fam-damn-ily.

there is nothing like time spent with a person from my other family.

you know the one i mean.  that family that you choose, surround yourself with, pledge yourself to; even though you don't share one whit of dna.  this is the family of friends i'm speaking of.  people who love you as much as your blood relatives but without the damaging history or guilt.

sigh.

i jumped in badly tonight with melanie watching; told my mom that we were going to the cape one day this week with the kids and she just threw it back, telling me that it wasn't fair that i was taking a day away from her.  that i wouldn't understand until i had my own grandkids how unfair it feels.

i argued back, vindictive and strong.  the wrong tactic to take, always.  i learn and then i forget, especially in moments like these.

eventually she said "whatever" and i know this takes a lot out of her to say this, to acquiesce,but nevertheless i felt myself come close to losing it. 

when i hugged melanie goodbye i really wanted her to grab me and take her with her.

i'm without the buffer of my ever-patient, ever-supportive husband.

there have been so many things written about blood family: i have nothing new or important to say about it, other than it is always a work in progress.  i am always trying.  i am always breathing.  i am always looking for a pause, and let my body sit quietly for a minute.

i am always forgiving, and asking for forgiveness.

i am always struggling, and giving into the struggle.

i am always attempting.  

a lot has changed since i grew up recently.  it used to be that i couldn't let a moment pass without flailing my judgment haphazardly.  i'm a better listener, i think.  at least most of the time.  i'm hopeful that when i grow all the way up i'll be able to take care of everyone, including myself, and find grace in each situation handed to me.

meanwhile, i take these days away with my oldest friend: lunch at whole foods, random shopping and fragments of conversations flitted from one store to the next, laughing hard at a movie together, finding myself again through the company of a decades-old friendship.  fueling myself up for the inevitable return to the people who i belong to, and who belong to me. this is the work of my life in the summertime. 

i'm grateful for every second of it.

faded.

three days in, and we're all exhausted.

i've slept with both kids for the past couple of nights, which is problematic.  i try to remind myself that they won't want this forever, but its hard to hold that close at 3am with knees in my lower back and yet another elbow in my breast.  i love them, but i want my own space at night.

this, coupled with the fact that their father has had his own hotel bed for the past four days weighs on me.

milo has decided that there is nothing to live for except the next minecraft time, which means he's refusing card and board games with his grandfather.  i know this is normal and all, but why does he have to be such a dick about it?

selkie won't leave my dad alone, which he loves.  she keeps crawling all over him, snuggling in deep.  he told her the other day that he's pretty sure her tailbone has grown more pointy since the winter, to which she replied, "i've been working on that."

yesterday my brother and i drove into worcester to buy beer at a local brewery.  this is something my brother does.  we sat at the bar and had a beer together and talked a bit.  pretty sure that this is the kind of bonding my mother was swooning about before we left together, but better not to comment on it too much.  don't want to call attention to it.

meanwhile, my parents argue about regular things: washing clothes, the pool toys, dinner choices, etc.  it's comforting and ridiculous at the same time.

a few days ago i went to the public library, the home of my first real job.  i sat up in the mezzanine (or what they call the "quiet study" now) and wrote some stuff, did some work, daydreamed out the window.  it was a cloudy day, drizzly and warm, and i felt like i could've been any age.  it could've been me at 17 or me at 67.  i was timeless.

i also went to yoga this morning.  haven't been in thousands of years, and it felt so good.  it was aided by the fact that the teacher had a strong mass accent, so things like "downwahd dog" and "find youah

centa" went straight to my heart-core.

i've gotten really good at driving my parents' kia.

tonight we'll roast s'mores by the pool again, and watch as milo burns his to a crisp and selkie patiently browns hers to a warm glow.  they'll play with their cousins, watch a movie, try to go to sleep under the massachusetts sky.

meanwhile, i'll be more myself, somehow.  i'll be more of what i am and less of what i was.  i'll be alternately at home and a stranger in a strange, strange land. 

my dad just said, "can we take a little break so i can have some beer?"  he's trying to teach my niece how to swim, and she's seconds away from it happening.  

little miracles in any language.

things i saw.

on the way to target.

inside of target.

old stone wall.

spooky cemetary.  rest in peace, josephine.

star moss.

i am miss worcester.

no words.

rainy day.

regulate.

my suitcase is the perfect visual example of my state of mind right now.

i'm finding it hard to focus on my many tasks at hand, and part of this is because as soon as i walk into my parents' house i feel discombobulated, like i'm in pieces.  i feel jumbled up.  i need drawers to place my different tasks in but there isn't enough space due to the overwhelming amount of stuff around me.

so instead, i take a nap.

so far today i've told my mother that everytime she has real mayonnaise she should consider the fact that she just took off a year of her life.  i also got pissed off at her because the vegan mayo that i got in the winter has disappeared from her fridge.  all of this happened in front of four stampin' up customers who sat busily working on cards in our dining room.

too much?

my kids have watched over five hours of tv already today, and its only 2pm.  let go, let go, let go.

i'm trying to rally to get myself to the franklin ymca and then to the franklin public library, to do some focused work.  to make myself myself again.

i'm okay.  i'm okay.  i'm okay.

sights to be seen.

while my husband and my friend are driving from vegas to salt lake, taking in all the sights, i decided to show you what my view has been like these past few hours.

the kids are in the pool while my dad listens to the Red Sox game.  my mom is teaching a stampin' up class upstairs.  i made dinner.  we've already been to target, and selkie already has a new pair of shoes, courtesy of my mother.

i am walking around while asleep, but yet it makes me so aware of this place.

i found tiny cards that belonged to my great-grandmother.  my dad's handwritten sign (always in capitals) tacked to the wall.  the wall itself; an unfinished tearing down of the wallpaper.  the entryway to our house, or my mom's business.  my dad's wall of hats.

there's been a bunny who's visited my dad's garden, and selkie working out on his old-fashioned treadmill while singing herself silly.  there's been milo and his cousin johnny wrestling and playing round after round of minecrap.  there's been me at whole foods, dropping two hundred dollars on food to comfort me with, knowing that as soon as i got home my mother would freak out at how much i bought.

she did.

last night, as we were leaving logan airport, this is the verbatim conversation i had with her: (keep in mind it was about 1:45 in the morning, but know that it was very true to most of our conversations)

her: "so what's new?"

me: "barb, i really can't talk about that kind of stuff right now--"

her: "EZ PASS EZ PASS LANE!"

me: "i'm IN the ez pass lane, mom!"

her: "20 MILES AN HOUR! IT CAN'T READ IT IF YOU DON'T SLOW--"

me: (after cruising through the toll at 34 mph) "see? thank you!"

her: "how fast are you going?  oh, my poor car! (hear a mass. accent on this one)"

me: "i'm going 74, barb. i want to get home."

her: "but there are cops! SLOW DOWN!!"

(my parents share a kia.  its white, and the driver's side door has a faded stampin'-up barbara lash sticker on it.  it is embarrassing to drive it.)

me: "let's see what this baby can do..." (acceleration)

her: "HOLLY ANN FRANCES LASH!!!"

meanwhile, in the backseat, my children are laughing at this entire exchange.  they know by now that this is the way we communicate, and that it does nothing to diminish the amount of love that we feel for each other.  we just show it a little bit differently than most.

we made it home in record time, by the way.

conversations from the plane.

(this is what i heard on the plane.  i'm now on the ground in franklin...but its too good not to post anyway.)

"i'm telling you, i spent $100,000 on shit, man.  i fucked myself up real good.  i have mad anxiety and that's why i took mad pills. . . 

and their parents have mad money, yo, seriously.  there is some fucked up shit going on there. . .

(while i write this there is a workman on the plane, trying to fix a seat.  we could all be doomed. also, i'm wondering who is the third person among this group behind me.  i'll have to steal a look. . .)

"dude, the fucking bruins!"

"dude, i just bought these fresh-ass true religion jeans, but then i got fucked up--i got jumped, dude--and then i went home for christmas with slices on my face."

"that's when i decided i had to live in california, cause i couldn't live like that anymore."

(the pilot just let us know it's going to be another few minutes, because the FAA told him he has to tell us while we sit here.  meanwhile, i've discovered the woman in the row with the two young massachusetts boys is quietly sitting there with wide eyes.  i think she's shellshocked.)

"dude, i pay $1750 in rent in santa monica, and i don't even have screens on my windows.  i don't even have a fucking stove!"

"i'm only 22, dude."

"i've been boxing and shit, and my coach is like, you gotta quick smoking cigarettes, dude."

"it's legit, yo."

"usually marl reds or marl mediums."

(meanwhile, i packed my earbuds in my suitcase, so i have to dig through my wallet to find two dollars in change.  how can i pass up this opportunity to watch bravo for five hours?)

(the boys are discussing how sick chew is.)

(plane yoga.  anyone?  thoughts?)

"I'm actually working at rehab right now."

"that's all you need, dude, just a tiny step."

(babies are trying to go to sleep.  no motion for them.  no motion for us.  oh sweet airplane, rock us gently, please, for the love of christ.)

"i think my seat's broken too, but i'm not going to say anything about it! fuck!" (raucous laughter)

(we've been on the plane for 45 minutes.  not moving.)

(milo just realized that we hadn't left LA yet.  mesmerized by sponge bob.)

as the babies cry around me, i realize that this is an exercise in acceptance.  we are all trapped here together, sharing the stale air and saying prayers to our respective gods to help the pause in all of our lives find a way to unstick itself from this place, this tarmac, this Los Angeles.  help us, anyone who can.  help us recognize the futility of ourselves.

help those poor babies.  but especially those poor parents.

"i have to go now.  i have to stop talking on the phone.  i have to use the bathroom!  goodbye. . ."

delayed.

"the potato chips are frickin' blue, dude!"

been on the Tarmac for two hours, people. feeling really good. feeling full of hope. handing out food to my fellow passengers in hopes that good will fuels the plane.

massachusetts, we'll hopefully see you around 1am. 

meanwhile, even bravo tv is making me bonkers.

gods of travel, have mercy on our poor souls, especially the guy behind me who just called his friend and told him about the chips then said, "dude, i'm gonna fucking kill somebody. i'm about to fucking snap."

i gave him some pretzels a few minutes ago. i hope it helps.

on our way. sort of.

ah, delayed at LAX.

there is talk of heavy thunderstorms in boston later, so we're stuck here for a few hours.  we're well prepared.  i've got food and snacks, lots of work to do and two children who have traveled more in their young lives than most.  they are used to this sort of thing.  they are cheerful, especially since the electronics have already been allowed to come out.

of course, we've only been here for a little while.  we've got a few more hours to go.

selkie was distraught to say goodbye to the dogs and cat today.  tears streaming down her face, clinging to them with passion, wailing about how much she would miss them.  

before we left, the faucet started dripping again and the handle to the toilet fell off.  we used black duct tape to fix it up.  enjoy that, sabrina...

alex had an unexpected pitch this morning, which left me to do all the last-minute stuff and nonsense and clay to drive us to the airport.  he and alex will hit the road later today, stopping in vegas first.

in the meantime, we'll sit here and hope for the best.  we'll enjoy all of these faces and people and sounds of crankiness.  we'll hit the food court and have some french fries.  i'll write a few learning records, if i'm lucky.  and i'll take some deep, deep breaths; ones that resonate the soles of my feet in anticipation of our trip home.  

the humidity is waiting for me, and the rain will welcome me with open arms.             

fellow humans.

dear people of earth, here is my solemn vow to you:

i will acknowledge you.  i will look up and see you, make eye contact, and register connection.  i will smile.  i will wish you and yours well.  by doing this, i will offer a bit of peace into the world.

the world might look like a target check-out line, where i will place my items on the conveyor belt and greet you with genuine hello-ness.  i will ask you how your day is.  i will see you at your work, and know that you are trying your best.  that you are who you are, and you are tired.  or happy.  or upbeat. or downtrodden.  whatever your state is, i will do my best to inter-relate.

i will not talk on my cell phone while you check out the items i am purchasing, while you ask me if i want to save 5% using my target card, while you ask me if i brought a bag.  i will not ignore you--blindness of spirit and heart--will not be ignorant of you.  i will refuse the social barriers that others may erect. i will focus my attention on you, knowing you are helping me, one person to another.

i will not ignore you, good people of earth.

better yet, i will share a breath with you, give you the air you need while you give me yours.  i will notice your tattoos and you will notice mine.  i will compliment your hair, your eyes, your graciousness.  i will tell your supervisor about you.  i will make it known that you are good at what you do.  

you are good at being a person.

thank you, and have a very nice day.

the sum of me.

school is out.  i've been cleaning my classroom, trying to organize, trying to get my head right.  i like the emptiness of it.  i like that i have an ending to embrace, knowing a beginning will be here soon enough.

i love that i work at a place where a child does cartwheels to get to the water fountain, and where a boy schools another kid on the complexity of human sexuality (while letting him know it has nothing to do with the stripes in his hair).  i love that the kids at graduation sing "ain't no mountain high enough".  i love that i can sit with my colleagues at lunch and laugh about really, really inappropriate things together.

summer always brings me to melancholy; there's something about the smell of sunscreen combined with the way the sky looks at the end of the long days that takes me wholly, and infuses me with bittersweet.  i remember the joy of summer vacation as a child, the weighty promise of romantic encounters as a teenager.  everything seemed heightened in the summer, like our every move was being filmed.

its funny that as an adult i still have my year mapped out as september-june.  my body expects to be done with something right about now, and it will start to get antsy at the end of august to meet my next group of people i get to hang out with for ten months.  how weird is that?  my five and six year-old co-workers change every year in kindergarten; i never know what kind of work place i will have until we all settle in to some kind of awareness of each other, which usually happens sometime in october.  until then, i just hope for the best.

summer is grape big league chew, bikini area razor burn, dirty bare feet and trying to negotiate whether or not i can wear a shirt without a bra.  it is my mother in her pool, egging her grandchildren on, getting them to dive off the deep end.  it is my husband alternately furious and joyful, depending on the red sox score.  it is my children saying they are bored.  it is slightly sunburned shoulders.  it is cold beer that my brother brings to a family cookout.  it is horseneck beach, circa 1989.  it is sex.  it is my time to go back to massachusetts, and steep in the humidity, the people, the memories, the smell of a thunderstorm that is just around the corner.

i love winter with every fiber of my being, but summer is my saving grace.

right now.

listening to the ball hit the driveway pavement, and the two voices intermingling

"watch and learn, baby!" says the voice with my genes

the other voice deep and seasoned, yet only a year older

two friends on a friday night, boys still happy to hug each other tightly

and adore in public.

my son says, "i love to hug hugo.  he's just really fun to hug."

dinner thrown together that somehow merged into

something really wonderful.

the mockingbird screeches away in the backyard, occasionally flying

close to the dog, warning her away

the sun gone now, so i'm surprised to still hear him going on and on 

like he does.

my feet layer on each other, blue toenail polish chipped and worn

legs unshaven

hair wet and dirty, up away from my face

my eyes blinking deliberately

as if someone turned a dial inside of me

to slow me down.

body achey with the work of the day

moving boxes, stacking books,

cleaning the classroom that has housed me

funny how simple things 

can make you hurt.

days away from the end of this time

with these children who work me

who teach me

and i am so happy to say goodbye

and so scared i left something undone.

tomorrow i will cut my hair

even though i am unsure

tomorrow i will say, "fuck it"

and i will be shorn anew

and i will remind myself of the girl 

i was before

and i will be fine.

149.

the number has been weighing down on my head for the past few weeks, listing my brain from side to side, meandering back and forth between the smart girl and the sad girl.  it means nothing, really; nothing that i can truly decipher--nothing that should take root inside of me--and yet it does, it does, it does--goddamnit, it still does.

the number of the total amount of weight my body gives to this planet is 149.  last year at this time it was 142.  the seven digits in between should not matter, should not matter.  i can point to the side-effects of my drugs for the reason--or my metabolism changing--or my inability to keep a regular exercise schedule combined with my overability to eat ice cream every single night, sometimes with homemade magic shell on top.

dreamy.

i am so disappointed in myself that i still get stuck here, in the morass of surfaceness.  i still find myself judging this body of mine, this glorious thing that made two babies and has kept me upright and steady throughout 41 years.  how dare i demean it?  how dare i look away from the belly and the thighs and (god forbid) the uneven hips with the fat pockets on them?  shouldn't i stare them down, deep and deeper, and just thank them with every ounce of my soul?

would i feel this way if my breasts were bigger, to even out the look?  my 36As are barely hanging on, sliding to each side, and sometimes i imagine even one handful more could make me accept it all.  but then, i think about the fact that these little buds have fed two babies (worked hard for almost 7 years)--and they've never betrayed me with a lump or hurt me when i run.  they are just there, keeping up appearances as best as they can, and why should they accept anything but love and gratitude from me?  

they shouldn't.  not one inch of this skin should put up with this bullshit mind trip i'm on right now.

this trip is saying things like: "i can't cut my hair if i have these extra pounds on," and "this shirt doesn't look good on me anymore" and "i am unattractive". that last one yells at me the loudest.

 these thoughts are unnecessary, awkward, and ridiculous.  

i am capable of much better.

like today: standing at the counter at 6: 24 in the morning, about to wash the dishes, taking a raspberry from a forgotten lunchbox container and putting it in my mouth.  letting the soft little globes burst on my tongue, my right foot resting on my left knee, balanced.  taking one with fingers unencumbered, then another, letting them melt into each other inside in my mouth, knowing the first bit of nourishment to enter me today was nothing short of miraculous.

this is what i am of capable of--these moments of reality and grace and being able to appreciate this body for what it truly is.  if only i could sustain that--if only i all the women in my life could feel that--could stop hurting themselves by casual comments of weight loss and inadequacy--could stop comparing what is the only thing in this whole world that is truly and rightfully theirs to someone else's.

what is the point?

the only thing i should be thinking about these thighs is how strong they are; how they can still help me crouch down to look eye-to-eye at a child who needs me.  my small breasts are sent from heaven during the summer months when wearing a bra is akin to corset-wear.  and these hips bore the weight of two eight-pound plus babies, and shock everyone by the way that they move when the right song is playing. they shock me, and i am part of them.

what good is the 149 to me, in the end?  the only thing that number should mean is the amount of breaths i give myself, the number of times i rub lotion into my skin, how many times i smile today.  how many kisses i get in a week.  the length of a movie that makes me happy.  the amount of money that i will spend at the spa this summer with my best friends.  

fucking 149.

that's all that it should be.

saturday.

this is what weekend love looks like...