On my way into work yesterday morning, I was chatting with the cops while waiting for my bag to come through the x-ray machine, as I often do. When he asked me what I did over the weekend, I replied, “Nothing…but isn’t that the point?”
As anybody with two children under five knows, that’s a lie. Everything happened over the weekend. Amazing things happened over the weekend. Tragedies occurred over the weekend. Hell, all of that happens in any given hour here at Casa Bradstein.
But really, did he want to know about the new Pez dispenser the kids got while we were at brunch at some friends’ house? Perhaps he would have liked seeing the kids riding on our friend’s Triumph…well, “riding,” not riding.
Speaking of riding, maybe he would have liked to hear about how we went to brunch not just to see our friends again after a hiatus in visits that was too long, but also to collect a donation for my ride.
Or maybe he would have liked to hear about how Mama gave Grammy a ride to the airport, so Grammy could fly home? It was a short trip that required long explanations to both kids. They were both sad to see her go, even though we told them that she’d be back in three weeks…news that’s tempered by the knowledge that while Grammy is here, Mama will be in Ethiopia.
It’s not that nothing happened this weekend. Everything happened. I used to think that if nothing ever happened, that would be heaven, because then I wouldn’t miss a thing. I’ve learned, however, that heaven is chaos. Heaven is people coming and going at all hours. Heaven is never the same again on any given day.
But I still like the song.