Do Over

Ugh, that last post made me feel all black boots and heavy eyeliner.

Sorry about  morose overdose.

Want to leave you with this image instead.

 There, you can spend the rest of your day at work counting my fillings.  Someone ate lots of chocolate bars in her early years.  Well worth the lead, let me tell you.

We'll start all over tomorrow with our usual giddyup mundanities.

Playing Hookie

I attended a funeral service last night.

Had planned on attending the memorial service this afternoon but decided last minute I needed to go to the funeral service first.

I'm so glad I did.

It was for a mom of three children, all under the age of five.  She was battling brain cancer and had been cleared from her doctor as "all good" just Thursday.

She died Saturday of an undetected blood clot.

I don't tell you this to depress you.  I tell you this so I can understand whythefreak things like this go on in a world that seems to otherwise make pretty good sense.

I ran into this mom two weeks ago at the kids' preschool.  Wrapped my arms around her shoulders and whispered "I'm so glad to see you."  By her smile I could see she knew I really meant it.

Two weeks later I'm staring at a slideshow of her life in a funeral home filled with forced smiles and wet eyes.

How is that even possible?

Our boys were friends in preschool last year. They played together with another little boy every other day.  I knew his mom was sick last year and often prayed for her to a place I hope has powers stronger than I can imagine.  I even wrote about it here but didn't publish. 


She was so sick last year.   But two Tuesdays ago?  Not at all.  I mean, not one speck of it filled her vibrant face and hopeful smile.

Why wait until she's so healthy just to take her away?

Why give her husband, her sweet gentle giant of a husband, the dream of more anniversaries, birthdays, Saturday mornings, an entire lifetime of summer family vacations just to have it all come to a horrible sudden crashing stop.


Just like that, she is no longer here to strap her kids in their carseats.


She's not here to choose or not choose a hot lunch for her son who starts kindergarten in the fall.

She's not here to hear her one year old speak an entire string of words that begin with, "Mama..."

She's not here to watch her girls choose mismatched socks to wear under striped stockings.

She's not here to hug her mom on Christmas.

She's not here to yell at her husband for coming home late when the kids are sick.

She's not here.

She's not here.

She's not %*#& here.

It infuriates me.

I stood and shook and shook like a disturbed volcano in the hallway of my kids' preschool when my friend gave me the news. I was shocked and so angry at the fact that she didn't even get to know what happened.  All the preparing and knowledge of someone's passing doesn't make it easier but somehow, when kids are involved, it seems like it is the better option.  She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Then I stewed on that for a while and thought, why would that be better?

We are the ones to build fairness into the equation.  That's not at all what the world gives us.  It's what we do in reaction to the world around us so we don't bump elbows or nuclear powers.

We organize time in minutes, hours, years, calendar pages to make sense of all the given chaos. These intangible files we make to organize memories are not given to us by the universe, and certainly not God. It's our own human language. In that respect, of course our system is flawed.

The way people die may seem inconceivably hard to process through a person's perspective but maybe, just maybe we are meant to squander in the limits of our own imaginations because the alternative is our reward.  What happens when our bodies expire and our energies rise is beyond beautiful, amazing, open, immense, awe-inspiring, and too grand for our pattern of earthly thought to comprehend.

Or we witness nothing, are stopped completely, and dissolve into an air and space continuum like the steam above a hot spring.

Because energy doesn't just go away, I believe in the former.  We will see when we get there what all the fuss is about.

It has to be. 

Today I am keeping Grayson home from school.

 

 

 

For no other reason than to spend time with him and with Abby. 

Time discovering clouds that look like Abe Lincoln pass over our heads.

 Time finding tree fairies hanging out in the woods.

Time watching her watch him.

And when the shadows become larger than the sun? 

We will try to work that to our advantage too.

Wild Woman

"Oh Baby Baby it's a wild world....

 

"...It's hard to get by just upon a smile,"

"...Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world,"

"I'll always remember you like a child, girl."

Eye Can't Believe It

Apparently we are a house of slow blinkers.

Grayson got the slow blinker gene from his mother.  

He and Andy are in an Urgent Care right now seeing about a scratched cornea.

I wish I were kidding.

He is doing fine.  Just can't move his eyeball or else seering hellfire bumblebee stings make him curl up into the fetal position.  I remember that feeling all too well.  If you've ever scratched your actual eyeball then your toes just curled at the mention too. 

It happened last night.  Grayson wasn't tired so was playing around in his room but happily so.  He must've primed a plastic popper thingie (imagine half a rubber ball with no center) and then peered down on it to check its popping status.

Status ready.

Only things went awry and the thing popped up right into his face.  His scream let both Andy and me know he wasn't joking.  Seconds later out scuttled a freaked out Grayson clutching at his eye like an injured matey..

Ahoy vey.

Needless to say his parentals did what they always do.  Andy paced back and forth while manically crunching on the rest of his bedtime snack.  I Googled my ass off trying to find an open Urgent Care so as not to subject anyone to the ER.

One warm washcloth and three pep talks later, he was asleep in our bed.  We thought maybe we dodged a bullet and it was a near miss afterall.

Until he woke up this morning.  More hellfire and angry bumblebees.  Poor thing.

They should be in the waiting room now.  I'll give you an update later.

Grayson strongly recommended McDonald's pancakes on his way to the Urgent Care so I'm pretty sure our winky pirate is going to be okay.

Sticky with syrup but okay.


*Update:  Grayson is okay!  Our mighty Popeye does not have a scratch on his eyeball.  The doctor said it looked good and probably had a little one that healed overnight.  Andy said the drops they gave him in the ER made him buck like a bronco but took the sting off and he is now happily munching on pancakes on his way home.

Mercy.

Oh I Love a Rainy...Afternoon

My bunnies are asleep.  That's what I call the little hela monsters when their eyelids are closed.

It was one hela-va week (boo! Back to my day job).

 

 It snowed just enough to get rosy cheeked and brush burned.

  

Not to mention assaulted with a blunt object.  Stuff like this happened every 5 minutes or so.  I swear our household thrives on an unhealthy abundance of bipolar convictions.  Everyone's happy as possible one second then BAM!  Abby gets hit on the noggin with her favorite babydoll.  (Guess who threw it.  Don't worry, he received a Masters Degree after listening to Abby's dissertation on being nice to his "big sister" and not throwing AbbyDoots.)

 

 They made up over curbside snowcones.  Delish.

I'm trying to get used to the ups and downs of raising young children but I swear this is why I quit teaching.  Too much stress to keep things leveled all the time.  Not one of my strong suits.  I remember spending many a weepy hour in the office of the staff developer when I taught Special Ed, trying to get out of my contract.

Do they have mom developers?  Did I sign a contract?

No?  Oh well, I will just walk around and take pictures of pretty things instead:

 Something pretty?

Something slightly out of focus.  

Something left of center.  Heh.

Something sweet but ohso sneaky.

Something purple.

 

 Something pink!

Something with which to romp and play...

...to include arm nipping as I took a turn on the toboggan.  Still unclear if she was trying to save me or ride shotgun.  

And finally, one slightly disturbing view of things that should not be outside (Look away, Nonie).

All the while, Pop was a consummate rockstar. 

I don't know how he was able to keep up with our chaotically active schedule and smile through it like he was getting paid.  He was, if you consider stealing all his M&Ms and Swedish fish payment.  Somehow, I believe he does.

 

 

But enough about Pop.

Just kidding.  I won't embarrass him too much because he's been known to grace the Internets but I will add that today we are mournful he is not downstairs in our kitchen stirring his tea.  His 75th cup of tea.  I think he was cold here.  I think I'm cold here, I'm on number 12th cup or so.   It's so hard to say goodbye to any one of our parents when they come to visit.  Hell, I'm pretty sure I get a little choked up when the Stanley Steamer guys leave. Attachment issues. Detachment too, evidenced by all the sad when I see brake lights headed away from here, the House of the Rising Delinquents.

So the bunnies are sleeping and I get to kick back and enjoy their presence without being their bellhop, take out chef, or referee.

 Oh I love a rainy afternoon.  It makes the bunnies so sleepy.

The Grandma

This morning Abby and I were invited to a new mommy group.  We were familiar with some of the moms and their children so introductions went well.

An hour later I was ready to go home.  And not just because I had on real clothing. You know why I was all set to part ways?

Because I was the grandma.  

And  I was 100% okay with that.  It's not that new babies don't interest me, I will hold one any time anywhere.  It's just that new mom talk is for lack of a better term, history for me.

These moms were lovely young women.  Some stayed at home and others worked outside the home.  Some brought their children to an in-law for childcare, others sought help from an au pair or a coop preschool.  Lifestyles were varied and conversation flowed easily.  It's just that the conversation centered around teething, Ferberizing, sleep cycles, weight gain, percentiles, and baby carrots.

I literally played with the Yorkie almost the entire time.

Again, the ladies were great and their children (some even Abby's age) wonderful.  I was simply out of place amongst a group of people who were still beginning their families.  I've graduated that phase of my life and really don't wish to go back in time.  It was okay while it lasted but having kids older, conversational, and able to exist away from my constant watchful eye is heavenly.  I don't wish to go back to the way it was.

Give me a room filled with people chatting about arthritis, menopause, Pinot Noir, and presidential nominees and I'm all ears.

Until then, I'll be here ice skating with kids who have access to mobility and bad words should they so desire to use either one.

I am a grandma and honestly could not be more pleased.