Home again home again

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


I don't know why I thought this year would be different.

Last summer, the trip to Colorado was a mostly stressful affair, chasing after a 4, 3 and 2 year old who woke at dawn and fought for the duration of the daytime hours. My sister and I returned home frazzled and exhausted, jealous of our working husbands who seemed to have the real vacation with no children or bitching wives to deal with.


You just don't turn down the opportunity to spend a week in mountainous paradise when walking outside in Memphis is like stepping into a punch to the face. Just reading the weather channel's prediction that the nightly lows would be in the 40s was enough to disregard any stress that the kiddos - now with more kiddos - could bring.

And it was broughten.

The tears, the fights, the nursing around the clock. D's frequent meltdowns in public due to his trouble adjusting to altitude (or perhaps my insistence on scarfing chocolate and local beers). But my mind keeps casting back to a dinner we ate on the patio, when a light rain started to fall, the pizza was hot on my tongue, and the temperature read 58 degrees.

58 degrees. The air temperature in my heaven.

It is decidedly not heaven at home, now that our A/C unit is out and, genius that I am, got the wild hair to try and broil some mangoes and turned our downstairs into somewhere slightly south of the equator. At least upstairs has air - and the bed I'm hoping I'm allowed to sleep in. I'm sorry!

1 comment:

  1. You know, I really loved those years of toddlers and babies, but they were just so ^#$* intense they near killed me I tell you. I remember one day, when visiting my mom who is not particularly (ahem) helpful, when my two babies (probably around 2 and 6 months) just sat in my lap and screamed, for a good long half hour. Whilst my mother stood in front of me running her flipping commentary.

    But I loved that moment. There was something about it that was perversely normal, and I was not in control of anything but myself and (for once) I controlled myself and found peace in the squalour.

    That, in a way, is what your post, wildly different than that, makes me recall.

    And I'm smiling.

    That dinner with a beloved sister on a patio in a light rain sounds heavenly.