|My pink bike, with flowers from the Montclair Farmers Market last Saturday.|
Plan to make up for it with a long walk with Sug and a ride on my pink bike. H. is working at his perch, holed up in the New York Public Library, Fig in city at school, Punchy still visiting her grandma [till Sunday].
But...also home alone with the fridge. Managed to throw out the last piece of frozen cheesecake from Fig's bday party and the leftover sweet potato fries.....so I wouldn't eat them. Was not as successful with the pretty peach-tinted tin of dainty butter cookies from the Sant Ambroeus location on Main Street in Southampton. Even Sug wanted one.....she is French, after all, and has impeccable taste.
Did eventually stop myself, put the metal lid back on the tin, rewrap it in the charming signature paper and retie the peach satin bow.
I'm beginning to get--a little bit--to that place where I was before Figgy was a glimmer in our eye. I wanted so much to be a mother, and it wasn't happening. I felt it was me and them, with them being all of the lucky women who were mothers. After a while, the fancy restaurants and even hotels felt like empty pleasures......like H. and I were pedaling in place, not getting anywhere.
What I mean is, all the pampering and glamour, the Silver Tulip cocktail sipping in Southampton last night and the hours to stand alone and feel the glorious breeze without chasing someone small on the sidewalk--I love those luxuries but do think of our two girls a lot. But now I'm on the other side, knowing not just the pink-cheeks/pink-booties joy but also the exhaustion and pure work of it all...
So this gift of being lazy and resting and reading is not to be underestimated, yet does have its own hollowness sometimes, for me.
Must also get some work done today.
Thanks for being there.