All Work And A Little Play

I worked all weekend. Or at least most of it. I worked while Em went to a bowling party (though I treated myself to a relatively expensive lunch by myself while I did so). I worked while Baroy took Em and N to see that movie about the sled dogs, which I was worried would be too sad for them. (Em: I had a tight throat the whole time, Mom, but I liked it. N, making an exaggerated booboo face: The doggies died, Mommy. Like Zaboo and Pumpkin.) I worked while the kids played with their Uncle Stevie. I worked while they all watched the Olympics and Flower Drum Song. (Don't ask.) I even got up early this morning to finish up an article, leaving my husband and warm, sweet-smelling little boy (who had joined us at about 3am, cementing my opinion that he should not be allowed to sleep in Em's room, even if he does beg to do so every night, because that's the only time he ever wakes up and comes into our bed) behind, until N came down the stairs all tossled and irate. "You never stayed in the bed with me! That's not nice!"

The lovely part of the weekend, though, was getting to see three of my friends, all of whom I met during my days at ABigScienceMagazine. Two of them were in from New York with their daughter; the other came from in from an hour or so away with her three kids. We met at my house, and the kids all ran around together; so odd and fun to see the offspring of a group of former work colleagues cavort around together. Six kids all together, between the ages of 10 and 3. Aside from trying to convince my friend's two boys to stop using N's whiffle ball pitcher as a gun with which to shoot the three girls (and trying to convince N that it wasn't hysterically funny and that, no, he shouldn't try it, too) we were mostly free to hang and gossip and enjoy each other. Which we did.

But there was a pall over the group, with good reason. The New York friends were in town to see another former ABigScienceMagazine colleague of ours, who was recently diagnosed with a very advanced cancer that was deemed inoperable only after they'd opened her up in the first place. I've lost touch with her over the years, but that doesn't mean that this isn't making me extremely sad. I spent a lot of time with her and her family for a few years; in fact, they were all at my wedding, 10 years ago next month. She's just much too young for this shit.

So, amidst the enjoying and the cooing over children and the taking of innumerable pictures, there were the clipped "how's she doing?" "how's she feeling?" conversations, and the "I just don't have the words" gestures. Because I don't. It seems too ghoulish to get back in touch with her in order to say goodbye, and yet it feels too cold not to say goodbye, if goodbye it is to be.

Too young. No words.