The Day After Independence Day

I close the thick paperback and set it on our maple coffee table.

Mr. T is working on my laptop at the opposite end of the couch, closest to our 32-inch rear-projection TV. The room is almost dark so the computer screen spotlights his face. Behind his profile, I see that the listings on Channel 74 are rolling through. I stare straight ahead at them, but I don't notice what's on.

After a few rotations, I shake my gaze and look out the large window over the back of the couch and my right shoulder. My only reading light is about to go out, but it doesn't matter because I finished the book. I search the sky, take notice of a few puffy clouds among the twilight and breathe in the scent of artichoke and spinach pasta.

We are so lucky.

I shut my wet eyes.

***

Some stories affect me. Make me think about life and my life and my family. I can't help it. Does this happen to other people?

Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner did this to me. But it wasn't just his amazing plot or prose, it was the setting: Afghanistan. Like the twisting Khyber Pass described in the novel, the story winds the reader through the nation's modern history of war, from relative calm in the 1970s until the Soviet invasion later that decade and then the sharp turn to the height and terror of the Taliban's reign in the '90s.

I finished it on Sunday night, the day after Independence Day. We are fortunate to live here in America, to not have to walk around with fear in our bellies, but instead with the fresh-picked taste of freedom.

***

Earlier that evening, I slide on my flip-flops and buckle T Junior into his ride-on toy for our nightly stroll through our suburban Seattle neighborhood. We set out around the same time each day, just after the sun has crested, when it is ready to slide down the other side of the ocean. I push T Junior in the convertible Beetle-style car we bought him for his first birthday and he points a tiny, enthusiastic index finger at every vehicle -- van, Jeep, truck, bike or motorcycle -- that whizzes by.

As we turn into the first cul de sac on our route, T Junior rips his right fingers from his mouth to motion toward a lawn being watered. A string of saliva slingshots across the hood of his ride.

"Dis?"

"That's a sprinkler."

We pass it and he rocks his shoulders in time to the slow rhythm of the Rain Bird's song: cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...

"You're funny!"

We make our way around the wide loop at the end of the street and I think about the book I plan to finish tonight. I think about Afghanistan and its people. I think about green lawns and hoses and mowers.

Back at the mouth, the soundtrack to the American dream is audible again and T Junior starts swaying along...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...but then, the beat changes as the sprinkler rewinds itself: ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. T Junior reacts and stays in step by dropping each shoulder down and then up again and again, dancing from his hips in his little red car.

His choreography and coordination surprises me, and I am laughing and shaking my head as we turn the corner onto the main road. T Junior dances, slow then fast, and slow then fast until the sprinkler is out of earshot.

We are so lucky.

Whew, Where Has the Summer Gone?

I don't like the way stores try to rush us through each holiday.

For example, I noticed beach balls and squirt guns on the shelves at Walmart next to Valentine's Day chocolates a few months ago. Isn't that a little early? Doesn't that kind of spoil the fun of summer's arrival? Not to mention, here in Seattle, it doesn't actually feel like summer until mid-June.

Yesterday, we took T Junior to get a kiddie pool at Wally World. We walked in through the electronic doors, the smell of Subway's bread smacking us in the face. (Really, Subway? Do you have to pump it in so strong? You know it doesn't smell the same as warm loaf from a real patisserie, right?)

Blinded by the onion-laced bread aroma, we almost walked past the sun toys. A week ago, the water wings and Styrofoam noodles were in the seasonal section of the store, taking up three entire aisles. Plus, there were more towels and flip-flops over by the greeting cards (yeah, I thought that was kind of a weird spot, too).

Now, those same rows are packed with storage containers (for all the pool stuff you purchased back in February) and the first of the back-to-school supplies are trickling in. Didn't kids just get out of school? Hasn't summer just begun?

It's the Fourth of July today. Tiny American flags on wooden sticks claim potted plants from one end of the country to the other, and their big brothers flutter excitedly from the front of houses everywhere. Even the sun can't wait to celebrate. It was up around 4:30 this morning.

Moms and dads and their kids in garages all throughout our neighborhood are getting ready for the parade. Soon, me, Mr. T and T Junior will join them. At the dollar store, I purchased a shiny crimson star garland, little flags, patriotic pinwheels and a lei in red, white and blue for T Junior's plastic car. I even found a squishy baseball for him to hold.

The mood outside definitely screams summer. Just don't go into a store.

***

How are you celebrating the season?

Wednesday Was Sucky

Wednesday was one of those days. We all have them.

Technically, it started in bed on Tuesday night.

I felt Mr. T looking at me from the other side of The Kite Runner.

"Don't stay up too late reading."

But, of course, I did. I was right in the middle of the disturbing climax. At 11:30, I closed the novel and picked up my Sudoku workbook. I needed to unwind for a bit, and when I felt sleepy, I switched off the light.

"Ker."

Pause.

"Ker."

Pause.

"Ker!"

Oh! I did hear someone calling me. Mr. T's dark shadow hovered next to my side of the bed.

"Annie puked. Gonna turn on the light."

I saw it was 1:15 and sighed with my entire body.

The dog was already in the back yard, where I imagined she was eating grass like a goat. I fetched towels, and stood around blinking and yawning with my arms crossed in front of my torso while Mr. T cleaned up the mess.

Thank goodness I don't work on Wednesdays.

I returned to the soft sheets around 2. But I couldn't fall asleep right away because that scary part from the book was back. I couldn't stop thinking about it. After an hour or so, I shoved my brain in a different direction.

I guess I fell asleep because my eyes popped wide to sunlight seeping through the curtains. The baby monitor whined. I looked to the clock to get my bearings, but it was only 6:30. The level of brightness in the room made it feel like noon.

What? It's too early for T Junior to be up. He slept till 8 a couple days ago. Figures.

But the monitor remained quiet so I drifted out and then in when I heard him again and then out and in again until NPR made me get up at 7.

Usually, I get some time (15 minutes) to myself in the morning. I eat toast with butter, drink coffee with a half-teaspoon of Splenda and a splash of whatever flavor of Coffee-Mate had been on sale at Safeway. But not Wednesday.

I poured T Junior's milk into his green sippy cup, I broke a banana into three chunks for him, I toasted half of an English muffin and sliced two strawberries while the bread cooled. Then, I spooned a quarter-cup of cottage cheese into a plastic bowl.

By the time I finished cleaning up, T Junior was done eating. I knew this because he dropped the bowl on the floor splattering sticky curds everywhere. I tore off a paper towel and cleaned up the mess. Then, I ruffled through clean laundry in the dryer until I found a wash cloth, wiped the boy down and set him free in the living room.

Finally, at 8:30, I got my meal.

But the rest of the day followed the strange and annoying pattern that had been set the night before. T Junior was cranky and tired, and so was I, but at least I wasn't crying about it. Every little noggin bump from the coffee table sent him into a short, but intense, tantrum. Or, if his wagon got stuck on a toy. Or, if his little plastic truck fell over. Or, if I looked at him wrong. Seriously. I think he interited his mother's flare for the dramatic.

And, yeah, reading this now, it doesn't look like that bad of a day to me either. But, it was one of those days you just had to have been there. It was one of those that's just a hair off balance. Those days make the simplest inconveniences intolerable. You cringe from wet dog nose on your leg and you throw your hands up in defeat when a fork falls to the floor.

The thing is, when you're on the inside looking out, it feels worse than it is. You know what I mean?

But we get to start over, and today wasn't half bad.

***

How are you coping?

A Dada and a Mama

The box fan's on 2, the wind noise is blowing, and the white wood blinds and long chocolate curtains are shuttting out most of the summer evening's stubborn sunshine.

The robin's egg nursery is dimly lit by the mini lamp on the '50s teacher desk I found for 25 bucks at the Maple Valley Goodwill. It's right next to the oversized brown chair once used for nursing, now a place to read bedtime stories.

It's 7:45 p.m. on a Friday night, about 20 minutes behind schedule.

"Who's this?" Mr. T points to his own chest. "T Junior. Who's this?"

Our son is as long as his soft, yellow changing pad. He's laying on it in his diaper waiting for someone to put pajamas on him. "Dada," he whispers without removing his two favorite fingers from his mouth: the index and middle ones on his right hand.

"That's right! And, who's this?" Mr. T taps my collarbone.

"Mama." T Junior smiles with those fingers between his teeth, exposing his gap. A bead of saliva runs down the back of his hand.

"That's right! Mama!" Me and Mr. T clap and smile at each other.

My husband of seven years is beaming. His eyes glisten with joy. "He's so cute when he says mama."

I love my life.

Bit O' Blog Love

Amy and Christina.

Their names together sound like a Nora Ephron movie, but they are my friends in real and bloggy life. We all met when we worked together at a newspaper many years ago.

Today, Amy is the mom of an adorable toddler who adores his prized stuffed Piglet. She has good blog-life balance, and writes occasionally at This Life According to Amy. Christina also has an adorable toddler and a middle-schooler. She first came on the blog scene when her youngest was born at just 25 weeks and 4 days, but she now muses about being a mom and losing her job since her employer, Washington state's oldest newspaper, recently closed. See how she's staying busy over at ChristinaUnemployed.

Ladies, I just wanted to say a big bloggy thanks for being Sanity Department readers and for being great friends in real life! (Go to 5 Minutes for Mom to get your Loyal Commenter badge.)