Weekend Coffee Share #16


If we were having coffee, your mouth would open at the sight of the bandage on my ring finger. What happened?! Girl, let me tell you, and this is going to get kind of gross. I was using my new mandolin slicer to cut bits of apple for the Wee One, and wouldn’t you know it, I sliced the corner of my finger off.*

You immediately grimace and gasp. It’s not as bad as it sounds but it sucked when it happened. At first I thought I would have to get stitches, but there was nothing to stitch together!  And then I thought, how am I going to get her out of her high chair and into a car seat without bleeding all over the place? I was trying to keep it elevated and pressure on it, which meant I couldn’t do anything with her! It also meant I had a sanitary napkin wrapped around my finger, which was the only sanitary wound care thing we had in the house, and looked pretty funny.

Then, she started choking on one of those fucking apple slices! She ended up throwing up a little bit, which got it out, but I was so upset, more than about my finger. I got her out of her high chair and held her for awhile, during which time the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped. I had contacted a friend to come over and help with her, for which I am so thankful. She stayed here and I got a proper bandage.

If we were having coffee, you would ask about the Wee One’s birthday party. It was so much work, man.  I didn’t know it would be so much work, but, we had it in the clubhouse of the apartment complex, which is probably why it felt like so much: I had to take everything there and bring it back, which meant packing and unpacking the car. But the Wee One had fun and I’m glad it’s done.

We’re briefly distracted by some kids player soccer in the parking lot outside. I hope that doesn’t last long, you observe, given the traffic that comes through.

If we were having coffee, I would comment on one of the babies at the birthday party: she turned four months yesterday, which is about the age the Wee One was when we moved out here. It was remarkable to hold her and compare between then and now.

She’s a year old now. I can tell that she isn’t a baby anymore, but she’s not quite a toddler yet either. (Though that may mostly because because she’s still not mobile.) I can’t tell if I’m sad or not; I mostly just want to hold the Wee One closer. Which I usually want to do anyway. Also, my first year of motherhood is over. Even with a second, it won’t be my first time through. This special sacred tremulous time is over. Of course, now it’s my first time mothering a toddler, so here’s to that, I say with a smile, raising my coffee.






*It has made typing this week quite difficult!

Weekend Coffee Share #12


If we were having coffee, we would be meeting later than normal. Cohiba asked if I could take the Wee One during part of the morning, and so you and I arranged to meet in the afternoon. I offer to buy your coffee in thanks for your flexibility, but you wave me off.  Its warm enough that we can sit outside, in the sun. Cohiba was right about the winter being better here, I comment to you, thinking of my friends in the Midwest who can’t even think about going outside without the wind cutting their face.

There is a father daughter couple sitting next to us; they look like farmers or ranchers. Their boots are heavy and mud-encrusted,  and the brim of his hat is broad. Her jeans, though, are bejeweled around the pockets, which is incongruous with the muddy cuffs and army jacket. Incongruous, but it still works. “You go, girl,” I say quietly as they walk to their truck, and you laugh.

If we were having coffee, I would start to tell you about party planing I’m doing for Wee One’s first birthday. She turned 11 months yesterday! Ack! I had the hardest time coming up with a theme, but I have and I’m really happy about it.  Now I’m thinking about decorations and pictures I want to take.

I didn’t realize party planning could be so fun, though!  I think its because I’m celebrating something I love so much. I’m also trying to keep it inexpensive, so I’ve been trying to borrow a large number “1” for birthday photos a friend is taking. I haven’t been able to, though, so I’m going to draw something.  Do you think that will look stupid? I ask, afraid that homemade will look tacky.  Your mom did a lot of homemade stuff when you were little, you say, and you thought it worked.

Now that I think about it, my mom did a lot of homemade stuff, too, and I knew how much effort she put into it and felt special that she put so much consideration into the items. Making things for her is a way to put my love into action, I realize.

If we were having coffee, my birthday is coming up as well, you remind me, and ask if I]’m going to do anything special.  I can’t really think of anything yet, I tell you, though I did make up a birthday list, which I usually put off. Perhaps I’ll try to go to dinner with friends? You suggest going paint balling. Seriously? I ask. You went a few months ago, you say, and had a blast.  I think I want something a little more low-key.

I might fall back on an old favorite: having a mix Superbowl party and birthday party. I love the Superbowl, and it’s always around my birthday.  Would you come? I ask, and you wave your hand at me.  “I hate football,” you remind me, smiling.

There are two young kids couple sitting at a table next to us leaning on each other’s laps, looking at their phones, and kissing. We giggle and we try not to stare as we gather our belongings to leave. Oh, we remember those days well, and are glad they’re past.