It had been a long day.
An early morning bike ride in the crisp air followed by zooming to and from the ballet with an 8 year old on stuttering public transport.
Arrived home to many pizzas 1/2 made.
Kitchen seemed to be swirling around like those toys with colored oils inside.
Cheese. Sauce. Flour.
T was out the door to join the other dads.
Then the boys came in with that 10 year old bluster.
All arms and legs and whoot-whoots.
Big grins and goofy jokes.
Quieter knowing moms followed.
The boys running upstairs to play bedroom volleyball or listen to music.
We (the moms) sat by the fire hearing about each other’s parenting woes or successes or worries.
Occasionally, the 10 year olds would tumble downstairs one after another.
Make a big crack in a deep voice about how they were having “boys group.”
(Since the dads were at dad’s group and here sat all the moms).
I was tired but enjoyed the fire and the circle of calm we built buffered from the knocking and banging of those 10 year olds.
Again, the swirling. Dishes. Pizza. Salad.
Boys wandered away from the table towards their mothers but were skootched back with “uh uh”s and “nopes.”
7 kids in the bed for a movie.
Much adjusting of spots.
And then there was quiet.
Just women talking now.
Making each other laugh.
Wondering at how one of us did this or that.
Hearing the other’s Bucket Lists-international travel, a live concerto.
Eventually, some of the dads showed up.
They paused near us but moved back towards the kids and we kept doing what we’d been doing.
Noticing the gift of friendship among families.
Being tied to one another looser or tighter but all wanting those boys to stay friends, to stay bonded.
After the movie, the collective clean up, the kids off to bed, I sat back down at the fire.
Mind and body worn out.
T said, “How was it? Did you go deep?”
I said, we did what we always do.
Nothing and Everything.