Full circle

And now all of a sudden I am intimidated by it. By having too much time off after repellent stomach surgery, after reading too much smarmy and wonderful Grantland and too many killer blogs, I have wedged myself into a corner where I think my writing is better locked in my brain or at least on my laptop and not splayed all up in here for all the world to see.

Then, I write a paragraph and realize I am halfway home.

It’s been a week since my last my post and I have recovered from a boy’s weekend, recovered from invasive laparoscopic gastric band adjustment surgery (five different holes in my belly, look like a drive by victim), a dinner party where I accidentally plunged into a hot tub (blackberry number two dead as Caesar) and finally a Father’s Day where I got to listen to this being uttered from my kitchen window:

“Nana, when did you hit puberty?”

Ok, hit a groove now.  Will keep plodding.  I was also not so subtly reminded of my youthful habits of never leaving a box of crackers with more than one left on the shelf, never more than a sip of milk in the fridge, never turning the lid on the jar of jam more than once (thus leaving it perfectly poised to drop the moment the next jam needer grasped it to dollop some on some toast) and always leaving the jar of peanut butter swarthy with globs on the side, sometimes butter knife still erect and also covered waiting in the cupboard.

I heard these stories because my mother heard me lashing out at Hudson on Sunday about how he was putting the Popsicles away. How was he doing it you are asking?  Well let me tell you. He was trying to get one Popsicle out and slam the freezer door so fast so the cornucopia of orange, grape and cherry frozen treats would not cascade across the frozen portions of chicken breasts and land on the kitchen floor. I wanted him to take the time and figure it out. He wanted me to shut up and let him eat his Popsicle before it melted.  My mother, stepfather and wife found this conversation remarkably hilarious and familiar. Thus beginning the reminiscing about my kitchen escapades explained earlier.

I get it, Hudson is me, I am turning into my father and Tasman does the same dink dances I did when I was five.

It’s a full circle I tell you.