Slim

“Keep me posted, Slim.”

That’s my brother Jamey‘s way of signing off when we send each other texts. “Slim.” Good old brother. Today I text-told him I have about nine irons in the fire right now and am feeling overwhelmed. I’ll tell you about them, too, but first I need some chips.

OK I’m back.

For starters, everyone’s so frigging grumpy around here these days. Myself included. School’s about to let out. As in, three days from now. The kids’ friends are going to scatter to the wind for the next three months. And they’re going to miss their teachers. And what if their teachers next year are mean? (Cry).

“What temp will it be today?” the children ask in the morning, their shoulders slumped inside character PJs. Who knows? Is it Spring, Summer, or Winter? In the arc of any one day, it’s all three. They’re trying to do the right thing: get dressed before coming down for breakfast. Except that 1) they don’t know the forecast, and 2) their drawers are empty.

“Uh, did you look in the dryer?” I offer, in response to a request for a certain special Star Wars t-shirt. When my son comes up bust, I keep going. “Try the pile on the den sofa. Or the living room sofa. Hey, I got it!  Check the stair landing.”

Clothes cover every surface of the house; why complain that there’s nothing to wear?

Don’t be sarcastic, I pre-emptively self-scold. Refrain from proposing a whining contest or a competition for the most-sunken eyes. Just make the eggs and shut it.

I toss plastic cups of applesauce into lunchboxes and make my plans for the day. Fourteen hours of childcare stand between me and the gaping maw of summer. I can edit a manuscript in fourteen hours, right?  And rework a design for a 1,000 s.f. home? Oh, and Slim, please remember to schedule a mammogram, even though you’ve lost the form your doctor gave you with the boobs drawn on it.

This last bit I didn’t include in the texts with my brother. So in the off-chance that he’s reading this, I’ll ambush him with some insider mammogram information: the techs give you novelty band-aids with little BBs in the middle. They’re to cover your nozzles for the pictures. When you leave, if you’re in a rush, to save time you might opt to remove the band-aids later, and then, when you see them again just before falling into bed at night, you think, “Wow, that was today?” because it feels like a week ago.

These reasons, and more, are why we’re all grumpy around here.

Jamey, I left my cell phone in the door pocket of the car, and went out just now in the dark to get it. The gravel around the wheels held wells of shadows from our footprints today. It was so beautiful that I forgot all about the phone.

Love,

Slim