Light Refreshments Served

Hugh’s taken to answering the phone at our house, which is really unusual because, up until now, I’m the only one in our family who doesn’t loath the phone. Whenever the phone rings, I know that everyone is ignoring it, like white noise in the background, or my demands to “put your shoes IN the shoe box, not just beside it!” We hear what we want to hear (Wait! What was that sound? Donuts coming out of the bakery at Day’s Market?)

I got this handwritten letter from Phoebe, who has discovered the lost art of letter writing. In its purest form, we find little notes all over the house. Like last night, when I climbed the stairs to go to bed, I found a note reminding me to cut her toenails. I’m always forgetting that, the letter reasoned. This one is warning me about the dangers of not properly monitoring Hugh:

It reads: “Mom, someone called and Hugh picked up the phon(e) and we told Hugh to give it to us but Hugh didn’t and stol(e) it from us and then the person that called hanged up. P.S. DON’T LET HUGH GET THE PHON(E)!

As mentioned in a previous post, I’ve been using January as a month with the theme to gut it out. I overdid it one day, so the next day I sought to bring balance to the force by -gasp- taking a nap. And that’s when I got the strongly-worded letter.

And so if you worried that I’m feeling pretty good about myself now that my closets and corners are all cleaned out, don’t worry. Remember, mothers everywhere, take any credit and sense of accomplishment where you can get it. And then cling to it. Like Hugh clung to that phone and wouldn’t give it back.

The other night Topher and I were talking about the possibility of me traveling with him this summer to London. Every year he takes a group of theater students on study abroad and if I’m not pregnant or nursing a baby, I go with him. I’ve gone once, years ago. In my journal, I wrote (which is a miracle in and of itself) that I should do this every year, no matter what. It was so great for me–so great for my marriage–so great to think deep, continued thoughts! Well, years have passed and here I am.

It’s not that I don’t want to go or that I don’t think I deserve to go or anything like that, it’s simply the fact that I plan things all day that I would like to do and they are constantly thwarted. I don’t bemoan this fact (anymore), I accept it. In fact, I’m so used to it I assume everyone lives that way. Trips to the grocery store, finishing the laundry, any glamorous task, all seemingly simple and routine are kind of out of my control as to when they will happen, plan as I might. Yesterday I was up before the kids, fed them breakfast, got them dressed, got the big kids off to school, and try as I might, I couldn’t get out the door to make it to 10 o’clock play group. Hugh kept changing his clothes, Margaret kept pooping, Phoebe was tired and sluggish. It wasn’t like I was watching tv (I wish), it just didn’t happen, even though we all wanted to go and we were all planning on it. So we went to the library instead. (Whoop-de-do. Wasn’t that a compelling story? Don’t worry, I’ll develop a novel out of that last paragraph.)

I know this is partly why I love performing improv so much: no preplanning, just step on stage and see what happens. Take it as it comes. No denials (or tantrums), just accept every offering and add to it. It’s thrilling and it’s completely validating and encouraging this theory of come-what-may mothering.

But now I find myself caught between becoming this flexible, come-what-may-I-won’t-lose-it Mom, and not wanting to plan on anything. I’m suspicious of people who plan trips (suckers!) because there are so many variables (childcare, money, swine flu!) and I convince myself of all the benefits of just staying at home, literally, until my youngest is 10. It will just be easier that way. I have, of course, expressed this several times to Topher, who is the eternal optimist, and pleads for me to go, which is sweet and I think (you never know what might happen between now and then) pretty much seals the deal.

Topher pleads “You have to come, or I’ll be stuck with a bunch of theater students for weeks by myself and I’ll go crazy!”

“Um, try that again. . .” I gently suggest.

“Uh, please come because I’ll miss you so much if you don’t. . .?”

“Say it again without laughing. And be more convincing. For crying out loud–you’re an acting professor! You can be more compelling.”

“I’ll die if you don’t go, I’ll miss you so much.”

“You’ll DIE?! Wow! Well, I wouldn’t want that. I guess I’ll have to go. I have no choice.”

“I’ll die. I would not be able to do it without you.”

“Stop smiling while you say it. Is that too much to ask?”