lasting.

had you driven by my parents' house today, you would've seen the following picture:

two people, sitting on the bumpy cement steps on the front porch, understanding that the discomfort is somehow pleasurable.  the mother sits on the top step, the daughter directly below her, wearing her nightgown at 3 in the afternoon.  she is wiggling, as she always seems to be.

the mother is reading/skimming a book that she does not want to take on the plane with her during her journey back to her home the next day.  she holds it just above her daughter's head, which smells of salt water from her parents' pool.

the daughter is holding her mother's iphone with all the dexterity that a seven year-old girl can, and plays various games while telling her mother that she isn't good at any of them, and it is so frustrating to her.

the mother rarely responds, other than a gentle, "uh huh."

the day is overcast and casually muggy, as if the weather couldn't quite decide on its look.

there is serenity to the scene, which is not an indication of what is happening inside each of their bodies.  or maybe it is.  maybe for just a few minutes the two of them were at peace with each other, with their geography, with their station in life.

there is calm, quiet, longing, determination; feasting on the end-of-summer air that feeds their lungs.

this is the snapshot, the photo, the still frame of the last day in massachusetts for a while.

coasting home

two more days in massachusetts.

the summer is winding down for me, for us.  my husband is on his trek back to los angeles with his trusty co-pilot clay, and the kids and i are making the best of five days without him, and five more days living with my parents.

we are tired.

my girl selkie threw two, huge, down-on-the-floor, kicking and screaming fits today.  they were gnarly.
one was about her inability to decided whether or not she wanted to go in the 72-degree pool at 8 o'clock tonight, and while she stood poolside whining and crying about it, the mosquitoes feasted on her and she has welts all over her body.  The tv room upstairs where the kids sleep smells like a calamine lotion factory.  inevitably, she'll wake up in a couple of hours, begging for some kind of relief, which i will not be able to provide for her.

i seem to be stuck in a position of not really being able to help out these children of mine lately.  their issues are their own, and i can only do so much.  i'm feeling very much that things are out of my hands.

given that they are still so young, perhaps that's not the most productive mode of thought right now.

every year at this time i wonder if we've stayed too long.  if this trip across the country to stay with relatives for a month-plus is a blessing or a trial.  the truth is that its both.  how lucky i am to have the kind of job where i get to take time in the summer to be with my family in massachusetts.  how lucky we are that my husband is employed in such a way that he can do his work from here.  how lucky are we that the kids demand to spend so much time with their grandparents and their cousins, and have come to expect it as part of their year.

i have too.

i've written about it before, about what coming home does to me, and its certainly not an unexplored subject for writers.  the furious pull that keeps me saying "home" when referring to the place i was born has not lessened over my 18 years living in california.  i am consistently challenged by my need for this place, and yet i've given over to it out of the desire to keep my mental health intact.

this is my home, and i will always long for it.

i have kept this fact mostly hidden from my kids.  i know this is hard to believe, but its true.  over the years i have maintained a cheerful disposition (mostly) about los angeles (sort of), and they have drawn their own conclusions about the disparate offerings of the east and west coast.

this summer, milo has become extremely vocal about not liking california, and wishing that we could move to massachusetts.  he has said this repeatedly in front of my mother.  you can only imagine the impact that has on her.  i've pointed out to him that massachusetts has been only vacation to him, and that if we lived here he would indeed have to go to school and struggle with homework and friends and would have the same rules about screen time and treats that we have back at our house.  up until now this argument seemed to placate him.  but this summer he has reasons why massachusetts is better.

"first, there are woods everywhere.  it's so green!  if we want to see green in california we have to drive, like, really far.  and second is family, of course.  and third, the seasons.  in los angeles its so hot and sunny, and we like, never ever get rain! its not good for the plants!  i want to live here, for sure."

(this is the moment where i suck up all the air around me and keep in in my lungs to submerge myself deep inside my own body.  i cannot let any of myself out, because then he would know that he has spoken my heart's desire, my soul's quest, my yearning that has consistently peppered his childhood with bouts of depression and anguish.  this is the moment where i lie.  i simply fucking lie to my child.)

there's not much more to say about this.

in three days i'll be on a plane, and when we ascend from logan airport my eyes will fill with tears.  then i'll turn on bravo and watch five straight hours of shows i swear i never watch.  when we finally make it to the other side of the country, the descent will take us down through the layers of smog, and once again my eyes will fill with water, but not enough so that my children will notice.

soon we'll be at the baggage claim and the person who loves us the most will be waiting for us, and the reunion will be a trigger for me; the gun pulled on my heartstrings and in that moment i know i will be okay again.  i will be so relieved to walk into my little house in the valley with two glorious dogs who will cover me in relieved kisses.  i will be so happy to unpack months of shit from suitcases; happy to start living out of dresser drawers again.

i will be anxious to get settled, to get food in the house, to hug friends who are family, to get back to the routine, to get to work with the people i love, doing the work that i was born to do in the school that i am devoted to, deep in the heart of van nuys, california.

in the meantime, i will soak it all up, all of this massachusetts goodness, even when there is madness going down in front of me.  i'm talking to you, selkie snow.

goodnight from the musty basement of 2 meadowbrook road, franklin, massachusetts.