When the wind blows just right, it comes in through Cooper's windows and turns his cozy room cold. We turn the heat up to 73 at night and close everyone else's vents against the desert air and dress Cooper in socks, a long-sleeved onesie, fleece footie pajamas and a Halo sleepsack. It works well enough because he is a hearty Wisconsin baby, but when he comes in my bed around 2, his hands are pudgy, mottled ice cubes. Meanwhile one room away, Jack is asleep in only pants, his t-shirt, sweatshirt, socks, and blankets flung over the sides of his fire truck.
Ever since the winter 2 years ago where the smell of burned food in my oven made me think-- really think-- I had a brain tumor (I saw 2 different doctors, even- MDs, not therapists, although at my doctor's urging, I saw those, too) I have been working on managing my anxiety. It turns out, quitting caffeine was the miracle cure, but I have also spent the past 2 years getting regular massages. Our HMO offers a complimentary medicine benefit, so massages a my doctor's clinic are only $35 for an hour. I've mainly had HMO massages for the past 2 years, but after I had Cooper, I let my scheduling lapse, and that's the catch-- it is really hard to get an appointment. Usually, I make them for every 4 weeks pretty much indefinitely and have a string of massages lined up. But with a new baby, I couldn't commit to leaving for an hour to go lie on my leaking boobs. Now that he is older and can go longer between feedings, I am, of course, ready to return to massage land. My therapist is booked for weeks, though, so today, I went to a spa instead, and OMG-- no more HMO massages for me.
Don't get me wrong-- my massage therapist at the doctor's office is awesome, and I always leave the table feeling zen and relaxed and loose, but after 2 years of no-frills service, I forgot how much I dig the extras that come with a spa massage-- the foot soak and scrub, the aromatherapy, the hot towel wraps, the heated face mask, the fireplace in the room, fluffy table bedding-- you get the idea. The doctor's office has unheated tables, thin sheets, and scent-free, antibacterial lotion. Today's therapist wrapped a hot towel around my neck and moved my head from side to side in a stretch that instantly elongated my spine, and that was the moment I knew I would be back. I even took her advice to come for 90 minutes next time so she wold have more time to work on my left shoulder, permanently hunched from slinging a baby on my hip.
Yesterday, Harry's class joined with the other kindergartens for a music concert which was, predictably, adorable. Harry was in the dead center of the stage, and he has been talking so excitedly about his duet that he'd get to sing into a mic and the risers he got to stand on and how he's going to be a singer when he grows up. I thought he'd be a little ham. At first, he was. He spotted me and Jack and Cooper instantly at our place in the back row (because I had Coop in the Ergo and he demands that I stand), and he waved and beamed and warmed up with the rest of the kids. Then, midway through the first number, he stopped singing. His choreographed gestures became little thigh-high flips of his hands. When it was his turn to use the mic he barely whispered. He told me later that he got nervous when he looked into the audience and saw his girlfriend, which is how he has started referring to the first grade girl he knows from the hallway. Bow and arrow shot from the tiny fairy indeed.