Sassafrass - Sassafrass

Monday

Sep242012

In the state of Portland

Monday, September 24, 2012

A day-and-a-half into the Not Boyfriend's cross-country move, a day after E's birthday and only two days after the strike was settled enough to open school doors for teachers and kids in Chicago Public Schools, we took off. It felt abrupt, abandoning two school days to travel when school was just getting going again and sloughing off the schedule both Lil E and me were missing. But it was all for a greater purpose, one that makes it OK to press pause on Everyday Math and 35 minutes on the Stairmaster and a deadline on hold.

LuLu, one of my very best friends, was marrying her love in a park in Portland. And we were going to be there to watch her walk down the aisle. (Remember Lu from this fierceness and this deliciousness?)

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Moving day

Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Not Boyfriend rarely posts to Facebook, popping in occasionally to connect with military buddies or write something sweet on his mother’s memorial wall.

And so today when he put up a orange-hued photo of The Painted Ladies he took earlier this week, I saw something more than a goodbye to San Francisco. He was shifting.

I’ve felt it for weeks, the sadness of saying farewell to the city he’s made his home for a decade and where he came to care for his mom, the anticipation of the movers and boxes and just getting through the long haul across the country, the softness to see my smile in talking about having him here.

But there it all was in one picture of one of his favorite spots in his city, and in the one line that accompanied it: À bien tôt San Francisco. I will miss thee.

It’s very him of the Not Boyfriend to say farewell that way. Our earliest text were peppered with French and Spanish and he still loves to throw a Japanese or Italian phrase over my phone as I head through security and an airport or before he tucks in for the night.

It’s not just his books and custom-made coffee table and precision-sharpened chef’s knives moving seven states, I thought, staring at the intentional graininess of the row of Victorian houses and handful of typed words below it. His whole heart is in transition.

The day got busy in each of our states. He supervised a crew of movers, wrapped up business where he was, and I tended to my boy’s birthday arrangements.

In a pause, I checked my email, and waiting there was an alert that the Not Boyfriend had made another update on Facebook, this time tagging me in his post.

I clicked over. There was a picture taken in downtown Chicago on New Year’s Eve day. It was cold and bright and we were standing in front of the Bean with many other people looking into the smooth steel reflection of the city in the final hours of the year.

We’d just passed a man as he threw his hands in the air and yelled out, “SHE SAID YES!” to a small crowd of strangers while a giddy, embarrassed woman with wavy brown hair laughed and clutched her pink cheeks with oversized mittens.

There were crowds of teenagers and people speaking other languages, families taking photos of themselves and the magnificent skyline.

And there we were, the Not Boyfriend behind the camera and me, making a kissy face in my own self-consciousness of standing before him, and still so far away. He was a matter of feet in the distance when he snapped that photo, but outside the grasp he’d had of my hand most of the day, it felt like miles.

Underneath this photo, he wrote, “Off to my hometown Chicago. Turning the page... — with Jessica Ashley.”

Those letters, in that configuration, with that photo, in that moment, filled all the space left between us.

Moments before, I’d posted a photo of the three of us -- he and Lil E and me framed by more clear, crisp blue skies and the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was his city in this picture and this time, we were huddled together. But there we were, all making kissy faces at the camera.

This move is a big deal, a wide-open beating of three very vulnerable hearts. I get the sacrifice he’s making, I honor the pain of releasing all he’s built and experienced there. And I am so grateful the next chapter gets to be with me.

I wanted to be more available as he packed up his own car full of camping equipment and headed out on the highway and the planned the route to the many stops he’ll be making in the days ahead. Instead, I was running from Target to school pick-up to Party City to my parents’ house to make the day big and wonderful for the other love in my life.

We went about our business and busyness, little texts and check-ins as we could. But the distance already felt closed. I sat in traffic, swiped my debit card, recycled wrapping paper, did dishes. But what was happening across state borders made me feel like the lines were already drawn in.

Lil E’s birthday. Our new beginning. Maybe it all had to happen on one big moving day. Things change. We shift. And my heart keeps growing, filling up and growing more.

GR8 2B 8!

Thursday, September 20, 2012

My boy is eight years old today. Same clear blue skies, same sumptuous autumn light. I blinked and the newborn got teeth, lost teeth, stretched, spoke, got gangly, learned to read, developed a healthy appreciation for sarcasm, the spotlight, Legos, Mr. Bill, Black Eyed Peas, hats, macaroni penguins, planets, jump-front kicks and America’s Funniest Home Videos.

The deep seeds of extraordinary compassion, silliness, curiosity and spirituality broke through the surface with curling leaves and tiny blooms.

He learned to read, draw in perspective, make grilled cheese, unlock doors, do multiplication and Sudoku and play Battleship.

He grew out his hair, shunned blue jeans, tore through chapter books, told jokes on stage in front of his whole school, wrote many pages of stories. He refused to ride his bike but glides blissfully down the block on his scooter. He’s mastered an impression of his toddler cousin getting angry at the dog for eating the eye off of his favorite stuffed animal. He will never hesitate to weave body function references and potty talk into conversation. He seizes all opportunities to get every single detail about topics that do not involve him at all.

He’s an ardent flosser, seat buckler, recycler, pursuer of justice, lover of peace, student of Ghandi and MLK and Jackie Robinson and Transformers. He’s earned dollar-coins and a giant commemorative Obama coin from the tooth fairy and three crisp bills for helping my mom babysit.

I knew there was a big world inside that 7-pound 2-ounce wavy-haired newborn boy with the absorbing brown eyes and rosebud lips and delicate fingers. I knew there was so much ahead.

I just didn’t know then that the details -- the “Mommy! I love that blue dress on you!” and “Mommy! What do you call cheese that’s not yours?” and “Mommy, look at this that I made!” and “Mommy, I can’t decide whether to be a Lego artist or rapper in an a capella group or scientist when I grow up!” and “Mommy, what does it mean when people say ‘soulmate’?” and “Mommy! Can I ride around the corner and back all by myself?” and “Mommy! Who is cooler - Indiana Jones or the Transformers?” -- would make my world come into such clear focus.

There is much more ahead, in this year and the many that follow. He will do big things, in whatever way big is to him. I look ahead and see that I will sit in an audience applauding him, stand by his side as he becomes a husband or father, cry and cheer and thank God as his life shifts in unpredictable, hard, challenging and amazing ways.

But when the big stuff unfolds, I hope I am still holding on to these details, to the questions and moments and little pieces of time that are not measured in milestones or money or resumes.

My wish for him is that he will find many ways to feel the way he looks breezing down the street on his scooter today -- completely happy, a little in awe, feeling big and independent and brimming with bravery and anticipation about what is around the corner.

Oh, eight. Gap-smiled and singing Katy Perry and writing sticky notes with research questions on the planets and gliding, gliding, gliding away and back -- eight is looking like a crazy, great place to be.

Flip back the scrapbook:

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