i told you to be patient; i told you to be fine

Today I was up early juggling housework and ferrying my spouse to work (Happy birthday, Ralph Hogaboom!) and getting the Mercedes to the shop for some more information on the (probably) brake job. I arrived home and prepared breakfast for the kids and packed up my daughter for a two-day camping trip with my mother. I had a meeting in Aberdeen this afternoon and a few more errands (including, a friend asked me to start a knitting project for her, and I had to hunt around our somewhat sparse LYS for new needles) and so I sorted all that, then –

By the time I got home my mother, a friend, and a child I’d not yet met were on my porch. I ran about getting Phoenie ready to go and fielding unexpected (but delightful) company. And then I looked up and my girl had vanished in my mom’s minivan – in fact it had been so busy she hadn’t kissed me goodbye but once and I’d barely noticed (this kind of kills me). So anyway I took a walk with my friend and the other kiddo – who loved Nels’ company. My son in fact, is a delight especially and primarily when I have only his needs to attend to. It was nice to have a walk and talk with a friend, too.

But every day is different, and sometimes I’m ready for challenges with aplomb, and sometimes not. I don’t like to spend nights without my husband or kids. And right now I miss Phoenix so much it hurts. It will pass. I’ve been without her nights and even weeks before. As long as she’s happy where she is, I’m good – sort of logically, mentally, even emotionally. Something just aches tonight.

I know she misses me too. She called me only a few hours after we parted. She sounded fine though (“I went fishing,” her sweet little duck voice with perfect acuity). I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon. Her voice is like music to me and her body like the most familiar and welcome body I can slip into my arms and I’ve known her smell for almost a decade now and it runs through my veins.

So it’s hard to calm myself, to sleep at night without her voice while we watch films about B-movie monsters or Komodo dragons, and without her arms around my neck, and without her saying funny shit, without the sight of her and her brother and a cat (at least) all tangled in the bed in the morning. Years of memories.

Just before she left. I wanted to get a picture of her platinum/near black hair, which is fabulous. She isn’t really stricken with ennui here, I was trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to get the whole business photographed well enough:

My little beak, I miss you so!