The possibility of a bicycle booty call

Hello Snake Charmer Friends! Are you out there? Why would you be as I haven't written forever? Gosh, in the good old days of unemployment I was writing everyday. And you were all good enough to humor me and say nice things, or at least not say mean things.

About six months ago I decided to quit writing. I decided writing wasn't good for my mental health as it became yet another problem solving task clogging my brain. I graduated last December after a two-year fury of writing 100 pages for my book (book? what book?) in the nooks and crannies of my time. Right after graduation I pushed forward with 20 more pages and then just stopped. It's an effort to clear my mental clutter.

Some of you saw the picture I posted on facebook (against my better judgement) of my son at six months taking a bath in the kitchen sink among the dirty dishes. He was happy as a clam, pink and pudgy, smiling straight at the camera while sitting the suds. He totally didn't care about the chaos around him. I remember Bob and me feeling so tired that neither one of us could walk 20 feet to the bathroom to prepare his bath. Instead, we finished with supper (probably hot dogs or an equivalent dish), left the dirty dishes, and filled up one kitchen basin with soapy water for the baby. It was like a continuation of the long awaited dinner hour time together, and a procrastination of the much dreaded child bedtime hour.

Now that baby is 13-years-old, and metaphorically those dishes are still in the sink. A kid grows up no matter how distracted you are from mothering. You wish you could make more money, work less hours, travel to new places, get a full night's sleep, take dance lessons, read more books, look better, be cooler, and whatnot. Wishes are endless. Meanwhile all your kid does is grow up and grow away.

I can't remember the last time my boy smiled like he did in that picture with him in the kitchen sink. Wait, yes I can. Just last month he smiled. Bob and I have figured out the secret to get a teenage boy to smile. While bike riding we pull just ahead of him and then coordinate one, two, three to give him a synchronized booty call, lifting our behinds from the bike seat and wiggling to the glory of our son. Yes, a parental booty call in unison will make my 13-year-old smile big, just like in that sudsy picture of long ago. I'm pretty sure it's a smile of disgust, but we'll take it. I offer this parenting advise as a free gift to the world.

Unemployment hasn't been my personal issue for over three years now, so I don't know why I keep referring to it. (First paragraph, approximately four topics ago, in case this post is confusing to follow.) I guess it's just one of those deep-as-the-ocean experiences that you never forget. It all ended so badly, like a long overdue break-up with a horrible boyfriend. But the good thing about unemployment is it opens the door to a whole new group of friends who know exactly what you're talking about, unlike the people who secretly believe it will never happen to them. Shout out to all my friends who have ever lost a job! Love you!

Actually, the truth is I am writing and I'm writing a lot, in my new position of gainful employment. So I guess you could say I'm a professional writer. That's cool. I'll take that. It's not my own creative writing, but these are minor details. That will come when it's time. (I'm working on my capacity for zen wisdom.)

A couple months ago I was able to whittle out an essay from those lastly written pages from my poor little book project. A generous friend helped me edit it so I could submit it to a literary journal. I said it before and I'll say it again: I don't care if it gets rejected, which it probably will; it's a miracle that it got submitted at all.

The problem with not writing is that it has the opposite effect that I'm aiming for. I wish to clear my mental clutter so I quit writing, yet writing is the exact thing that clears my mental clutter. Kind of like a chicken and egg thing. Makes sense? Of course not, my thinking is cluttered.

For now, I've got a kid going to sailing camp, a kid who can cook, a kid who is learning archery, a kid who makes me laugh, a kid who is amazing with kids, a kid who wants to do international relations (ahem, I didn't influence that), a kid full of possibility, and a kid packed with opportunity. The incredible thing is this: these kids generally like me. Not a bad deal for a mother who has spent most of her mothering years feeling pretty much overworked, overbooked, and overwhelmed.

By now you, if you've made it this far in the post (thank you!), you are probably wishing I'd stick to my new policy of not writing. Still, I thank you for coming over to the Charmer blog and I wish you a lovely weekend full of possibility.

With love, T

What freedom feels like

After the fireworks, this is the route
we took home to escape the crowds.

Not to bore you with another spectacular bike ride story, but sheesh, talk about an extrasensory experience. We left at dusk on July 3 and required tweenboy to join us, at his great disappointment.

We three rode through the woods and when we entered downtown ran smack into the full moon, an over-sized golden circle rising above the tree tops into the blue twilight sky. As we whizzed past people lined up to watch the fireworks I kept shouting out, look behind you! full moon! like a biker dork on parade. 

Arriving at our favorite destination these days, Mullets, we ordered two beers and one soda pop. We mingled among the multitudes who showed up with their blankets, lawn chairs, strollers, and wagons to wait for the show to start. Fireworks over the city were a hit. I'll agree with my friend Anne who says that Des Moines's skyline "is the cutest." The fireworks were spectacular. Everyone clapped. 

We escaped the traffic clog on our bikes, riding back through the Gray's Lake bridge path (photo), lit up in neon. People in canoes were scattered about the dark water. One canoe was setting off these miniature hot air balloon thingies. Yes, fire and all. Riding back home through the woods, it was pitch black except for two of us had headlights, lighting the way for all three of us. Plus, we could see rogue fireworks bursting all around us. Besides that, it was total darkness, the moonlight did not reach the path. Still, we hummed along at a pretty good speed. It's amazing how many other bikers were out too. All we could hear, though, were the ear splitting sounds of crickets, frogs, and nighttime critters. It was still about 90 degrees and when we arrived at our trail head, a soccer field. Sweat and salt dripped down my face. A huge sprinkler was on, inviting us to stand in it's spray. We did.

It was all ridiculously joyful. Tweenboy said he liked it all except for the bike riding part. Bob decided our bikes were a good investment.

I concluded, this is what freedom feels like. Made possible in part thanks to one paid day-off from work, a great city, a bike-obsessed husband, and a hilarious son.

Happy 4th of July to you all!