Both boys are sound asleep upstairs.  This is not surprising since they were both still awake at 3:30 this morning and tapping away on their computers when I made my usual trip down the hall.  What is there about college that turns otherwise normal people into zombies?
The living room (OK, "parlor" is what I usually call it) is awash in boxes, backpacks, and books.  This is on top of the usual chaos which I generate all by myself.  Still, it's lovely to have them home.  I miss them when they are gone.  This "mothering" thing has become a bit of a habit.  I now tell total strangers and co-workers to remember their sunblock or bring their umbrellas.  After more than twenty years, there is no "on-off" switch to throw, a concept which the boys just don't get, even though they now know all there is to know. 
So they sleep as Himself and I head out the door to work.  In a few weeks we will all be heading out to work....or we'd better be...and there won't be as much incentive to stay up all night chatting with friends in Nepal.  At some time or another the really important knowledge arrives that "sleep" is not only not the enemy, it's the prize.

I have spent the last few days feeling panic.  I tripped on the edge of the rug while holding my cup of tea.  It splashed.  My first thought was "How lucky that it went on the hardwood floor instead of on the rug!"  My second thought was "I FRIED MY COMPUTER!!!"  For two days I've been using the backup clunker.  Luckily my younger son is home and has never forgotten a password in his life.  It did the job, but I was listing in my mind all the pictures I never got around to backing up, all the word documents I needed to download and send as e-mail, and which existed nowhere else.
Meanwhile this jazzy new thing sat there open, drying out, mocking me with her blank screen, and I realized how addicted I've become to my morning ritual of checking Facebook, checking e-mail, writing the blog, and feeling connected to the world in general.

While ironing my husband's shirt this morning (don't gasp...people still do that sometimes) the thought occurred to me that there are probably a lot of really cool laptops in Oklahoma today that aren't working either.  I've got no complaints.  Still, it's nice to have Lavinia back with all her bells and whistles.  Yes.  I named my computer.  Are you really surprised?  My car, by the way, is Gandalf.

Sunday was a lovely day for a walk, and for the second year in a row I was blessed to share the walk with my friend Darlene and a small portion of her enormous fan club and wonderful family.  We have been friends since we met at freshman orientation at Emmanuel College when we were seventeen, which is more than a couple of years ago.
Darlene and I were both French majors, and while I continue to be fascinating at cocktail parties, she actually used her degree and became an astoundingly good teacher at Marshfield High School. She was the kind of teacher who is constantly met by former students with hugs and kisses and pictures of babies.  Darlene made and makes a difference.
Twenty-one years ago she had a brain aneurysm which nearly took her from us.  Her youngest child was four, and the other two not much older.  She had to learn to walk and talk again.  She had to leave teaching, and she can't drive anymore.  But I have heard Darlene say that it was the "best worst thing that ever happened".  I have never seen anyone who can find the joy and beauty in every moment faster than my friend.  She is so grateful to be alive.  Her phone messages begin with a chorus of "You Are My Sunshine" and if you get her answering machine you will find that her message ends in "Go, Red Sox! Go, Bruins!" or whatever team is in season.
In addition to being delightful company, Darlene fascinates me.  Before I had two jobs and was a little easier to pin down for lunch, I would kidnap her fairly often and we would sneak away for a Chinese feast or a glass of wine and "quelquechose" at the Bridgewaye on the water.  Often her speech is halting and slurred, but every now and then some neuron fires and she sounds just like she did in college.  I usually give her a signal  that "Elvis is back in the house" and we both marvel at how that happens.  We'll have to sneak a lunch around my weekends at the boutique soon.
Whenever we part there are, of course, hugs and kisses on cheeks, and she has a habit of tracing the sign of the cross on my back with her thumb, an extra blessing to go with me on my way.  I do it now, too and she laughs when she catches me at it.  Although I must say, knowing Darlene is as much blessing as most people need.

It's after seven and I should be making my lunch and figuring out what I'm wearing to work in an hour.  I need a shower and there is a list of bills that need paying today.  The trash also needs to go out.  But outside my window is this bird.  He sings above the roar of the large trucks and backhoes which are building a house down the street.  Once again I marvel at how vocal chords that tiny can make themselves known from so far away and over such a ruckus.  And while we're at it, how do they manage to look so comfortable on those telephone wires and what do they do in a storm? 
In any event, the sun is streaming through the lace curtains in the parlor (yes, I say "parlor") and making interesting patterns on the wall and floor.  Son Number Two is fast asleep in his room.  I am assuming he cleared a path to the bed.  Himself is out running on two good legs and enjoying the weather.  I am sipping tea and stalling the beginning of my day.  Morning is my time.  Every so often I give myself permission to just sit and enjoy it.
P.S.  "Bore da!" is "Good Morning" in Welsh, and my mind is wandering across the ocean this morning to my friends there, and one in particular whose vocal chords don't work as well as they used to courtesy of a bout with cancer.  She is a wonderful writer and a great soul.  Her beautiful blue eyes and pink cheeks shout "English Rose!" and so she is, but she's been transplanted to Wales, a lush and green country which I haven't visited in far too long.  Her warm and welcoming heart takes the edge off many a hurt for me, and even at this distance I can feel her hugs and prayers.  So "Bore da, Margaret" even if it's afternoon there and you're having your lunch. 

In the past week we have had one car accident (not me, and he's fine), one fall and broken hip (mother-in-law), one wedding anniversary (I worked until ten PM and that was the day Mom fell), and one Mother's Day (I worked on that one, too).  And just now I tried to download a picture of a black cloud, which I thought would make an appropriate illustration, but I couldn't figure out how to do that either.  On Monday my e-mail at work wouldn't play with me and my fax machine decided it wasn't in the mood to send or receive (I pulled the plug, which, as in so many technical things in life, solved that problem.  Well, you have to re-start it after that.)  All in all, I would rather have phoned it all in.

Life goes like that sometimes.  I will confess I think in the last year I've had rather a large chunk of unfortunate events and perhaps more than my share, but as Buddha would say, "Suck it up, Buttercup!"  Today is a new day and I get to go to an all day meeting where lunch will be provided.  Since I don't usually get lunch, that's a big deal.  I think I'll focus on that.  But I'll watch where I'm walking and hold the railing on the stairs.  Just in case.

Today is the day that Son Number Two arrives home after his first year of college.  Once again there will never be enough food in the house, there will always be someone staying up later than I do, and the mess will somehow expand exponentially.  I am so cool with that.
I hear my friends talk about how "disruptive" it is to have the kids home again, and I remember that from last year when Son Number One came back from his first year with All The Information In The Universe.  My ego remains intact, as does my devotion to these two chuckleheads.  Nothing makes Mama happier than having her babies back home, even if they've changed, even if it's only for a while, even if I know we'll be driving one another nuts by mid-July.  Having the chance to watch them up close instead of through social media is amazing.  It's the difference between being at a Rolling Stones concert in the third row and playing their music on your iPod.  They generate their own electricity and it's a rush to breathe the same air.
So while my 22nd wedding anniversary tomorrow won't be very romantic (I'm working from 5-10PM), my Mother's Day will rock.  The only thing nicer would be if both boys were home,  but I can be patient for another two weeks until Son Number One arrives.  Then I can ask him questions, because there are still a few things about the universe that I don't know.

The blur on the left (and you'll have to take my word for this) is my younger son.  He fences.  I'm not sure where this urge came from.  I think it was a test which I passed a few years ago when he was complaining about summer boredom while his older brother got to do "everything".  Tired of listening to this, as most mothers are all summer, I challenged him.  "So.  Tell me what you want to do, we'll do some research and see if we can make it happen."  The reply I got was "Archery or fencing!" and of the two, fencing usually happens indoors and I could drink coffee while he took lessons, so that won.
He was in a tournament with his college a while ago, and casually mentioned that they had gone to Notre Dame for the match or meet or game or whatever they call them.  Himself commented, "This is the first time one of my kids has been to a state I have never set a foot in!" My reaction was a little different.  I felt the distance.  I remember worrying about school bus trips when he was little.  Now he's fighting people with epees and sabers and he forgets to mention it.  While Son Number One sends pictures of huge rugby players about to pummel him, Son Number Two could have a great future with the CIA.  This guy tells me NOTHING.  King of the one word answer and the secret smile, he plays his cards very close to his vest.  He is totally charming, frighteningly bright, and quirky as all heck. If he got a 58% on his chemistry final, he figured, he would still get an A for the course.  He is also very handsome and has a smile that Crest should be paying huge bucks to feature, but it's hard to tell that from the above picture.
He has grown so much this first year in college, and not just in height.  I have never seen his school, although Himself took him and his friend there on the great "Junior Year Fact Gathering Mission", so I just put him on a plane and give him a kiss as he wanders back and forth across the country. 
Every time he flies there is a snowstorm, or he's ill, or there is some sort of drama.  I actually heard there will be a solar eclipse this Friday, so I know he's on his way.  This fascinating young man we somehow brought into being is destined for great things, and I am humbled at how much smarter and kinder and wiser he is than I was at that age, or now.  And I can't wait to see what happens next.