The boys know that as the moon grows full, mom’s emotions are heightened with its gravitational pull. It is a running joke; sort of. In the four years that Dave has tracked the lunar cycle we have found that the almanac journals my mood. I get irritable and impatient. Crazed.
That aptly describes the past week. I am frenzied. We are crazy busy at work; orders piling upon the fax and messier desk. This week is my yearbook deadline and the dominoes are not falling into place. It drives me batty. I have finally decided I have to let them fall; come what may. And this does not feel like holy week. Tomorrow is Good Friday and the hubby is a Roman soldier in our Catholic church’s Passion play. It’s comical that the heathen in our household is a part of this production. Spring break does not begin until next week.
The flurry of activities were non-stop from last weekend; promising to continue through Easter Sunday. The hubs and I enjoyed a night, sans kids, celebrating a 50th birthday. The celebrant is a sheriff so if there was any safer place in Huntington Beach; this party was it. Afterwards, we and two other dear couples, walked the pier and observed the nightlife. I am always in HB during the daytime; I’ve forgotten what it’s like to stand in club lines at night; smells of smoke and other emanating from groups of people. I had been wearing 3 inch heels but ended up walking around in my fashionable Dearform slippers LOL. I am no sadist. Comfort it king.
As we sat at dinner, tonight, at a local establishment I surreptitiously studied my three sons. They are changing right before my very eyes and I keep trying to notice the details to file away. One of the parents snapped a picture of Charlie and I as we chatted at the aquarium, last week, during lunch. He is my baby but this boy put away NINE pizzas this evening. He is not fitting in his clothes; growing like a weed. His brain is expanding in quantum leaps and bounds. I was trying to remember the older boys at this age but the memories become one big blur.
The middle son portrayed Thomas Jefferson, this week, in a Walk through the Revolution re-enactment. As he, and four other boys, recited lines of the Declaration of Independence my mind recalled the words as I recited them in middle school:
” …we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”
I found myself mouthing the words with the five boys; overwhelmed by the memory that popped unbidden.
Last evening we sat in a spring band concert of 7th and 8th graders. Some of these kids I have known since Nate entered kindergarten at age 5. They are now becoming young men. One of the joys of attending a concert is that you can let your mind wander and just enjoy the sounds emerging from the instruments. I found my ears tuned to the trumpet section; hoping to discern the musical notes that came from my eldest son. As Russian Sailor’s Dance was performed I stood up in my chair. This had been one of my favorite songs we performed when I was in junior high band. My heart raced as the tempo and crescendo increased to a fever pitch. Parents were jockeying to get the perfect shot; phones, iPads and cameras in the air. Dave stood to the side; our camera upon our tripod. But I sat tall in my chair and let the music wash over me. I was happy that the cycle was continuing with my kids; the learning of history; the joys of music.
As we stood by the band room door a Dad stood nearby, camera-in-hand; teary. His son asked that he not take his picture around the other kids; wanting independence. We smiled sadly at him as we watched him take it in. It was obvious his son felt bad and the dad, valiantly, tried to keep a stoic face. But part of parenthood is in the letting go. I could see the Dad and son had a strong bond and it was touching to watch the grown man fighting his emotions before us; attempting to joke.
There is no greater joy, or sorrow, than parenthood. It is taken for granted until you come full circle; becoming the parent from the child. When we took our marital vows I didn’t think anything in life could trump the joy I felt as we walked arm-in-arm out of the church doors. But as I gazed intently at my sons, before me, my heart grew full knowing these boys were produced by us. I asked the boys if we actually looked like their parents; my boys don’t really resemble either Dave nor I. Dave teased they weren’t our own spawn but Nate quickly replied that he remembered when Charlie came out of the hole. He was five when his youngest brother emerged from the womb and he, embarrassingly recalled the day with crystal clear clarity. Dave sat, shocked as Nate turned various shades of red and hastily retreated for another slice of pizza from the buffet. I am not surprised. That kid is my elephant; he never forgets.
Surprisingly, my house is silent; snores coming from upstairs. I think they put Daddy to bed too. Time to get back to my deadline…