Susan Senator

Ordinary Saturday, yet not. Ned and Max are away for a few days, at a conference. I am home with Nat and Ben, not the most comfortable duo. I am trying to feel comfortable, but the fact of “trying” probably rules out the possibility. The thing is, I want us to have family things, by which I mean, things we enjoy doing together, but those are actually few and far between.

So I got to wondering, why does family = doing things together? Maybe in some families it means parallel play because those families prefer their own brains to mixing with others. I do not mean only Nat here. Ben and I both have our own stuff to do. Ben’s miles of piles of pads filled with stories are only part of this family landscape; there is also my own detritus: my open laptop, my partially edited MS, my latest crossword puzzle and book (Jessica Shattuck’s Perfect Life).

Still there was the compulsion to spend our Saturday morning right, so I started by making them French toast (in France this is called “pain perdue,” literally lost bread, and actually meant to be “about-to-be-tossed bread.”). There was only thick whole wheat, so I thought I’d ride my bike to Kurkman’s, a really great convenience store nearby, and get some challah. As I gathered up my things, Nat sprung up from his post on the white couch and started a very animated stomping. He looked serious and there was a little bit of high-pitched moaning thrown into his self-talk.

“Nat, what’s wrong?” I asked, which is the stupidest thing for me to ask. What’s he going to say? Then I did stupid thing #2, which was to make him hug me. When he is this agitated, the hugging might turn into clawing. But I felt that it would not, and I just hoped, like the foolish optimist I am, that it would work.

Nah. He was just a live wire. I wondered if he was uncomfortable with the idea of my going out and leaving him with Ben. I could not go to Kurkman’s with him like this. “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll just use this bread.” Gradually Nat calmed down, so maybe I had been right.

The french toast was a bit perdue in all the egg glop and then in a pool of syrup on their plates. Nat had taken so much syrup, looking at me all the while, waiting for me to say, “stop!” that I had to put another, bigger plate under his breakfast plate. Ben liked the stuff, and Nat ate many pieces, so I guess it was good. I only had one piece because I thought it tasted all wrong with wheat bread.

After breakfast, some Purposeful Activity. I asked Nat to mow the lawn, and for Ben to come out and ride his bike while I weeded. Nat worked pretty hard for about 20 minutes, covering most of the yard with skewed criss-crosses that were more like plaid than mowed lines. No golf course would ever hire him but they have no imagination anyway. My weeding went well; it was one of those times that I completely submerged myself in the wet green stalks, like a jungle creature — that is the best way to truly clean it all out. You have to not mind the green bits sticking to you, the bug-noia (where every tiny thing that touches your skin feels like a bug), or the sweat rolling into your mouth because you can’t wipe it away with your muddy gloves. A lot not to mind, but if you can manage it, you have yourself a very satisfying garden border and a family morning well, if ordinarily, spent.