For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 67

The house has been put to bed. The kids. The husband. The dog. I sit: alone at the kitchen table, piles of things (laundry, dishes, papers) still undone surrounding me. This is not quite where I imagined I would be at the beginning of this week, but this weekend (like so many that leave us tucked in early restoring ourselves for the beginning of the week) came about a bit unexpectedly. It began with news of a minor (at least to the people involved, not the cars) accident.

A friend was driving along a two-lane road when she stopped to turn left. While waiting for on-coming traffic to pass, her car was struck from behind by another vehicle traveling between thirty and forty miles an hour. Our friend's car was totalled upon impact, as was the teenager's mood who had been driving the other vehicle. Upon exiting her car, she said, "My mother's going to kill me. This is the second car I've totalled today." The day had yet to reach noon.

The now-carless friend made a phone call. After which, Jason received a phone call. His best friend was hopping in a spare car to make a mere fifteen-hour drive to drop said car off to said carless friend. We would be playing overnight hosts and chauffeur to the airport in the unfolding random act of generosity.

I'm not going to lie. We felt like quite the fortunate bystanders of a rather unfortunate act. We spent Saturday night staying up too late taking advantage of the unexpected visit. We were woken up way too early this morning by an excited little someone too eager to hang out with her "Uncle Boo" (and his oldest son, who she referred to as "Tire," who we picked up along the way to spend the evening with us) to sleep.

Piles sat neglected. The Week in Review was left undone. I neglected to tell you that we have spent countless hours this week in serious make-believe play focused on reenacting Audrey's favorite stories. Goodnight Gorilla (complete with props: monkey hat for a costume, stuffed animals as the zoo animals, plastic keys, and an empty toilet paper roll serving as a flashlight) was revisited again and again. I was sent to find a ribbon to improve scenes from Angelina Ballerina that involved rhythmic dancing.

While a fair amount of our days was spent physically pretending to be others, the rest of the week focused on our typical roles and who we are when we don't let the physical restrain us:

On Monday, Audrey asked, "Mommy, can I call you dude?"

Later that day she was listening to a song in the car. The lyrics referred to making His will your choice. She changed it to "I'm going to make a bad choice," and refused to believe me when I told her that the lyrics were a touch different (which sums up one facet of the trial-and-error nature of toddlerhood better than any story I could tell you).

Tuesday she asked, "Why do they keep coming?"
"What?" I said.
"Feelings."

Wednesday, as I was leaving her room after putting her to bed, she called out from the dark, "Love you. I'll see you in my heart."

This week has been filled with an uneven pace of moments: the rush of a toddler tossed and caught in the air; the scurry for shoes and bags when one flight time was delayed and a sooner flight found; the slow sway of David Ott's Evensong at the Cathedral as an infant drifts to sleep and you ponder the glint of setting sun through stained glass windows upon polished wood; the lingering thoughts of a weekend well spent - a man well grown, who notices when your glass is empty or your hands are too full, with a near-grown son (fourteen - really?!) who is all the best parts of his father.

I am surrounded by piles, things left undone. My husband, my kids, my dog, my house, safely tucked in for the night with me moments from joining them. My mind and body tired. My heart full. Everything just as it should be. Oh those feelings...they just keep on coming.