He made it.
Trudging across the beach at high tide, looking a little exhausted and a whole lot relieved, August got back just in time for Ruth's twentieth birthday champagne sunrise toast.
Basically we all drank it in a single gulp, eyes wide because she's twenty and she was seven yesterday, hung up on singing Avril Lavigne songs and wanting to dye her hair blue. I consented to that, a year later because why not? Her hair is no longer blue, right now it's bright green, and she's got a good handful of tattoos and is in her third year at University, which started today (sorry kid, your due date was August 22, not my fault you procrastinated), and so she's off on public transit, to figure it all out. Henry's gone off to do his schoolwork, having started last week on a course and since I'm technically not all that keen on discussing too much of my children online there's your paragraph for the season.
August looks a little past tired actually. Maybe a little haunted instead. Maybe conflicted. Maybe even lonely for those he knows best these days. He greets the children first, as we do, and then the boys. I am last and am practically rabid by the time I reach his arms. I'm so happy he's back. I worry that he's lonely. I worry that he doesn't have a strong enough pull to the point. I worry that something bad will happen when he travels alone.
So glad you came back.
Definitely probably my last year.
Ha. Doubt it.
No, you know even though last year was brief and didn't end up great it was nice having my whole family there. This year seemed strange without all of you. And he pulls me in for a hard hug again that leaves me without breath.
I stare at him when he lets go.
It's the truth, Bridget.
So you're not going again?
We'll have a burn here. I know a guy who does fire pretty well. He grins at Lochlan, who surprisingly grins back. Lochlan who has spent the week alternating between snapping at me, marvelling at the fact that his child is twenty years old today and being jealous of August for taking off for Burning Man without a care in the world and all that just went away. Nothing to be mad, sad or envious about, right this minute.
And if anything, though he has a torrent of emotions always at the ready, Lochlan also has a terrific gift of perspective and pragmatism, that keep him centered, balanced and open.
Really glad to hear you missed us, he tells August. We missed you too.
Trudging across the beach at high tide, looking a little exhausted and a whole lot relieved, August got back just in time for Ruth's twentieth birthday champagne sunrise toast.
Basically we all drank it in a single gulp, eyes wide because she's twenty and she was seven yesterday, hung up on singing Avril Lavigne songs and wanting to dye her hair blue. I consented to that, a year later because why not? Her hair is no longer blue, right now it's bright green, and she's got a good handful of tattoos and is in her third year at University, which started today (sorry kid, your due date was August 22, not my fault you procrastinated), and so she's off on public transit, to figure it all out. Henry's gone off to do his schoolwork, having started last week on a course and since I'm technically not all that keen on discussing too much of my children online there's your paragraph for the season.
August looks a little past tired actually. Maybe a little haunted instead. Maybe conflicted. Maybe even lonely for those he knows best these days. He greets the children first, as we do, and then the boys. I am last and am practically rabid by the time I reach his arms. I'm so happy he's back. I worry that he's lonely. I worry that he doesn't have a strong enough pull to the point. I worry that something bad will happen when he travels alone.
So glad you came back.
Definitely probably my last year.
Ha. Doubt it.
No, you know even though last year was brief and didn't end up great it was nice having my whole family there. This year seemed strange without all of you. And he pulls me in for a hard hug again that leaves me without breath.
I stare at him when he lets go.
It's the truth, Bridget.
So you're not going again?
We'll have a burn here. I know a guy who does fire pretty well. He grins at Lochlan, who surprisingly grins back. Lochlan who has spent the week alternating between snapping at me, marvelling at the fact that his child is twenty years old today and being jealous of August for taking off for Burning Man without a care in the world and all that just went away. Nothing to be mad, sad or envious about, right this minute.
And if anything, though he has a torrent of emotions always at the ready, Lochlan also has a terrific gift of perspective and pragmatism, that keep him centered, balanced and open.
Really glad to hear you missed us, he tells August. We missed you too.