It’s 2 p.m. and despite the glut of one extra hour come Daylight Savings Time, Finn’s eyes are purpled and mine most likely, too. Having finished a bottle–an emergency bottle, because Finn would have nothing to do with his breakfast of chicken and peas–Finn is relatively content and we sink into the orange leather chair together, a kinetic sighing of sorts; it’s been a long morning–long weekend actually, (weekend also meaning week-beginning because there’s no rest here as we just keep on going, prepping at day’s end for the next one, ad infinitum)–and I play ‘boop’ on Finn’s button nose. Finn laughs at this game which is simply a game of wearied dad just pressing a tired finger to his son’s available nose; he laughs and I’m smiling for the first time today. Here at 2 p.m. it seems a very long time from having first been caffeinated or otherwise coherent and here, at 2 p.m.– and were this work–I’d have to punch out on the time-clock, then punch right back in again because the second shift is suddenly and conspicuously now. There’s soccer practice for Cayde come 4:30 and as much as I congratulate myself on Finn being especially cute today in his grey cardigan and with neatly combed hair; (there also the fact of homemade baby-food in the fridge and a lentil cake cooling on the range-top); I will be dropping Finn off with Mama soon and ferrying Cayde to Morley Field where it’ll be soccer practice beneath lights, something I don’t think either Coach John or I thought about with the time change and all; soccer practice suddenly nighttime with the lights buzzing on and swaths of moths illuminated in halogenic purple, the sun setting real purple opposite our particular stretch of grass, orange cones deposited in a square, practice-practice, and Cayden just asking at the end of it all: “Did I do good, Daddy?” On all accounts, yes.
Me and Finn–we hit up the neighborhood markets today. We always wagon and Jami down at Ripe told me I should write a cookbook. (I didn’t tell her, but she had a fleck of parsley in her hair). I was flattered, but: when is there time. This was midway into Shift 1 and already there was too much to do. Coming home from soccer practice, in which case Shift 2 was damn near lunch break–and when I was realizing I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, yesterday when Jenn and I split that sandwich and I remarked something about ‘too much mustard’–there was still a chicken to roast, kids to bathe, kids to put to bed. There’s a text on my phone: I’m flying to Las Vegas next week for work–which is nice, on one hand, because hotel rooms are square and empty and agreeable to me–but I’m nervous because I’m suddenly the senior-most keeper at my job and were there a way to alleviate some responsibility I might say ‘yes’ but most likely ‘no’ and just: well, just.
I am busy, this is me.
The wagon is currently parked and Cayden and Finn are in bed. Jenn had the right idea: she went to hot yoga tonight. I take a minute to step outside and water a fledgling lime tree I planted a coupla weeks ago. It hasn’t grown much and–being overly proud of my own productivity–I veritably sneer at this lime tree’s lack of effort. There are some newly sprouted branches–nothing much–but, in watering it’s roots, I very quietly say: ‘Uncle.”