Turning the tide

Friday the ice maker started working.  It happened all on its own.  Had it just been tired?  Feeling under appreciated?  I kind of feel like we should get to the bottom of it but I also kind of feel like we should just go with it.

In the early evening, Braeden was working, Adam was refereeing basketball games and Emma's friends came over.  Not that long ago I told Emma, "You can have your friends over sometime if you want."  Now we have them multiple times a week and I like it.  They are funny and loud and happy girls.  They occasionally hang out in the kitchen but they mostly stay in the basement.  They do each others' hair and laugh and watch Netflix and talk about weird fan girl stuff.  That, and senior boys.  There seems to be some interest there...

I think a basement is a beautiful thing.

After eating several chicken sandwiches Adam brought home from work, Mark had gone to his friend Nick's house so I had delicious time alone.  I sequestered myself in the school room.  Earlier in the day, I had cleaned my desk.

It doesn't approach the level of tidiness Mark maintains, but any day I can see the surface of the desk is a good day.

You have no idea what this did for my psyche.  I feel like I'll survive now.  (It had sort of been touch and go there for awhile.)  On my freshly organized surface, I organized my life a little.  I made school plans and typed up agendas for meetings and did all sorts of little tasks that soothed my soul and made me feel like my life was more in control.

Occasionally I would hear happy laughter coming up from the basement and I would smile.  I had heard the garage door earlier and so I thought Mark was home and I assumed he was downstairs with the girls too.  A strange phenomena in the Emma having friends over thing is that Mark usually hangs out with them too.  And it works.  It never works with Braeden, who is accommodating and a peacemaker and would do just about anything to avoid a conflict.  He inevitably comes to find me to beg me to distract Mark.  It works with Emma though, who would tell her brother to get lost in a heartbeat if she felt like it.  I don't understand why she rarely does.  Maybe Emma's friends think Mark is funny? Maybe the closer age difference helps?  Maybe Mark is getting more mature?

Pretty sure the last one is not true.  He's very thoroughly a twelve year old boy.

Anyway, I was happy they were all harmoniously enjoying the evening and I was feeling smug satisfaction about how on top of things I was when the phone rang.

It was Mark.

Calling from the basement?

"Hey Mom," he said breezily, "I'm just calling to check in."

My mind couldn't process the information.  I looked at the clock and it was after 8:00 and approaching dark.  "Are you at...Nick's?" I stuttered.

"Yeah," he said.

"I thought you came home hours ago!"

And just like that I was no longer on top of things.

"Do you think I should come home now?" Mark asked.

"Yeah," I said, "It's getting dark."

So the moral of that story is, don't ever think you have a handle on things, I guess.

In other news, today is our birthday, mine and Adam's.  We're forty-two.  Emma said she already thought we were forty-two and so did I.  But no, today is the day.

Emma also bent over the chair where I was sitting to kiss me good-bye before school and then gave me 42 pats on the head.  So I feel celebrated.

Saturday I got to see my sisters and I got to use Ammon's truck (which isn't as nice as seeing him) and my parents took us to dinner to celebrate and we watched Clarissa's concert and then sat outside in the mild evening air and chatted with Marianne and Robert and children over bottles of soda (including but not limited to Leninade--a taste worth standing in line for).

It really doesn't taste that good but the bottle cracks Braeden up.

It was a great way to spend a pre birthday.  In my mind, that had been the celebration.

Then yesterday afternoon, Adam off-handedly (and no one can do off-handed like Adam) said that he was taking today off.  Best. Gift. Ever.

Two birthday kids, along with their red head, painting the town red. That's us.