It is what it is.

So many things are stopping and starting up right now. It's transition time, and I am moving through these phases pretty easily, mostly because the ceremonies and celebrations and things to do are happening too fast for me to do otherwise. But just now, getting them down, is the first time I've really given myself the time to think about everything all at once. I wouldn't really change the way things have gone or are going (Except for the Celtics. See below.), but, I mean, it's just a lot.

Today is the last day of school in H-Town, which means it's my last day with a pseudo-third-child. Jackson, you were fantastic. I especially like how you were little enough to snooze for most of the day and too young to be bothered with cereal or pureed fruits and vegetables. Just a bottle and a comfy spot to rest, and you were satisfied. And so, so cute and chill.

Marley's been finished with preschool and gymnastics for almost two weeks. She performed like a champion at her end-of-the-year gymnastics show, displaying her progress, for example, from hunched and crouched to actually almost upright on the high beam.

And this was especially impressive because she was still spent from a stomach bug that totally wiped her out. I mean, on the way to that gymnastics show, she fell asleep in the car. A ten-minute ride. And the next day, after her last morning in two-day preschool, she made it clear that she was not getting any better after she put it out all over herself and her car seat. We had the weekend to recover, though. And now Marley and Rudy are officially eating and drinking again. Their cousin Emma is not. When I was babysitting her Saturday night, she put it out around 3 a.m. After she left Heather's house last night, where we celebrated Fathers' Day, the Lysol came out in full force. We do not have any more time to get sick. Heather and I, in fact, started a Boot Camp run by the town's recreation department this morning. It was push-ups and wall-sits and jumping jacks for an hour at six a.m., and I loved it. You know how I feel about Rudy, obviously. I was all, "I can do it, coach!" in my head. And sweaty, but in a good way. This summer is just another season during which I feel like I can once and for all get my act together. I'll repeat that feeling this fall, I'm sure.

For the next few days, my sisters and I will be getting our families ready for another week in Truro, and the list of boozes to bring, as I sloppily referred to them during a planning meeting last week, could eclipse the list of food and sundries by the time we leave. This is partly because we are simultaneously packing our mother for a permanent move to Assisted Living two towns over and less then ten minutes away. We have researched and toured places for the past few months, and I can answer dozens of questions about Alzheimer's units with knowledge that, five years ago, I never would have predicted I'd possess.

This started as our being prepared to move her later this year and, hey, while we're at it, let's look into Respite Care for while we're away, and then suddenly, a room became available and in demand, and we decided if we're going to do this, we might as well do this. So we're renting a U-Haul, and setting up her small studio while she's at her last day of adult daycare, and the next day, we're headed for sun and sand. When we get back, the visiting begins and the doctors' appointments start up again, but the first seven days of caring for only our six kids, all six and under, will be almost easy. I have more to say about what's going on with this move and everything that goes along with it, but not enough time or energy or boozes to do so. Later.

Two other reliable activities came to an end this week, when the Celtics lost Game 7 by four points and Marley Bean performed two adorable numbers at her first dance recital. First of all, Thursday night. I was crouched and rocking on the floor for all of the second half, and when the time ran out, I was wearily slumped against our couches, tearing up and wailing, "Now what am I going to do?" ("I know, Genius. How about pack up and move your mom for the third time in less than ten years, and try to also prepare an extended family of twelve for a week away in a house with three bedrooms?") But I was so sad, and had watched every minute of every playoff game, and so many games before that. I just grew to love those guys so much.

My friends Ray Ray and Rondo. Paul Pierce falling all over the place and KG sweating all over the place. Perkins looking so grumpy and Rasheed so shocked and yelling, "THE BALL DON'T LIE!" Scalabrine, for crying out loud. And Doc, oh Doc. Always answering questions honestly and directly, and during time-outs, pretty much saying what I would say to a high school field hockey or lacrosse team: "Together!" It's not going to be the same group of guys next year, and that's why I started crying again getting into bed, while Todd looked on with a mixture of amusement and disbelief and asked, "Are you crying? Again?" (I think it was about more than the Celtics. See above, and below.)

And then before I knew it, I was watching while Marley's hair was professionally styled into a perfect ballerina's bun (a gift from Danielle), and we raced to the auditorium where she would perform while, fittingly, "The Final Countdown" played on the car radio. And outside the car I applied the much-anticipated stage makeup: blue eye-shadow, blush, and red lipstick, before we hurried to the gymnasium where all the little girls waited with their classes while mothers wiped stray marks of lipstick and took pictures, and helpers the dance studio had arranged for handed out crayons and coloring book pages. And after I kissed Marley goodbye and went to find my seat, which I had waited over FOUR HOURS for when tickets went on sale, I realized that I had been frantically wiping lipstick and shooting pictures right alongside everyone else.

And this day was all about Marley, but at that point, I spent a few minutes thinking about who I had, surprisingly, become: a mother of a little girl who is in a dance recital. The pink and purple and sparkly thing. The princess and ballerina and fairy thing. It was something about how this wasn't just a running joke at our house or among my family and friends anymore. It was a public performance. This is who Marley, for now, is turning out to be, and she's taking me with her. It wasn't "Toddlers and Tiaras" or anything, but I found myself getting caught up in applying the eye-shadow so it would look right for her, and that's just not the mother I thought I'd be. But I'm the mother Beanie wants and needs me to be so that she can be who she wants to be. And when she tiptoed in a slow circle with her arms held just so over her head while Bette Midler sang "Baby of Mine," tears were rolling down my cheeks. That song was manipulative, for one thing, but I was thinking, she's my baby, and now she's so big (Marley-sized big, I mean), and my heart just cracked with ridiculous love for that feisty and meticulous and giggly and whiny and delightful little ballerina.