Writing from that place of exhaustion tonight. Jenna is upstairs in her room singing away... we're trying a new thing, you see. Go up to your room and play at 8:30; when we say lights out, turn the lights out and go to sleep. Sounds good. Not quite working. It's almost 10 and she's singing and clapping to made-up songs. Putting puzzles together, finding pink bunny, "I found her! I found her! I thought she was lost forever!" and generally getting more worked up as the minutes tick by.
And I love her so.
I stopped at the Family Dollar today--there's a new one over by the Ingles. Silly name, the family dollar. These days it takes on new meaning. But this particular store is better than Big Lots. Bigger than Dollar General. Like a dollar store on steroids.
No air on, hitting 80 already, we the women of the family dollar looked at one another, passing silent sentences that ask, "This damn hot already!?"
The lady at the cash register says, "I think we're in for a hot summer."
The woman in front of me has long black hair, touching her waist, a black pants suit tells me she's come from work. Pulling snacks and toilet paper and make-up from her cart, my eye comes to rest on her son, who is hanging on and off the cart, repeating phrases over and over in a manner that tells me something is not quite right. A handsome boy, probably 10 or 11, over and over he repeats sentences that start and end with "Mama."
The cadence goes like this, "Mama? xxxxxxxx, Mama."
Often the same sentence, the same cadence. Over and over.
She doesn't acknowledge him, just keeps lifting family dollar specials onto the counter. I wonder how many times she has heard these words before.
I think of Jenna. I think of my life. I think of hers. I think of how fast things can change. I start to feel every instance of every trauma of the myriad of people suffering wash up on the rocky beach that is my heart.
I push her saran wrap a little to the left, put my paper towels in its place.
