Quinn came trudging out of school last week at dismissal time, and from the other end of the parking lot where I stood, I caught sight of her face and immediately thought uh-oh: if a person’s complexion can be both wan and flushed at the same time, that’s what hers looked like. Her friends were gathered around her as they walked, and they looked from her to me. “She doesn’t feel well,” her friend C. said, as if she was passing off a baton, ensuring I’d hold Quinn steady from that point on. Cian was already in the car, so I got in as Quinn did. The tears were coming out of her eyes before I even reached for my seat belt, and she bent to the side to lay her head on the compartment between us. “I really don’t feel well,” she said. She didn’t need to tell me. Twenty minutes later, her temperature had climbed to 102. Twenty minutes after that, she—The Girl Who Refuses to Nap—was out cold on one couch while her brother found himself watching Enola Holmes alone on the other. I hovered beside them, plastic…
Thank you to those who reached out after my post last week: you people are something else, you know that? I appreciate hearing from sympathetic spirits, and friends, and others who just simply get that life is complicated and hard and say things like Ugh, I am so glad I’m not alone. Because isn’t that the entire point? The not-aloneness? I ran into the mom of one of Saoirse’s soccer teammates before their game this past weekend. As everyone does when we greet each other, she asked me how I was doing, and without thinking, I blurted, “I’m here.” I didn’t mean anything deep by it–I was really just trying to not complain about how absolutely freezing it was outside, and it was the first thing that came into my head instead. The mom burst out laughing. “I love that,” she said. “It’s so true: just to be like, I’m here, and that’s good enough.” Today, I’m popping out for lunch with my friends Barbara* and Renée, which makes me feel very…
Well, hello! It’s good to see you again! It’s a gorgeous day here in my tiny part of Pennsylvania. It truly feels like fall: the air is quiet now that the birds have moved on. The sun is low. I’m sitting on the front porch with Riley. She likes to hang out with me when I take a moment out here in the mornings or evenings, my constant–but quiet, which is good for this introvert–companion. I don’t know if she just likes the company, or if her canine instincts feel the need to protect me from the chipmunks, but I love having her here at my feet. David and I have been readying the house and yard for the season: shrubs trimmed back, mums blooming, the trusty burnt-orange wreath that will hang against the front door for the next several weeks. Riley sits and sniffs and takes it in. A chipmunk runs by her front paws, ignored. Fierce protector, this one. I touch the outside of my nostril, where my new-ish piercing is settling in. I call it my third nose hole, to the…