Back from Battle

No, not really! But when Anne and N. dropped Punch, me and Sug off at Sis and Don's in Greenwich for Don's bday dinner, Anne and I joked about how relieved she would be to unload us. No more short one causing or escalating spats, spitting in the car, or tormenting Sug by loving her so much and trailing her constantly, from water bowl to petite dinner plate. For five full days in a row.

Take Me Away
But now that I'm back home after H. and Figgy and I went from the party to NJ to drop Punch off, I can reflect, and do feel like I've been to war a tiny bit.

Yesterday, I was so tired and dying for a soothing lavender bath at 8:15 P.M. My hair was a mess that had been soaked in the pond and squashed under a hat. The night before, even though Punch was yawning and exhausted and couldn't stand anymore, it took 1 1/2 hours to finally get her to sleep by 10:30 P.M. By then, I was too tired to shower. All I wanted last night was an hour to take a bath and sink into Gift from the Sea, a beautiful book I'm rereading. [It was written in 1955 by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.] It's a quick, compelling read all about balancing motherhood, marriage, friendship and work/craft, and making the most of your life.

A Day's Journey
Wednesday began when we pulled down the Pull-Up, put on the froggy panties, washed our hands ["Smell it," Punch said of the pink grapefruit Softsoap for the fifth time in a row, thrusting her tiny hands toward me] and tiptoed right out quietly as we could to walk Sug around the neighborhood. That little jaunt involved touring someone's lovely garden [the man beckoned us in], picking a baby sour green apple from a tree and tasting it, and dropping in to visit our next-door neighbor, Dot Hemmings, an old-time Cape Codder recovering from knee surgery.

Then we made oatmeal for breakfast, followed by nine Little Sister Key Lime Tarts with N. [The girls took turns patting the crust into the mini tart pans, cracking the eggs, adding the sugar, adding the key lime juice, and stirring.] I was dying of the humidity, sweating to death, but put the fan on. Then to the Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary, where we saw chipmunks, butterflies and ducks, and N. and Punch ran around on the soft pine-needle-carpeted trails a little. Then, the Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans, for panini, ice cream, coffee drinks for the adults [and two surprisingly smooth and rich Hot Chili Truffles, which I had read about last week on the Sparrow blog]. Then, the Eastham Windmill, which was open for tours. Then, Great Pond, for the third day in a row, to paddle and float, dig and dip, and, once again, duck-watch. And duck-chase.

Then, Stop and Shop, for some groceries. [Anne and I were very frugal. We four had tuna sandwiches, a pack of Ramen noodles, and raw carrots for dinner last night.] Then, warm bath for N. and Punch.....then, take turns whipping cream to have on the tarts. Then, watch Punch promptly put her face in the cream. Then, take Punch to bed, with books and songs and stories and chats about all we did that day....and make sure to mention the Mommy dragon in the off-key version of "Puff the Magic Dragon," at Punch's insistence, and make water runs for "I'm thirsty" calls....then pat yourself on the back when she finally falls asleep by 8:17 P.M. [Not that I was clock-watching.]

Battle Scars
So I ran over to Dot's with one little tart, which she loved. I left Dot's kitchen to take a bath, but fell on my face in the dark, Sug at my side. I had tripped on a piece of driftwood, and landed on the black, gravelly street. Skinned my knees very badly, especially the left one. It was killing me all night. All swollen and bloody, and stinging when I submerged it in the lavender bathwater.

Rewards and risks. That's the Cape Cod theme. You can see hundreds of stars with the naked eye when you stand in front of the house on Wonderstrand Way, because there are no streetlights. And you can fall flat on your face, helpless and alone, in the pitch dark on Wonderstrand Way, also because there are no streetlights. You can love a baby with all your might and still wonder if you will make it through the day and ever have time to shampoo your hair again, though you know in your heart that you will always find time to shampoo hers. You take the leap, then learn the lesson. You accept the risks with the rewards. That's life.