And my hands now smell like soap, finally, after two hours of smelling like onion, potato salad, meat, grease. The golf outing was, I suppose, successful. People returned from the green laughing and happy, even happier when they saw the spread the Booster mamas had put on (I am a Booster Mama).
I love these people, the band boosters. I love that they work so hard not just for their children, but also for mine. We worry about the kids whose parents neglect them, and even when those kids are difficult, we have ways of recognizing when we need to allow ourselves to spare some extra love.
Sparing extra love for a child, even a child who is a head taller and weighs a hundred pounds more and tends to break things or stop listening, is worth it. It's always worth it.
I love the Boosters, but I love their children more. In the fall, I don't know if my school workload will allow me the time to help in the intense and regular way I've been helping since my daughter was a freshman (she's about to become a senior. GAH!!!). I managed it last fall, but my professor was not that demanding (I now realize after a term with a mentor who made me feel like I was really in grad school, bless her, and I mean that). This coming fall, I need to keep writing poems toward a thesis and also have to pound out at least 20 pages of a major critical paper.
I keep joking and saying I can pound out 20 pages in three hours.
And I can.
But not quality writing, not well researched and well thought, not formal, not organized.
I can't wait to dive in.
My Girl is off to Subway with two friends. She took a pasta salad with her. Something happened earlier at another friend's house that she doesn't want to talk about.
So I won't. We won't, you and I, discuss my daughter.
I ate a hotdog for lunch. I eat one hotdog a year, so that's it for me. When the band picnic comes up at the end of the month, I'll just be eating pasta salad and chips, I suppose.
My body is rejecting meat. Or maybe meat is rejecting my body.
There's a poem in this.
I started writing it two days ago.
I keep starting various poems because I have so many I want to tackle, but I am distracted, and I haven't been able to focus through to a completed draft, not even a completed shitty draft. I'll pick one in a little while and stick with it until Monday.
For now, I need to be domestic. I need to run a load of laundry.
And boy do I need a nap.