the fastest season

 The fall colors continue to shift and re-shape each day.  The lawn that was still green on Wednesday is, today, a sea of leaves.  The children rake and pile, face paint all day, hail, then sun, then rain, all in an hours worth of soccer.  How lovely it was to watch my girl improve over the past two months, her strong kicks and confidence of the game.  Somewhere in all of this I've been away and returned, had my dad here, and then gone.  I know that the next time I sit down to write in this space, the trees will be bare.  That's a tough one for me to internalize.  I love this time, love the cooling and colors but always have to brace myself a bit for what's next.

first rain

It's our first rainy day of fall.  The heat is on in the house.  I just want to nest, rearrange picture frames and lamp, light candles and bake bread.  The children dance to their songs on Pandora, sing, slip back into my bed, ask for a movie.  I oblige, happy to sit and write and sip tea, bask in the dark hue of a day without sunshine. 

Jeff's gone for the weekend and I see how easily we slip into our little routine.  The music and baking and random little excursions to Butterfly to buy tea and a tiny bag of candy for each of them.  To the farmer's market for apples and purple potatoes.  The serendipity of the kind man from the Bitteroot and his peacock feathers and dried bouquets.  He was the impetus for the nesting and rearranging, though I'm still not sure if the long strands fit right in the smallish vase, wish for a teleport to the Import Market to buy just the right thing.

For now, it doesn't matter.  Just this space and my babies.  My music and my mellow.

my boyfriend

He's not always his best self for me, my wild little Sol.  The past few weeks have been tough at home.  He screams about dinner, refuses to eat most offerings.  There's been a resurgence of nighttime bed-wetting and yet he despises Pull-Ups because they're for babies.  The laundry and rage were bringing us all a bit down.

On the flip side, Eliana has been in this very lovely, peaceful place.  She and I have engaging conversations and she can actually be somewhat helpful around the house.  She, too, gets frustrated with her brother yet she always starts each day loving him unconditionally.

Last night she had a dinner date with her bestie, and Sol and I had a stay home date together.  He asked for grilled cheese and while he was waiting for it to cook, he actually ate his whole plate of broccoli, all the while chatting about his buddies and asking sweet questions.

After dinner we headed outside with our swords and bikes.  He practiced tricks on the neighbor's driveway, speeding down the slope and then hopping the curb, skirting over the island, and then crusing back towards me, massive smile.  He'd then hop off his bike, pull his little plastic sword from his pants (nothing Oedipal here...) and challenge me in a duel.  After he won, he'd hop back on and head down the road again.  We shared an apple from the apple tree down the road, watched as the light began to change.

And then I took it up a notch.

Hey Sol.  You know how you did such a great job eating your sandwich and broccoli?  You know how you sat polietely and didn't get angry during dinner?  Well, I have an idea.

We hopped in the Honda and headed down the hill.  There was the longest train ever and, as we waited, the sky drew us back in.

Mama, that sky looks like heaven.  Have you ever been there, mama?  It's like pink and golden and purple just like the rainbow. 

No, babe.  I've never been to heaven.  

I stared at the train, the sky, my mind moving to my girlfriend who lost her brother this week, how sad and terrible and tremendous it all is.  I could hardly stand it, the beauty that held us still, slow train, dripping light.

We ate our ice-creams outside, basking in the last glow of the day.  We came home and snuggled in his bed, as I read the longest version of Peter Pan ever, the one with all the duels between Hook and Pan and Tinker Bell and her naughty thoughts.  At five thirty this morning, there he was again, cradled in to me like an animal, the way we've always fit on such an elemental level.  Even as I type this, he has found his way to me in the dark, lies across my lap like a primate, my chest on his back, his body in a little ball just like he likes.

Sometimes we need special time.  Sometimes we need a shift in perspective, something that knocks us from our routine, something that let's in the light.