A little outing

Another year, another magic trick, in that once again our taxes have been filed, and oof, it wasn't pretty. I forgot to bring my checkbook to my accountant when we went to sign and pick up our copies. No problem, he said, you can pay electronically. Worked fine for the feds, but the state website was labyrinthine, and wanted us to jump through all sorts of hoops so I said, you know what, we'll just send them a check. So there I was this morning, the day before tax day, on line at the post office to get my envelope date stamped and certified, so I can prove payment was sent should there ever be a question. At least it got me out of the house, appreciating the new blossoms on trees, which was a good thing because I've been in such a mood lately. Not exactly depressed, just blah. Dull and uninspired. The old gray sweater again. My life feels so very small. 

This is the season when family members from all over reach out to say they're coming through New York and can they stay over with us for a few days. Some years, almost every week or weekend from now till August we have houseguests. It's why my husband dubbed our apartment Arrindell Arms. My friends get indignant for me, tell me to ask people to stay in a hotel, but really, we don't mind. Hosting family members is the culture of both my husband's family and mine. Not this year. No one is traveling to America this year. They don't want to entertain the very real possibility of being detained at the border on a technicality, maybe because of a text someone sent them that they didn't even remember getting, or a post they commented on while browsing social media. Who knows what it takes. I suspect we'll have a small Thanksgiving gathering this year. My cousin from Trinidad, whose company I look forward to every year, already told me she doesn't think she' going to chance it this year. 

So yes, going to the post office was an outing. I have definitely been too much inside my house, keeping my head down, working all the damn time. I need to get out more, go exploring, do activities, see friends. I'm so tired of myself. 

Here's something fun. My daughter called over the weekend, asking for pictures of me when I was pregnant with either her or her brother. My husband had some on his phone, but in them I was not clothed. They were tasteful, in profile, with very obliging shadows, no bits and bobs showing, arms crossed over my chest, emphasizing the round orb of my belly. "Send me your nudies, Mom," my daughter giggled when I explained I was unclothed. And you know what, I did. Two very tame ones, one when I was not very far along in my pregnancy with my son, and one when I was close to giving birth to her. I had such a glorious abundance of hair—that's what I noticed most of all. My daughter texted "You look gorg, Mama," said she loved seeing me in an earlier stage of life. "So are you pregnant my darling girl? Is this why the sudden interest,” I pried. "No Ma," she said, "You know I'd tell you. My friends and I have just been talking a lot about it lately." Hmmmm.