The expression 'friend of my heart' entered into the conversation this weekend. Our dear old Philadelphia pals Ann Marie and Rick and their daughter Amelia came to visit us, and Ann Marie and I used it as short hand to refer to those very special friends, the ones who seem harder and harder to come by as we get older, the ones who get it.
We all watched the cold rain steadily falling and talked a lot and the children did great. Here they are contemplating hopscotch on the wet sidewalk, and on a short walk, during a lull in the rain.
Last night after dinner and many, many chocolate chip cookies I found myself feeling a sense of gloomy disappointment in myself as we talked about parenting. When close friends enter into my new world, especially friends who pre-date children, I find myself looking around with fresh eyes. And for whatever reason (could be as simple as waking up at 4:30 with Gabriel - yes, despite daylight savings - or being cooped up for too many rainy days) I found myself suffering some narcissistic worrying about my failures as a parent: being weak-spined, permissive, inconsistent, and lately too captive to my own irrational irritable responses to Frances.
Anyway, this is all very boring, and I had to apologize to Ann Marie for the funk that continued to grip me, albeit lightly, into today. I think it had to do with being together - being with a friend of my heart - and thus feeling able to let some of that sadness surface. It's that satisfying deep exhale, being reunited with a close friend, letting niceties go and not having to be anyone other than oneself.
It's just a bummer that the rain clouds infiltrated my mood during a precious short visit, despite the presence of a very bright, shining little person named Amelia Jane in our house. We said goodbye this afternoon, and then I looked into what promised to be a long afternoon lacking in inspiration with my equally underslept kids. We descended into the playroom. I grimaced and brought a magazine, hoping for the trucks and toy kitchen to exert some magical pull on them.
Soon we were reading about Fancy Nancy's stay in a motel room featuring some 'spa treatment' with her doll and all the little bottles of shampoo and shower gel. Hmm. From somewhere in the far far reaches of my heart, a blessed little twinkle flashed. Frances, should we have a spa today?
Yes.
We had a spa bath at 4 pm. I put drops of lavender oil in their bathwater and told them it would be a very, very relaxing bath. Both kids love the bath so it was no problem convincing them to hop in despite the unusual hour. Since it was a pretend spa, no one complained when I scrubbed their hair or even more remarkably, rinsed their hair - it's part of your spa treatment! I filed my nails - what we do here in our spa - while the children turned into happy shivering prunes. Finally it was time to get out, and I led them into Frances's bedroom, where I had spread out every random bottle of cream and half-used lip balm and baby product sample I could find under the bathroom sink.
More spa! The kids let me slather them in cream and sprinkle them with dusting powder. Gabriel told us he was painting his nails and refused to put on clothes.
They both smelled delicious. I felt rejuvenated myself, and ever so grateful.
How does it happen? Call it grace, inspiration, kismet - those little moments when the sun suddenly bursts through (metaphorically - it's still raining out there) and we feel connected to one another, released from interior dreck and able to give freely again.
I scorched the black beans on the stove while we had our spa. But what a teensy price to pay!
Here is wishing all of you, friends of my heart, some unexpected sunshine this week.
1 comment:
I know that feeling of looking into the abyss of a long, lonely afternoon! And also how it can all be turned around with a single good idea, like spa day. I joke with Michael that every day I seem to go to bed vowing to be a better mom tomorrow. We try, we try, we do the best we can, and that's good enough. Love and sunshine to you!
Post a Comment