Years ago when Birdie (now nearly 8) was 3 going on 30, she announced from the backseat, “Mama, I always love you, but sometimes I don’t like you…I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Goodness.

We talked for a bit and determined when she first felt the stirrings of dislike was earlier in the day when I had shrieked at her or her brother for some reason. I had already apologized and ostensibly, been forgiven but some discomfort remained. I assured her I understood the whole love/like paradox and expressed my gratitude that she always loved me and the hope that she could like me again. She already did, but the fact that she hadn’t early was still unsettling for her.

Although Birdie only used it the once, “I’m sorry, but it’s true,” is now a part of the family vernacular. Many a time since I have needed to speak the truth with sorrow and how handy to have the perfect phrase that doesn’t minimize the truth but expresses adequate regret.

Feel free to borrow it.

My alarm is set for 6:45, a bit less than 2 hours from now. I am committed to walking with a friend. I really wish I wasn’t awake right now.

I asked this woman to walk with me when I realized she lived very near the walking path I frequented, not frequently enough. She agreed and we started walking Tuesdays and Thursdays in the morning as she had another fitness commitment on the other days.

At the offset I told her I wanted to walk at a brisk pace but I had a tendency to meander. I didn’t actually stop and point at dust particles but…you get the picture. I didn’t want to make the intensity of our walk her responsibility but asked her to speak up if she realized we were lagging. A couple of times she did and then I would gladly pick up the pace. Neither of us really enjoyed walking but the commitment kept us doing it and the company helped pass the time.

A few weeks into it her neighbor joined us. This chick could haul. On our first time out my hip was hurting and then my foot, I knew they would warm up eventually, which they did but by then my lungs were shot. I kept going but at times a step behind them as if I was slightly subservient. I pictured myself just dropping by the side of the road and asking them to come back for me in a car. I kept walking. At the end I was drenched in sweat and felt great.

The next Tuesday it was just Tracey and me again. We walked briskly but I didn’t find myself inventorying what organs I could jettison. I asked Tracey if I was holding her back. We both laughed about what a fast walker her neighbor is.

That Thursday I was waiting on Tracey’s front porch when she came out in a robe. “I can’t walk today. Sorry, I forgot to call. Oh but look there’s Rhina. You two can still walk.” I turned to see her neighbor sprinting towards us and then whispered, “She’s going to kick my can!!!”

We set out. We kept a good pace, but I wasn’t dying. We had a nice talk and a good walk. As we approached the end I told her how glad I was that she had come out.

“I used to walk all the time but I haven’t this summer and gained some weight. It is so much easier to do it when you go with others. Although I knew you guys are only in your 30’s so I was concerned about keeping up.”

!!!!

The woman is 42. I said. “Look sister, you have nothing to worry about. We were busting it to keep up with you.”

We took a couple weeks off for a variety of reasons. Two days ago we got back on it. All of us had had crappy nights of sleep so we were on the same page – good pace, same distance, no heroics.

I have been awake since before 4. What if they are sleeping peacefully?

Insomniacs unite and pray!

Beanie comes up to me sipping on a juice box. She was drinking very intently, really sucking it down when she paused and sort of gasped, “Das so cold.”

I had to pull her onto my lap but she chose that moment to try to start drinking again so the straw sort of poked her in the eye. “Ho ho ho you litto man!” She chuckled. “I call it da litto man.”

She continued a rather sweet little conversation with the drink box or the straw. I wasn’t able to ascertain who she was addressing.

If you poked me in the eye I would probably call you something other than “little man” and I certainly wouldn’t be laughing. I think she has a good personality.

Is it the twittering of birds? The dulcet tones of my toddler? The cheerful whistling of the electrician? It’s all three baby!

It is so much easier to be cheerful when the sun is shining, there is not a cloud in the sky, I have had a full night’s sleep and my children are all in separate rooms going about there own business. I am wearing a wide skirt and apron and have paused from flinging flower petals around to blog with you.

OK, I’m wearing jeans and a Fila shirt and have just spent the last half hour wandering around my house trying to decide what to do first, but I was being such a sweetie it really amounts to the same thing. Right?

I had just finished eating an early lunch when The Bean came up to me, “You are very sick, Mama.”

“Actually, I feel great.” I said flashing her a beautific smile.

“No you are sick. Git in my office!”

I got.

Sadly her office is her room which she shares with Birdie who has every surface covered with clothing as she packs for an upcoming trip.

“Oh this is too messy.” She led me next door to her brother’s room which was also beneath her standards for cleanliness. There she was distracted by some finger puppets and I escaped to the computer.

Would anyone like to come over and do 6 loads of laundry, make dinner, vacuum the pool, paint the dining room ceiling, prime the walls, sand 7 chairs, spruce up the deck, clean 2 bathrooms and transplant about 50 hosta?

Anyone? Anyone?

I just thought I’d ask.

I am feeling slightly less sunshiney.

Oh wait The Bean is back with a book. I better read it to her – doctor’s orders.

Sure, it’s fun at first, getting up at four in the morning, staying up for hours then drifting off just as small and irresponsible people are rising and getting into mischief so you have to drag yourself out too. But after doing that about a hundred times it gets kind of old.

There is a particularly virulent form of insomnia that really torks me off. Here is how it goes: I awake, listen for something I might need to pray about, if nothing pings my spirit I pray generally then begin to read until I drift off, when I start to feel myself sagging I quick turnly out the light and snuggle in sooo relieved to be sleeping again and then I realize I am wide awake. This can happen countless times for hours. Torture.

My mom called this morning to ask, “Does it still work out for me to take the kids out for lunch?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, it does.

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This is the last curmudgeony post, I promise. If I have to bust into a nursing home and get a B12 shot I will turn the cranky tone of this blog around.