I can't stop crying

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Is there ANYONE out there who can help?

Either/ or, Both

Papa Monkey's cousin (21-ish, student, aaaaalllll the "All-American"-isms) was found in an alley.

I met his mom afterwards; a woman undone.

I cannot and will not imagine what she thinks about.

I will not.

Because I cannot. I can not.

No.


Baby Monkey anticipates JOY.
His first and consistant reaction to anything (everything) new or not, is the SMILE and the BOUNCE... what wonderful thing will my little self now experience?
Imagine that, the expectation of... JOY...


The two situations, the dichotomy, it's messing with me. Big time.

Cemetery, today, the oldest in town. Our Founding Father buried here. My used-to-be favorite haunt. Weird, for me to be pushing a stroller with Sleeping Monkey through here... I start to pull out the (oldworntired) mindpaths, but I've left it far behind... Yet how close it is imprinted on my mind... I haven't forgotten a single grave, a single marker...

Bury me here... someday.... blessedly I tell ya, with Joggers and Walkers and schtooopid dogs, how amazing is this place?


I have to turn my mind back to Now.....

Day is come.

So, camping with the BabyMonkey? Really, he's not quite 9 months. And this is not fun, the camping thing, with all the monkeys; MamaMonkey is doing exactly what she does at home, only having to walk several hundred yards for (questionably potable) water to wash the dishes...

In the early morning, the fog rolls in, erasing first the mountains, then the hills, then the treetops, then the lake, then everything outside of the tiny little flame I lit that lapped up, lapped up, lapped up, chewed into the logs... A perfectly unbelievable thing, sitting in this cloud, little baby nursing wrapped in his quilt, cut off from everything, even the tent that holds the rest of my family... Oh this fog, slithering down the mountains, across the ground up to my very feet, blinding, binding...

Warmth of the babe on my breast, warmth of the fire beginning to crackle, warmth of the coffee in the percolator beginning to burble... The Crane begins its monologue...

Yes, camping with the baby. With any of the monkeys. In any of the circumstances. Finally I can just be overwhelmed, floored into silence, reverent again...

What a girl wants.

We went to the town's oldest park yesterday afternoon for a picnic dinner and a hike; the weather superb for the undertaking, overcast and breezy but still warm. We trotted up and down the trails, staring in amazement at the size of the trees, the closest we have to old growth. Deep pockets of sword fern, thick carpets of moss, sky twinkling through the canopy far above. Eyes peeled for woodpeckers, we saw evidence but no birds. I reminded PapaMonkey of the first time we hiked here; he found a tail feather from a redtailed hawk which hangs still on my dresser mirror. Yesterday, though, nothing more exotic than many other families with strollers and dogs... Until! Bursting out of the foliage, a family (herd? flock?) of wild turkeys. So off I go to photograph them, tiptoeing among the poison oak; turns out they're not the least bit interested in posing for paparazzi.

After all is said and done, we arrive back at the bottom where we started, laughing and out of breath, and I think I have again created a summer memory for the kids that they'll revisit as adults...

Then I ask GirlMonkey what her favorite part of the trip was.

"Eating all the Animal cookies," she says.

Oasis

The rain came just as it grew dark. Hot rain, summer rain. Fat drops on sunburned skin.

My gorgeous Monkey #2 started to dance in the rain. And I did, too. And laughed. And she was magical, face shining in the streetlight, hair sprung into tangled curls, clothes plastered against her little body. She was surprised that I was there with her, being a kid, being free. Not giving a thought to what the neighbors must think until much later, and finding I didn't much care.

The boy Monkeys stayed under the canopy and watched us, shaking their heads. Monkey #1 wasn't so surprised, though, he's able to remember earlier times, when I was able to shed my self-conscious-ness? adult-ness? restrained-ness?

Joy in just being in my body, in my world. Joy in dancing in the rain with my little girl. I need to do it more. I will do it more.

Summer

Isn't summer supposed to be relaxing, refreshing? I'm frantic trying to get the usual mundane stuff around the house done, and feeling guilty meanwhile for not having exciting activities for the kids... Time for myself? HAH! But that's not even what I mean, really; childhood is so short. I want the kids to have the summer-y memories I have. I don't know how to do all of it. This year we have 108 days of summer vacation. I would so love for the kids to remember this particular summer as one of 108 special days.

Tomorrow we're picking berries. And we'll have fun. I know it. I just need to get my attitude straightened out.