>Romance after twelve years*

>”Hey Sweetie, just a heads up, we don’t have any dinner–PUT IT DOWN! I SAID PUT IT DOWN RIGHT NOW!–I couldn’t face the grocery store today. I’d rather go out to get us something while you–I’M ON THE PHONE!!!!!–put the kids to bed.”

“Would you like me to pick something up?”

I really want some spring rolls. But I would rather Ryan get home quickly to help me with the inmates.

“What? Oh, no thanks. I’d really like you to come home as soon as you can. It’s been kind of a long–BOTH OF YOU! TIME OUT! NOW!–day.”

“OK, I’m leaving in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good, see you at home. Love you. ROSSBY IS OUR FRIEND! WE DO NOT CHASE OUR FRIENDS! GIVE ME THE POTATO MASHER AND GO APOLOGIZE!”

“Uh, bye?”

“Yeah, see you soon!”

***Thirty minutes later***

Ryan appears in the kitchen doorway and beacons Charlie with an index finger. They exchange a whispered conversation. Charlie returns to the table with a small brown paper bag.

“It’s SPRING ROLLS, Mama!!”

Ryan is smiling.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been wanting to bring you spring rolls for two weeks but you wouldn’t let me!”

***This morning.***

After Wes wakes up at 5:30, Ryan gets up with him, gets Charlie back to sleep, takes Wes downstairs for breakfast and The Today Show. Totally unaware, I come downstairs at 7:15. Ryan goes to take a shower, I straighten the kitchen and wrangle the overtired toddler. Ryan comes downstairs, goes to the car and comes back with a box of my favorite kind of donuts.

“Is it snack day at work?”

“No, you’re always saying how you want a treat but can’t get one because then you have to share with the kids and you want to set a good example and all that. I saw these and thought of you.”

“Wow, thanks!”

“No problem! Thanks for making us another kid!”

*Yes it HAS really been twelve years since we met. Dude.

>In my old life…

>About five years and two weeks ago I was in Dr. Advisor’s office struggling not to cry. I’d been working on a field project with him for almost three years–we drove instrumented towers to the coast to collect data from hurricanes–and I had just returned from a five month internship in Baton Rouge, twelve hours away from my new husband who stayed behind to continue his classes and research. After being gone for such a long time and working two hurricanes already that season, I just couldn’t face another long trip away from home. A long, extremely stressful trip during which I was responsible for the safety of a ten-person team of grad students as well as several hundred-thousand dollars worth of equipment, a detailed experimental plan, and the interests of the several agencies who funded our work. It was a lot to handle, the trips were often unpredictable in duration and departure time, and I needed some stability. Badly. I knew that when, upon returning from my last trip, my loving greeting to Ryan was “I want a beer, a hamburger, and a shower. In that order.” In other words, I was completely wrung out.

So there I was in Dr. Advisor’s office. “I’m not happy doing this anymore and I think Pete [not his real name] would do a good job.” And then I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. He seemed surprised and said “Well, you’ve done a good job for me and I’m happy with your work. If you’d like to stop, that’s OK with me. I just want to ask you one thing. Think about it really carefully before you answer. Will you be disappointed if the next storm is ‘The Big One’?”

I thought for a few minutes, but I was so beyond exhausted I knew it didn’t matter.

Two weeks later I watched the landfall of Hurricane Katrina in horror on cable news at my friend Godmother’s house. We sat on her couch for hours in silence except for the occasional “Oh my God. Those poor people.”

As we all know, the horror had only begun. The city had been spared a direct hit and the storm had been weakening at landfall. It wasn’t until the sun came back out that it was clear something had gone very, very wrong in New Orleans. And also that the weakening storm had brought with it a catastrophic storm surge unlike anything seen by the region since Hurricane Camille in 1969. It leveled huge areas of the Mississippi coast, a place I had grown to love during my time there for my research.

About a week after that Godmother and I were invited to help on a different field project, investigating damage to structures along the Mississippi coast. It was a good opportunity, so ten days after Katrina made landfall, Godmother and I found ourselves here:

Inspecting damage to the Highway 90 bridge, somewhere in Mississippi. I’m on the right, Godmother is on the left.

It was absolutely one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Well, except for times like these (I’m pretty sure that was tea):

And the time we went (on my second trip to Mississippi, yes I went TWICE! After declaring myself DONE with field work.) to a Chili’s that was completely taken over by FEMA personnel who all began chanting “WE LOVE FEMA!” raucously in, not surprisingly, the bar area where we were sitting.

For each light moment like those, though, there were dozens like this. That’s the memorial for the people who died in Camille. It was badly damaged, as was the church that once stood behind it (you can see the steel support beams behind the memorial on the left). There was a sign indicating that mass would continue to be held every morning, but you should bring your own chair.

It was heartbreaking. It was even more heartbreaking to have to be a scientist and say “The way these studs ripped off the nails like this mean that this was surge damage” and not wonder about the people who once lived inside. I hope that some of what we learned will be applied in the rebuilding so that the next time the area gets hit by a hurricane the damage isn’t as severe.

Several months after those two trips Ryan and I learned that Charlie was on his way and that pretty much cemented the end of my days of traveling across the country on one or two days’ notice for research. I happily turned in my steel-toed boots for sneakers and flip flops and relegated all wind to the computer model I was working on for my dissertation. And as glad as I am to have had those experiences, I have not looked back.

>Unprepared

>We were driving home from eating lunch with Ryan today when we passed a firetruck parked by the side of the road with its lights on near Ryan’s office. The kids both pointed it out and Ryan speculated that there might be a grass fire nearby. After I dropped him off and was making my way home, an ambulance and a police car had joined the firetruck. All with their lights on and no emergency in sight.

I made a note that it was out of the ordinary then quickly forgot about it as I continued down the road towards home, choosing a long straight highway that usually is just right for lulling the kids to sleep. I hoped for at least an hour of simultaneous napping so that I could have some time to get a few odd jobs done around the house.

And then a mile later I passed another firetruck parked on the side of the road with its lights on. And shortly after that, a car parked off to one side with a family standing outside looking down the road. At a red light I saw an ambulance blocking a side street, the paramedics standing outside looking into the distance.

I was beginning to worry. We always listen to CDs in the car, so I wonder in the back of my mind if I’m missing some big news event, a severe weather warning, a terrorist attack. Post nine-eleven, post motherhood thinking at its most rational.

But just after I stopped at a red light, a group of motorcycle policemen crested a hill in the distance, driving solemnly in formation with their lights on. I suddenly remembered the policeman who was killed in a motorcycle accident last week. I knew exactly what was going on. This was his funeral procession. The light kept cycling through red-yellow-green but no one moved.

The motorcycles kept coming. Hundreds of them from police departments all around the region as well as cities as much as four hours away. All snaking down the sixty-five mile per hour highway at twenty miles per hour.

I watched in awe. Then a voice from the back seat.

“Why are all those policemen coming?”

“It’s a parade, Sweetie. They’re here to honor another policeman who died.”

Silence.

“Why did he die?”

Until this moment I don’t think he realized that people could die. Like roly polies and ladybugs sometimes die when he leaves them in his bug catcher too long.

“Well, he was in a bad car accident and he died.”

I’ve told him dozens of times that I need him to stay calm in the car so I can concentrate and not have a car accident. I tell him we go the speed limit so we won’t have a car accident. I am now regretting every one of those conversations. Profoundly.

“Why did he die in a car accident?”

“Because he was hurt very badly and his body couldn’t work anymore.”

My voice cracked. I didn’t tell him that the policeman had two sons. Brothers just like them who were probably looking forward to their dad coming home that awful night last week so they could do the same things we do every single night. Dinner, playtime, bedtime stories. I couldn’t tell him that the man who died was a dad. That something as ordinary as a car accident could kill a man strong enough to throw them up in the air when he arrived home after work. That somewhere in this parade was a woman who was living my nightmare.

We’d been watching for ten minutes and the motorcycles were still coming. I glanced at Charlie in the rearview mirror. He was somber and slouching in his carseat as he watched them come over the hill, two by two, as far as we could see.

I turned to face him. “You know, most car accidents aren’t very bad, right? And I’m very careful and do everything I can so that you are safe in the car. You know that, right?” He continued to stare at the procession. I wanted to drive far far away and buy him an ice cream cone and let him spill it all over me and laugh. I just wanted him to laugh, crack a joke, yell “penis” at the top of his lungs like he used to do. Anything but the stunned silence.

The hearse drove by. The limos carrying the family. Then the police cars. Dozens and dozens of them. Then ambulances, firetrucks, and more police cars driving in slow motion. Wes thought it was great and waved at the passing officers. Several of them waved back.

Charlie finally spoke. “Are all those policemen going to get the bad guys?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, Buddy, no. These policemen are a part of a ceremony called a funeral which is to honor a policeman who died in a car accident. They have come from all over the state to show their support for the policeman and his family. They have a special church service, sort of like Big Church, and then they all drive in a long parade to the…” I let that one drop.

“Why do they have their lights on? Why do they drive so slow?”

“Because they’re sad and it’s respectful.”

“But why are they sad?”

“Because their friend died. He had a bad car accident.” I cringed when I used that word again. I looked at him. “It’s very sad, isn’t it?” He nodded quietly.

Finally another a group of traffic cops on motorcycles appeared, marking the end of the procession. I finally exhaled, put the car in drive, turned Raffi back on, and headed for home–thirty minutes after I’d stopped at the light.

I was so grateful for the change of pace when Charlie had a letter from his new teacher waiting for him in our mailbox–he carried it around proudly the rest of the day, showing it to everyone who would look. I was most grateful of all when, several hours later, he ran to show it to Ryan, just arrived home from work, safe and sound.

>Oh Rossby

>We don’t call him (lovingly and with affection, of course) “Idiot Dog” for nothing.

Yes he swallowed it. I’m not sure what that means, but he better have enjoyed the heck out of that bread dough.

>Five Days and Six Hours Left

>Forget everything I said.

I am ready. They are ready. Ryan is ready to not come home to a bitchy shrew who growls like Gollum when he asks how my day was.

We went up to school today to get some breakfast and coffee and soak up the first-day energy, even though I don’t have to be there until Thursday. It was a treat. It was supposed to be a treat. It was kind of a disaster with the not listening and not following directions and the screwing around with the automated paper towel dispenser in the ladies’ room until I had to physically drag them both out by their arms. Because EVERYONE IS SUDDENLY DEAF.

Last week Amy posited via Facebook “Am I uptight because no one listens to me or does no one listen to me because I’m so uptight?” Indeed.

So after all that excitement we came home where I put Wes to bed, put Charlie in front of the Claymation Christmas DVD he’s been asking for, and sat down in front of my laptop to stare, tearfully and shaking with frustration, at the full-time, tenure track job posting that’s been up for over a year that I’m only tangentially qualified for and thought “I could make this work. We could get a nanny.”

And then Charlie called sweetly from the living room “Mama, it’s the part with the bells! Come watch with me.” It’s my favorite part. When I sat next to him on the couch he said “I want my mom here for this!”

I know I would miss these quiet times with the boys if I worked full time. But I am not meant to do this by myself ten hours a day, every day, when it is too hot and bee-infested to go in the back yard and the only way to cool off is to shlep two surly kids and half a Walmart worth of plastic crap to the pool, where if I am lucky, there will be other kids to play with and if I am not lucky, I will spend two hours repeatedly getting Wes out of the pool filter and breaking up fights over the “good shovel.” I don’t think anyone is.

>Night of the Bounce House

>When I heard there would be a slip and slide and free hot dogs on my campus last night I knew we couldn’t miss it. Charlie was practically levitating by the time Ryan got into the car after work. “Are you going to go on the SLIP AND SLIDE with me, Papa?! PLEASE?!” The first thing we saw when we came around the corner from the parking lot by the science building was a thirty foot tall inflatable football player. And the kids went crazy.

Charlie watched the big kids on the slip and slide for a few minutes then ripped his shirt off and gave it a try. I tried to put Wes on, but he screamed and tried to bite me.

Wes was more excited to see the huge basket of bananas waiting for him at the beginning of the buffet line. We loaded up with bananas, hot dogs, cookies, and rice crispy bars and ran into our babysitter, officially making yesterday The Best Day of Charlie’s Life. She ate dinner with us and told us all about orientation and living in the dorm (and how she had to call her mom with questions about laundry and Advil dosage, awww!) while Charlie interrupted excitedly “Miss Sunshine! There’s a SLIP AND SLIDE and you have to take your shirt off and you run and get all wet and YOU HAVE TO TRY IT. And there’s a HUGE football player and you go inside and climb up the wall and it’s hot but it’s OK because Papa lifted me up and then there’s a REALLY STEEP SLIDE at the end and it’s so much fun and YOU HAVE TO TRY IT.”

After two bites of hot dog and several cookies each Wes started wandering closer and closer to the bounce house we were sitting near, so we finally let them at it. Ryan got in with them “for the children’s safety.” I mentioned later that I’d never seen anyone jump so high in a bounce house and he told me “They wanted to see if I could hit my head on the ceiling!!!!” Eventually Miss Sunshine had to go off to watch a movie with her friends and eat pizza at three o’clock in the morning or whatever it is those crazy kids do these days, but the kids stayed in the bounce house for nearly an hour. Charlie hopped over to me once and yelled “MAMA! I LOVE your SCHOOL!!”

On the way out Charlie had a try at the “Dunk an RA” booth.

And then we dragged our posse of unwilling, sweaty, and fruit punch mustached kids home.

Where they slept until after eight in the morning. Ryan and I slept as long as we possibly could then wandered downstairs like “I guess someone should make coffee? I’m not really sure what to do all by ourselves like this.” Wes is still sleeping and it’s almost 8:30. They usually wake up at 6:30. I think we may need to get a bounce house.

UPDATE: This is Wes’s wakeup face:

And we found Ryan’s socks stuck in the roof rack on my car. We’re pretty sure we drove home (20 mins on the highway) like that. Par-tay!

>Happy Kids. Woah.

>After a few days of not so great behavior (well chronicled on Facebook), the inmates seem to have turned things around. I felt like they (and I) had earned a field trip (mostly me), so after the gym we went to Starbucks (Do you know how much money you can save by having kids whose behavior is so awful you can’t imagine taking them out in public? A lot. Nevertheless, I’m glad today was different.).

Not much of a post, I just didn’t want to completely misrepresent our daily life as all time-outs, yelling, and onion-stank hands.

Hot chocolate. It’s ninety-seven degrees outside. At 9:30 in the morning. I’m not the only one ready for fall.

This is what he does when he sees the camera. He is saying “cheese.” Or, more accurately, “tcheeeeeeeeese.”

And then I made them sit on this planter in front of my car so I could put our cups inside before we went in the grocery store to buy fourteen gallons of milk. They just looked extra lovable to me so I had to take a picture. Of course Charlie insisted on “hiding” behind the lid of his hot chocolate, but you get the idea. Also, I did not intend on dressing them in a marine life theme this morning. It’s just what I pulled out of the dryer first.

Now, if they can just hold it together for another six and a half hours, we’ll be good.

>Hold the Onions

>I made this last night. It was very tasty and we all had seconds (Charlie had thirds). But that’s not the point. The point is that the recipe called for one chopped onion. Almost everything I make starts with “chop onion, saute in olive oil.” Thanks to Pioneer Woman I can do it fast and hardly ever nick my fingertips anymore. My eyes don’t even tear up very much. Although one time Charlie insisted on standing at my hip while I chopped an onion and after about thirty seconds he ran away howling “MY EYES! MY EYES!!”

So I wasn’t expecting anything different last night when I chopped the onion for dinner. Until several hours later when Ryan and I were sitting on the couch watching TV. I reached up to scratch up my nose and noticed that my hand STUNK like onions. Not a good smell like I’d just chopped it up either. It was like I’d spent the whole day chopping onions, then worked out, then smeared nicotine all over my fingers. Gross. So gross.

Washing helped briefly, but the smell was back within minutes.

I woke up a number of times in the night not because one of the kids was freaking out (which also happened last night… Charlie had a DREAM that Wes was crying and woke him up, because that doesn’t actually happen enough in real life), but because my hands had disobediently made their way back up to the airspace around my face and the horrible onion smell woke me up! Try as I might, I was unable to train myself to sleep with my hands firmly at my sides as though I might be called upon to perform with Riverdance while I was sleeping.

Do you know how frustrating it is to be awoken multiple times at night not by restless children, not by a restless fetus kicking me in the bladder, but by ONION SMELL ON MY HANDS?

Finally I got up and washed my hands with my Neutrogena Acne facial cleanser. It’s first active ingredient is acid, I thought it would help. It didn’t. And it made my hands feel really tight and scratchy in addition to the stinking.

I really wish I was one of those people who is into scented lotion.

Several rounds with antibacterial soap this morning haven’t helped either. They are, however, getting really itchy from the repeated washing.

It was ALL I could smell at the gym today, which is saying something, if you know what I mean. Disgusting.

What do I do? Wear mittens until it goes away?

>Endless Summer

>Maybe it’s because I just wrote my phone number fourteen times on two identical sets of multicolored preschool forms, or because the whole time I was doing that I was listening to Wes thumping around in his room not sleeping despite not having napped today and spending two hours at the pool, and sensing a slow panic rising in my heart about the kind of day I’m going to have tomorrow if Wes stays up as late as he has so far, or maybe it’s because it’s been over a hundred degrees every day this week. But I am really looking forward to the fall.

When we came back from our trip and the reality of a month of unstructured, babysitter-free time settled over me that Monday morning as Ryan left for work, I thought August would never end. And then it got so hot that I had to cut a trip to a local swimming hole short because I was starting to feel weak and light-headed after thirty minutes in the bathtub-warm river (we headed straight to Sonic after an agonizing walk back to the car, two lemon slushes, one large ice water, please. Much better). And now I am biding my time until the TV weatherman says “We’ve got a nasty arctic front on its way” and all the Texans flock to the grocery store to hoard milk and beer.

I LOVE fall. Even though I won’t be able to wear the wool plaid skirt I got at an end of season sale last year, I am so excited about cardigans and jeans and baking (I am forcing myself to wait until September 1 to make pumpkin bread. Ryan can’t wait for me to make spaghetti, which I consider a winter food) and cool mornings and new students. And I was pretty excited about preschool starting.

But then? Don’t tell anyone about this, but, I started having fun with my kids.

Charlie has come out of whatever developmental funk he was in and he has become very good company. He is mostly cooperative and cheerful and extremely curious about babies, where they are and where they come from, how they communicate, and things they can and cannot do. He frequently tells amused strangers “Phent is my baby. He was in my tummy a long time ago.” When it all gets to be too much he climbs into his “sad box” and asks me to close the tabs. It is a large cardboard moving box we found at our neighbor’s and Charlie’s filled it with blankets and special objects. He tells me he’s still hungry after every meal and usually has a piece of fruit or some toast on top of whatever else we had. Today he surprised us by showing us how he can swim under water. In short, he’s almost a FOUR YEAR OLD, which is solidly in “kid” territory and I’m scratching my head and wondering what the H happened to “the baby years” that seemed so endless this time last year.

Wes is really freaking cute and has started talking a lot more. Every car ride is peppered with him shrieking “Wook at DAT!” as he points out the window at every. single. thing. that captures his attention (water towers, dogs, construction equipment, other kids). On Sundays when I tell him he gets to go to school he RUNS all the way to the classroom, so proud of himself. He’ll try anything Charlie does (except swimming underwater, thank goodness). He still has his fiery temper and bites when he feels cornered or frustrated, and for the love of God do NOT put him in his car seat. He can climb up there all by himself just like Charlie thankyouverymuch. But he’s cute, and funny, and very patient as Charlie learns that we wait until Wes puts a toy down before he can pick it up.

We have two more weeks of Super! Family! Togetherness! and then preschool starts (one week after my school starts, super convenient). And then it will be Thanksgiving AND DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN AROUND HERE JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS? My head is spinning, is what I’m saying. Things are about to start happening fast. And the boys are going to be gone Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday from 9-1, EVERY WEEK. And I might miss them a little. And I am surprised by that. Because, honestly, the only reason I didn’t sign them up for five days is the extra $500/month I would have had to shell out purely so I wouldn’t have to turn Sid the Science Kid up really loud before I started the vaccuum cleaner (or, who are we kidding, so I wouldn’t have to share my decaf pumpkin spice latte).

I’m really looking forward to regaining a professional life, and doing our favorite fall things (Pumpkin patches! Cocoa! Touching playground equipment without requiring skin grafts!), the weather cooling off, putting the extra blankets on the beds, college football, footie jammies, and baking. Did I mention the baking? If I even think about turning the oven on these days my air conditioner heaves a sigh and rolls over dead. I just want to really enjoy these last relaxed weeks as a family of four.

If Wes doesn’t nap tomorrow I’ll be recanting this entire post, so be ready. Also, I could really go for a pumpkin spice latte right now. Oops.

>Steaming, Hot, Fresh, Chocolate Chip Bread

>Charlie started asking me to make “Steaming, Hot, Fresh, Chocolate Chip Bread” a few days ago. Luckily I found a recipe for just the thing in my bread machine owner’s manual. We went to the store together and bought all the ingredients, brought them home, put Wes down for a nap, got everything lined up on the counter and then BAM! A missing ingredient! An obscure one that I don’t keep on hand (powdered milk?! What, is this the Cold War?!). So we made cookies. It wasn’t hard to pacify him. But then he started drawing me pictures of the Steaming, Hot, Fresh, Chocolate Chip Bread. This morning Wes woke up at 4:30 (After partying until nearly midnight last night)(Parenting moment of the century: Waking Ryan up and saying “Would you please hold him for a few minutes because if I have to do this for one more second I’m going to end up in jail)(I’m going to feel like a real jerk when I find out he has an ear infection) and since I had the opportunity to go to the store for bananas and milk as soon as it opened (i.e. before they’ve made the coffee and breakfast tacos. FAIL), I got the powdered milk and we proceeded with the Steaming, Hot, Fresh, Chocolate Chip Bread after breakfast. And there was much happiness in the Academomia household.

The timer says it takes three-and-a-half hours. I wasn’t able to translate that into Charlie.

Yes, that is Wes standing on our potty stool, hanging onto the oven for balance. As long as we’re being totally honest here, he also snuck a sip of my coffee while I was in the bathroom. Charlie did that once and he never asked again. Wes just came up and asked for another sip. I said no. He was not pleased. I totally get it, Buddy. Maybe next time don’t GET UP AT 4:30!!!

My parents will let me do anything if I leave them alone after waking up at 4:30!

And here’s a picture of Rossby cuddled up with both kids’ loveys. He may be a grumpy old man, but I think he misses the kids when they’re sleeping.