Failing at Pizza

The “Now” – this evening, this moment – is a good place, a contented space, which I must admit is quite miraculous. Earlier today there were several unsettling moments – morning temper tantrums, the non-stop mist that turned my hair into a substance resembling a cotton ball (and I HATE cotton balls), a substitute children’s librarian that led a crap storytime, the guilt of parking illegally at the synagogue while I picked up my preschooler, somehow failing at dinner with an Arizmendi pizza. And who the fuck fails with an Arizmendi pizza?! Apparently I do when the pizza of the day has poblanos and potatoes and I have three picky-ass children.

But the elusive “Now” – that presence we put on an alter and praise as a Goddess – it’s closer to me at this moment than it has been in a while. The future can not be controlled. I know that and have always known that, yet that knowledge has not held back a tendency to try and control what comes next.

As I write this, my husband’s grandmother is dying. She is 102 and truthfully has been dying for quite some time. That said, I really hope her passing and subsequent funeral don’t ruin my upcoming 3-day ski trip to Park City with my husband and no kids.

This is my selfish desire to control the future in the extreme, and I’m not proud of it.

Usually my future longings are more benign – like wanting the baby to take a good nap so I can scrub the bathrooms. Cleaning the toilet is not a selfish act.

But I can’t control grandma’s passing – though please hold on for a few more weeks. And I can’t control the baby’s nap, especially now that she has figured out how to take off her own clothes, which is far more exciting than sleeping.

All I can do is pack my bags and get the cleaning supplies ready and see what happens.

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