The school bus thunders by right as I take the first sip of coffee. The bus is early and I am late. But that's okay I am late to nowhere. I had stayed in bed thinking through the nightmares and the dreams of the night. What grown-up has dreams about zombie dinosaurs who can't hurt you if you are underground, like say in the cellar of pub? I know what dreams are supposed to be and I wonder where my mind picks this shit up.
I can hear Fisher getting ready for school. I can feel Beach upstairs sleeping in my bed.
Last night she took a bath. The whole house smelled baby-clean. The scent of soap sloshing room to room, a tidal wave of normal-ness. It made me want to watch TV. And fold laundry Yell at some kid for not doing homework or having a dirty room. But TV really sucks and nothing including yelling at kids for things undone or laundry needed doing.
September is bursting. Our calendar is full. And I told BC I think it is best if he not come home again- not until the job is done. On paper that would be about 5 weeks. Of course he is saying that is too long and he will come home but for once I have logic on my side.
The next weekend BC would come home (2 weeks from now) Fisher will be visiting his mom, that is if she doesn't change plans a half dozen times like she tends to do. I sent her a nice note, which I hardly ever do. Most of it was simple and cheery asking about a pending visit (her to slc).
I ended it with "I need you to be as consistent as possible so I can arrange our week with the appropriate amount of support for both kids. When dealing with my household I need you to be both courteous and punctual. Thanks! mlb".
She gave the date leaving out all specifics I had asked for and omitted any information about her pending request for Fisher to come up to Idaho "to help her", then responded, "It needs to go both ways, so thanks:)".
Well yes, but it really doesn't need to go both ways. For one I don't deal with her household. In fact despite being Fisher's primary parent for about a year or 2 or even 3 (depends how you count it), I hardly deal with her. She ignores me. Never writes or calls to ask about Fisher, never makes sure I know her plans for trying to see him, no child support, nothing.
And secondly, I wrote that to her for a specific reason: she is chronically inconsistent and late which is not courteous. Those are her faults. I have my own. Her rashness with deflection & eye for defensiveness makes me picture her standing at the far end of a ping-pong table with a tiny green paddle in her hand ready to strike back at anything coming her way. Never pausing to consider whether or not it is a good shot to take.
The weekend following that one by dumb luck is the weekend Fisher's mom says she will be in SL but Fisher will not. He will be in Moab at a bike race. Beach will be at the yet to be officially announced Region 1 camp somewhere in SLC. Or I may blow up the world and her and I might skip camp and go to Moab with the boys.
And the next weekend after that weekend is October....
Standing in the kitchen cradling a cup of coffee watching the chickens go by I can feel the season dropping. I can still hear BC's voice from last night's call home. Over the line he talked about all the stuff we will do once this is all over.
Talked about a trip to Hawaii that was discussed so long ago it took me a while to uncover it in my mind. It was about this time last year and I hadn't wanted to go then any more than I want to go now.
The difference is last year I told him that. Last year I fought hard for a return to Olympic National Park in Washington. To expand on the trip we took right after my sister died. ONP was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. But a year later I didn't even bother to remind him that I was not on board the Hawaiian boat. A year later I have learned in the grand scheme of things what I want doesn't really matter anymore. The Rolling Stones can take it from here....
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