Invitations

This birthday weekend was one for the books.

My son invited his entire kindergarten class to celebrate with me on Friday because he "knew [I] would want to be with friends on [my] birthday." The only downside, according to him, was that I didn't have a pinata. Although 100 kindergarteners would have been a birthday party for the ages, I was slightly relieved that their parents exercised judgment and checked in with me first before just showing up at my house.

On my birthday, my children made me breakfast: peanut butter and honey on white bread, cut into the shape of a heart;

slimy white peach slices, each hand delivered and also purportedly cut into shapes.

After dropping the kids off at school, I drove to a local garden center and bought a LOT of plants, even though I've run out of room in the front yard. I treated myself to a caffeinated beverage from Dunkin Donuts that threatened to send me into diabetic shock. I listened to podcast after podcast.

Later, my in-laws babysat my children for a couple of hours. While the kids watched tv and ate frozen pizza my husband took me to a fancy restaurant housed in the place that used to offer $1 Taco Tuesdays served by stoned waitstaff. We got fast-food milkshakes for dessert.

Saturday, three of my dearest friends showed up at my house at 7am and we did a birthday walk up my favorite hill. They sang to me at the peak and I almost cried, and then we made our way to a breakfast cafe.

Sunday, I did cartwheels on the beach and jumped in the ocean wearing my exercise pants, my body dripping with a three year old and two six year olds. I walked over 10,000 year old sod at low tide while my daughter skidded across it like it was her personal slip 'n slide. I found an unusual whelk. I did awkward yoga poses with my friends while our kids caught hermit crabs.

Later that day, I drove with my dear sister-friend and -- her birthday present to me -- saw Iris Dement perform at the Boston City Winery. We listened to "If I Were a Fish" twice and only got honked at once. We met up with my friend's bandmate and her wife, delightful, kind, funny individuals, and were transported into another world. Over dinner we discussed drive-in movie theaters, restaurant booths, and barbies. When I mentioned that being a parent today felt very isolating, her bandmate asked what sort of help I yearned for. I gave a half-answer, but as Iris began to play again I realized exactly what I wanted: an emotional safety net. The occasional meal or babysitting would be fantastic, don't get me wrong, but what I have always yearned for and never quite had is vertical emotional support. By that, I mean: I have a beautiful, incredible lateral support network of friends and community members. I have my husband. But I've never had the parental figure I could call in the middle of the night in an emergency. I've never had someone I could reach out to in distress who would comfort me without question. No one with authority has ever told me everything is going to be ok. Maybe that's why I want so desperately to create that for my children, for all children within my circle.

I digress. At the venue, in between sets, we conversed with a white-haired man whose apparent ADD reminded me of my children as he bounced from place to place, unable to keep still, chatting about his Thomas Hardy novel and strolling up and down the margins of the theater in his dress shirt and Sauconys to stretch his legs and get a better look at Iris. I watched Ms. Dement, master musician, magically shift from folk singer to revolutionary to romantic. When she played the baby grand in her flowy dress she reminded me of my Great Aunt Louise who used to play hymns with her cat perched atop the piano. After the show, walking through Boston at 10pm, my friend danced across the sidewalk and even in the parking garage. Her ease offset any worry I had about having embarrassed her by my nervous chatter during dinner.

I could barely keep my eyes open as I stumbled into the house. I ate a granola bar, drank some water, brushed my teeth, checked on the kids, and stumbled into bed, indescribably grateful for the invitations extended to me, invitations I was able to receive.