high low

As Frances and I ambled across the Eastport bridge this morning, admiring the sparkling water and gently rocking sailboats amidst crowds of happy boat show-goers, I kept thinking of that Lou Reed song--well, at least the chorus:

Oh it's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you. 

I think the verses tend towards bleakness (surprise), so my mind stayed with that simple and complete sentiment. It's such a perfect day. We had the morning together, since her school was closed and Gabriel's was not. We stopped by her old school, where Frances played on the playground and I interviewed parents about the school food garden they were tending. Eventually the two of us squatted down to help with the weeding. After that we took a glorious walk into Eastport and landed at our favorite cafe (Can I get chocolate milk? Can I, can I?), where we made friends with a dog and yes, had special drinks.

Without anyone around for Frances to compete with, we made a peaceful, companionable pair, soaking up the golden October sunshine. Every kid and parent should have the occasional luxury of this kind of exclusive, unplanned day, an 'adventure day,' as Frances dubbed it, where the sole point is to be together, and you only find out where you're going when you get there.

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I wrote that this afternoon. It really was a perfect day--until it wasn't anymore. It is now official that my orchestration of napless Mondays for Gabriel was a Bad Decision. Premature, anyway. His music class runs too late and Frances's pick up time is too early to allow for a proper rest and wow do I hear about it come five o'clock. Today's tantrum took place in line at the grocery store. It was like an excruciating scene in a Hollywood movie that is meant to symbolize all that is hard and demoralizing about parenthood. The bad behavior continued all the way until bedtime (early, early bedtime) and now I am a hollowed out, beaten down wreck. These moments can really undermine one's confidence. 

But the documentation of my morning with Frances is proof that everything can feel perfect and everything can feel abysmal, all in the span of a few hours. Sometimes we play a game called High Low at dinnertime. Everyone gets to share one good thing and one bad thing from his or her day. There is something validating in this, for both the adults and the children: our days have high and low moments. It's okay. We can talk about it all.

But back to the high: when you have perfect days (or rather, moments), is there a song that goes through your head? A happy song? In writing this I realized I have a few: Good Morning from Singin' in the Rain, Oh What a Beautiful Morning from Oklahoma! (I must be a morning person. And a musical person. Who knew?). Recently Gabriel and I heard Friday I'm in Love by the Cure on the radio in the midst of a sunny perfect moment and we heartily agreed that it was an excellent happy song. 

Have any others you'd like to share?