May closed her doors around here in buckets: buckets of boogers, migraines, fevers, and rain.
In the past two weeks, I’ve had two migraines. Midnight’s tornado raging inside my head, body pressed to bathroom’s cold linoleum floor until sunrise and until pill’s magic kicks in. The second migraine of the second week really knocked me out. It happened after Wednesday’s early morning run. The ladies stayed home from school and sometime during nap’s time frame, I took my roost in our home’s darkest corner until Luke came home from work. I popped Imatrex like after-dinner mints, paired them with anti-nausea pills and hardcore painkillers. Truth is, retelling the migraine pain is a bit too close to the eye of the storm. The blink of shadows return while, truthfully, it isn’t something I can handle reliving inside my brain.
After migraines, life goes on. The next morning on two hours sleep, I still went to the elementary assembly, the grocery store with little-to-no recollection. When Olive screeched and screamed instead of snuggled and surrendered to morning’s nap, I went to library story time. I figured, at least she’d get a bit more interaction and fun within her day. I often wonder about the people I make a first impression on, sitting with my back leaded against library’s story hour wall, sunglasses on with little to no words spoken. Oh well.
Five days from this, my head is still fuzzy. Words come staccato. All this was barely five days after Olive’s 103 fever with a double ear infection that needed antibiotics after two weeks of remedies gone south. She’s great now, but just goes to show us there’s never a quiet week around here. The mail and laundry piled up, strange odors danced inside the refrigerator. Front yard’s landscaping was begging for season’s mulch and the only time I could find to spread it around was last night at 9:45 with porch lights aglow. Sigh. I do what I do, whenever I can.
We’ve been riding bikes before dinner. It’s a great routine to get us outside before dinner’s cook-eat-clean rush.
When I think back to the early evenings of my childhood, it’s all big wheels and bikes with banana seats. I still adore: front basket with flowers, handlebar streamers, big chrome bell, sturdy kickstand.
It’s just such easy fun.
They share each other’s bikes, have secret nose kisses and let each other win as they bicycle race down our road.
This past week, I caught Betty riding without training wheels. She was so whatever about it, as if to say, Yup, I always knew I could do that. Then she said, Soon, I’ll be riding a skateboard at the skate park.
I really believe big sister was downplaying her success so Lucy (who’s balance bike is pedal-less) wouldn’t feel left behind. Talking with Betty about it later, she believes our yard and home have some sort of magical dust around it that makes me feel safe. She doesn’t want to ride without trainers in public. She wants to practice her new skill on home soil. Part of me thinks she’s waiting until Lucy has some news to share, too.
On Saturday, I wanted nothing more than for us all to ride our bikes to the Farmer’s Market. It’s only four blocks; it seemed attainable. My vintage Schwinn is too old to host a pedal trail-a-bike for Lucy who’s graduating from her balance bike, too old to host a infant bike seat for Olive. Luke’s bike couldn’t fit both, and when it could have fit a two-seater bike trailer (we can’t afford one), his front tire tube blew. Ugh. One hour gone, then half our family walked to the market while the bigger ladies and I biked. It’s hard to switch gears from what you had envisioned for your Saturday morning. Surely, a family of five somewhere bikes successfully. Ugh. Maybe with new bikes, maybe with a bike trailer.
We make do with what we have, whenever we can.
Olive is in a difficult phase. In public, she wants to explore on her own. If I try to hold her hand (as if to cross a street), she screeches and melts into the earth. Some terrific toddler gravitational pull makes it hard for me to lift her up. Once at my hip, she back arches and screams. We’ll get to a place of understanding soon.
In our yard, she looks for every available opportunity to run to road’s middle and place her bellybutton on street’s yellow line. Not really funny, although she thinks so. For now, I stick her in the fenced trampoline while I weed and water. She bounces, slightly and laughs brightly. We’ll get to a place of understanding our yard’s limits soon.
We read each other well at the edge of the ocean. Maybe it’s wave’s rhythm or the sand between her toes, but she’s cautiously free at the shore.
So glad we live up the road from a beach.
Some days, my daughters squabble about who gets into the minivan first, who carries the best piece of bull kelp the furthest or who can balance on the driftwood log longest. Sure, maybe I threaten to leave if there’s one more disagreement. Sandcastles outweigh squabbles. Tides outweigh timeouts. Waves rolling in the foreground of the horizon heal the mind, the heart.
Sandy and salty, heading home, we’re always glad we went.
Sometimes it isn’t always about the journey there. It’s all about being there.