from blown glass swans to plastic pink flamingos

Twenty-eight years ago, on Saturday the fifth of March, there were flowers and blown glass swans on top of a tiered cake. Family and friends wished us well as we drove off in an old pick-up truck in the rain. Together we have bought 11 vehicles, driven thousands upon thousands of miles, moved 11 times, purchased 3 different houses (and sold 2 of them),  and raised 4 children.

Today is also Saturday the fifth of March. We are expecting rain much of the day and I’m sure we’ll stay home, but it will be a day of quiet contentment.

We don’t always see eye-to-eye…

…but we continue growing together.

baby pink rhubarb = future pies for SuperDad

 

This week’s adventures

1. I stayed home from church again on Sunday (week number 4, if anyone is counting — and I am) because I am still on bed rest for my ankle. The stranded turtle position is getting really old, ankle above heart, etc., etc.
2. On Sunday evening, my oldest son called me to say there were admitted to the hospital. I knew it was too soon for us to leave, so I asked him to call back with an update in a few hours. Then we went to sleep. He called again at 2am, and SuperDad and I got up and loaded ourselves into the car, arriving at the hospital around 4am.
3. Our grandson was born at 11:10am on Monday. I am so in love with this little person!  So far, he has many qualities in common with his daddy (being an easy baby is one of them) and I adore watching his parents fall head over heals in love with him and again with each other. It’s truly awesome.
   Fifteen hours after leaving home, SD and I returned and I promptly went back to my obedient position, with my left ankle propped up higher than my nose (and heart). I also promptly fell asleep, because after 3.5 weeks of pain and rest, I don’t have my usual stamina.
   

   Little Foot and his smitten grandparents

4. On Tuesday morning, my orthopaedic surgeon gave me a thorough chewing-out over my choices made on Monday. He was able to remove most of my stitches, but there was still some swelling on my ankle and a few inches of the incision had not yet closed. Despite his lecture (which was his job, and which did make me cry) I would make the same choices all over again. It was my heart’s desire to be there for the labor and birth of my first grandchild, and with the blessing of the baby’s parents, I was there at the hospital.  You only become a grandparent for the first time once.
5. So I’m still here, still in stranded turtle position 2 weeks post-surgery. I’m thoroughly bored. My brain feels like it is atrophying thanks to the pain medication. I’ve tried to go longer between doses, and we have lengthened the schedule a little bit, but eventually I give in — because who wants to live in constant level 5+ pain? (The pain starts as something that feels like pressure against both sides of my ankle which I can live with, eventually squeezing all around. But then I get grouchy and tearful. It’s quite the fun cycle.)

BONUS:  I’ve updated the Cast of Characters, up there on the top bar below the header picture. A few names have changed to reflect current trends and occupations.

Happiness is…

My Christmas gift arrived on Monday.

Pass the cookies… the ones I haven’t yet baked

You know that magical, mystical month of preparation that is wished for between Thanksgiving and Christmas? The one I keep hoping will appear before the end of this week? Um, yeah. Today is Friday and I’m gradually realizing that my dream of such a month is only that: a dream.

The funny thing about Christmas is that it comes with exceeding regularity every single December 25th, whether or not I am prepared. In this way, Christmas is like a military moving day, which — as my husband is wont to say — comes whether or not a person is ready for it.

In the past few weeks I have continued on in life much as I do the rest of the year:  going to work, taking a bit of time to waste hours on facebook in an effort to avoid reality spend with friends and other loved ones. My days as “Christmas Wizard” seem to have gone AWOL. I no longer set aside the many hours (hours often stolen from other parts of life) to make the Christmas Magic happen. I actually do plan to have the kids set up and decorate the tree with only minimal participation from yours truly. My handling of ornaments is relegated to unwrapping each one from its tissue-paper swaddling cloth. I am content with this job.

I am, quite possibly, too content with the fact that Christmas comes in 5 days. I have yet to mail a single package. I have yet to finish a single sewing project (let alone begin 3 additional projects conjured up in the past 2 weeks). At some point, panic will set in and I will pull some marathon hours in an effort to complete a single project in time to wrap it and put it under the tree. And the Christmas letter that I envisioned sending out several weeks ago? Not yet written.

The panicky side of my brain tells me to GET AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER ALREADY and to start scurrying about like a headless chicken. The practical side of my brain tells me that running in circles isn’t an effective plan. The panicky Self insists that Christmas is coming — and SOON — whether or not I am ready for it; the practical Self replies, “Yes, you are correct.”

Now if only that additional month of preparation would suddenly appear this weekend…