One More Kiss

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 party, plan the family vacation…

It's an endless list.  I’m grateful to not be responsible for all of it.  I’ve said it before—I don’t want things to be easier.  I just want to handle it better.  So, I’ve been implementing some serious stress management techniques:

·         Adjust the workday so I can fit in a trip to the gym—uninterrupted (except when my boss calls because she forgot about my “sacred time” and, though she apologizes and says “it’s nothing, I’ll call you later”, now I really want to know and I’ve already paused the treadmill so you might as well tell me).

·         Add in a 30 minute buffer to the end of the day when I’m done with work but haven’t yet “left the office” so I have time to read, reflect, pray, meditate, etc.

·         Make Bible verse flash cards so I can remember in the moments of panic what’s really at stake here and how I should view my challenges.

·         Think realistically about what goes on “the list” so I can be reasonably sure I can actually accomplish all of it in a day.

Plus, Nick helps a lot when he’s home.  He goes to most of Iris’s track meets (they’re during the day). He handles “maintenance”.  I’m “room service”.  He takes care of most of the home projects while I manage the day to day.  We’re a partnership.  We get it done.  It’s not always pretty, but we get it done.

This is where we were last week, 2 days before he left for an 18 day trip.  That trip, when it was over, would mark the beginning of the summer of insanity (more about that later).

We are not facing a summer of leisure, days lounging by the pool, basking in the sun and showing off our tanned, fit, bodies.  Rather, it is a summer of upheaval.  Ivy starts college in the fall.  Iris is knee deep in track stardom.  Bebo is struggling to focus on school work and Ike is the ONLY boy on a block of more than a dozen GIRLS.  Our pool needs major work, Nick is on the verge of upgrade to Captain and the non-profit world is in turmoil thanks to DOGE and panic among philanthropists.

We’re busy.  We’re stressed.

Am I painting a picture?

Last week (on Endangered Species Day!), I had an important meeting in Scranton.  I needed to be at the sanctuary by noon.  It was the same day as Iris’s  last track meet—the high jump.  If she did well, she’d go to state…or district…or something.  I don’t remember.  Ivy had an appointment to get a TB test for her (hopeful) summer job, so she needed to be taken to school later.  Bus stop is at 7:40.  Iris to school at 7:50.  Ivy needs to be at school at 8:30.  Nick has a PT appointment at 8:30.  I leave for Scranton at 7:45am.  We have 2 cars.  We scribble a schedule and make it all work.  You go here.  I go there.  I drop off this kid, you take that kid.  We have a plan.  We put it into motion and…GO!

Everything goes smoothly—no major hiccups or setbacks.  People get where they need to be and on time.  At 8:05, I’m pulling out of the gym and call Nick.

“I’m on my way.  I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Turning onto (major intersection),” I say.

“Ok, I’m at (different major intersection).  Do you need gas?”

“No.”

“Where can I meet you?” he asks, not really talking to me.

“How about Starbucks?”  There was one right by the highway entrance.

“I just need one more kiss.”

I will make this happen.  He’s leaving for 18 days in less than 48 hours.  I will not regret the pause.

“Pull into the Starbucks.  I’ll meet you there.”

I divert from my route to pull into my favorite coffee shop but the tiny parking lot is full.  I see him already there.  He parks in a handicap space (I know!) and I pull forward into the space next to the drive thru. 

He gets out of the car.  I get out of the car.  He walks over, wraps his arms around me, and we share a deep (PG-13), thorough, kiss.  We pull apart and smile. 

“See you tonight?” he says.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way home,” I respond.

There’s a woman leaving the Starbucks.  She stops and smiles knowingly. 

He walks back to the van, I get back in the car and drive off. 

In the midst of May-cember, we find a way to connect.  To recognize the importance of connection.  To put aside the list of tasks and emergencies and say “this deviation from the urgent is necessary,” and we mean it.

Life hasn’t stopped—but it slowed for just a moment.  We drank it in and pressed on.  There will be many more years of May-cembers.  And many more moments where just one more kiss is worth the pause.