Meet the Parents

This time last week, I was getting ready to meet my friend Fatma at Rabbit Box. That seems like several lifetimes ago. When my prayer list was much lighter. I'm not up to writing, with any specificity, about this week. The highs and lows have left me pretty exhausted. So I'll just say that I'm grateful we have a house to live in. Cars to drive. Running water. Electricity. Even air. Even air to breathe, I am grateful for. And Fatma. Always Fatma.

The theme of last week's Rabbit Box was "The Birth of a Parent." And Fatma was a member of the ensemble. One of the most authentic ensembles I've ever seen. And, for me, THE most poignant. So please, treat yourself to these stories. They made me realize that I've had many births as a parent. Exquisite and excruciating in fairly equal-ish measure. Still chewing on IF I should ever even write about them, I was mesmerized by each of these human beings' ability to speak their stories aloud, on a stage, in front all those people.

Thank. Me. Later. 

Thank you Fatma for always remembering to capture the moment!

These are the ones I was able to find. I added them in order. If there are more, I'll update.

Fatma Gurel

Mir Kamin

Kate Wicker

Jody Thompson

Jeff Cymerman

Heather Reed

Dave Bloyer

A Pot of Chicken Chili on the Stove & A Song in my Heart

My Grandfather, “Boppa,” sold gas grills for Atlanta Gas Light. My Grandmother, “Honey,” worked for Georgia Farm Bureau. I can’t recall Honey’s title. But a reliable informant assured me that the best parties at the annual Insurance Women’s Conference were “always” in her room. He enjoyed watching westerns on TBS, taking care of the pool, and cooking cheeseburgers. She was - twice - President of the UMW, made a mean cheese dip, and loved a great margarita! They never looked happier than when they were gliding around the formal living room, holding each other very close - her in pantyhose covered “bare” feet. And most weekends when I was a little girl, you’d find me (at some point) posted up between them watching Dallas, Dynasty, Falcon Crest, Fantasy Island, Magnum P.I., and The Love Boat. My parents' comings and goings were glamorous: gowns, social gatherings, and the pursuit of the “good” life. But when I imagined being an adult, it always looked much closer to those weekends on Dogwood Circle. 

This weekend I found a balance that I’d yet to imagine.

Friday night I put my “face on” and let my hair down. Eager to join friends for an opportunity to surprise a kindred with the tenacity of a mountain goat, the adventurous spirit of a new puppy, and (occasionally) the mouth of a pirate’s parrot. Leaving the house isn’t my FAVORITE thing at the moment. And I almost talked myself out of it. But I would have missed out on what it feels like to have friends, old (-ish ... I’ve only been here for six years, after all) and brand new, wrapping me up like a burrito baby in multi-textured layers of contagious laughter, heartfelt compliments, and caring camaraderie. I’d also have missed Tacos los Toxicos. A crime for which the self-inflicted punishment is unconscionable. They really were THAT good! And the quesadilla was better than “the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window!” 

On the way to the car, we stopped to grab a *sip* of the sign change at the Georgia Theatre and I wondered if I was strong enough to stop being sad about Summer (too much heartbreak to get into). I was. Even if only for a moment. I was sure that it would all be over when I woke up. A lovely dream. But when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed.

On a mission to find ALL the presents for my favorite thirty three year old, Mariah Parker, I enjoyed a purple paint supplies party at Home Depot. I think? I made two new friends at Community. And I know for certain that a single post to Instagram from my friend Fatma led me to Little Kings (I’d just missed her), and face to face with Rashe (who’m I’d just tried to reach), and then to Taziki’s for what I guess we’ll always call *Birthday Soup* from now on. Scooped up a Five Below disco ball for a bow and was on the road just in time to be 20 minutes late to meet my family at The Story Shop (yes, we are ALL obsessed!) But no sweat because we all walked through the doors at the very same time. Pinch myself? Nah. This brand of magic flows from a much deeper well. 

Follow @TwoStixTheStore now. Thank me later!

Aesop came back to our house so that the big kids could play. They need it. Because the sheer volume of support that both of them give to humankind, day in and day right-back-out isn’t even something that can be measured. But I can absolutely tell you this…

While working chest deep in a man-made wave pool, the ripples that radiate from each person they bring relief to pay no heed to our feeble attempts at tracking time. Or distance. And neither of them try to measure it empirically. They’re too busy tending to the next person that got a raw deal.

When I tucked Aes into his fire truck bed, his voice cracked a little at the end of that goodnight. It only lasted half a heartbeat but I worried about it for the better part of 15/20 minutes so I finally decided to check on him and offer that he could lie down beside me until he fell asleep if he wanted to. But what I found was a little boy who, still awake when I enquired, told me that he was ok and didn’t need any more milk. And then it hit me. That little tremble in his voice… that’s what it sounds like when you don’t want the day to end. And so I kinda I think I might have gotten it right - living like Honey & Boppa. I think that this is what I always imagined.

On the second of July, a friend that is very dear to me said: “You’re about to change your life.” Thank you Kristy. The thorns almost got me. Cut me to pieces in the process. But we’re swimming in rosewater these days and you are the very first person I want to thank.

This Is The Best Part . . .

 Nobody told me that the Summer I cried myself to sleep more nights than I'd imagined possible could end at lunch. Over a plate of chicken salad several days before the Autumnal Equinox. Nobody tells you that because they don't know either. But I know. At least I do now. It would have also been entirely impossible to predict that I'd have the time of my life in a Cracker Barrel. But that's just a Sunday in this precious-PRECIOUS week full of delicious surprises!

MOOD: Come see me at Dynamite this week!

We arrived at Grant Park early for (my three year old best friend) Aesop's first soccer game. I can't really remember what happened before that. I ate, slept, and worked but the weekdays just melted into each other and I wondered what I'd have to write about. In fact, I was ready to start my existence as a shut-in. The world - the part with people in it - felt too vile and vulgar to "put shoes on." To make matters worse, somewhere in there I realized that this Summer had orphaned me - to some extent. I lost the one person that I felt like I could really confide in and expect measured, unbiased, caring advice. Even this morning, I woke up and felt like the only thing that could make life "right" again would be to find a way to BRING HER TF BACK. The one thing that none of us can ever do. But somewhere in the middle of that big, gaudy, cumbersome mishmash of weekdays, I had the presence of mind to reach out to someone I admire. And that made ALL the difference! But back to the FIRST best part.

We arrived at Grant Park early. And what followed was ALLLLLLL the reasons to slide your unpedicured feet into a pair of Birkenstocks! Every last one.

The little one got to come back to Athens with us! On the way home, we stopped in Monroe for a giant cookie and strolled down to the actual cutest bookstore I've ever had the experience of wondering (and I do mean WONDER!) around for the better part of an hour. The Story Shop sells books. But unbridled enthusiasm is what you leave with. Read a book in the tipi, hang in the Hobbit Hole, bid adieu to the Moon under a rocket ship... just open the doors and the literal feeling you get from realizing that you're in the middle of your new favorite book smacks you right across the face. I noticed myself begin to hum "this is the best part, this is the best part!" But it wasn't.

There were better parts that followed. Eating pancakes, watching Benji, seeing the Love of my Life walk through the door (in a Minion t-shirt) holding a Minion popsicle. Bath time, bedtime stories, Bishop Park with the Falkes. Hearing a little boy say I love you for the first time! An impromptu breakfast date. Remembering - all of a sudden - what it feels like when you can't stop laughing. Friends who allow you to imagine what it might have felt like if you'd been able to meet your big sister. A SECOND trip to The Story Shop with Mariah!!! And still, none of those was the very best part.

The Tot-chos & Biscuit Beignets at The Barrel were FI-YER!
Not even kind of being sarcastic. Pro tip: ask for Jade N.
I haven't been in the presence of a more lovely server - period.

Spoiler alert:

THIS is the best part: racing home to write because you just had lunch with someone who feels like an actual big sister!

I invited her to lunch. And it was my treat because I told her up front that I was wrestling with some challenging issues and, outside of therapy, I had realized that I didn't have a single person (for various reasons) in my life who could fill that role. The older/wiser + only interested in helping to untangle what's best for me role. And let me tell you... In a town filled to the brim with Big Sisters, within earshot of their big, beautiful houses... I absolutely NAILED it! And left with an actual dopamine buzz. Off chicken salad and the sound of this incredible woman's voice. And she didn't tell me a single thing to do. She talked to me. She told me her stories. And those stories became the mirror that showed me how exquisitely I already knew what to do. I hope that I can do that for someone one day!

So... This. Is. The. Best. Part. And there's more to come. Much more. But TA-TA! for now because I need to put my shoes on. I have a dinner date. And what better way to celebrate the very first day of the rest of my life than with a Pretty Boy?