Dear deer

I had an appointment in West Linn this morning, and on the way home I saw three deer grazing in the grass strip in the middle of I-205, at exit #8.

At first I thought they were statues, but they were not, and now I am worried about them getting hit,  or causing  an accident. 

They had to cross three lanes of freeway to get into the little triangle of grass.

Yikes!

I returned home to find a pyramid of canned tomatoes on the kitchen island- Rolf stocking up for bad times again. I hauled the tomatoes and the sardines (more sardines!)  down to the basement,  halfheartedly folded laundry and though about what kind of dessert to make for a family gathering we are to attend on Saturday at my mother in law's house.

I am grateful to have these quiet moments, where I am alone in the house, even when they involve canned fish transportation.  It is a luxury to be able to be home to meet Maxwell after school, to be home a couple afternoons per week to do laundry as a slower pace, to bake a cake in the middle of the day, to take my daughter to ballet at noon.  To honor my compulsion to vacuum daily.

We are going to see David Sedaris tonight.

It is Mark's birthday present, but I am the real fan, so I feel a little guilty. 

This is the fourth thing we have done together in twelve years (A Beck concert, the Frida Kahlo exhibit in Seattle, Anthony Bourdain.), we spend most of our leisure money and time on the children.

We suck at self care, or making couples time.
People (usually people without children) constantly harangue us for this gap in care of our relationship, but they don't offer to babysit.

I don't really have a strong opinion about it one way or the other.  It would be nice to have more special outings, but it also would be alien, so I don't really miss it. 

Before we had Freyja, we went to Mexico for a long weekend every spring.

I do miss those three days.  It was before my mother was a teacher, and she had a more flexible schedule.

Now she has summer.

One does not travel to Mexico in summer by choice.