End of Summer Life

Life has been a lot these days, too much, just enough, not enough.

I’m banishing Caleb and Naomi to the outside world so the baby can nap without their howling and shattering and glee. No one is doing anything productive, practising any musical instruments, filling out math worksheets, rinsing off melted popsicles. Naomi was doing something crazy on a mattress that was on the floor, and she sort of tripped, bounced, ricocheted herself off and hit her head on the rocking chair. Three little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and started crying dramatically about the unfairness of life and gravity.

Caleb cooked us dinner. I’m wafting through all of my feelings. He’s accomplishing new things each season, each day (existential crisis), he didn’t burn the house down (celebration), he’s old enough to do dangerous things on the stove (ambivalence), he’s not putting enough Parmesan on things (confusion).  

Renovations continue. The joy and foreignness of new things, new furniture, new babies, drawers that open, functioning electrical sockets, brick walls that don’t have a layer of debris fall off every time a kid bounces on the floor, ceiling lights, doors.

What a joy.