Much of what is said here
must be said twice...
Nobody will listen, it would seem,
if you simply admit
your baby left you early this morning
she didn't even stop to say good-bye.
But if you sing it again
with the help of the band...
people will not only listen;
they will shift to the sympathetic
edges of their chairs...
* * *
I was thumbing through a Billy Collins poetry book last night and that one spoke to me. Maybe because I've been a bit blue. Maybe because my baby done left me, too. (I said, my baby done left me, too. Do doo do do.) Or he will someday, anyway. He up and turned 11 today. The nerve!
Actually, it's with a lot of joy that we celebrate Sam today. We were sharing our favorite memories of Sam at breakfast today and G mentioned what a great head of hair Sam had as a baby: this shock of sandy hair standing straight up in the air like a gosling. He was a hit everywhere we went and the baby mascot for our ward and neighborhood.
He's always been a tender, strong, funny, smart sweetheart of a boy. I can't wait to see where his great heart and curious mind take him.
It's with a pocket of melancholy that I greet each of Sam's milestones. I grin and clap and hug and bake and (secretly, in my heart) cry a little. The crucible of the youngest child, I suppose (along with the fact that there are very few photos of just him in those early years). I did it almost from the moment he came home from the hospital (Holly Hunter style, in full sob mode: this is the last time I'll bring a newborn home from the hospital...the last time I'll watch the stumbling first steps...the last time I send a child to kindergarten).
I know, I know. Get over it. Kids grow and discover and stretch the apron strings and launch their own lives. Parents support and applaud and nudge and work themselves out of a job (or else become like the creepy stalker mom in Love you Forever
...sneaking in windows and climbing up ladders).
But I still reserve the right to get myself a microphone and a back-up band so I can belt out the blues on occasion.
* * *
In other blues news, my late summer blues/blahs are lifting, methinks.
And (coincidence?) we're heading off for a week in Maine (Acadia) for some forced togetherness dressed up all pretty in the guise of kayaking and walking and biking and playing games and eating.