A Summary Of The Affair

N and I were watching part of You've Got Mail with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. Having to leave before the movie ended, I made a quick summary of the plot as we buttoned up coats and climbed into the car. The sun low in the sky, and both of us a little dusty and tired Naomi fought off the urge to nap.

A low, constant mumble came from the backseat. The theory is: so long as she's talking, she's still awake. But at one point my girl gave up the mumbled Cliff's Notes of her take on love and marriage.

"First comes friends...then comes dates...with love and kissing...and...stuff. And along comes marriage. And after that (long, pensive pause) divorce sometimes."

Travel Plans

Next week I’ll reside in an Atlanta,Georgia hotel room and attend a conference on Fossil Fuel Power Generation. As the consummate homebody, I feel fortunate to have landed a job that doesn’t require extensive travel.

That's not to say I mind traveling, really. And Naomi relishes these brief business excursions of mine. She delights in her father’s undivided attention. Their a day or two of their laid back routines.

On my end: the distant city brings some conciliatory offerings. While the food is generally bland, it’s cooked for and presented to me. The plate is similarly cleared and cleaned without asking me to lift a finger. I polish off whole chapters of whatever book I’m reading in a single sitting, meet interesting people, and own control over the television remote.

At the end of each conference my luggage is improved by a large, three-ring binder of learning materials, and a trinket (usually a multi-tool or Swiss-Army knife) sporting the vendor's logo.

Whenever my plane lands in Lincoln's dinky Airport I am reminded of a conversation my dad had with his twenty-something daughter (me) about the word domicile. Under the law, it's essentially it’s your legal residence, but on our front porch dad called it a place to which you plan to return. It marks the endpoint of your travels.

I don’t mind a business trip here and there. However I always sigh with relief at the end of my journey. There isn’t a lot that can top the struggle of getting Naomi dressed and ready for school each morning. The trick of pulling that off AND arriving at work on time. Cooking my own spicy dinner in an awkward and small kitchen. Starting and stopping my book mid-sentence. At times I am grateful that the sweetness is loosely tied to the struggle of this life.

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Currently Listening To: Ladies of Liberty by Cokie Roberts
Naomi’s Latest Undertaking: Proliferating Her Repertoire of Knock-Knock Jokes
Dinner Line-Up: Carrot and Cashew Curry
Recent Personal Mantra: You're not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

Problem Shower-Heads

The average American uses 159 gallons of water every day,
while more than half the world's population uses 25 gallons.

I walked into the gym locker room this noon. Being the beginning of the year, and with lousy weather outside the gym was unusually crowded. I lugged my gym bag on my shoulder, excuse-me 'd my way through the room, and found dry space on the floor to set down my stuff.

My problem isn't the newbies to the gym, or the crowded locker room...it was realizing that a room crowded with people (moms, kids, professionals, seniors) was content to ignore the sound of three unoccupied, but still running, shower-heads.

I know, I know water is a preoccupation of mine. I’m an avid swimmer—a Pisces, no less—a gardener, and an environmentalist stranded in the prairie desert. To say water is a big deal to me is an understatement. I can’t stand the absent, lonely sound of dripping water.

But this locker-room shower-head experience wasn’t a drip-drip-drop annoyance; it was a constant stream gushing out of, not one but, three separate showers. Aghast I fought the urge to shriek or cry.

I took my bad mood out on the lap pool. Being upset can inspire a heck of a work out.

After a lap swim I showered, left behind a non-dripping shower-head in my wake and used the contents of my gym bag to put myself back together. But even in the reassembly, I feel crumpled up inside.

Praise For The Sweetness

N brushing teeth.
She locks the bathroom door now.
It's a private moment between her and her teeth.
McK and I, in the bedroom, folding clothes.
McK's coffee very, very near by.
Me: Naomi and I had a rough time of it this morning.
McK: I'm sorry.Me: Oh, we turned it around.
McK: Good.
Me: Not that I'm susceptible to praise, but after we made up she burst into applause and said "you're such a good, mommy."
McK: (laughing) Yeh?
Me: Yeh. She's getting chocolate for breakfast.
McK: Mm, you're such a good wife.

Four Minutes

Tonight I made McKibbin venture out to Pioneer's Park with me. We had an outside chance of spying the International Space Station.

I spent the fifteen minute drive from our house to Pioneer's Park gate listing the reasons this purposeful excursion couldn't possibly work. Seeing the Space Station was, at best, a long-shot. I didn't have a telescope. I probably wrote it down wrong or jumbled up the details. I didn't have binoculars with me. I can work up a pretty negative outlook when I get going. I parked the car, probably muttering, and in a doozy of a foul temper.

McKibbin suggested we climb the stairs of the sledding drop. It was the highest point around and probably the best place for staring at the night sky. Rumor had it the Space Station would be in the western sky. Visible at 6:41 pm, traveling north, and it should disappear from view at 6:45 pm. We spent a couple of minutes pointing at various airplanes: is that it? what about that one? don't you think?

There. McKibbin pointed at an orange dot low on the horizon.

When he's certain of something, there is a particular quality to my husband's voice. I'd call it a tone to his voice but that makes it sound arrogant or annoying; neither of which is accurate. He just sounds solid. I know it when I hear it. My eyes locked on to the orange dot McKibbin found.

You're seeing the sun's reflection off the solar panels, he explained. That's why it's orange.

We watched the Space Station arc up the sky, and disappear.
Four minutes.
Sometimes words fail me.


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Currently Listening To: The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
Still Chuckling About: Burn After Reading
Early Morning Indulgence: Chewing Mint Gum On My Way To the Gym
(Mmmmmm, Arctic Ice)
Dinner Line-Up: Spinach Salad, Eggplant Parmesan

In the Unlikely Story That Is America

The Campaign Trailhead

Naomi and I had the following conversation, this morning, as I brushed her hair...

Naomi: Where’s dad?
Me: Downstairs.
Naomi: What’s he doing?
Me: I don’t know. He’s downstairs.
Naomi: Dad should be Mayor.
Me: He'd have my vote.
Naomi: Yeh, he’s smart…
Me: He is smart.
Naomi: …he's a good speller...
Me: Mmm-hmmm.
Naomi: …and he makes peanut butter cookies.

Morning Tally Sheet

The other day, while brushing my teeth, I did some simple math. Math is generally something I avoid and this was early in the morning to boot so, believe me, it was simple math.

I met McKibbin when I was sixteen, and turning thirty-six this year marks twenty years of conversation between us. Not always polite conversation, mind you. With a mouthful of toothpaste I wasn’t overcome by sentimentality. I was just running the numbers. But I was a little surprised by the lump sum of twenty years between us.

A couple of minutes later McKibbin was inspired, by the smell of fresh coffee, to kick out from under the warm covers and trudge toward caffeine. I was putting in my earrings, McKibbin poured us some coffee. His eyes still puffy and longing for sleep I had him verify my simple math. Like I said, math is not my strong point. To be fair, though, talking before coffee isn’t his strong point so we were both in a rather vulnerable position.

Sixteen when we met...thirty-six this year...equals twenty years of needling each other with adolescent banter, right?

"Mmmm-hmmm," he mumbled, then paused to breathe in the coffee vapor. "Twenty years and you still won’t do yoga if I’m in the house."
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Currently Reading: The Teapot Dome Scandal by Laton McCartney
Currently Listening To: The Decline and Fall of Rome (lecture series) by T. Madden
Currently Watching: Rome Season One
Dinner Line-Up: Pesto and Pasta Shells Stuffed with Ricotta and Butternut Squash

Turns Blue

“Mommy, do you think the other kids will
think it’s cool…or will they think it’s just weird?”
– Naomi (worriedly staring at the contents of her lunchbox)

I have been blessed with a kid who is gentle, thoughtful, sensitive and smart. This past weekend, however, I’d have to emphasize sensitive on that list of attributes. Naomi’s emotions rode really, very close to the surface. With a keen eye for perfection Naomi is quick to seize her slightest flaw. Any small misstep and she would dissolve into tears.

This mood lands our household with a lot of crying right now. McKibbin is always good with a silly knock-knock joke (or two, or three...) whenever Naomi needs it. If all else fails he just tickles her until she turns blue.

I bring up the opposite end of the parenting curve by taking every tear seriously. Kleenex litter my car, my house, my yard, my purse. For her it's a phase, I know, possibly something she'll work through and never re-visit. But for me it’s an anxiety I’ve worked with as far back as I can remember. With all that struggle under my belt I wish I had more to show for it.

We take deep breaths together, dry our eyes, and call upon one of only two ideas that get me through similar episodes:

• Nobody (not even you) can ask better than your best. And your best is pretty darned impressive.
  
• It would be both sad and boring to spend your life avoiding mistakes. A better idea is to look squarely at the mistake itself and decide what you're going to do next.
  

Eventually Naomi will feel a little lighter from the inside. She’ll get out of this funk. Her self-critic will get shoved into some quiet corner for a while. The rest of life will take up its more usual color. Going back to school today will help, I’m sure. Familiar faces. Regular routines. More constant and restful sleep. It was just hard, this weekend, to see her holiday break arrive with a watery end.

The New Year

The beginnings of things always land me in a strange spot. Excited and a little disoriented even amidst a familiar terrain. Thus far 2009, and its ringing-in, have gone well. I guess I'm in a checklist or (as McKibbin would be surprised I could conjure for reference) a SportsCenter highlights sort of a mental-space recently so here goes.

New Year’s Eve…
**My cousin, Tom, detailed his trip to Space Camp. Oh, man, do I want to go!
**An awe inspiring light radiated from my sister-in-law as she arrived at our New Year’s occasion. She and my brother shared a space between them that was like the filiment in a lightbulb.
**I delighted in my (too brief) conversation with Sara comparing hero stories and epics from around the globe.
**The compilation of family interviews was effusively well received.
**Naomi trounced around singing carols with her cousin. Both dressed in new, pink hats and scarves.

New Year’s Day...
*Being afforded an extra hour of zzz's as Naomi played on her favorite website.
*Splashing and swimming out Naomi’s narrative in the YMCA pool.

*A (too brief) moment spent bubbling in a hot-tub.
*Painting my toenails a shocking purple.

*Closing my eyes to more fully appreciate the smell of McKibbin's after-shave.
*Reading books.
*Delighting in my indulgent and adventurous family. They took the dinner-table challenge of eating noodles with chopsticks.

Happy New Year, everyone, and thanks for sticking with me on this blogspot adventure.
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Currently Reading: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathan Safran Foer. Naomi is transfixed by the nine year-old character of Oskar. We talk, at great length, about his inventions as though he’s a colleague or collaborator of hers.

Still Resonating From: Everything is Illuminated

In The Queue for Dinner Tonight: Mashed Potato Soup with Chives (Maybe a little tumeric. That’s off-roading from the cookbook page so, oooooooooo, I'm just not sure...)