...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.

...fight the power, not Jim Bauer...

Not sure if it was what I thought might be a rouge dirty diaper, which turned out to be a dead mouse? Or a crying Nora, coming to me to tell me that she was scared to go to heaven? Or the emotional charge that has been slowly filtering through this house for the last week? Like running your stocking feet around carpet in the winter, waiting to get shocked...There was no way around it, today was Father's Day whether we liked it or not...

I can’t help my hormonal tendencies, but it seems like Nora is now on board my crazy train as well… There are only so many emotional outbursts I can take, especially when I know I'm not really making a dent in the questions/concerns she has. About the time I think I've resolved something that is troubling her, in an instant she has another. Currently it's warts, pink insulation, scars, and not wanting to go to heaven...at least for this week. I'm grateful she willingly brings these issues up, yet stunted how quickly she can acquire them...

But the ones that really drive me crazy are those that never make it to the surface, sitting just below the skin, brewing. I can change the subject. I can direct the conversation in a million different ways…all in the hopes that my kids don’t remember Father’s Day is coming. I talked about it at different times, never really trying to make a big deal out of it…I guess sort of wanting to leave it up to how they feel…

Well today, there was little left for interpretation. They asked if we had to leave the house, meaning go to church. They made some rather valid points...stating we would go to church and hear all about how it's Father's Day. I think one of the Talls actually said, "...yeah, that sounds like fun?" We laid on my bed, sort of taking turns getting teary. The boys couldn't tell me why "exactly". Atti just kept looking me in the face saying, "...you crying? Mommy crying..." as if I needed reminding. Nora, it was a heaven/wart combo. I laid there wondering...wow, these kids are screwed on this holiday. They have grandfathers that they love, but it's what they are missing, the void, that can't really be filled.

They lay around me, and I can't help but hurt for them. I can't help but think of a word that I hate, fair. I hate that word. It's usually a word someone uses when they have no real notion of what it means. They use it, and then wish to gain sympathy from it. Someone who really understands what it means, very, and I do mean VERY rarely uses it. I fought my urge to just roll over and let this day kick us in the can. We weren't going to let it tell us what or how we should do things today. Of course, this is total lip service to my brain, but I just kept reminding myself of it.

I faltered a bit, as I was scanning the channels on the TV next to Oscar and I uttered, "...this is complete bullshit, let's go to church..." He sort of snickered. Hopefully, that's never embroidered on a pillow for me...not my proudest moment. The Talls were like oracles. Everything they said we would have to hear was dead on, though interestingly enough it was parlayed into a discussion of the World Cup. I started playing with Atti's toys, then counted everything in front of the church, twice. I actually thought about the hill just above our church. How going down it, screaming the whole way? We needed something like that today...the release! I got us to church. Get through church. Leave out the side door when it was over and get on with the day. I needed to turn it around somehow...we just needed to have FUN, any kind would do.

The pool...it was like some magic drug. It was like that water washed off all the crap we'd been carrying around for the last week. Jumping in, splashing around, seeing friends, feeling the warm sun on your skin...it was our release. It was finally something I could do...to finally turn this day around. They found a tree frog. They named him. They begged to take it home with us, carrying it around like some pocket pet they've had for years. It was nice to see them excited about something so simple...it was nice to see them really smile.

Only later, when I was I reading a friend's Facebook status, did I completely understand how to tackle this day from this point forward. Simply stated it said,

"...I say we re purpose Father's Day and Mother's Day...just call it Family Time...that's what it really should be"

Thank you so very much...