The Point of It All.

Right now, Marley's luxuriating in some afternoon Pink Panther cartoons and a chocolate milk. Rudy's napping, having fallen asleep to her new favorite CD, a selection of baby noises marketed to new parents who want to familiarize their pets with sweet gurgles and wince-inducing wails. She loves it. (When filling out a health questionnaire for her upcoming dentist appointment, I had to list her interests. The first two were Elmo and babies.) And right now, I keep pacing around my kitchen, thinking about the odd tasks that I want and need to accomplish, starting one, stopping it, and pacing around until I eventually half-start another thing. This is mostly because my mind is buzzing with the impending shift in schedules that the start of school is bringing.

The start of school should be a special time, and I want to make sure we start it off right. And September means that Marley's birthday is just a few weeks away, and then Halloween is a few weeks after that, and then Rudy's birthday is mere days later. All of those occasions need to be special ones, and that's not as likely to happen last-minute. But the other whirlwind that occupies the fall, which just may be my favorite season, by the way, is field hockey.

Field hockey preseason starts in two days, and this year I'm going to be the head coach again after about ten years. This means that I'm primarily responsible for the varsity team, but also the go-to lady for all the little extras, like practices, scrimmages, wins, losses, equipment, drills, conflicts, press, clothing orders, communication, and the other minutia that can eat up time if a system is not in place.

And the last time I was the head coach, I was a single lady, and Todd had just put a ring on it. I was all Eye of the Tiger and "Run it again!" And then I got married, and I went to graduate school. And then I had a Bean and a Toot, and they are the most important things. Being a mom is always about balance, but this fall I predict that I will be practically bouncing on a balance ball, or running in place to keep it going, and right now I'm nervous about it. But I also know it's a good thing.

I am working pretty hard to make sure that my two girls have a mom who is healthy and active. My mom is now officially in an Alzheimer's unit at an assisted living facility about a half-hour away. She mostly knows who we are, and even when she's not quite sure who the tiny blondes running and jumping around her room are, she knows that they're cute.

I am all about the recommendations for brain health that organizations like the Alzheimer's Association and recent studies on dementia provide. I am a physically active high school coach who jogs and participates in the town's early morning boot camp. I eat healthy foods and am always trying to eat even healthier. (Except for ice cream.) I make sure that I get time to hang out with my friends and interact with adults. And I am all about the Sunday crossword and my list of book requests at the library, and, also, challenging myself to use and practice any writing ability I have by maintaining this blog. Sweet Futility is also a way for me to keep in touch with some of my favorite people. I refuse to Facebook, people. It is not for me.

But. I am also aware that I am telling stories because I want Bean and Toot to have a record of what they were like when they were little. And what I was like when they were little. Just in case. Because my mom has no idea. And I want to be able to remind myself if I ever need to. I mean, most every mom forgets the little things if they're not written down somewhere; I wish I had it together enough to write about Marley when she was Rudy's age, but that was a different time. There is a chance, though, that even if I'm running three times a week, eating more than my share of blueberries and salmon, making time for pals like the Four Winds, and solving volumes full of Will Shortz's toughest, I might end up with a disease that makes me unfamiliar with the life I helped my little Bean and Toot to lead. And I want to have it written down, because these two, all huggable one moment and step-off-independent the next, are still and always will be, the most important.