I took my ten-year old daughter and two-year old son to Bob's Pumpkin Patch five miles south of Half Moon Bay this morning.

My daughter and I alternated carrying Baby Brother on our backs through the corn maze. Our dog tore off ahead of us, absolutely ecstatic about this set of new smells and sounds.

Then I wheeled my son around in a wheelbarrow through the pumpkin and corn field. My daughter picked out some big fat round orange squashes. I pointed out a flock of red-winged blackbirds. It veered off in varying directions, settling down in a spot in the pumpkin field, then launching off toward another part.

Later, I found a ladybug on the spiny stem of a pumpkin vine. I put it on my son's hand. We watched it for a good while. It stretched out its translucent black wings from underneath its spotted forewings. Then it folded them back in, content I guess with its current location on the warm skin of my son's hand.

I just love those birds and ladybugs and dogs, each with its distinct design and grace.

I make myself look at them again even if I have seen a million before, because if I were to revisit my turbulent feelings regarding my fragile marriage, I might instantly cry again.

Before I had kids, I could just let my tears flow, go write in my journal, then go have a tea or a pint somewhere with or without a friend. Now, I have to keep going. Keep doing the things that I have liked doing with the kids, and let the future shape itself.

While I cannot prevent my daughter from seeing my distress at all times, I can try to focus on the next thing. Is it cleaning? Preparing a meal? Raking the leaves? Scanning craigslist for new job possibilities? Reading "Calvin and Hobbes" with my daughter? Wrestling my son?

By Vicki Inglis

Labels: daughters, fragile marriage, pumpkins, sons, surviving, Vicki Inglis

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