As always, I am conscious of the quick passage of time, yet this summer has flown by on new wings of flight. Our days rolling one upon the other to arrive at the end, before I had a chance to savor the middle.
Last night, after a day at the beach, I made blueberry-banana pancakes for dinner. It took forever, having one non-stick pan with a 6 inch circumference, which meant one pancake at a time. It was an opportunity to be frustrated, or....to make something special for my husband and each of my children, individually.
My son was the first up at the pancake bar, GIRL sitting in the living room, mesmerized by an episode of The Brady Bunch. As I stood in front of the stove, BOY would race into the kitchen, throw his arms around me, and tell me I was the best mom in the world. MOM, YOU ARE THE GREATEST MOM IN THE WORLD! He was angling for pancakes, but he also thought I was the best mom in the world because I was making pancakes for dinner. With real maple syrup and yes to whipped cream, Mom...
My GIRL, stuffed with anecdotes of Marcia Brady, sauntered into the kitchen keeping me company while I watched her pancake turn golden. The freckles dancing across her nose remind me of her father -if I imagine him at this age. She is my best companion in the kitchen, bar none. She likes her pancakes stuffed with blueberries, and with lots...of maple syrup.
My husband arrived home between flips of pancakes sizzling in the pan. Covered with the batter of his day, smelling of wood chips and fresh air. It seems his destiny to come home during the witching hour, when anything that can go wrong...will, with a 6 year old girl and a 7 year old boy in their end-of-the-day full throttle battle mode. If love could be willed into a pancake, it would have his name on it in blueberry letters. He likes his pancakes with maple syrup, and always comes back for more.
Then it was my turn. Light on bananas, plenty of fresh blueberries and lots of whipped cream. My belly replete with love for the family that I thought I would never have.
Today is the last day of camp for my children. It has been a summer filled with swimming, tie-dying, archery, the making of fairy wands, and Epic battles between counselors with tin foil armor and kids wielding swords. Every Tuesday and Thursday, they have come home covered in dirt and paint, hair in disarray, their skin pink from the heat. An outdoor summer camp, the old-fashioned way.
In a world in which we are assaulted with bad news on a daily basis, when we face the loss of loved ones, somehow it seems safe to grieve the loss of summer and the fullness of homemade, blueberry-banana pancakes in the belly...