Intermission

Last week was a blur, so don't ask. All I remember was a bunch of late nights at work, cheese and crackers for dinner, a few episodes of Weeds with J, and Isaac's matter-of-fact "Mommy's back" when he woke up each morning.

When the weekend came, I was determined to make it up to him, so I took him for lunch at a lovely local cafe. He waited patiently outside with me as they prepared our table, and when we entered I saw a brief look of skepticism on the faces of the family sitting next to us.

No matter. Isaac was a perfect gentleman. I ordered a poached tuna salad and tomato soup for me, and a cheese pizza for him. He ate each piece carefully, discarding it a few bites through before picking up the next one. I wrote out a sentence in blue crayon on the paper the waitress provided: "I am so proud of you."

Here we are at the end of the summer, and he's really surprised us. He survived a haircut, two visits to the dentist (even allowing them to examine, clean, polish and floss his teeth), Kindergarten orientation, and a week-long vacation away from everything familiar. He's learned how to sing The Bee Gees' Stayin' Alive, developed a love for synchronized platform diving (his favorite Olympic sport) and informed us the other day that Michael Phelps had won "eight gold meadows."

And yet, as the summer draws to a close, Isaac seems both more present and more remote than usual: bursts of temper, the omnipresent fear of noise, and more of the door fixation that comes, and goes, and comes again.

At times like these, natural intermissions, I am tempted to stop and take stock, to offer you something wise and comforting, to put it all into perspective. Sometimes this writing is incredibly therapeutic, and sometimes it feels like too much self-imposed pressure, as though I am searching for a tidy summary to an untidy story so you (and I?) won't go away unsatisfied.

Tonight I won't tuck in the corners--I'll just let it be, chaotic and fragmented and oblique.

Comments

[drama mama]

Intermission. I like that. Time to refresh, take a break, and think about the next act.

I'm using it.

[kristen]

Lovely post, Susan. Thank you.

[Special Needs Mama]

I love hearing stories about your time together. It's so comforting.

[squid rosenberg]

Isaac needs to meet my friend Jeff the next time Jeff's in town -- he is a platform diving coach and can teach Isaac some moves on our trampoline.

Always amazed by how seamlessly you downshift into lucid contemplation.

[Marivi]

Oh, how I long to hear Isaac's rendition of Staying Alive!

Bet you can't picture it without the corners of your mouth drawing upwards into a smile!

[niksmom]

Ah, Susan, no need to ever feel like you must "tuck in the corners" for any of us. It's the random, the "unkempt" and the intermissions that connect us all. At least, that's what *I* think...

I keep reading on so many blogs that tese dog days of summer are the hardest for our kids. The lack of predictable structure, the change in the earth and the air; I think ours feel the changes in the air and don't quite know how to be with it.

Sending hugs to you all.