Everything Happened | vol. 239
This summer sucked and I did it to myself
It’s been hard for me to write this summer because I’ve been so miserable. Unhappy is not the word, because my marriage is a comfort to me and my kids are mostly charming. Money is fine. The cars are working. You know?
When I say this summer sucked, I only kind of mean it. I’ve said this before, but when you have little kids, it’s hard to write off a whole season (meteorological meaning not Instagram parentcore meaning) or year as a wash. The time that passed, for all its difficulty, has been your kids’ only childhood. Life with your own kids is like pizza, anyway. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
The misery I am talking about is some self-perpetuated neurotic unrest related to whether or not Nick is awarded tenure, a decision we will know in the next six months or so. The decision is not certain in either direction, and either outcome makes me a little queasy. If he gets tenure, do we stay here in this unlikely location that has rather obvious deficits but offers so much to us? If he doesn’t get tenure, do we leave? And where do we go? Back to Ohio doesn’t feel right. Starting over somewhere new is exciting for half a second before remembering the avalanche of admin required to move and the 2-3 years it takes to make, like, one real friend in middle age.
I reached a point in June where my own inner monologue was so intolerable that I hired a psychic medium for a phone reading, something that I have never once felt pulled to do. I wanted to borrow someone’s certainty, even fraudulent certainty.
Leah the medium told me that things will go Nick’s way and that I should remember that there will be enjoyment in the decisions going forward. “I think you’re forgetting that it might be a fun process.” Leah I beg you to be so fucking for real right now.
I also got a visit from my dead father-in-law during the reading, which offended me, and she told me that Jane, my middle kid, was psychic. I tucked that one away to mention offhandedly to Jane when she’s 25 or so like an absolute psycho.
“Did I ever tell you that when you were five years old, a psychic told me you had the gift?”
It turns out I was not able to borrow Leah’s certainty after all because I have stage-4 hater disease. Inoperable.
It was so damn hot this summer, is the thing. It was well into the 90s with max humidity more days than not. The mosquitoes were lusty. The grass was dried out and sharp. We didn’t go to our little redneck local beach as much as we normally do. Jane did her first summer of day camps and because of their age difference, Desi and Jane were never at the same camp at the same time. Nick and I packed so many stupid little lunches, managing so many similar but slightly varying calendars.
Every Friday, the speech therapist would come to the house for Polly. Polly adored the attention but was cool on the speech therapy part of it.
Diane held up a card with an illustration of a buh-buh-buffalo on it. We were working on our bilabial sounds, our p’s, b’s, and m’s.
"Yak."
"Hmm…does it look like a yak to you? Let’s pretend it’s a buffalo. Can you say buffalo?"
"No thank you!"
Later, I’d drive Polly through the farmland to Desi’s parks department summer camp. Right before the u-pick farm with the ice cream stand, we’d pass the herd of Highland cattle with their flowing fuckboi bangs.
"Yak!" Polly would declare.
"Oh, do you see the C O W S?”
I’d catch her gaze in the rear-view and correct her while pointing at my mouth the way Diane taught me.
"Yaks."
In Maine, Desi, a kid who very recently was afraid to take a bath if someone had mentioned the existence of squid earlier that day, pulled a leech off his own leg in the shower without hesitation or fanfare. I couldn’t stop bragging to people about this casual bravery. “Did it hurt?” they’d ask him. “No,” he would tell them, “because leeches adapted to be able to attach to hosts without them realizing.”
Ok!!
In Maine, we were invited to an old money 4th of July lobster boil with friends, where each child received their own whole lobster and the kid’s table was seated with china. Desi and Jane both tried lobster, despite Desi being an avowed vegetarian, because they didn’t want to miss out on the experience. “It tasted like cheese but I still didn’t want to take a second bite of it,” Jane recounted to my parents later.
We made the kids leave the party before the fireworks started and they were devastated. I surreptitiously pulled ticks off of all of them before loading them in the van. “Don’t pinch me!” Jane said. I’d crush the tick between my thumb and index finger and Nick would make knowing eye contact with me. “Oh, sorry!” I’d say to her. Then I’d pinch one off Polly.
The drive back to our vacation rental was scored with the thundering of explosives and we relented and pulled over once we found a parking lot with a decent vista. Polly dozed, it was way too late for her. Desi and Jane climbed on top of the minivan and watched together. Usually this summer they were the Gallagher brothers, but very occasionally they’d have blips of being more like the Eilish siblings.
There was a moment, finally, in late August when the tenure agita released itself from my body like an exorcism. I had spent a long time intellectualizing my need to let it go, and finally, despite me, my bones got tired of holding it. It felt like waking up in a new body. I felt gentler toward everyone, even the psychic I’d willingly allowed to swindle me. Finding out what happens to you! A fun process, actually, if you can manage to pay attention.
yr mate,
Evie
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Also:
I was so delighted to profile my tiktok crush Ricky Bee for Fatherly last month!
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The need for even “fraudulent certainty” is so relatable. Should I go to a psychic medium? The vibes were really so off this summer. Wish you luck with the tenure stuff!
‘Yak’ is making me chuckle so hard.