This weekend marked the first day of summer…and the last summer weekend of the year that we’ll spend on the East Coast (we don’t get back until Labor Day Weekend).
It’s just the two of us at the moment – Kendrick started work in SF a couple of weeks ago – so Indy and I spent the days walking in the woods, going to farmer’s markets, driving up the Saw Mill, picking raspberries, looking at sheep and horses and baby chicks (!) at Stone Barns (they’re still there for a couple more weeks if you want to plan a day trip), and making trips to the pool and the playground and the pool and the playground and the pool. (Lots of pools and playgrounds this weekend.) On Sunday night, my mom and dad came up to say goodbye and eat mussels and sweet corn in the backyard.
After they left, I cried. And I’m crying a little while writing this. It’s not because I’m not looking forward to it – I am; I’m excited about seeing Kendrick, and the Pacific Ocean, and the day trips we’ll be able to take, and at this point the big, headache-y logistical issues (like my doctor and insurance plan, our rental car, Indy’s day camp, all the records that had to be secured and printed out and sent to the appropriate parties) have pretty much been worked out.
But thoughts as silly as But I just want to sleep in my own bed with all my things that I need right there next to me are enough to bring tears. Obviously part of this is just being sort of emotional in general right now – eight months pregnant will do that to you – and obviously it’s not my bed that’s the issue and obviously I don’t need that many “things” at all; that’s just me whining. The issue is that I feel so safe and comfortable in my home, and I like feeling that way right now. I love my yard, love my hammock, love that I can pick rosemary from right outside my door whenever I need it. When I next see my house, the rosemary will be dead and summer will have ended, even though it’s only just begun. And that breaks my heart a little bit.
But even more than that is the fact my son feels safe and comfortable here, in his home and in his town. I’m so anxious about how he’s going to handle the transition to becoming a big brother already that adding in a new living situation, new friends, new camp, new routine, new everything…I’m just…worried about him. I want him to have the best summer of his little life.
I know I’m going to forget to pack that one toy that he is going to end up wanting to have in California more than any other, and that it’s going to make me feel so sad that I can’t give him that silly little thing that he doesn’t need, of course, but that he wants, just because holding it makes him feel safer.
Because I’ll know exactly how he feels.
I also know that he’s a kid, and kids are nothing if not adaptable, and that he’ll be fine. But I also know how much he loves raspberries…and here, in the place where we live, I know exactly where to take him to eat them straight off of the bush.
