Swamp Thang

If at middle age I catch myself walking around work with toilet paper trailing from my waistband, I can't imagine what I'll be like at 80.

My hearing started going in high school my friends will tell you laughing.

Cary will probably have to hide my car keys sooner than I think.

In the last several years any time I eat something spicy or tart, like lemon candy or cherry tomatoes or grapefruit juice – curry or salsa – my tongue's taste buds will start shifting into a pretend map of the world. Stress or being sick too. I know what it is, relatively harmless but weird; I come from a family of oral healthcare practitioners. But in my mind, it's my body's way of telling me it's the beginning of the end.

Or I need a break. Yeah let's go with that. A chance to pay more attention and take better care. (Which we all know is good for everyone involved.)

I remember my tender tongue began after Cole was born.

When Jules was a newborn, I started having tender feet right when I got out of bed.

I became emotionally tender-headed.

We push through it. These things are almost-always-most-likely nothing or normal.

My right hip now has good days and bad.

My timed mile I won't share.

I saw somewhere if you don't take a break, at some point your body will take a break for you.

It's felt that way as we've settled into our new home that constantly shifts. A repair. Fixing up an old boat. The threat of a change in life plans. A kid getting sicker. My husband getting busier than I've ever seen him, somehow still managing to do early morning dishes and late night laundry. Somehow quietly. Setting us up for work trips with pre-built meals.

While I'm just happy to be here if I'm employed and the kids aren't ill or in trouble. Delighted when the house isn't a wreck, and I'm there at the peaceful office or bustling event with our smart, kind, funny team. They make me feel like a marketing champ. Like a liberal arts degree is as powerful as numbers. Of course then I'll make a gaff and curse my name. Miss an opportunity due to family obligations and scorch my own earth.

I heard somewhere to give yourself a thousand breaks. Then give yourself a thousand more.

Between podcasts and forcing extra sleep, early mornings on the porch creasing a borrowed book and worrying about it, and runs turned to jogs, things are better. Over a long period of time. There's no rushing it. If there was I'd be 80 sooner and worse off.

We hit the water when we can, with snacks he packs – due to a father who makes time he doesn't have. The sun, sky, fresh air and cooling off is rallying for the weeks.

Jules made a new best friend when she moved here simply because a mini bell pepper in her lunch started a conversation. Now all of us like being friends with Kitty.

Cole's friends help him not leave anything behind when we pick him up.

Not every day is easy for any of us. Anywhere.

Jules likes to hear my embarrassing stories growing up and now. There are many. She has her own. She makes me retell mine when something happens to her. Takes everything in and I see her confidence rebounding on her face. It's starting to work on Cole.

Meanwhile we all can't help but gawk at and tease Cary when he gets a horrible reaction to poison sumac, trying to save us some money by working on a hard area of the yard. We all then watch YouTube videos about sumac, poison oak and poison ivy. Cole makes Lego versions that are uncanny and giggles while rubbing them on Cary.

Even though everyone feels like a swamp thing sometimes, Swamp Thing was a DC Comics hero. And "we're all made of the same stuff."