6710 Grand

May-cember.  It’s becoming more recognized among parents of school-aged children.  The month of May is so crammed with activities that it resembles December—but with none of the fun of Christmas.  Performances, end of year parties, tournaments, concerts, graduation, graduation parties, dentist appointments, annual physicals, standardized tests, due dates, Mother’s Day, birthdays, Cinco de Mayo, Endangered Species Day, World Day for Cultural Diversity… the list seems endless.  There’s so much to do for the kids and their insane schedules, not to mention all that I’m doing for work—grant deadlines, promote summer camp, spring appeal, grant reports, meetings, annual reviews, contract negotiations—and home—renew pest control, renew lawn maintenance, plant flowers, tend to flower beds, mow the lawn, oil change on the mower, figure out why the composter isn’t working, clean the carpets, balance the checkbook, pay the taxes, renew the Costco membership, plan the graduation ...

There are a lot of specifics I don’t remember.  Where we were living, what stage of our marriage we were in, how many children we had—but really, none of that matters.  What matters is this: we were married with more than one child.  I had moved many times to support our lives together.  I was less than thrilled with my body and had no illusions about my own mortality, aging and/or energy for frivolous things like intimacy.  I hope that paints a picture for you before I share this moment in my life. I was picking Nick up from some airport somewhere.   It was either PHX or PHL or EWR.   I don’t remember and it wasn’t important.    It had been somewhere between 4 days and 2 weeks since I’d seen him.   Either way, it was a long enough time for me to be exhausted by parenting, housekeeping, working full-time and trying to maintain some kind of sanity. “How was your trip?” I said after pulling away from the curb. “It was good.   Ha...