Mama can't miss Montauk.

My mom lost a dear companion this week.  Her friend had been sick a lot over the last year, and my mother had consistently skipped outings or trips to stay close by.  Sometimes this made people roll their eyes, her friend being the four footed kind and all, but I'd guess that my mom doesn't regret one single skip, one outing missed, in order to keep her companion feeling safe, in order to spend that extra time with someone she loved.

Which has had me thinking of an email forward.  And also our trip to Montauk.  Years ago, some forward found my inbox.  Now, I'm not a fact kinda girl, so spot me the missing details here.  But the general gist went something like this:  A professor showed up to the first day of some class with a huge jar full of gum balls.  He told his class that he had calculated how many days, on average, would be left, statistically, in his life.  And then he'd dumped in that many balls.  Each day, a gum ball was extracted (eaten?).  An obvious reminder of, well, so very much.  

My first thought was, of course, really?  That must have been one old dude.  Or really small gum balls.  Or one huge jar.  But after these, ahem, inspired insights, the rest of the message resonated.  Yes, I'm sheepishly admitting it, I was touched by a freakin' forward :)

Which brings me to Montauk.  We woke up last Saturday to Ethan, bag packed, train schedules in hand.  He was taking P to Montauk and giving me the day to clean and breath.  This is becoming a weekend ritual, the Papa and P playdate.  And its doing fabulous things for E and P's relationship, the state of our house (which is still stunningly borderline - how do those mum's do it???) and my strangely revitalized sanity (yah, Cash, I use that word loosely;).  But, (there had to be a but, no?) those damn gum balls get me each weekend.  Truth be told, the freakin' forward is seared so boldly into my brain, I chew them, erm, daily.  

Like, when P was a baby.  And would awaken before the sun.  Up all night nursing and changing wet for dry, I was less enchanted to greet the day than the sweet babe was.  Upon awakening, there was always about 10 minutes where he would sit on my stomach, just looking around, before the morning dump would arrive and the rump would need immediate assistance.  Even ten minutes are precious to a new mama.  But I couldn't bear to close my eyes.  He would only be exactly that old, wake up to those new notions that day, that one time.  The preciousness of time was visceral.  

And so it was with Montauk.  It would be a first.  His first really long train ride.  His first time on the truly open ocean.  His first lighthouse.  His first rock beach.  My eyes grew misty just thinking about it.  I love watching him, seeing him translate his world. 

Fortunately, Ethan knows me and my insanity and he allowed me to piggyback on his parade.  I mean, don't get me wrong.  A day of eating what I want when I want while listening to what I want while cleaning for as long as I want, well, that sounds wildly attractive.  But after having a lifetime of that, and only a few more years before a lifetime more of that, the parenting part of my gum ball jar doesn't seem so expansive.  

We had a lovely time.  And much like I'm guessing for my mom, I don't regret missing a day of leisure, at all.  But it seems its more complex than just recognizing you're a gum ball shorter each evening.  Seems you have to choose what flavor gum ball you chew each day, too. 

And the sweet husband!  This weekend, he carefully selected their Sunday outings for fun that didn't feature any big firsts.  He's a big boy and happy to share those :)