Rain and Yellow Cushions. But not at the same time.

Today, it poured the rain, but only two times. Once while I was standing at the check-out desk in the library. I looked out and saw that huge rain bolts were streaking down the sky. The grayness of it made the trees full of blossoms pop with brightness. I wanted to dash out and run and play in that almost violent rain.

But I didn't. I stood there and finished checking out my books. Then I pushed Edmund in his stroller over to where the other kids waited for me, and we went outside. By the time we got out the door of the library, the rain had stopped.

I met a woman at a toy store last week. Her name is Mardi. She has three boys, her youngest born the day before my youngest was born. She was constantly thanking her kids for things. One son, Steven, who appeared to me to be seven or eight, was riding a little toy vehicle around the store. He bumped into his mom's leg with it. She said, with no trace of sarcasm in her voice, 

"Thank you for bumping into me."

"Sorry," said the kid.

"No, thank you. You needed attention, and you let me know by bumping into me. Thank you for letting me know."

Later, Johnny, who was playing with several other kids at a train table in the toy store, took a train away from Mardi's youngest (who is 14 months). I didn't notice he had done that, and little Skyler didn't seem to mind. Mardi said to Johnny,

"Thank you for taking that away from him.  I'm just going to give him this toy now so he'll have something to hold."

I did not know what to make of this. Despite this and other odd quirks (or maybe because of them), I liked Mardi. We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses so we can choose to become friends if we want to. I'll bet you can guess what I made sure to say to her as we parted.

With the help of Jeremy's mom, I finished fixing the cushions on two yellow armchairs I bought at a thrift store. I bought them in February, and now, in April, they are ready to be sat on. And we do sit on them. And I like them. Two months isn't too bad, right?

Projects like that are really satisfying, and if you have a good helper, not as hard as you think they will be when you are procrastinating them.

One thing that brings me great joy is reading the same books my husband reads. Ok, so we usually listen to them. He on his way to and from Princeton every day. Me while the boys watch their movie during Edmund's afternoon nap. Sure, a book club is great, but for me, reading something he's just finished and talking with him about it or having the satisfaction to hear that he's now listening to what I just recommended to him is another level of cool for me. 

Right now I'm listening to a novel he finished listening to several weeks ago. It's fascinating, well-written, and absolutely real. Mostly it's about a marriage. A woman in her marriage. More than once I have asked my husband to confirm to me that I am indeed quite different from the wife in this book. He has kindly done so.

A very sad thing has happened. Charlie has gotten too big to just grab bodily and hug. I still try, but my success rate is embarrassing. He's a big boy. Tall for almost six. Taller than the 8-year-old boy on our cul-de-sac. And though he is slim, he's not skinny. When I want to reconnect with Johnny, I simply get on the floor near him and scoop him into my hug. He giggles. I pretend to eat him. He insists that he's not food. But Charlie. I have to have something different for him. Of course. He's become harder to reach. But continue to try to reach him I must.

I wish I could turn him into a second or third child. I don't want the burden of first for him. Perhaps I can simultaneously ease the burden and more fully believe he can handle it. That's what I will try to do, because I love him.

When I listen to music, I find myself wanting to write songs. So maybe I should stop listening to music, eh?