I Remember...

I have not written in a while.

Okaaay, six months. (Seven???)

It's pathetic, considering how much better I feel when I do write. But I have a really good excuse, which is, that I've been lazy and unmotivated.

Actually, that's not entirely true, I actually have been writing a lot. At night. IN MY HEAD. I just haven't found the energy to put pen to paper (finger/keyboard) and get anything down. I sit in bed, unable to sleep, but more unable to get myself out of bed and in front of the computer and type. And so my thoughts swirl around inside my brain scrambling to get themselves into some order, while the other part of my brain promises me that I absolutely WILL NOT forget any of these great, amazing, life-changing thoughts I'm having...this time. (My brain is a LIAR.)

And so I drift off to sleep, relying stupidly on my totally unreliable mental "save" button, which of course.... as usual, fails to work. And by morning I've permanently deleted all my ideas. The turns-of-phrases that I just knew at 2 AM would revolutionize writing -- GONE.

But while I can't remember any of the half-assed eloquent ways in which I wanted to say anything, I do  sort of remember some of the things I wanted to write about.

I remember that I was going to write about the end of the school year because like most of life's big events, it almost killed me. My first baby was leaving first grade. And my baby baby was leaving nursery school. And of course I. Couldn't. Take. It. Despite the fact that every single day felt like it lasted for 14,000 hours, the year still, somehow, managed to FLY by. When did those seemingly endless days actually end? Where did the time, that was dragging on oh so slowly, GO? 

I was able to hold it together a smidgen more than I had when my first baby graduated from kindergarten the year before, but not by much. My little boys are growing up. It's my fault of course, because I do things like feed them and water them and love them and talk to them. I help them grow. I give them the tools they need to grow. Because some (most) days I really NEED them to finally grow the f!*@# up and stop needing me to do every single little thing for them -- like cook. And smile.

But when they actually start getting bigger and doing these things for themselves I start to wither a little (lot) bit because they are my babies and I don't want them to grow up. I want them to stay small and sweet and cuddly forever. I need them to need me because if they don't need me to do things for them then what do I do?

And so they graduated from yet another year of school and got bigger and smarter and more independent, and I loved it and hated it all at the same moment. It was almost enough to call off the vasectomy and try just one more time. (Calm down mom, I didn't.)

I remember that I was going to write about teaching my youngest son to ride his bike without training wheels. And how proud I was of him (and me) until I realized that he could fall and get hurt. And I remember that I was thankful that we lived within walking distance from a Menards and that I could literally run out and go buy some bubble wrap and just wrap him in it for a few years and keep him safe in our basement until his bones were harder and his skin thicker. And then I remember thinking, no.

I remember that I was going to write about my apparent brain freeze when it came to planning for summer. How I bravely (foolishly, wonderfully) shrugged off any and all ideas of (a structured!!, creative!!, engaging!!, entertaining!! TIME CONSUMING!!!!!) camp and decided that just joining a pool and doing nothing really, would be just what we needed. I somehow failed to realize that this plan was GOING TO ADD an extra 18,000 hours onto my days which were already, as I mentioned, 14,000 long.

I remember that I was going to write about the fear and the panic and the anxiety I had when I realized what I had done by not planning a summer. And about the small stroke I had when I realized that this wonderful pool that I had joined didn't actually open until 1 PM every day and so what were we going to do with our mornings???????????

I remember that I was going to write about how I decided that I'd use my mornings wisely. I'd home school my children until it was time to swim. Yes, that's it, we'd be productive! I'd turn off Facebook and the computer and close my book. I'd patiently and lovingly show my youngest son that to make a proper "G" you don't start at the bottom of the page and end up six inches above the paper on the wood table. We'd learn to stay between the lines. I'd work on my oldest sons' "out loud" reading. They'd be reading Shakespeare and writing soliloquies in Latin by end of summer. We'd fill up our notebooks and our minds. And we did. Well, one morning, anyway. (Please, I don't know Latin. I don't even know the French I spent a decade studying.)

I remember that I was going to write about our first day at the pool and how my youngest son CLUNG to my neck like a leaden albatross, while my oldest son yelled at me from the side that he wanted to go on the high dive RIGHT NOW!! And how I realized then that my little guy had to learn how to swim IMMEDIATELY or I'd be declared certifiable by July. And so, I taught my youngest how to swim on his own... on my own.  
*** Actually here I have to give most of the credit to Michael Phelps who mesmerized my boys for two weeks straight. Despite the fact that he wasn't actually in the water with my son, I know that it was he who really got him swimming. 

I remember that I was going to write about my oldest son going off the diving boards for the first time. How he walked to the end of that nine-meter high board and stood there holding his nose and looking down in terror. How, after 10 minutes, he bravely stepped off and....let himself drop. How in my mind, his form looked just like Greg Lougainis'. (Yes, I know there is someone more current, but I didn't really watch Olympic diving, so I DON'T KNOW.) Then, how he poked his head out of the well and screamed, "IT'S AWESOME!" for everyone between here and Russia to hear. I'd show you the video but it might give you a seizure because I was jumping crazily up and down while holding the camera.

I remember that I was going to write about how he tried to coax me into doing it next. Um, NO.

I remember that I was going to write about my surprise and happiness when, as it turned out, just joining a pool ended up being the perfect thing for both me and my boys. I was thrilled (surprised) by how much fun it was and how much fun they had every day just swimming and how I loved it -- DESPITE the fact that I sometimes (daily) complained about the lack of structure and ultimately wanted to string us all up from the ceiling fans by 5 PM every night because when your pool doesn't open until 1 PM, that means you can't leave the pool until around 4 PM, if you actually want to have time to swim, and when you live in Chicago that means TRAFFIC. Mind-boggling, aneurysm-inducing TRAFFIC.

I remember how I woke up one day and realized out of the blue (okay, when my husband pointed it out to me) that the boys are getting older and this might be one of the last summers that we can actually spend doing nothing because soon they will want to be in a camp (or worse, overnight camp!) with their friends and I will not be one of these friends they'll want to spend their days with and so I better enjoy it now.

I remember that I was going to write about my youngest son learning to read. Reading is my absolute most favorite thing in the whole world, so for me this is like, The Best Thing Ever. I remember how thrilled and ecstatic and PROUD I was. Until. The day he picked up a (still-unread!) book up off the coffee table and asked loudly, "Mommy, what is Fifty-Shades of Grey?"

I remember that I was going to write about the fact that every other kid on this planet started going back to school in August, but we didn't start until, like, March (September 10th) and how unfair that was. I was panicking that this summer was NEVER GOING TO END and I bemoaned this fact to anyone and everyone who would listen...until the CPS strike happened and I shut up and realized that I was so very lucky that my kids were in school on September 10th. How I understand that my boys are ridiculously fortunate to be in the amazing, awesome, school that they are in. Even if it does have a six-month summer break.

I remember VERY, VERY RECENTLY wanting to write about some big news in my family (not MY "my family" but "my family") but being told that NO, this was NOT going to be a social-media event. That it was, in fact, being handled the way a wonderful and special thing SHOULD be handled, i.e, tastefully -- and not tweeted all over twitter. And so I've been literally sitting on my hands to respect these wishes and not write about it. Even here. But I don't know how long I can keep that promise.

I remember that there were about a million other things I wanted to write about. My youngest son getting glasses. (Adorable.) My oldest son showing me his three new wiggly teeth. (Sad.) My baby showing me HIS three loose teeth which is DEFINITELY going to make me call off the vasectomy.

And lastly, I remember laying in bed and swearing to myself that I wouldn't forget about all the things I wanted to write about...tomorrow...when I wasn't so tired. And I swore that I'd get it all down in the morning.

And of course I forgot.

And the next time I put off writing, I need to remember that.

It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.