3 things that are terribly unfair (see also: might die)

Hello, world. Remember how I was all ra-ra, dance like no one's watching yesterday about sugar maple trees? That must have been the Monday girl. Because today's blogger is in a bad way.

Terribly Unfair Thing the First All of my hair is falling out and I'm gaining weight like the wrong kind of loser on Biggest Loser and the mouth-breather on the other line at the doctor's office just waited on the line, snapping her gum, didn't even say hello? HELLO! I THINK MY THYROID IS BROKEN. Please to set up an appointment and please to not judge me on my insurance plan. Southern hospitality, my hat. Shoulda just bought the Groupon for hair loss treatment and called it a day.

Terribly Unfair Thing the Second Have you ever tried to contain a 4 year-old boy in a public place where running is not an option? Remember how well that went? Four year-old son was all thinking the velvet ropes at the bank were the Olympic bars and the whole space was basically set up for the 100 yard dash, right? So then you go and sign up for a Fun Run with the same lad. All the kool kats from school are there at the starting line. Runners take their makrs. Your son is wearing a fierce headband and the sun is shining and the atmosphere is equally sunny. YOU ARE GOING TO ROCK THIS RACE. Then your son, who is 100% Tasmanian Devil when not sleeping, cannot run. Everyone else is motoring around the race course and your son just wants to hold your hand and caboose it. He's walking so slow he's practically crawling. His face says, please carry me, his legs say, please seat me over there with the oxygen tank draggers. By the time you cross the finish line it is already time to file your taxes.

Terribly Unfair Thing the Third

I have spent the better part of the last week meeting with my Aflac rep (quack) and filing claims for my accident policy. I am way too young for this biz. Sadder still is how excited I am when I've successfully filed the claim. Like, I'm legit geeked when I get the message that "your claim is complete." If this is what dazzles me in my mid-twirties, what else is there to look forward to in life? Colonoscopies? Blockbuster sale on wheat germ at GNC? Ken Burns taking on Alan Greenspan for PBS?

Hand me that new Taylor Swift album. I just gotta shake off all this injustice...and #firstworldproblems

EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.

  I just want to stand at the end of the hallway and not look down its grand master corridor of tasks and forget-me-nots and stalling tactics of little sleep gangsters and not be filled with dread. I just want one night where it all goes perfectly robotically well.

Oh, your children are sleeping the sleep of snoring dwarves by 6:30 p.m. every evening? Our friendship is now in jeopardy.

6.75 years

Dear Baby Girl, Last week you were bucked off a horse, and seven days since does not allow me any further eloquence...

I can tell you this, though: there is/was a space between the time I realized what was happening and the time I was picking you up from the ground as you were gasping for air when I was changed.

In between the time I was trying to figure out if the horse was going to trample you and the time I was trying to figure out if you would be paralyzed--I leaped over a few lifetimes.

My love deepened in a way that is different from the eyelash winking increments that it grows for you each day. It plummeted to the depths of someone being thrown from a building. Of a six year-old being thrown off the horse.

In that space, in those seconds that felt like the worst nightmare looping in slow motion, my heart reaffirmed something. I'm not sure if the heart spoke any words but if it did, they would have sounded something like, "Mine. Beloved. Will fight."

Within moments of my picking you up, you proclaimed, "That is the last time I ride a wild horse! I am only riding Western from now on!" That was sort of snobby of you, but we all decided to forgive you, since you had been thrown off a large animal and all which probably addled your brain a bit.

In the days since, I have been trying to memorize your face, your sweet face just as it is. I now know more acutely how quickly you could be snatched from the safety of this moment, a false safety if ever there were one.

And the truth is that you are being snatched each and every moment from me. The moments are taken, seized without warrant. I should be used to it by now. In parenting we are forever straddling our own little heaven and hell at the same time; the heaven of the moments we want to preserve, the hell of having to will these moments away to cruel time; the hell of wanting the hard times to pass more quickly, the heaven of looking back on things when they felt so much simpler than the complicated present.

I will return to the horse and to you on the ground and I will pick you up thousands of times in my mind and my heart will reaffirm millions of beats more resoundingly that you are, indeed, my beloved and I will never stop fighting--time, distance, darkness, pain--to make sure you know that wild horses couldn't keep me away.

Love,

Mama