It's been one of those weeks where the girls seem a little more difficult than usual, the days feel a little longer and I find myself daydreaming about the good ol' days when I had an office and could just go inside and shut the door on the craziness outside. Not that closing the door always worked--you can't keep out all the crazy. But still. I had a door. And I could close it. And drink coffee. And call my coworker who was also sitting in her office, door firmly shut, and talk about all the crazy around us.
These days there are no doors to close when things get wild. We just ride it out and hope for a better day tomorrow.
That's kind of where we were on Tuesday, after a particularly terrible Monday, waiting for things to even out. I was irritable, short-tempered and in desparate need of a coffee break when Claire brought me a book and asked who gave it to her (this is a common question with Claire--she wants to know the origin of each toy, book, dish towel and picture frame in the house).
I glanced at the book, "Pat the Bunny," and replied, "Bob."
"Who's Bob?" she asked. "Is he your friend?"
"Well, yeah, he was our neighbor."
The first house we bought in Dallas was in an older part of town called Lake Highlands. It was the kind of neighborhood that attracted lots of young families, but still had quite a few original homeowners, too. Bob, at 83, was an original homeowner.
The day after we moved in, Bob showed up at our house with a very lopsided layer cake and an invitation to come over for dinner. We didn't know it at the time, but his wife had passed away two weeks before we moved in. He told me later, on one of my many visits to clip roses from his beloved's gorgeous rose garden, that it was important to him to make that cake, because it's what his wife would've done.
When Claire was born, Bob brought over a present for her--several books, including "Pat the Bunny." For some reason, when Claire asked me about that book this week, it conjured up vivid memories of Bob and our time in Lake Highlands. And I was surprised to realize that all those memories were good ones.
There were tough times, to be sure, when Claire was a baby. Days that were probably very much like the ones we've been having this week. But now that we're a few years removed, all I can recall are happy times.
Boy, did I need that. The next time we have a week like this, remind me to reach for "Pat the Bunny" instead of the door.