I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, waiting for my husband to come home from class. Sticky with sweat. Sucking on one of Carlitos’ homemade orange juice popsicles… that I keep dipping in a mug of vodka.
Yeah, it was that kind of day.
A full day of looking at apartments in Brooklyn with the two boys in tow. Then baking cookies and cornbread muffins. Bathing the sweat and grime and poop (only in Xavi’s case. I swear.) of the day off of us. Heading out to a cookout at our church. Trying to keep tabs on both boys as they fuss and run and whine…apparently just as worn out by the day as I am.
When we finally arrived home, it took almost an hour to get them both asleep even though it was already 2 hours past their bedtime.
Which all left me here. At the table. With my kiddie popsicle dipped in Georgi.
And then all of the sudden, I heard a familiar tune wafting through the open kitchen window.
Steve Winwood: Back in the High Life.
If I had a gun to my head and had to choose one single song that sums up my childhood, that was played most often during my first 18 years of life, that brings the most clear visions of my youth: it would be that song.
Lord only knows why someone would care enough to know that information that they would hold a gun to my head. But if they did…
It’s funny how many things in life come at perfect times. Bad and good. Big and small.
Hearing this particular song from my childhood at a moment when I am so exhausted from all that life takes out of you as a parent, a spouse, an adult, well, it kind of hit me. Made me yearn for the carefree moments of childhood when someone else is worrying about comforting and caring for me…rather than the other way around.
This was just a momentary pang. But a jolting one.
Wouldn’t it be nice to be the cared for again for even just a moment, instead of the caretaker?
Although, if I really think about it, I do still have people caring for me. My husband works his arse off at work and school to provide for us. Our families are being extremely helpful and thoughtful as we approach our move to Brooklyn. People were feeding, cleaning, and holding both of my kids throughout the cookout tonight. The last time all four of us got the Flu From Hell my best friend trekked over with supplies.
People do look out for me. And I do see it and appreciate it.
I mean, I seriously doubt I will ever again have someone tell me it is time to come in from the lake because my lunch is ready and then wrap me in a towel to dry me off before they feed me.
Yeah, that would just be weird. Nice, but weird.
But people do look out for me.
Maybe I needed to hear that song right now. Because now that I think about it, it was the song my parents chose to listen to more than any other song while they were raising me.
I’m thinking that if I listened to the lyrics if it might actually speak to me even more now, as a towel wrapper than it did for all those years where I was the towel wrappee.
I wonder if they also ever ate my popsicles dipped in vodka?
Ohhh, the things you realize from this side of the curtain…