently taken on, I got in my professional-looking attire at 5pm. Cut up watermelon at 5:15. Paid the pizza delivery man at 5:25. Got the girls going on pizza at 5:30, scarffed down a piece myself. Gave our life-saving friends the Aunas bed-time instructions for the girls at 5:45. And out the door I went.

I had about a 45 minute drive ahead of me (DC rush hour traffic, of course). At lights I pulled back my hair, freshened up my make-up. And then did a full-body inspection. A streak of snot on my shoulder. Pizza sauce from grubby little hands on my right thigh. An unidentified mark on my right sleeve. I quickly performed some damage control, but then in horror, I noticed my feet. Flip flops. I had left the house in flip flops. I was way too far up the highway to turn back. I had placed my cute new flats by the front door, but in my haste I managed to throw on flip flops.

And then I said a little prayer of forgiveness, as I rememered myself as a teenager poking fun at my mom who had left the house for work in the early morning hours with two completely different pumps on. I believe a blue and a brown--with slightly different sized heels. And had to go the whole day that way. Okay, so I get it now.

So while I am always genuinely impressed by those women who so elegantly balance career and family, I'm doubly impressed when they do it with a clean blouse and matching shoes.

Meg

A lovely surprise in the mail today: this book of poetry sent by my parents.

Several of the author's names I recognize...many I don't.

But one stands out taller to me than the others--
Margaret (Meg) Rampton Munk.
My stepfather, Russell's first wife. A talented poet and from all accounts, a remarkable woman. She died in 1986, leaving Russ and their three children--and a compelling collection of poetry as her legacy.

I'm still working my way through the book, but one of Meg's resonated loudly with me today.

For Dad and Mother
Margaret Rampton Munk

Weary at evening,
After the alarm clock,
Oatmeal,
Lunch pails,
Car pool,
Grocery bags
Up ten steps
Two by two,
Tuna fish
And noodle soup,
School bus,
Socks and blue jeans,
Swimming lesson,
"Papa Haydn"
At the keyboard,
Stacatto oratory
From the first grade reader,
Knights in armor
On their sofa cushion steeds,
Urgent calls
From six-year-old admirers,
Skinned knees
And Band-Aids,
Broken bike chains,
Missing mittens,
Quarrels of unknown origin,
Kitchen strewn with leavings
Of creative genius,
Frying pan
And soapsuds,
Fork on the left,
Spoon on the right,
Gymnastics after dinner,
Toothpaste and pajamas,
Stories,
Singing,
And the very latest tactics
For bedtime delay--

I do well to remember:

Someone thought
That I was worth it,
Every day.

Mother's Day- minute by minute

There is a reason the Lord sent me Ella first.

She saved Mother’s Day.

She came through 110%.

I will admit I’ve been feeling rather sorry for myself sans husband, and I can’t exactly categorize this as the best Mother’s Day ever, but that little girl threw her heart and soul into making sure my day was great (with a little back-up support from Brian and my Mom. The flowers, lovingly sent by Brian...

And a breakfast in bed...cleverly orchestrated by my mother.)

Here's the run down:

5:45 am- I am awakened by Ella springing out of bed, running across her room, throwing open her door and running down the stairs. I hear a smattering of noises emanating from the kitchen: a chair being pushed back and forth across the floor. Dishes banging, drawers slamming. I had a small heads-up about this, so I sat tight in my bed, praying that there would be no broken glass or dishes. I soon hear her come slowly up the stairs, dishes rattling. She goes into her room, slamming the door shut (being quiet is not Ella’s forte).

5:50 am- her bedroom door swings open. Ella runs down the stairs. Silverware drawer is pulled open. She runs back up stairs, forgetting to close her door. I hear the unwrapping of plastic, tearing of packages and more dish rattling. Soon I hear footsteps.

Very, very slow footsteps.

Plastic cup falls, bouncing across the hardwood floor. Cup is retrieved. Plastic cup falls again, bouncing across the hardwood floor. Please, let Samantha sleep through this.

5:55 am- Ella slowly walks into my room, breathing heavily—so excited she’s going to burst at the seams. “Hi Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.” I smother her with kisses and appreciation. And the menu? Ella had carefully followed the plan laid out by my mom from the day before: A container of orange juice, a blueberry muffin, cereal bar and yogurt. With a carefully triangular-folded napkin on the side--it's her specialty--only used for fancy occasions.

I explain I can’t eat that whole breakfast myself. Ella climbs into bed with me and we drink orange juice, and share a blueberry muffin. Although I am relishing in this sweet moment with my daughter, I am missing Brian terribly who could have orchestrated this surprise for about two hours later. (Please excuse the poor early morning photography--I'm not at my best this time of day.)

6:25 am- Ella explains that she needs to get on to “surprise #2” for the day. And runs into her room.

6:30 am- Samantha awakens way too early for her own good.

7:05 am- I am led into Ella’s room where she has made her bed and put everything neatly in its place. She is also in her church dress. Without me asking. Followed by a dance performance to Barbie’s own soundtrack of Princess and the Pauper. (It is still WAY too early to be up on Mother’s Day.)

10:15 am- we are 5 minutes early to church, which NEVER happens. The secret to its success appears to be waking at 5:45am. I hope THAT will never happen again.

12:15 pm- Ella sings two Mother’s Day songs with the other Primary children at church. She belts out every word.

2:45 pm- A Mother’s Day card making frenzy ensues in Ella’s room.

3:05 pm- Samantha awakes from a nap cut way too short by the miserable cold she’s had the past few days. Oh, if the child would only sleep.

5:00 pm- dinner at my parents’ where Ella presents her homemade cards and carefully chosen gift. Two days ago, Ella discussed with Brian on the phone that she would like to get me earrings. Brian found 5 pictures, e-mailed them to my account with instructions for only Ella to look at the e-mail. She then discussed with Brian on the phone which ones she liked best. The package arrived in the mail the next day, which was quickly absconded with and hidden under Ella’s bed.

7:00 pm- My Mom, Carrie, Ella and I watch the Sound of Music—to which we sang “Ella is 5—going on 17…” Ella, having seen the musical at my Mom’s school a month ago, was purely entranced with the movie. She declares that she is “Liezl”.

8:57 pm- Ella hugs me tight declaring that I’m the best Mom in the world.

Man, I love that girl.

A little separation

At 5:30 a.m. this morning, my husband left me. Two suitcases in hand, he jumped in a taxi. And he's gone...

Indefinitely.

He tells me he'll come back.

But the case he's been working on the past two years, which is now going to trial tomorrow, has had a way of making him disappear.


So--the day before we had to say good-bye, we spent the afternoon together at the seasonal opening of Glen Echo Park.

We swung (mostly, Samantha swung--she leans her head back and exclaims WEEEEEEEE)

We danced

(that would be Ella with the dance floor to herself and live music behind her--truly, a dream)

(and me, running for mother of the year as Ella and I danced in a group waltz)

We hula-hooped

And rode the Merry-Go-Round

And so--we wait for Brian's return--keeping our fingers crossed that we'll see him before the end of the month. Ella captured this lovely photo of me this morning. Can you sense the excitement at the beginning of my day? Can you see the glaring bags under my eyes?

I'm hoping I gain a little more momentum tomorrow...