Then to the “Petrzelka estate,” where we assuaged our sadness at not quite making pool weather by spazing out on the trampoline (side note: women who have given birth so many times need to exercise caution on these things!).īack to Moscow, and many an afternoon at the pool. Zoo and beach and more beach and Nonna reading cozy time and Baba iphone zombie-killing time and cousin-romping time. And in doing so, there was less faking it required.įirst trip, as per tradition – Tacoma. We sucked every ounce of goodness out of this summer.
Three happy boys are a good audience to fake it to, and summer in Moscow is an easy venue in which to do so. It was still months before I could shower without at least a quick boo-hoo, yes, but I argue that there is a “fake it til you make it” side of grief as well. Slowly, but even faster than I’d imagined possible, grief gave way to gratitude. Summer: Feeling acutely that if I put even a little space between myself and the boys that I’ll fall down the rabbit hole and possibly never emerge as a fit mother again (this sounds melodramatic now but in the trenches seemed perfectly reasonable), I forgo childcare for the summer and commit myself to getting out of bed (how long I’d been in bed from meniscus tear to surgery to bedrest to convalescence/recovery!) and savoring these monkeys.Īnd whooo boy, am I glad I did. Deliver a dead baby just as school lets out for the summer.
Spring 2012: Consumed entirely by pregnancy and a steady stream of things going wrong. I am sick sick sick and it is snowy and I am still hobbling around. Winter 2011/12: I tear my meniscus, have surgery, get pregnant sometime in the midst of recovery. Kids happy, work stable, Moscow feels like a cozy home. Busy, but not the frantic “just trying to keep our heads above water” thing we’d grown so accustomed to. It goes something like this:įall 2011: Things are good. Mark is playing guitar in the bedroom and I – true to my ADD-personality – have abandoned my plum jam-making adventure midway through to look up oven drying plums which lead me, somehow, back to here – this monstrous catch-up I’ve been trying and re-trying to embark upon.īut I’m realizing that it’s easier than I feared to mark for posterity’s sake (for what else is this blog at this point, besides a “someday I’ll print this out into a book to remember this chunk of years that whizzed by”?) the last many many months since I’ve written anything meaningful. Thing #3 is building “Hero Factory” creations in his birthday suit, having recently emerged from a bath (but apparently without parents who make him get dressed).
Two boys are sword-fighting in the backyard with inappropriately large sticks. 5:08 on an uncommonly lazy fall Saturday. There is no better place to start, I suppose, than right here in this moment.
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