Junior Year...jury's still out...

 My alarm chimed this morning.

(Literally. As in..."Wind Chimes", courtesy of the ringtones/notifications/etc app I downloaded ages ago...back in those "halycon" pre-Covid days when schedules were life and every task had its own tone.)

So chime it did. Sweetly and softly, just barely rippling through the deep dark quiet of 5a.m. I ignored it, silencing the alarm with one hand and the whimper of Henri next to me with the other. Co-sleeping...such a misnomer. He sleeps in fits and starts while I cling to the side of the bed, scared to move. The crib lies vacant just a few feet away. Rejected. As it is every night over and over and over again until I finally give in and bundle him up into the center of my bed...clear off the blankets and pillows...and lay rigidly against the outside, barring any rolling off or cat clambers. The night had been long...barely time to drift between nursing demands. The alarm chimed and I groped about for the phone. Turned off the volume. Rocked my little neighbor with one arm and turned my head, closing my eyes...counting down again...

And then I woke.

But a minute later, or maybe two. The alarm. THE alarm. The first day of back to school...minus the back, the to, and the school. Time to rise and shine and prep for the unknown. Time to wake my Junior.

He picked the time, by the way. Not that you were wondering. Time for coffee...served hot and steaming...passed from my weary hands to his groggy ones. Time for breakfast and a shower. Time for a first day photo. Time, more importantly now, for playing with his little brother...squeezing in a book or two and their beloved floor time routine.

Some time later, I stood in the kitchen, my own mug gone lukewarm...listening to the happy baby chortles and sing-song baritone. I'd just finished rearranging the dining area...a bit of the push this here/remove that there swap...to take us from dining to zooming. Small space living is forever a balancing act, now all the more so with another purpose for the room to serve. School. A window into the world, or a window into his private life. Either way, uncomfortable.

Over breakfast I asked him how he was feeling about Remote-Learning. He answered right away...years of life with me must have taught him well...he can guess the questions well in advance.

"So here's the thing, Mami: I enjoy learning. You know that. We're alike.

I like new information and new challenges. I like learning. But not school.

School is where they teach "the What" but not "the Why".

It's sort of like the manuals that come with Ikea flat-packs. There's a parts listing (and you hope all the pieces are there!) and the diagrams, but it's up to the individual student to build it out. And more than that...it's only the instructions for the basic model. You want to customize it? Create something more suited to your lifestyle or your creativity? That's all on you. All you get in the manual-the school-is the basic/the average/the conventional. And sometimes that's just so damn frustrating! It's that feeling of "Here's something new and exciting to explore...but, no, we're not actually going to do anything with it".

So it's definitely time to try something new.

I don't know if this is it. But it's worth the trying, I suppose.

The schedule is way shorter, so maybe that means more time for self-guided learning?

I'm nervous what impact the shortened schedule will have on the quality of education. Longer periods but less frequent. Will that mean cramming things in faster, or losing out on some of the material? And assessments? How are they handling quizzes and tests? How will assessments be equitable in this hybrid-schoolyear?

But since you asked...I'm glad to be attending remotely. Wish that had been an option all along. I'm glad to be able to circumvent all the overwhelming 'white noise' of sensory chaos and just focus on the learning."

He answered...and I wrote (in Mami shorthand)...knowing I'd want to see it here in years to come. The moment passed. Breakfast done and the hustle and bustle resumed.

I stood in the kitchen with my coffee, waiting to be called in, and thinking back on all the frenetic first days in the past.

No bus to wait on this morning.

No bookbag to repack.

No supply list posted at the front door.

Just this. Easing on in. Rearranging the furniture and opening the Chromebook.

His school day began when the meeting opened. I watched him raise his hand and wave, a wry grimace of a smile on his face. I watched his eyes tracking across the screen. Heard the staccato click on fingers on keyboard. Saw his head nod and heard him say his name...repeating it for the teacher who still pronounce it incorrectly...marking himself as "present".

I caught his eyes briefly, the smallest acknowledgement that he was "good to go", before I whisked Henri from the crib and wrestled him into the carrier for our walk.

While the newly christened Junior watched (literally) his school-day begin, the junior and I headed down the drive and walked in the cool damp of early morning. Back and forth. Forth and back. I spoke nonsense to him. He played at enraptured audience. We breathed in the fresh air and heard the birdsong. We watched squirrels flirt and wrestle. We stood, both with eyes gone wide with surprise, as school busses drove by.

None of this even remotely like what came before.

Dear Younger Me /or/ Life in the Time of Covid-19 (version2.0)

Dear Younger Me,

    

    NO. WAIT.  STOP!  DON’T THROW ME AWAY!

    NO BUTTERFLY EFFECT WILL BE TRIGGERED BY THE READING OF THIS!!!

    

    Whew...okay, you’re still here…
    

    Apologies for the shouting...I know how your mind works.  I promise I’ve run this through all the algorithms to make sure no part of it will adversely affect you or your family. Speaking of: Congrats!  You, super Mami, will make it through labor and delivery by the skin of your teeth...and let me tell you, it will be a rough ride but well worth it.  Henri is everything you are dreaming up right now, and more!  So set your mind at ease (ha!) and try to squeeze in a few more catnaps in the recliner before he decides to arrive.  Oh, and maybe stock up on post-partum recovery supplies on your next wander’bout the good old aisles of Tar-Jay.  (T.P., my friend...T.P.  Grab a truck load...you’re gonna need it!)  Now, how to word this so it doesn’t trip any alarms…

Be kind to yourself.
Give yourself grace to recover.
And become comfortable with the mute button.

    Anyhow...you know how right now as you read this you are worrying the heck out of yourself over Johannes?  Yeah?  Don’t!  Waste of time, young one...waste of time.  He’s going to surprise the heck out of you.  Without any spoilers (Sorry...didn’t pass inspection on any of them!) let’s just say he’s going to be the best big brother the world has ever seen. 

    So, obviously, we both know ‘something’s up’...or else I wouldn’t have risked writing to you like this. Here’s what I’m allowed to tell you:

    That virus in Asia?  It’s not staying there.  Change is coming, fast and hard.  Familiarize yourself with some new terminology now.  Go ahead and google:
    

PPE
Cytokine Storm

Distance Learning

Social-Distancing

    Whew...Mami...now, breathe.  I know, you’re hopped up on all those pregnancy hormones, but come back down to earth.  It’s really not that bad!  I mean, it is...bad…   But you don’t need to worry about it now.  What you need is a game plan.  Again, T.P.  Toilet Paper is the name of the game...trust me on this.  Just go ahead and stock up now.

    So before your crazy hormonal self spirals out of control and you think I’m writing to you from some post-Apocalyptic future where asymptomatic-carriers are mixing it up in violent protest, and Cheeto worshippers demonstrate Darwinian stereotypes, and the government hunkers into bunkers, and murder-hornets force us all indoors...take a breath (1...2...3...in...1...2...3...out) and rest assured, only 3 of those things are true.

 
    You know how everyone keeps talking to you like it’s your first go-round at motherhood, what with the “sleep before the baby comes” and “get your prep work in now”?  Err...yeah, they’re right.  Go Nike-style and Just.Do.It.  Sleepless nights are coming, and Henri’s only half to blame.   Remember that google spree you just went on?  PPE?  Get used to the sound of 3D printers running 24/7.  And prepare yourself to be prouder of Johannes then you’ve ever been before.  He’s going to surprise you. (Oh, crap...you caught that pluralization of the printer, didn’t you? Yeah, maybe start rearranging the kitchen now…”if you move it, they will come” and all.  Oh, and stock up on filament and plastic bags and print-bed tape now…you do NOT want to know how much I’m spending on shipping these days. Just go ahead and jump on Amazon quick and I’ll wait…

    Yeah, so, you fell asleep, huh?  What do you mean, “How do I know?”.  I’m you, idiot.  Future you, sitting here with my bank account screen open, hoping my words of wisdom got through to you in time to get my balance out of the red. Nevermind, I know you needed it...that whole pregnancy-insomnia thing…

    So where were we?  Right...PPE.  It’s going to consume every waking hour (and yeah, they’ll all be waking hours...Henri has reflux and since you can’t do a thing about it, it’s safe to tell you!) and basically take over the house.  Good news, though: PPE production will be Johannes’ saving grace.  Investing his skills and talents into this social-project will keep his anxiety at bay, and distract him from what you will come to learn is the de-educating of American youth known as “Distance Learning”.   You know that term “Busy Work”?  Let’s just say it’s in no way IEP-compliant, or tailored to the individual learner, or...frankly...of any educational use whatsoever.  That said, it serves a purpose: school compliancy with fulfilling 180 days no matter the how-what-where.  Prepare yourself though...it will drone on and on and on...pointless and predictable and much to the frustration of both you and Johannes...right up until today. 

    Distance-Learning is a blessing in disguise though.  You’ll both spend so much time staring at his computer screen, waiting for teacher updates and grading, that not being able to go anywhere ever won’t even leave a ripple.  Remember those shipping fees and our bank account?  Yeah...let’s just say online shopping is your Olympic sport!  I’m told it’s okay to let you know that Quarantine-Life is coming, bringing a halt to shopping for non-essentials and a massive slooooow down to shopping for groceries.  You know the gas lines at Costco?  Reimagine them as people-queues...but with 6 feet between each person and wrapping round the parking lot.  It will also shut down public spaces such as your local library (enjoy reading your current loans about 2 dozen times!), parks and recreation.  I’m here to let you know that Ergo Baby Carrier you’ve been eyeing up is totally worth the $$$...you WILL be walking up and down that side road A LOT!  Plus side:amazing convos with J-Bug while Henri lolls chest-side!

    All that staying home is a good thing, though.  You know how Johannes is?  Yeah...I know you know.  Well, social-distancing is his jam!  Just follow his lead!  He’s been avoiding peeps for years...he’ll show you how it’s done.  (And listen to him when he tells you to take your own advice.  All I can say is “the only opinions that matter come from people who matter to you” are the wisest words you’ve ever uttered and you are going to need to start practicing what you preach!)  Go ahead and let him “waste his time” on that Nightstrike mask if he wants to...it might just come in handy!

I know, I know...your eyes are starting to glaze over.  Hit that pedal and recline away...but put the blanket on your lap first..the cat’s claws haven’t been trimmed and we both know how much she enjoys napping right on that belly!  Yeowch!  I think by now Henri has grown quite adept at the in-utero kickoff!

    

    Naptime over so soon?  Okay, let’s dive back in...springtime is coming, and with it, social unrest.  Be prepared to hit the unfriend button...a lot...in the coming weeks as your clown-car of acquaintances begin to show their true colours.  The “Orange Orangutan” will prove once again that there is literally No Limit to his long-game con of the American public, his ability to stir things up, and his white supremacist leanings.  Just...be prepared.  It’s going to get nasty on all fronts, and you’ll find yourself divided between supporting the push for racial equality and supporting your friends in the first-response field. Thankfully, Henri will start rolling over and pre-crawling right when it hits fever-pitch, so you’ll be too distracted keeping him alive to fall into the pits of despair. 

    Listen, you’ve got this.  The family motto isn’t “Roll with the Punches” for nothing, after all.  It’s going to be a rough season for sure, but you’ll make it to today at least!  And hey, all that Social-Distancing will serve as a great excuse for avoiding those who are generally too close for comfort...You KNOW who we mean! 

    So stay safe...stay healthy...and when they say “push”...dig in like your life depends on it...

    

    It Will!

 
                ~You, Me, and She

P.s- Feel free to pack away all your “nice” clothes.  You won’t be wearing any of them anytime soon.  Oh, and pants!  No need for them either.

P.p.s- Do Not Under Any Circumstances pack away your makeup.  Zoom is coming...and hi-def is not your post-partum friend!

Dear Younger Me /or/ Life in the Time of Covid-19 (version1.0)

Another long abandonment comes to a close.

Despite the silence, the space still exists here, just waiting to be filled up with all the words.

To that end, enjoy this little offering "in two parts"...the first: written by my longtime-editor/cause-of-caffeine-dependency/firstborn son, as his final assignment for the school-year.  The second to follow in another post: my first attempt at filling a page in months.
~~~

Dear Younger Me,

    

    No, not the song title. ‘Tis I, your future self! *Pen flourish*  Worry not, I’ve no intention of altering the timeline. I’m just here to prepare you a bit, for what’s to come.

    By now, you’re probably aware of that somewhat mysterious virus in Asia, and are mildly concerned about it, though thankful that you are safe at home on American soil. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean quite what you think. In fact, quick tangent here: you might want to stock up on some at-home basics right about now, such as toilet paper and sanitizer. The virus, COVID-19, will eventually go on a world-tour, spreading its pestilence far and wide. The first real casualty here in the United States will be the existing public health system, as hospitals scramble to provide care for a massive uptick in patients. Worldwide demand on the necessary hospital equipment will be shockingly higher than the supply, resulting in many countries instituting lockdowns and quarantines in an effort to slow the spread. 

    Is your anxiety beginning to peak, yet?  Worry not!  I’m here to tell you that this season of your life will be the one in which you rise to the occasion! You’ll suddenly find yourself up ‘til all hours, printing and packaging PPE to donate to all the front-line workers and first-responders, because the official supplies keep getting seized by the government for their private stash. While the general public will be doing its best to “flatten the curve” by engaging in something you’ll come to know as Social-Distancing, the Head Cheeto in Charge ©️ Nightstrike’s Customs will be holding hospital supplies hostage. You, though, and other socially-minded young people will step up and find ways to produce the very items hospitals need most. Ingenuity and creativity, as well as 3-D printers will win the day! Speaking of, quick tangent alert again: maybe stock up on filament now?!? You do not want to see the shipping costs I am dealing with, young engineer!

    Speaking of rising to the occasion: You’ll have to learn how to juggle prototyping, PPE-delivery, a mysterious time-depleter known only as “Distance Learning,” and helping out with your new baby brother Henri. Good luck! You’re going to need it! Good thing you’ve always been a pursuer of higher knowledge, buddy. By the time we meet, you’ll have earned you professorship!

    You, my friend, will end up looking back on the days you were trapped in the school building, and realize that the old adage is true: you never know how good it is until it’s gone.  Back then,you were at least learning something new every day. Let’s just say “Busy Work” will be the new curriculum. Teachers will scramble to find ways to keep students engaged, without the benefit of in-person learning. It won’t work out well. Your schoolwork will continue, and Watchung Hills will be that one school that does not accommodate those who lack in some area, be it a quiet space to work, or simply a lack of a computer to use. But you will make it through, and you will be able to relax, at least a little.

    Some three months in or so, people will think that everything’s going back to normal, but you know that won’t be the case. Society at large will be “tired” of having had to adjust their typical lifestyles and the first stirrings of unrest will be explosive. Racism will have a major influx the likes of which you’ll have only read about in History books. You’ll see playing out in real-time, the concept of survival of the fittest as various bigot groups forgo safety precautions to willfully spread their hate.

    Friends will be made, friends will be lost, and the effects of, well . . . 2020, in general, will continue, as tensions rise, and you start to fear that you’ll be silenced by the new policies put in place. Brutality and violence will increase exponentially, and, at the time I write this, it may even end up reaching Somerset County. But things will change. Maybe not for a while, but hopefully for the better.

    Don’t stress over your mistakes, but recognize that you now can do better.

    

    Don’t worry about things possibly getting worse.

    It’s out of your control!!!

    What IS in your control, is your life. Make the best of it, and don’t worry about the negative in the world, or you’ll find yourself worrying for the rest of your life. 

                            Stay safe, and healthy,
                                J. W.

    P.S. Don’t worry about the cat, either! She’ll eventually come around to liking Henri.

    P.P.S. Maybe ask your mother if you can take a turn on the stock market and dump some extra change into a little thing called Zoom.

...fogged over...

November's clipping along at a steady pace, and blissfully predictable so far.  We're out of the pitch-black-mornings of early fall and (mostly) adjusted to the school schedule.

It seems (dare I say) that things are finally falling into place.

Yeah...yeah...

*knockonwood

*fingerscrossed

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By comparison though, just a handful of months ago, things were...grim.

Grim. Gray.

Even grimy.

So much so that I myself felt grim-gray-and grimy, by association.

The sickness that I had allowed into my life had turned into a full-blown contagion, taking down everyone and everything it came in contact with.  It had spread its greedy fingers out into every nook and cranny...and lodged itself deep into the subconscious...springing up unbidden and unwanted to suck the very joy out of summer.

And there was naught that I could do.

I had invited it in.

I had chosen so to do.

And, frankly, I had to see the whole thing through...

But during that time...those 2+ years of dancing with the devil...I, too, had succumbed.  I had gone dark...letting it fester within me.

(And don't get me wrong...I knew what I was doing.  I purposefully and knowingly chose this path. I  would do so again, in a heartbeat.  It was worth it.)

I had felt myself slip and slide down that slope, and done nothing to slow my fall.  Knowing as I did then but couldn't yet put into words, that I had to be "all in" in order to make it work.  Knowing that it had to be real.   Knowing that I had to force myself into genuinely caring, or I'd show my cards.

So the grim and gray and grimy seeped in.

Messages turned into conversations.

Days turned into weeks.

The infection took root.

And all too soon...all too quickly...everything beautiful that I had built my life into was fogged over.

Out of reach.

Out of view.

Out of sync.

All I knew was the pervasive fog that had settled in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's November now, and fall is here in full force.  Crisp, windy days play off of bitter, rain-soaked ones.  Leaves and acorns pelt my head every time I step out the front door.  And the nights bring fog rolling in across the roadways, swallowing up marvel and menace both, as we blindly make our way  home in the dark from this program or that. 

It comes up fast, or so it seems, in our neck of the woods.  A quick unfurling of distortion...softening the sharp edges and blending one thing into another and another and another...

...until there is just a wall of gray.

We drive along.  The sickly yellow beam of the foglight barely reaching a foot ahead.

Eyes narrowed.  The gas pedal barely engaged.  Nerves at the ready to spring into action and slam on the brake.  Concentration furrowing the brow as we both stare down at the sliver of road before us.

It's all we can see.

All we can make out.

A few feet...maybe less...of pavement in front of the hood.

We drive along.

Knowing full well that the fog hides dangers.

Knowing they are there...just beyond view...

Knowing there's nothing we can do to avoid them.

We stare down at that road with low-expectations.

We won't make it home anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November is begun.

It's been months now, of settling into the comfort of the familiar.  Of wrapping ourselves back up in the beautiful patchwork quilt of the life I built for us.

Nature's reminder...the fog of fall nights...evokes the darkness that owned me so recently.

But the crisp sting of wind on my cheeks when I open the door each morning serves as counterpoint...reminding me that I am free.

There is contrast here, now.  Sharpness and details and saturation.  Sometimes it even clashes.  Colors at war with one another.  Softness brushing up against prickers. 

More, now, than I saw before...before the fog rolled in.

More, now, than I have seen these many, many years since first I stepped foot on the freedom trail.

It seems I've finally reached my destination.

It seems I'm finally free.

Little did I guess that all it would take is another full-immersion soaking in that pit of grime for me to finally shake myself loose of any and all responsibility, guilt, heartache, sympathy, empathy, etc...and lay to rest those demons of the past.

Little did I know that I needed to drown in that very fog, in order to finally step out into the light.

~~~

...five minutes or less...

Hey, stranger!
(And yes, I'm talking to my computer screen 😜)

It's been forever and a day...again...since last my fingers tripped across the keyboard here in Casa Caffeine, and while "a break" this time was fully intentional, the ever-extending postponement on returning was not.

It just...

got comfortable.

To let things sit.

To not think things through.

To not worry them to bits.

And

Frankly

I was busy.

Self-imposed busy-ness, perhaps.

But busy, nonetheless.

With no time to waste on word play here.

Or, rather, no time I was willing to borrow against.

Time to cherish, as summer waxed and waned.

Time to work and rework.

Time to soak in the sunlight and son-light before school resumed.

Time to adjust to changes, big and small.

Time to grow...to expand enough to fit in everything new.

Time to feel and cope and accept and release.

And now?

Now I've five minutes of silence to fill.

Five minutes to check back in and shake off the cobwebs.

To sit here in draft mode and scroll through all the unwritten-unedited-unpublished detritus of time gone by...all those one and two line drafts from when I quickly jotted something down in hopes I'd find the time-words-energy to flesh them out.

17.

By the way.

17 drafts.

17 separate starts.

A few lines.

No punctuation.

Words meant to trigger the memory of whatever prompted me to want to write.

I'll get to them...in time...I'm sure.

But now?

I'm out of time again...

~Leanna

...r&r, and right back again...

Ah, that first sip of coffee this morning!
Pure.

Bliss.

~~~~

We just returned from a weekend "away"...something of a cross between a daytrip and a staycation, minus our usual go-go-go adventure seeking.

There were no grueling hikes.

No searching abandoned sites.

No gps coordinates.

No plans.

And it was perfect.

Junk food and time wasting and...

breathe...

Perfect!

I think this is the first time I've ever actually "planned" to do nothing.  And you know what?  It's a solid plan.  One worth repeating as oft as needed.

No muss. No fuss.  No stress.

We did it right.

Left behind our cares and concerns (knowing full well they'd be right there waiting when we got back) and let go of the self-imposed pressure to worry things down to bits.  We checked in at the front desk, and checked out of our lives for a bit.  And it was new...and different...and wildly unfamiliar...and completely wonderful!

There was but one goal on the agenda.

Relax.

And we did.

Our walk down into the town was slow and meandering.  No breathless race to beat our own time, or rushing past the views.  We stopped whenever something caught our eyes.  We passed away (more than a few) hours in front of HGTV.  Feet up.  Junk food in arm's reach. 

(I put him in charge of food-perhaps not the wisest decision health wise-but hey...YOLO and all that.  We dined on Cool Ranch Doritos and fruit snacks and root beer.)

We debated floor treatments and backsplashes and laughed outrageously at the midwestern real-estate prices as compared to those here on the coast.  We dreamt up imaginary floor plans.

In what can only be considered fate, the only decent thing to watch the first night was "Transformers".  He was in heaven!  And I was...dare I say...chill?!?

We even lucked out with an otherwise empty pool.  (So thankful for that!  He still struggles to let loose when others are around...so solitude = freedom to be himself and have fun!) 

Splish, splash...and then a mad dash up to hot showers!

By not doing anything, we had a great time.

And I finally, for the first time, understood that there really is value in just dropping everything.

Surreal!

Mind. Blown! 

Of course we're back now...and the weekend is already naught but memory.

We returned to the same mess and the same stress.

And that's ok.  That's fine.

A few days off was respite enough for now.

He can dive right back into that summer project for his upcoming history class.

(And he did...first thing this morning!)

I can juggle all the balls of life and family and work.

(And cat!  1 weekend away = 1 very unpleasant litter box!  Ew!)

A weekend away from everything that's been weighing us down lately allowed us both to pick back up with a little bit of fresh energy and fresh perspective.  It's as though walking out for a few days created a new opening to walk back through.  Time away skewed things differently, so that when we walked back in the front door, each item on the to-do list was actually prioritized instead of one giant aggressive jumble of  "too big-too scary".

And maybe...just maybe...the weekend away gave us a healthier attitude regarding all the things that we allow to take up our time and energy.

(Plus, obviously, a newly re-awakened junk food addiction!)

It's good to be home, though.

(I know he needs that routine and regularity...that order and predictability.)

It's good to be home.  To set our sights back on our goals and responsibilities.  Even those stresses and stressors beyond our active control feel comfortable once again.

Besides...my trusty French-press brew tastes soooo much better than hotel coffee!

...step in time...

We've been walking, this summer.

Part of our "schedule"...a required slogging through the pea-soup that is New Jersey's unofficial summer cocktail.  The humidity, even in early morning, is thick enough to choke on, as we make our slow and steady way up and down and down and up through the miles.

I changed things up this year...this summer after freshman year.  Gone is the home-schooling component.  Gone the Mami-led learning and reviewing.  Those days on the back lawn, lounging out with textbooks and library books and lemonade have come and passed, and are no more.  

This summer the schedule...so to speak...is vastly different.  We've factored in for health and wellness...made sure that household-maintenance and self-care are given attention...but the majority of time has been left open-ended.  Instead of the rigor of "at this time" and "for this duration", I've let loose the reins and simply provided guidelines for responsible use.

After all, he's 16.

After all...after all...I've done all I could to provide the necessary tools.

The schedule is pinned up on the fridge, just as it always was.  Easy access. He passes by it countless times a day...an hour.  Time enough to look up and check in and check-off.

Time enough to pursue his own interests.

There is, of course, still guidance from me.  Sometimes a nudge or a reminder to look at the clock.  Sometimes an exasperated sigh as I see him hunched over his keyboard.  All too often a sharper word or two...a harsher prompt to live up to the new responsibility that has been bestowed.

There is, of course, disappointment.

As the hours get wasted.

As the busy-work stretches on ad infinitum.

As the day turns to night and the list of tasks remains half-undone.

I worked it out in advance.  Doing the math.  Generously so.  I tallied up the time it would conceivably take to address the must-dos...the "Drudgery" and "Dedication" listed out above.  I added in extra time for mishaps and delays and rounded up to 3 hours.

3 hours.

In a summer day that inevitably starts late and ends later.

3 hours, out of an average 16 hour day.

Just. 3. Hours.

(And that's stretching it. Liberally.)

And even so, those 3 hours of tasks have yet once to be completed in a single day.

Instead, the hours tick by whilst I work.  Hours in multiples flickering by on the screen of his computer.  Time dying off bit by bit as his distraction and his hyper-focus battle it out for control of his functionality.

Last night I issued a warning.  The final one.

I told him that he could prove himself worthy of the responsibility I had given him and complete the schedule as written or he could hand the responsibility back to me, forgoing  all rights to his own time and abiding by my hourly requirements instead.

As I sit to write this...it's all still up in the air.  Bits and pieces complete, but gaps in the structure nonetheless.  And a pitiful refrain of baseless excuses. 

Harsh.  Aren't I?

Indeed.

Off track, as well...as I tripped down this path of long-drawn, circuitous explanation.

We've been walking.

A beginner's effort at getting back into shape after the forced-lethargy of the school year.

A slow start to recovering the hale-and-hearty selves we once were.

Pacing ourselves and pushing ourselves.

Sweating through the inclines.

Relishing in the all-too-rare and still-hot breezes.

We've been walking and walking and walking.

Each day, a little further.

On roads not made for safe-passage.

Adrenaline coursing through us as we race to get off the main strips while massive trucks rumble by haphazardly, forcing us into the unkempt bracken and sludge where the shoulders have been taken back by Mother Nature. 

Our route is hardly scenic.  Or level.

Our first mad dash leads to a minor climb, followed by a steady descent...easy enough on the way down, but wrought in the very bowels of hell when, after several miles of similar declines and inclines, we turn round and have to now ascend once more.  By the time we make it to the beginning of this final climb, we're already spent.  Sweat has beaded and dripped and evaporated, leaving rorschach patterns on our shirts.  Our calves are hot to the touch...overextended and burning.  Feet?  Numb.  Breath?  Shallow and sticky.

We're borderline hysterical.  That "second wind" made up of naught but toxic adrenaline...the burn of it in our veins and muscles.  

We...walk.  If it can be called that.  This mindless lifting of feet...of repetitive motion because there is nothing left to do but breathe and move.  We walk...slowly.  Each step less than half the distance of our usual stride.  Inching along as caterpillars.

The pavement shimmers...those black water mirages springing up just over the horizon line.  The soles of our shoes have gone sticky against the burning asphalt.  It feels as though each step adheres to the ground.

We become mouth-breathers.  Silent and gasping.  No breath left for the words and stories we filled the previous miles up with.  Just automatons of breath and step.

Cars pass by infrequently as we crest this final hill.  A quiet neighborhood of mansions and estates whose occupants are usually elsewhere.  Rarely, an air-conditioned drive-by will slow and wave at us as we straighten up, masking our pain from the observation of strangers until the car disappears behind us and we slump back down and slog forward.

That final mile is painful.

It burns and tears and stretches things we forget are part of us.

It wakes up sleeping hurts.

It renders void any agreement we made to challenge one another.

Turns our conversation jewels to rubble.

It makes us angry and spiteful.

Just enough to make it home...up, again, on our driveway...up, one final time, on the stairs...

Air-conditioning and ice-water await.

We flop down on the floor, panting and steaming.  Peel off sweat-soaked shoes and socks.  Listen to the hammer of our heartbeats in our ears...

...and inevitably...

...giggle uncontrollably at the insanity of it all.

And the next day...the following morning...we do it all over again...but farther.

We walk.

Side by side.

Except on the dangerous strips of road where there's no shoulder to speak of and teenage drivers are spreading their summer-driving wings.  There, I force him over and ahead, stepping behind and out a bit so "the car" hits me instead.  Motherhood...it's dangerous.

We walk, side by side, and I see when he slows...allowing me to catch up.

His stride is longer than mine now.

A wonder in and of itself.

Where did those little ham hocks go...the ones that bumbled and tumbled and tiptoed?

When did his legs outpace mine?

His hip sits inches above my own and his legs swing out the full length.

On the straight-aways, when the path is clear, I count my steps against his.  His four equal my five.  His stride 1.25 to my 1.

I watch his feet. The right one jutting outward from an old ankle injury.  His gait unchecked despite my nagging reminders to straighten up and straighten out.  I see the ankle brace he wears to support it.  And I know the custom-fit orthotics are inside his shoes.  And all for naught, as he lets his foot turn out anyway.

I watch his feet and marvel at the size.  His sneakers like clown shoes up against mine when our stride lines up again.  I remember that first pair of shoes that barely filled my palm.  White leather.  Soft and pliable and utterly useless.

I remember all the sneakers he tore his way through in toddlerhood.  Countless trips to the shoe department at Target and hours wasted online searching eBay for the next size up in his beloved Transformers sneakers or snow boots.

I remember when he danced on my toes, arms tight around my thighs.

I remember when I first held him, oohing and aahing over 10 tiny toes.

And now we walk and he holds back, gracious enough to pause for his smaller, older mother to keep up...generous enough to wait while I catch my breath,

Where once I went slowly for him, now he does the same for me.

We walk.  He talks.  I listen.

And ponder how much slower he'll go because of me as time ticks on...