I’ve always loved this photo my dad took of my mom and our dog Misty. It defines a certain moment in her life and yet epitomizes the sense of timelessness that old family photos always bring to me. I’ve seen this photo so many times it’s as if I’m almost there just off frame but my actual hiding place is that little bump in her belly.

As I stumble with the correct words for wishing Debbie a Happy Mother’s Day with the same awkward flare I did a few weeks ago when wishing Debbie a Happy 50th Birthday  I always go back to the pictures which somehow say it much better than I can ever say.

I think the minute Debbie knew she was pregnant everyday became Mothers Day for her. When I think of all the beautiful boys we have brought into this world the oldest of which  is about to embark on a journey of his own I see Debbie up late at night worrying about finances and weighing the differences between different colleges: this one is a drinking school, this one parties hard on Friday and Saturday nights only, this ones student loans are deferred, this ones loans are not deferred,  basically which is the right fit. It’s a hard decision for an 18 year old kid but an even harder choice for a loving mother. With all these sleepless nights tossing and turning the only thing she ever asks me to do is for me to roll over and stop snoring.

As I grind the coffee beans I start to think about Sam doing this trip alone and how he will be away at school next year. A strange fear seeps in as I pour hot water over the ground coffee. He’s almost 18 years old, all packed and Debbie has made sure all of his flights, transportation from airports to colleges and all his arrangements once he leaves the house are all in order.

The coffee is done. Sam is running late. He yells down to me, “Daddy, do you know where my belt is?” I tell him to just wear one of mine. I pour a cup of coffee for Debbie, Sam and myself as I think about him still calling me daddy instead of dad like Henry does. My mom pulls up in front of our house to take Sam to LAX. I walk outside and sit down next to her in the passenger seat my coffee almost spilling as the automatic seatbelt engages when I close the door. I tell her that Sam is running late because he can’t find his belt.

We talk for a few minutes about colleges, the weather back east, her allergies and I ask her why Easter is always on a different Sunday every year. I find it strange how it can be early or late depending on the year. She says something but I’m not even listening. I go back inside to see what’s taking Sam so long. He’s standing in the sunporch all ready to go. I give him an awkward hug and tell him to have fun and be safe.

I walk back into the kitchen to help with the lunches for the rest of the boys. Macaroni and cheese is always a big hit. I start to feel that fear creeping around me again as I tear open the powered cheese packets and mix them with milk and butter. As I’m pouring boiling water into their lunch thermoses I spill the cheese mixture all over the counter and in between the side of the stove. It’s a mess and somehow I manage salvage some of the mixture. I try to extend it with grated cheddar, parmesan and some more milk. The macaroni is ready and I take it off the heat but when I start to drain it into a colander in the sink I burn myself on the pot and dump everything on the floor. What a mess. Debbie kicks me out of the kitchen and takes over the lunches. I sit down at the head of the table with my coffee. Ollie and Simon are making their own mess with Cheerios. Sam’s coffee cup is left untouched in front of his seat. I scoot over and sit in his seat and decide to have a second cup of coffee this morning.

"Just take the picture so we can get to work Dad!"

Theo and Henry- Day and Night Shifts

Rafa- Vamoooosing at practice

Another restless night getting past the bad stuff that the flu brings. It’s been a rough few days since getting back from Indian Wells to watch some great tennis and see Theo and Henry work the event as ball kids. The minute I stepped in the house to check on the boys asleep upstairs I was greeted by Ollie sitting up in bed crying, “I’m dizzy.” I bring out the barf bucket at ready which in our house is the large turquoise Tupperware we keep stored under the kitchen sink. The details are blurry but let’s just say I ended up on the downstairs bathroom floor at 3:45 in the morning three days later.

It’s now early Sunday morning and it’s windy and dark outside because of Daylight Savings Time. I don’t know at this point why or who is saving all the daylight and for what reason; Something about trains or farmers. I think of old Paul Strand and O. Winston Link photos. Santa Monica Big Blue Buses are going by outside on 11th street. It’s not their normal route but then I remember today is the LA Marathon. I get out of bed thinking I can barely make it to the couch let alone 26 miles. I try to stretch but it’s not easy. I’ve had all the usual symptoms; throwing up, dizziness, nausea, fever, chills, coughing; pretty much all the adverse side effects of Viagra without the 4 hour erection. My dreams have been ultra vivid, merging in and out of reality like a Murakami novel. I’m not sure if this is due to the flu, the Nyquil or the fact that I’m reading a Murakami novel.

I take this notion of ordering with me as open up my wallet and pay for an espresso. When I was younger I used to put all the dollar bills in my wallet in an orderly manner, faces going the same way, heads up in monetary order starting with George Washington and working my way up. My wallet is now a mess. There’s no order, bills not folded but shoved between credit cards, business cards and rapidly fading soy based ink receipts. The term “paperless” comes to me. I pay for the coffee with a five dollar bill. Abe Lincoln’s face staring blankly off into space- anywhere except directly into the eyes of it’s beholder.

Back home I’m spreading Blue Castello cheese onto a baguette. Lately, I’ve been making baguettes instead of round loaves of bread. The perfect circle replaced by my “grotesquely shaped” (as Sam described them in his food blog) logs. While admittedly a bit misshapen they have a crispy texture, taste great and are extremely popular with the boys.

Blue cheese has got to be one of the only things we eat with mold on it. Think about it, anything else that has acquired this fungus and decay in the refrigerator or pantry we label gross or gone bad and gets thrown out immediately.

We have these small white hand towels from Ikea that we use in the downstairs bathroom. We keep the clean ones hanging from a Shaker peg next to the sink. The dirty ones are thrown into a canvas clothes pin bag hanging next to the clean ones. It’s a system that usually ends up with an empty peg alongside an overflowing basket of dirty towels. There’s usually a stack of clean towels piled up on top of the dryer across from the sink. Lately what I’ve been doing is with every towel I use to dry my hands I replace it with three clean ones back on the peg.

We are all running late this morning. Simon is the only one dressed and at the breakfast table. Ollie is dressed but rummaging outside in his tennis bag (always a bad sign) for money because it’s his 1st day of swim class after school and he wants to be sure he has cash for the vending machines. It’s 7:30-  Simon’s and Ollie’s carpool is here already. I help Simon with his socks and shoes and get them out the door.

Back inside, Debbie is folding laundry and there are 3 different alarm clocks going off upstairs. Theo, Henry, and Sam are still in bed each in their various stages of waking up or sleep. There’s a piece of “airplane” toast left on Simon’s plate. I take a bite, this time without the airplane sounds.

Dad, circa 1960 Eglin AFB Pensacola, Florida

Later on that day I am dropping Sam off at his high school tennis practice. He says, “Just drop me off at the corner.” I ask him, “Don’t you want me to drive down the hill and drop you off closer to the courts?” He says, “No, this way you don’t have to make a u-turn. I don’t mind walking.” He gets out of the car and walks down the hill. I watch him from the top of the hill and he’s greeted by a couple of his teammates down below. On my drive back home (after I pulled off a u-turn) I roll down the widow and stick my hand out the window and pretend it’s an airplane.

We are at Chung King, a Schezwan restaurant in San Gabriel. The Kung Pao and Shrimp with Chili is so spicy I’m drinking Chinese beer like water to put out the heat. Back home I’m so thirsty and I have dragon breath. We’ve had very little rain this year I think to myself as I get myself a drink  from the chilled water dispenser in the fridge. This is modern luxury. I trace back the source of the water: from the spigot, the filter in the fridge, the filter unit under the sink, the home water filter system mounted on the side of our house (red for hot & blue for cold),  a water treatment plant, an aquaduct, several viaducts chanelling water gradually up and down- the water’s potential energy captured by lonely hydroelectric plants along the way, and finally from the snow covered mountains. There’s a map in our bedroom that shows the ratio we all learned in school- “3/4 of the world is covered in water.” Or was it 2/3? I really don’t know. Forget it Jake, it’s not Chinatown it’s the Year of the Dragon.

It’s only the end of January. Our kids’ baseball gloves are laying around the yard untouched since the World Series. The Dodgers are for sale for a healthy 1 billion dollars. Prince Fielder just signed with the Tigers. I’m raking the leaves and I find a baseball in the yard. I pick it up. It’s water logged and it smells like oregano and wild mint. I grip the ball prepared to throw a 2 seam curve ball and do the math in my head. Only 3 months till Opening Day.