The pumpkin patch plan (you do know I’m using the word “patch” very very loosely) was in place for Monday night this week. But Jim Cantore (that’s Brett) pulled his radar gun out mid afternoon Monday and predicted bad weather. However, he assured me Tuesday night would be perfect. As I recall, he said “guaranteed beautiful.”
So last night we got ready to go–cute overalls for the girls, hair done, dinner early, out the door. I was stoked in that high-on-shellacked-gourd kind of way, eager to fulfil another year of traditions and capture all these moments of my girls in the golden hour of sunlight. No sooner did we pull into the “patch” oh God, I can’t even write that word without laughing parking lot, and a monsoon hit. Downpour–the kind that sends farmers running to save their crops from being washed out.
We sat in the car. “I’m not leaving until this is over,” I announced. I was so pissed. Like a child who didn’t get her way kind of pissed. And I was pissed directly at Brett.
“I’m so mad at you,” I told him in the best bitchy teenager voice I could muster.
“Pissed at me? Like I planned this? Who do think I am, God?” Brett laughed.
“You know what, Brett?” I asked. “Yes. I think you’re God. You claim to know more about weather patterns than anyone I’ve known, and in the nine years I’ve known you, you’ve never failed me. You told me it was going to be beautiful, and I’m not leaving until it is.”
Do you know how much effort it took to act that childish? There are voices all up inside me, screaming for me to grow up, but sometimes I am stubborn. I could not let it die, and I was determined to pay him back for his bad forecast. It lasted about ten minutes–the immaturity, not the storm. The storm just kept on raining and despite our efforts to get out when it was “only sprinkling” (a.k.a. raining enough to make two kids cry), we finally called T.O.D. for our plans around 6:40–enough time for me to make it to Fred’s for some much needed Straighten Up therapy. I found it, returning home later to hug Brett and laugh off the “Sorry I’m a bitchy wife sometimes” episode. It was very funny in hindsight.
So Take Two was tonight. It had a great start. I got dressed, looked in the mirror at two ginormous-but-not-in-the-hot-girl-kinda-way breasts and turned to get Brett’s opinion.
“Does this shirt make my boobs look like hugemongous pregnant sacks?”
And he stared at me and said nothing. And then “Well, um….”
“Oh my God,” I cried, peeling off my shirt. “I’m so not wearing this.”
FYI, Shirt #2 didn’t do much better. Dude, the pregnant boobs. For the love of God, make them stop.
The point of all of this? You ride the unpredictable wave of parenthood that soars right next to every other unpredictable thing like weather and people and life. And you make the best of it.
The kids were a little bit miserable tonight. Ever so lovely and soul-fulfilling but yes, miserable too. We made the best of it. We swatted bugs, picked up crying kids, walked through swampy grasses, took pictures in lighting that was thick with gray haze, and we made a helluva fall memory. It was so imperfect but wonderful and so completely us.
And here’s the video to prove it.
In other lovely happenings, I loved this moment today.
And watching Bill Gates mastermind my phone.
Happy Fall Y’all. Tell me some recent lows and highs if so inclined.
Low: No cold front yet. Our dryer broke.
High: Knowing things will slow down very soon. San Diego next week and Everybody Plays. Hopefully meeting some of ya’ll at the book signing (next Wednesday, October 17, 7:30 p.m. Mira Mesa Barnes and Noble in San Diego)