Be forewarned: I am a quivering mass of exposed tissue tonight, nerves lifting slightly in the salt air. Zoey is having a slumber party at her Grandma DD's, our house now much too quiet. I cannot help but think of 13 years from now when she might leave to live somewhere else. True, I have PMS. Truer still, I have eaten 4 Cadbury Cream Eggs today. Still. 13 years ago I was in grad school. I wrote short stories and wore red clogs hand-painted with flowers. I still have those clogs and just the other day was thinking I should wear them again in the spring. With jeans?
13 years is a very short time.
So I will tell you this: Wild Horses is one of our Tickle Back Songs, sometimes by The Sundays, though I do prefer The Stones. This video is real and raw and lovely, even if the nodding is not so much of sleep but smack, I suspect.
Then there is this: tomorrow is the night we have set for Ozzy to sleep in his crib. A modified Cry It Out with me right there patting his back and sshhh-ing. I have had nervous tummy for the last week in anticipation, only now realizing that this may be the last night he sleeps in our bed. Because this is also True: the night full of syntactical colons and dramatic statements. The Last Night. I don't know if I can do any of this.
Remember this? Zoey was talking in her sleep the other night--she does that a lot. Mumbo jumbo nujka trah pa? And then as clear as day: I farted on mommy's face. The next morning I asked her if she remembered her dream and she said she couldn't tell me, that it would make me sad. Would it make me sad because you farted on my face? I asked, but she said no, no it wasn't that, and still hasn't told me.
But I remember. And this. A video from 3 years ago. Because 3 years is the same as 13 in that you cannot hold on to either one.
Sometimes it seems there aren't enough Cadbury Cream Eggs to go around.