Building with fireflies

The road home flickers with fireflies, a canopy of old hardwoods overhead. This is the last night I will teach our monthly parenting class. It was a poignant one: three couples came together, a college student father and his mother, several single parents. They all had questions and a few of them even said thank you. My favorite teachers were there: Brady Mikusko, my own coach, and Siri Gottlieb, the first friend I made in Ann Arbor.

I won’t be teaching the class anymore because we take a month’s hiatus in August, and then I will move from the Friend of Court to Probate Court, where I have been asked to serve as Register. I didn’t apply for the job, I went up there to help out and they wooed me. It was very gratifying to be wanted and appreciated, and finally they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I will miss my colleagues at the Friend. I will miss the gratifying moments when I actually felt I got through to parents and maybe made the lives of their children a bit easier. In my two years with the Friend, I have had many of those moments.

Ben was asleep by the time I got home, Miss Patti having fed him, bathed him and gotten him into his jammies. All I can do is climb the ladder to the top bunk and kiss him once before I sleep. I think of how much he loves fireflies, and how his life is filled with joy. The other day, I thanked him for making me a mommy. “I built you?” he asks.

So much rides on how we are built, and by whom, and with what love. How we are knit in the womb begins it, and so much more follows: the building continues until the last day we breathe and our lights flicker out. The fireflies seeking love flash in the leaves, my son breathes softly in his bunk, Lily lies sighing and dreaming at my feet, a vase full of brown-eyed susans graces our table. Our life of ease is so good, joyful, and still I worry about building it right, making the right choices for Ben, doing right by him.

In the end, it’s all that matters at all.

Back Home

We are back home tonight. Ben fell asleep about a minute after his bath. He's wrung out. He's had days of biking, friends, water, sun and Mom, and was glad to be home.

It's been a wonderful vacation. I'll be posting about Drummond stuff, but the last few days we've been in Port Huron, connecting with old friends. We spent two glorious days at the beach: Lake Huron is significantly warmer down in Port Huron than in Drummond (my toes were numb after ten minutes up there.) Every person Ben saw said something like "I held you when you were just this big," or "My goodness you've gotten to be a tall guy," all of which made him smile.

He got to spend quite a bit of time with Vincent, a kid who was born on Ben's nine-month birthday, and is now dubbed by Ben his "best friend." Today, Vincent's mom, Laurie, handed us a montage of photos she and Vincent made: Ben at nine months at Laurie's baby shower, me holding just born Vincent, me holding Ben and Vincent. Ben wanted to hang it on the wall as soon as we got home, and we did, on his art wall.

We also got to spend a wonderful afternoon with Jill and "Katie-Cate"--Jill's two and a half year old daughter. Everything about me resists the idea of arranged marriage, but Katie-Cate would be the one. She's so verbal and bright, tall and sweet, and very devilish in a most attractive way. In fact, I suggested to Jill that maybe when they get to be a certain age, we keep our risk-loving, head-strong children apart, and another friend there said, "Yes, maybe from age 8 on."

Both Vincent and Katie-Cate live in trans-racial adoptive familes, so it was really like being home and very comfortable. I feel refreshed and recharged, sweetly tired and sunburned, and ready to tackle the job transition ahead.

Vacations do that.

Gone fishing

Ben and Lily and I are off to the northcountry. Up there, we have no electricity or running water. Seven sweet days of reading, swimming, biking, cooking over the fire and listening to the loons.

Head north, cross the bridge, turn right drive until the land ends. Take a ferry. At the stop sign, turn right, drive until you see the bay. We'll greet you under the twin black spruce, by the boulders.

I'll be writing, and posting on our return. I'm tired. I need this time away. No cell phone, no emails, no sad angry folks needing me to do something which is never enough.

Peace.

GObama!