The candle has been burning on three ends in this here casa and we are fragile and frayed but creatively on fire. Dave was just hired and wrote an entire script in two weeks. For those of you who are not script familiar, that is like climbing Mt. Everest wearing polyester gym shorts and Payless Shoe Source stilettos without pantyhose or Dr. Scholl’s inserts. He is amazing. He is epic and he keeps this here roof intact and these here bellies full and for that I am eternally grateful and in awe of my super human hubby.
I, on the unpaid end, have been buried with volunteer duties at Otto’s school and a writing project that is a race to the finish line of frantic. My writing partner is leaving on a trip, which makes the clock tick louder and the workdays longer. But the super doozy, the biggest nut in this nut sack of life is that Dave’s back is still in a bad way and he is pain and still has to write. Which means he is taking special pain- -go-bye-bye pills which make him snore which means I am now sleeping on an Aerobed on the living room floor like a failing college freshman without a dorm assignment or a major. We are both dead ringers for dirty street pigeons who live on the edge and that is not on the sexy list of life.
There have been many posts about what I am like when I do not sleep and about my general state of mind when sleep deprivation creeps into this house and cuddles next to me at three a.m. Talking to me when exhaustion has landed on my lap is like trying to have a rational conversation with the Bride of Frankenstein after she’s lost her engagement ring and her white wedding dress has been set on fire by some daring and dumb local villagers.
Needless to say, five days on the living room floor with my mind a jumble, wretched lumpy dreams and my heart in my throat does not a happy lady make. Last night after writing all day and wrangling Otto on his day off of school and wondering if Dave could stand upright and how the hell we were going to swing the monthly nut, my mother called just as I Otto was sitting down to dinner. Without a word, Dave took over and I crawled upstairs and wept uncontrollably into the phone to the woman who has always made the boo-boos go away and kept the boogeyman at bay.
She listened and lamented and encouraged and enchanted me with her stories of struggling as a young mother and of feeling overwhelmed and under paid and still making it all work. She talked about her mother Phyllis, a woman who always managed to feed five kids and fight the good fight with a grin and a song rumbling off her lips. My mother allowed me let my hair down without judgment and yell and bitch and say the things that no one else lets me say. She told me she wished she was here to hold me and tell me that everything would be alright and that a few nights of no sleep would make anyone a bundle of bruises and a sack of sad.
And after all the tears and all the moans and all the "me, me, me’s" she hugged me long distance and kissed me cross-country and suddenly I felt as calm as an ocean and as rich as a Rockefeller.
I am so lucky to know that even when life kicks me in the shins and takes my lunch money my mom will be there at the bus stop to pick me up, dust me off and embrace me until all the bad just trickles down the street and into the sewer drain. And if that ain’t a wad of wealth in any wallet, then what is?