San-Cap Packing List 2012

1. Clothes for Xavey.
2. Sunscreen by the caseload.
3. Earplugs (for easily agitated whiteheads in church).
4. Dora pops. All flavors.
5. Hair Die. All colors.
6. Shears for T.
7. A pharmacy for Mads.
8. Gator Bait.
9. A map of the islands (why are these so hard to come by?)
10. Blow up doll of Lily.
11. Insecticide repellent umbrella.
12. Harley Davidson temporary tattoos and boom box (for when T wears her heals and leopard print velor to the beach).
13. My husband.

These days have been so much fun I hurt from laughing....

(Photo credit: sccf.org)

...and protect us from all anxiety...

I would love to write you something that will transform you. Move you. Resonate with you. But I am just too worn out, too beat down, too uninterested. All I can think of, all I can imagine as the lining on this cloud, are eight sweet weekdays free of the kids.

The problem, you see, is that I can't seem to put 1/2 my effort into things. Not even 3/4 of my effort. Sometimes Eric laughs when my eyes start to droop during dinner.
"I just left it all on the field" I tell him.
Like I am still an athlete and I played my heart out. And I have nothing left of myself to give.
He smiles, but I think he is worried. Worried that my work will always drain me of my energy. That I will always bring home projects. That weekends will be filled with glitter and gluesticks for the rest of our days. He asked me if I was going to heat up my soup for lunch today. "Of course", I said,  cold soup? He said "Good, because I don't think you take care of yourself at work".
When I had the time, I put that soup in the microwave, and I ate it nice and hot.
It was, you see, my dinner.

As I shoveled the snowy driveway this evening I thought, at the outset, that I'd just do a little.
Maybe just the part by the door. But then I was at the car. Ok. Just a path around here. Alright, half the driveway will do. Well I might as well do this part, too.
Next thing I knew I had shoveled the whole thing. And I mean, there was hardly a speck left.

The trouble is, I know that something's gotta give. The teacher next door tells me "Oh I used to do that WHEN I WAS YOUNG". And I hear the bitterness in her voice. But, the fortuneteller, too. Like after a certain point, she couldn't keep up with herself. And she knows I'll get there. And I know I will, too. Because I don't think I can do it all, and I don't want the things I let slip to be the things that should fill me back up again. And I don't want it all to come caving in at once.

When I was good about filling my cup, when I had the luxury of time and my work stayed at work, I would say to myself "enjoy this, enjoy this..." to get me through the lows.
I stopped myself the other day when I found myself saying "and protect us from all anxiety, and protect us from all anxiety..."

When did that change?

Just when I think I have it all figured out....

Less than one hour after I took this picture, this little guy was on his back in the MV ER, getting sewn together like a rag doll. A sad rag doll, by the way.

I have close to 300 pictures from our last jaunt to the island - but this is the one that makes me pause. I can't stop looking at it.

At the moment this picture was taken - if you'd asked me if Dec could conquer the world, I'd have said yes. Without hesitating, "Yes".

But in the hospital minutes later, as I held his tiny hand tight, wiped the crusty blood from his chin and read him boring stories from the kids water safety magazine we found in the lobby, I'd have had a very different answer.

He's a gentle, breakable, split-table, fragile baby.

How often we think we've got it all figured out.

How often I think that my hours spent planning each bit part, or managing each minute will give me more control - only to find that I have no control over any of it.

I'd had Dec's lunch made and waiting for him when Dame ran through the door shouting that we were on our way to the ER and to "grab the keys....quickly..."

Hard to swallow but important to note that it's not my job to have total control either.

My job is to save each memory scrap and kiss each memory scrape and wipe the dirt from banged up knees.

Oh and it's my job to enjoy it too. All of it.

Because just when I think I have it all figured out. I totally, totally don't.

Around each corner is a surprise. In this case, it came by way of blood-soaked tissues and big salty tears. And hours spent looking at gruesome food-clogged stitches and a mouth four times it's normal size.

Even though I'd planned for it to look something like a ham & cheese sandwich with a tall glass of chocolate milk.

(Followed by an afternoon at the beach.)

Oh well.

Remember KICK THE CAN?

And S-P-U-D?

And sharks & minnows?

And greased watermelons in the deep end?

And squeezing in during sardines?

And water ballet? (that's been coming up a lot lately....point your toes and put down that bubble gum cigarette)

Remember bubble gum cigarettes? I mean.... what?!?

Do you remember ice cream by the 6-gallon (friendly's containers - were they 6, or more???) in the freezer in the garage?

And the swim team sleep-over with sleeping bags lining the chaise lounges?

And making towel hammocks?

Do you remember chits?

Grilled cheeses at the quarter deck?

The guest book from Norcross Drive?

And little white bags of candy exposed to salty air for a few too many hours?

What about the draft horse pull at the fair?

Washing cow tails?

Needle point on the beach?

Illumination night?

Rice in salt shakers?

Scooping ice cream?

Serving fritters?

Harbor tours on the "S.S. Fresh Off"?

Peddling t-shirts?

Walking out water street with ice cream in hand?

Gidget bikes?

Deflating tires to drive over-sand?

Looking way up at the blue ribbon sunflower?

Do you remember summer as a 6-year-old?

As a 13-year-old?

Summer as a 16-year-old?

There is magic in these fleeting minutes.

Magic.

Oh yes she did....

Nearly four days home and I'm (still) coming down, down, down off vacation highs. Then there was Sanibel. Then there wasn't Sanibel.

I've never been good at transitions. Homecoming was mostly sweet with a little bitter. Finn Finn our Fabulous fish was (is) alive and skittish - thanks Emah (for the alive part, it is Nonie's big goofy grin pressed against the side of his bowl that makes him skittish). Daffodils graced our kitchen table and milk was in our fridge.

We picked up right where we left off - zooming here, there, everywhere - it makes me wonder if we really were away at all. Did I just dream that whole thing?

But then I get around to unloading my numerous pictures. One by one by one they flash before me and I can just feel the sand stuck between my toes. I can just see the Osprey circling high above the warm pool where I'm spending 2 hours giggling with Nonie and Dec. I can just picture the people scooping shells into buckets, laughing together, cycling for miles - oh wait, that's us. I can just. Sanibel was all that.


And Sanibel was even a little bit more. Oh yes it was...

But, then I get to this picture and I pause...

Is that? Did she..? Wha..?

I rub my eyes.

Oh yes, she did.

I didn't dream it.

Granny's Got Game (set and match).

A Sunset Shared...

On Sunday we scrambled.

With news that the presidential helicopter was leaving Cape Cod, we hopped on our bikes and cycled as fast as we could to the airport. Sweat dripped on our brows as we arrived in time to see the endless procession of black suburbans whiz by. Wow. Our hearts raced with excitement. We were impressed by the spectacle of it all.

We waved and wondered which vehicle you were in. And. We were certain that you saw us. How could you miss us?

Then, we re-grouped at Sharky's where all around us vacationers celebrated your arrival with the Obama-rita and the Barack-o-taco. But, we stuck with the tried and true Steak Quesedilia. Delish delish. So so nice got to type it twice.

On a whim, we ventured to Pohogonot to see Oyster Pond from afar. We waved to neighbors enjoying the sights and sounds of this very Vineyard evening. Twigs and berries were sailing their boat around the furthest bend just as we made our way across the sandplain. The sun seemed to be searing through the clouds. It took my breath away. It did.

It is there where we kicked off our flip flops, leaped beneath a setting sun, sent laughter through summer's warm breeze, goofed at the camera and wondered ...

if...

the president was less than a mile down the beach from us, doing the same thing with his family.

We hoped he was.

Sunset over Oyster Pond, Edgartown. August 23. 2009.

When the whole world is on vacation...

And I am not-

When once busy streets are sparse with cars and emails have slowed to a manageable few-

When the weathermen all refer to today as the "best of the summer". And the warm breeze and cloudless sky agree-

When the phone hardly rings and the library is so lonely that the librarians chat us up for close to an hour-

WHILE the whole world is on Martha's Vineyard (and I am not) -

I make pancakes. Giant plate-sized pancakes.

I putter in the garden deadheading my flowers which are (almost) every color of the rainbow.

I create a backyard water-slide off the swingset into the baby pool. So fun? Yes. So dangerous? probably.

I drink an icy cold Fresca out of a large summery glass and eat a 4-cheese grilled cheese sandwich. What is more vacation-y than that?

I hang the laundry up to dry and don't rush doing it.

I invite myself and my entourage over to Gran & Pops for a swim and dinner.

I eavesdrop on the stories and songs Decky sings and tells to his legos.

I crack up when Nonie (for the first time EVER) initiates a game of peek-a-boo.

I stroll the kids down to pick blackberries.

I breathe deeply.

I breathe deeply again.

And I can't help but think that "vacation" doesn't get much better than this.