A Friday Miscellany

Well, I'm about to start a farewell tour of all my favorite blogs in anticipation of a week's absence. We leave for Cuba tomorrow, one whole week of just me and Pynchon ... and a whole wedding party full of people who seem to love drama. Wish me luck.

Of course, no matter how silly it gets:


It will still be more scenic and more relaxing than home. This pic is from our honeymoon in Jamaica. Pynchon has since taken a Photoshop course, but the drug dealers are still in the photo. Maybe Oh, the Joys can help ...
--------------------
Do you ever suspect you're turning into your mother? I always leave my packing to the day before or the day of a big trip, because I'm really efficient at it, and don't have so much stuff that I can pack it all a week in advance and not feel the absence of shoes or pants. This trip, however, I've been unable to enjoy even contemplating while shorts and sunscreen remained un-nestled in separate plastic bags inside a large black roller suitcase. As I tucked the last bathing suit into my bag this afternoon, I said to Pynchon: "Now I'm ready to enjoy myself."

And that is when I turned into my mother.

In my defense, I'm in charge of logistics always, while Pynchon is in charge of lifting the heavy things. The cognitive burden is a little higher in my case, soothed only by alcohol rather than the simple Advil required to diminish the aches of his work. And I'm packing for Miss Baby as well. She has, by far, the most luggage of the three of us, and she's only going to my sister's house for the week.

Still, I have found myself not wanting to think about the trip because I've seen it as a logistical summit to be climbed, rather than a pleasurable experience in the near future. This is what makes me my mother. Gulp.
----------------------
Miss Baby was at daycare between 8:30 and 2:30 today. By herself. It was the first time Pynchon and I had been alone in the house together since she was born, nearly 11 months ago.

We packed. Then we read the newspaper. How thoroughly she's housebroken us!
-----------------------
Miss Baby was at daycare between 8:30 and 2:30 today. By herself. She was fine. The daycare workers later told Pynchon they were afraid he was going to hover forever. So now he feels chastened for being overprotective and too-attached.

At roughly the same time, at my office, the secretary was telling me how proud she was that we were able to leave Miss Baby for a whole week in pursuit of marital hedonism and unlimited alcohol. She had recently taken her first trip apart from her kids. They are 9 and 6. The more she praised my courage and gumption, the more freakish and unnatural I felt. I felt chastened for being callous and selfish.

I'm guessing the band of acceptable parental attachment is very narrow, noted more in the breach than in the observance. Today Pynchon is too clingy and I'm too detached. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
-------------------------
Before supper last night, I scooped Miss Baby up into my arms for a snuggle: she smelled .... of daycare workers. I felt as though she were cheating on me. She did not smell like my baby. I begin to understand why baby squirrels fallen from trees are not to be sullied by human hands for fear of maternal abandonment. Smell is primal, and Miss Baby's new scent hit me like a punch in the gut.
--------------------------
Have a good week everyone! I'll 'see' you when I get back.