birthday

 

  Poppy turned 88 today.  My husband, whose office is just down the hall from mine, texted me (from down the hall) around midday today.  "It's PopPop's birthday!!!"  It was sweet.  It was clear that it had suddenly dawned on him, in the middle of dealing with approximately 88,000 random tasks/phone calls/lesson plans/strategic plans/finance committee minutes, that he had somehow forgotten his dad's birthday.  The sweet folks over at Rosetta called to tell him that they had a cake all ready to go for him.  So a quick plan was hatched.

I am still, like a bleary eyed insane person, teaching one yoga class in the evenings.  I'm pretty sure that this is soon to be a thing of the past.  As much as I love teaching, it's really too much with my new work schedule.  And that's okay.  That's what summer is for and I'm too into school teaching and kiddo afternoons and evenings to spend too much brain power on that whole piece of the puzzle.  But, tonight I had to teach a class, so I couldn't celebrate with Jeffy, the kids and the Big Guy.  He decided to take them all to the Perkins out in Poppy's 'hood (which in and of itself is mildly hilarious).  It doesn't sound like it went all too well.  Jeff said that Sol and Poppy essentially act the same age in the restaurant and while Sol is chanting, "Mac and cheese!  Mac and cheese!" and banging his fork on the table, Poppy is telling him to shut up while simultaneously picking his teeth with his laminated diner menu. Apparently there were plenty of other old folk in the restaurant who didn't hesitate to shoot Jeffy the stink eye or remind him quickly when Sol or Elie dropped a crayon on the carpet.

As I mentioned recently, there is nothing remotely relaxing about eating out with my children.  PopPop just punctuates that sentence with italics, bold, and a giant, bubbly font.  When I asked Elie about the evening, she said that Poppy was, "unsensitive" and treated her, "disrespectfully" though they were able to have birthday pie.  She was extra hyped up on goofballs, her volume extra loud, her legs extra flaily. There is so much going on in this kids world right now.  Kindergarten certainly seems to be helping her identify her intense emotions, even if they do talk about feelings in a second language (perhaps that helps explain the whole, "unsensitive" thing).

After another chaotic re-entry after a scathingly chaotic work day, Jeff announced as I tried to shimmy the kids into their jammies that he was going on a night hike.  "It's a full moon."  I figured he'd be take the neglected doggy for a little spin and we'd meet back and watch Breaking Bad, our latest and most disturbing to date Netflix addition.

That was over two hours ago.  I have since bathed, poured over and imagined myself in every winter dress in the Athleta catalog,  read the Week, caught up on all my friends blogs, and then somehow decided to open up my own post.  Jeffy is not picking up his phone.  My mind suddenly goes to bears and mountain lions.  I think about how poorly marked bits of the trail on this side of Jumbo are.  I think about how much he has to process with his dad, his job, his role as husband and father.  I imagine him walking fast through the chapparel, arms crossed over his hoodie, baggy jeans slipping off his flat backside.  That goofy image reminds me again of Poppy.  The way his pants became loser and loser as he got older.  I remember how big and strong he used to be, how frail he now seems, how strange and sad this whole thing is.  His pressed blazer jackets and tweed pants hang lifeless and large in the closet, homeless.

At which point, my phone finally rings and my husband says he's hiked to the other side of the mountain, to the sacred tree, that all is fine and dandy.  I can't hide the fear in my voice and hang up too quickly once we establish that he's okay and will be home in under an hour.  Now that there is nothing to be anxious about (though I know I won't be able to sleep until he's home), I can feel gratitude for Jeffy's hike.  Gratitude for the cooling temperatures, for the thick smoke that is finally, ever so slowly, blowing out of the valley.  It's been a long few weeks.  There's plenty to process up there on the soft mountain.  I type on these keys, my husband's shoes traverse the mountain.  I think of Soli at bedtime, how I held him close and told him how much I missed him today.  "I miss you too, Mama!" he said, wrapping his monkey arms around me more tightly.  "A kiss on the lips?" I asked.  He stuck those giant lovers out my way, with just a little trickle of snot to keep things extra real.  "Love you too, Mama!"  Oh, love you too, Soli.  Love you too, Els and Jeff and Pop.  Happy birthday.  We miss you too.