A random Friday in October 2023

 Dear Jay,

For a school assignment recently you wrote about this blog, and how you'd found it randomly searching your name.

I forgot, actually, that you were always the intended audience for this blog.  In a lot of ways I was writing it for me, so I would remember.

Right now I'm home, finishing my workday before I drive downtown to pickup Grandma Bear, who is taking the train from where she lives, to San Francisco to visit this weekend.

Where you are, of course, is in the middle of the United States, attending college, where you've been for two months already.

Your bedroom is exactly how you left it. In some ways it feels like you've just gone out for the day, and will be back later tonight.  I'll peek into your room in the morning and you'll be asleep. But no, you're not here.  Sometimes one or both of the cats sleeps on your bed, and sometimes when I need a change of scenery I lay down on your bed and gaze out the window at the big trees.

I don't really have a point to this. Does there need to be one?  It's hard to believe that the time we had together every day, was so fleeting.  Even those tremendously long pandemic days, where we navigated around each other, maintaining a fragile sanity.  Even those days, in retrospect, flew.

So many memories arise when I'm writing in the morning in the dining room, and see photos on the automated picture frame.  When a photo of you appears, often I'll send it off to you with a heading like "that time when we had fancy drinks in a bar in London" or "that time when we zip-lined in Puerto Vallarta", or recently I told someone about my approach to taking a big test - if you well, we get ice cream.  If you don't do well, we get ice cream.  Love is not at risk.  Love is never at risk.

Let's lower the stakes about 50%, and see if that helps.

I've got to dash to pick up grandma. 

I love you.

A million plus infinity.

Mom

Nineteen, April 2023

 Dear Jay,

So many things have shifted, spiraled, reset, righted, wronged, and happened since I last posted here.  I have aspirations of filling in the gaps between "Ten", my last post, written seven years after you turned ten, but sometimes it's easiest to start from where I am, not from where I hope to be, or someday plan to do.

I was thinking about something that arose the other day, in the chaos that is the financial separation between your father and me.  Which sucks, in five hundred different ways, but I wouldn't trade all the suckage for you, while also feeling so many feels that you're in this mess too.

But that's not where I'm going, not today.  What I want to write is about 2014, when I changed jobs from the small company with the "park" and stage in the middle of the warehouse-style office,  for the fancy, well funded startup near Union Square.

And the question you asked me, the one posed to you, is did I take that second job for less pay, with the understanding I would work less time, but then not actually take the time off?

Yeah.  

There are a dozen reasons why, but the truth is simple.  

I did work more than I had agreed to, even if the communication was fuzzy, and my super-sized sense of responsibility was so fierce that I continued to work at my last job, while also working at my new one, but I realized that I did take off early one day every week for something that was really important to me:

You.

I wrote about it here, and I'm pasting it below, so it doesn't get lost.  What you may not know is that I also posted this on my company's internal blog platform, to make it abundantly clear that I was leaving early every Tuesday, and why.

I love you, my brilliant and brave teenager.

Mom

💜

The Sweetest Day of the Week 🍦

On Tuesdays, I hang out with my daughter.

I have a commitment.

It’s the kind of promise that is easy to break, and sometimes I think it’s not worth it because the pull of work is so strong.

Except when my daughter reminds me:
“It’s Mommy and Ava day today!”

We started “Mommy and Ava Day” three years back, when I transitioned from flexible contract work to a full time job. Ava requested one afternoon where I picked her up when school ended so we had time together.

Caring for my daughter is fleeting and transient. Each year she ages she needs me less for what I do for her (she can bathe, clothe, and make lunch herself), but she still needs me. I’m reminded of this every Tuesday afternoon, when I show up at her school, wait outside the doors as school lets out, chat idly with other parents.

She grins when she sees me. Even though she’s a big fifth grader now, I still get hugs in front of friends. “How was your day, Mommy?” she asks.

I always answer honestly. “Today was rough because of (this problem or that problem)” or “Today was great, I figured out a problem I’ve been struggling with for a week!”

On our brief drive home, I’ll ask about her day.

“My day was horrible,” she said today, “I am so glad it’s Tuesday.” She tells me how volleyball was horrible, because she’s the smallest in her class, and missed the ball. She tells me how she was disappointed because her class didn’t have a math quiz today and how she loves math. (I try not to be obviously excited.)

When we get home from school, we have a ritual.

We put away all electronics, even my phone. Ava’s father does his best to stay away until after 6pm, to give us this time together.

Then Ava grabs a stool & pulls out all of the ice cream from the freezer while I grab the chocolate sauce from a high shelf. One of us grabs the whipped cream and cherries. Maybe I toast & chop some almonds. We make a colossal yummy concoction of ice cream that we jokingly call a “Tuesdae.”

We dive into one bowl with two spoons and chat about everything.

I’m not going to give up specifics on our Mom-and-daughter chats, but you were ten once, so think crushes, friend drama, bras, human anatomy, etc. Ava’s said to me at least twice, “I know you were my age once, and you have probably been through this before.”

I hide my glee at her comment, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Every Tuesday we discuss some topic that makes me infinitely grateful I took off early.

🍦

Quality conversations don’t happen frequently other days after school, when I’m rushing to pick her up by 6pm from her after school program, hoping I’m not the last to pick up, again. Or when I’m staring at the inside of the refrigerator at 6:30, hunger irritation building and no clue what to cook.

Exhaustion and hunger are not ingredients for meaningful conversation.

Sometimes these poignant chats happen with our family of three over dinner, but more often than not, our modern busy trio eats while doing something else, close to 8pm, before I’m rushing Ava to make her lunch for tomorrow, then get ready for bed, has she finished her homework yet, and please put away the iPad or Chromebook, even though I’m checking email on my phone.

Which is why I love Tuesdays.

🍦

At some point Ava will be a teenager, the coin may flip, and instead of Ava reminding me that it’s Ava and Mommy Day, I may be reminding her. I imagine the teenage angsty-groan that I hope will never come.

But perhaps the ritual will override her possible resistance, and our conversation will continue.