Sometimes My Life Feels Like a Foo-Foo and Wipe-Up Puppet Show

And then it's this thing and then another; a long string of moments all strung up willy nilly, like beads from a thousand broken necklaces all restrung without any sense of order or style. That's what the month of October was like, a miss-mash of days and emotions; anticipation of three birthdays to orchestrate, decorate and celebrate, my brother-in-law's, my mother's and my husband's with Thanksgiving smack in the middle.

On my mother's birthday, my grand-mother passed, and my husband went awol with work demands, car repairs and the sale of his apartment. I mourned my grand-mother and encouraged my mother to keep every word in the beautiful speech she prepared for the funeral. On the afternoon of the funeral, sad that I couldn't be with my family, I snuck away with my sister-in-law and my boy to decorate a fake cake with play-doh to trick my husband on his birthday, and totally fooled him. That weekend, we slept in a tent and rode a moped with our boy for the first time. We laughed when he fed his grand-pa's pet chickens, but cried when the roosters woke us up at 3 in the morning.

I was sad to miss this year's Thanksgiving turkey, but way too lazy to run around town to look for non-existent ingredients only to burn it all in my possessed oven with two settings, mostly burned or hardly charred. I missed my brothers. I missed my friends. I wished they would call and check up on me. I felt sorry for myself. I checked up on them.

And then it was Halloween, and costumes, and special snacks for school, a friend's new baby, homework for Portuguese class, school fees to pay, real-estate papers to sign, a new employee at work to welcome, and passport photos to be done, redone, cropped and re-cropped. Protests shutting down the neighborhood, too many coffees and cakes, hauling heavy grocery bags from the farmer's market on the hottest, most humid day of the year, standing at the counter savoring my $10 pomegranates, starting oil painting, Lebanese feasts shared with friends, bowling with my boy for the first time, pedaling, running, climbing stairs, getting the front door key jammed in the keyhole, having a fit over the saran-wrap that keeps sticking to itself, playing trains for the millionth time, and entertaining a screaming kid in the car with Foo-foo and Wipe-Up, his smelly sock puppets. A little marital break-down thrown in the mix, which we quickly tuned-up with some kind words and more hugs, and an impromptu "date" at our favorite restaurant when our boy fell asleep in the stroller. Then, a call from my husband's father, who is ill and in the hospital for various unknown problems. We visit. We circle the hospital. We wait. We keep the boy entertained with Foo-Foo and Wipe-Up all the way back to the city.

And the thing is, there's a thread that runs through all these days filled with delight, sadness, self-pity, adventure, creativity, grieving, worry, stress, silliness, savoring, sharing, hugging, kissing, playing, working, blowing candles, it's love. And thank God for that. And pad-thai after a long day on the road.

My boy made sure those chickens were well fed all day long.