Kids and Stuff

Hey, y'all. I'd like to introduce you to Anna, my friend Perri's little girl. This picture was taken at a Boston rally last week where she (and her brother and sister) escorted their mommy (and several other concerned citizens) to meet with legislatures and to plead for the preservation of many rural schools that are in danger of closing. (To read more about it, see http://www.recorder.com/story.cfm?id_no=4214818)

And here is Perri herself. (Drum roll, please. Let's see if I can get this beast to allow me two photos without getting all funky on me.) Okay, fine. If the Powers That Be want to put both pictures at the top, FINE! I'm not going to argue with them. By the way, Perri doesn't always go around wearing a canary hat. It's just for special occasions! :)

And me? You want to know what has been going on with me, huh? Well, a big chunk of the last couple of weeks has gone to proofing Perri's (excellent!) manuscript. (It would be simpler if my laptop wasn't incredibly touchy and prone to shutting off without notice if the cord gets bumped. It's also incredibly slow starting back up. It's like great-grandmother, climbing the stairs to read stories to the kids. By the time she gets there, the kids are asleep! But, hey! At least I have a laptop!)

What else? Well, I doubt you want to hear about all the cooking and cleaning, vacuuming and carpet cleaning ... I don't even have any hospital visits to share with you guys. Not that I'm complaining!!! It's really rather strange, actually. About a week ago, Mark quit taking his morphine, completely. Of course, being Mark, he didn't tell anybody for several days. He had some mild withdrawal systems, but nothing major. And he hasn't had any terrible pain since then. Doesn't it seem like it should be the opposite? I'm confused ... But, whatever the reason, we are all grateful.

His new-ish arrhythmia are bothering him more and more, though, especially at night. They tend to kick in if he lays down. He sleeps propped up, but often that's still not enough. Luckily for him, his desk chair is cushy and, while it doesn't exactly recline, it tilts back. He can (and does) sleep there quite a bit.

He was at work for seven hours today. Seven hours! I can't even tell you how long it has been since he worked that long at a stretch. I was afraid he would come home sick, but he said he felt fine. He looked fine, too! He's asleep now, but he's not sick, so ... that's pretty darn good, I'm thinking! I don't want to get my hopes up, but this could be a positive thing.

Otherwise, there is really not much to tell. Kaitlyn is still/always wrapped up in her junior high dramas. How did any of us ever survive those years? Pieper--Kaitlyn's best friend's mom--called the other day, and we both sounded weary. We had to laugh, though, when we realized that we were both worn out over the same thing: our girls' constant melodramas! And we're not even the ones living them! We're just ... what are we even? The audience? No, far more than that. Mediators, maybe? Sort of. It's just tricky. You want to let the poor kid know you feel her pain, and you definitely don't want to sound like you're taking the other guy's side--unless you've heard the whole story and can be quite certain that your daughter was wrong. And even then, you still want it to be clear that you're on her side, which said daughter seems to doubt all too easily. And then you want to provide comfort and instruction, all the while biting back the words, "If you'd just grow up a little, none of this would even be an issue!" But then ... that's exactly what they are doing: growing up. And while these things may seem petty to me, they are gargantuan to a twelve-year-old.

I was reminded the other day of just how young she still is. I always put the boys to bed. We'll say prayers, sometimes read a story and/or I'll lay with them a bit. But lately, since Kaitlyn goes to bed as late as--or sometimes even later than--me, I've gotten into the habit of kissing her good night and calling it good. The other night, about ten o'clock, I was on the computer, writing. She just stood on the bottom of the stairs, asking if I was almost done. It took me a while to realize that she was actually waiting for me. "Oh!" I said, "You want me to tuck you in?" "Well, you are my mommy," she said. Yes. Yes, I am. And there's no need to rush this whole growing up business, now is there?