...the gift of memories

Seemingly for the last few weeks we all need to wear signs stating, "Wearing pissy pants...you've been warned." It's summer, what do we have to be pissy about? It wasn't until I was doing a little reading that I realized, we're like this every year about this time. There is something just underneath the surface. Like a large break out of poison ivy that is irritated except there is nothing that can quite quell its symptoms.

Summer, even though not officially yet, has been hectic. We are trying new things and while that is great, the schedule that comes with it has been a learning experience. It is interesting to watch Oscar play baseball, he's learning a lot and it is nice to see his confidence grow. I think the experience will be teaching him more than just about the sport, and for that, I guess the hectic, whiny children on late nights is worth it. Abe has learned the value of the dollar in the summer of 2016. Volunteering to mow the lawn, for a monetary reward of course, has been helpful and interesting. He has also picked up a side job of sharpening mower blades, a job that actually pays better than mowing...I'm in the wrong business. Of course Nora wants to hire a lawyer, because she does not understand the notion of child labor laws, and feels she too should be getting paid...our lawyers are in deliberation. Atticus has taken to start his juvenile detention career early. The list of things he has pulled this summer thus far are lengthy and terrifying. Grateful for him, glad he is my last child to rear and getting him fitted for the orange jumpsuit he will possibly have to wear in the future...I'm keeping an open mind and a stocked liquor cabinet.

Writing every day, while it is a great opportunity, makes jotting down my little quandaries or musings sort of the very last thing I want to do when I get my kids all snuggled in their beds. While my mind has plenty of things to say, my brain says, "Who gives a crap?" Then the other day, I met a man who is a retired professor and has written/illustrated 29 books. He was rife with stories and insights, his life was fascinating and his outlook was positive. I honestly didn't want to stop listening to him or asking questions. This man reminded me that if you have a creative mind and something to say, be grateful and acknowledge it. Who knew a short conversation with and 85 year old man would do so much.

I never know if I should bring it up, or just let it ride with the topic of Father's Day. It is my third year pulling double duty on this holiday. It's not like they don't know it is coming, as the commercialization of all Hallmark holidays, it's all you hear about if you watch TV or listen to the radio. Our old tradition of celebrating every month on the 7th, the day that Jason passed away, started to seem unnecessary. We had grown out of needing that, and frankly it was getting costly to celebrate. But yet, Father's Day is Sunday...the kids have wonderful grandfathers and men in their lives that are important, but it still just isn't the same. I teeter this time of year wondering if being open and inquisitive about their feelings really isn't just ripping off a scab. Or worse yet, worried that I need some ridiculous gratification or sign that they are, "all good."

I guess what it all boils down to isn't necessarily Father's Day, it is the blatant reminder that there is no "Father" in this house. It pains me to really think of what they are missing. It pains me that their memories of their dad are so very distant that they might just disappear. It pains me in knowing that they'll never know their dad the way I did. It is a struggle for me, because I cannot recreate memories for them of their dad, other than a story. I cannot give them, what deep down, they all really need. And the kid getting fitted for the orange jumpsuit? He has nothing but pictures and stories. It is more than just a gift giving holiday to this household, it is a forever reminder that we are different...and I can't really do anything to make it better.

Then, completely out of nowhere, something wonderful happened. Without any prompting, or discussion on the matter, my kids all mentioned something yesterday about their dad. Little tidbits they remembered, from the way he tickled them, to some funny thing he said once or just the notion that if they could speak to him every day they would. It was like they were reading my slightly sad heart and mind, and did what I wasn't sure they could anymore. They reminded me that they still remember. It was like a gift that I probably could never pick out the right words to describe. It was the best Father's Day gift this mom who is pulling double duty could ever ask for...the gift of memories.