Duet of my heart

There are more than a few things I dislike about my house, but most have to do with the crappy white trash neighborhood and not the glorious 1920s structure itself (though I may rue the day I professed this as our ceilings are betraying some insidious leaks here and there). Sure, it's dusty and cluttered and we have to keep a plunger in our shower because sometimes the drain gets slow, and sure we still have lots of work to do, but it's really the perfect place for us and I'm willing to tolerate a lot in order to have a space I like so much. But (and you knew there was a BUT, didn't you?) it drives me absolutely batty that we don't have (and can't accommodate) a dishwasher. One of the things that sold me on the house initially is that the kitchen is all basically original, right down to the great big old cabinets and the ice box (and I'm not talking one with electricity). It's that same charm--and the the super-low and narrow counters that go with it--that prevents us from finding any dishwasher that can be easily installed.

I know I sound lazy, but I think we're all allowed to have our quirks. I HATE manually washing dishes and feel there are about a thousand better things I can be doing with my time than scrubbing each precious little dish and spoon, each rubber stopper for the sippy cup lids, all my pots and pans. I can't get into the zen-like state Nate professes to fall into each time he's up to his elbows in suds (he'd have you believe he enjoys the dishes), and I honestly never do such a good job because ultimately I think I'd rather eat off of somewhat clean plates or cook in almost clean pans than sit with a scouring pad to try to get a little goo off a hidden little corner.

That said, I'm no slacker. As Clementine and I are leaving for Chicago tomorrow, I decided it was my turn to handle the dinner dishes and leave her to play with her dad. I have a method that makes me feel like it's not so bad, so I got started and listened to C's little prattling as she and her dad rolled toy cars down the ramp of her garaged and rifled through her musical instruments. I faded in and out of the conversation but heard that she decided to play the piano and instructed her dad to play the guitar. "OK," he said, "we'll play a duet. A duet it when two people play a song together." Clementine began banging on the keys of her little piano, Nate began strumming and then she began to sing the sweetest little song she's made up this week: "Dooo-ET, dooo-ET, doooooooo-EHHHHHHT! I sing duet, duet." And somehow that's all I needed. It all felt so normal, bucolic even: my small labor in the kitchen, their conversation and music, the cricket chirping through the windows. The moment was all mine, and I wanted to wrap it up in a bit of colored tissue paper to pull out now and then when I need warming: the sound of the two of them together and the feeling of being included even though neither could know for sure I was listening. I stopped and recognized moments like this all the time when Clementine was younger, and I really must remember to stop the rushing and the adventure every now and then and live the moments. They are so sweet.

The summer is really fleeing after these last few weeks, and, case in point, I haven't taken time to stop and reflect on how much Clementine has changed. Hell, I haven't even managed to look at any of the pictures we took up north a week ago or even those from around town this past weekend. It's perfect summer suspended animation, and I haven't answered an email or talked to many people at all in almost 10 days between the travel and the coming home, trips to the pool, nights on the porch. C and I are off to Chicago for a few days with my mom, my sister and all the regulars, and we will wait patiently for Nate to come and fetch us home again this weekend. I think it will be the last official trip of summer, though we'll squeeze in some local adventures before the school year kicks into high gear. How will we ever get back on a schedule after all this lazy fun?