My Private Memorial Day

One of the great things about living where I do, is its connection with my past. I was raised a nomadic Air Force brat. There was a home base, though, and it happens to be the house next door to mine. The house my mother was raised in; the house where my grandma still putters around making things bloom. It also is just a two block walk to the cemetery where my 'people' are buried; my grandpa, three cousins and my sister. Just before Memorial day, is the anniversary of her death. I don't always make the walk on that day, but it never goes by without some contemplation.

This year I was more aware than usual of the day approaching. It was going to be on a Sunday, just like the year she died. Saturday evening I slipped away by myself to the cemetery while the rest of the family played. As I walked, I was immersed in memories, flashes of feeling and snapshots from that time. Twenty two years ago is forever. How can it have been that long?

My feet crunched on gravel, and I remembered the shock of hearing that Sara was sick; my naive assurance that everything would be fine. (Isn't everything always going to be okay until it's not?) Those ten days of uncertainty, prayers, tests and overheard conversations with unfamiliar words like: tumor, malignant, stage 4, chemotherapy. I remembered the awkward visit to the university hospital. What was that tube in her wrist, with the halved Styrofoam cup keeping her hand level? We hadn't seen her since the day we found out she was sick. How different would my goodbye have been if I'd known it was the last time I would see her until her funeral?

I found her grave, and sat on the cool grass. I have no memory of being there on the day she was buried. I do remember the surreal feeling of excitement for my first ride in a limo, my abstract curiosity at the viewing; the alternating sensations that she was just on a trip and the crushing weight of loss.

I didn't understand at the time, but in the intervening decades this event has begun to make sense. I see the pattern that was still being woven back then. Sara took one for the team. Her death was the making of me, probably of all of our family. In taking her early exit, and I do believe that was part of her mission, she put the steel in my spine that gets me through hard times today. It cemented my own, personal faith.

I talked to her as I plucked the grass. I wondered aloud what her days are filled with. (Are there days in heaven?) I tried to imagine her grown, but I couldn't. She remains in my mind a newly-five blond pixie with mischievous eyes and a crinkly nose.

I asked her if she's okay. I know she is, everyone in heaven is, but it would have been nice to really FEEL it right then. I collected myself and stood to leave. I took one last glance at her grave and caught my breath. There, peeking up at me from the rose bush beside her marker, was a single pink bloom. Just one.
I picked it, and brought it to my nose. Sweet, but peppery too. Just like Sara. I walked home with a smile on my face, knowing she's just fine.

Bliss

I'm usually the kind of gal that doesn't branch out gastronomically. If I'm eating at the Olive Garden, I get the Tuscan soup and a hazelnut cream Italian soda. If it's Taco Bell, it's the 7 layer burrito with nachos belgrande; my favorite Mexican restaurant, Roberto's Tacos (where all the Mexican's eat- Taco Bell doesn't count as Mexican) has the best chili relleno washed down with icy horchata. Unless it's a burger and fries, that is the extent of my dining comfort zone.
I had a hot lunch date today, we ate here. I was a little nervous at first, but I went with the flow. I've been on an 'Office' kick, and last night Ryan mentioned Pad Thai, so I took a leap and ordered it.
Oh.
My.
Bliss.
It hurts my heart to not have known that it existed before. I will never be the same. It was tangy, limey, with peanutty crunchy goodness and a hint of cilantro.
So we sat, ate with chopsticks, and made googly eyes at each other. We did have to switch spots when Liam got spaghetti sauce on Lewis' dress shirt, but other than that, it was romantic.

LOSERFACE- My new nickname

What would you do?

I opened my email this morning and found an e-vite for a trunk sale from a man who is a slight business acquaintance. The note was addressed to Melissa LOSERFACE. Apparently, he had saved my name that way in his contacts. Oops! How embarrassing for him.

I spent a while this morning analyzing our few contacts. He organized an event where I was one of the speakers. He emailed, me as part of a group, the program. (That must have been the point where I was saved in his contacts with that delightful moniker.) I replied that his plans sounded great, that I was sure his event would be fantastic. The only time we've ever been face to face was a brief handshake- nice to meet you- conversation backstage before the event. Both were cordial and professional. So why the LOSERFACE? In all caps, even.

It's a mystery, my friends.

I'm thinking that I must have some mysterious power to repel total strangers.

This could be very useful when I'm in long lines at Disneyland.

I replied to his e-vite, but I'm curious, how would you handle this?

*An explanation- OR IS IT?

I got another email from the guy, and it was again, addressed to Melissa LOSERFACE. He was so flustered and apologetic. He couldn't find that adorable name anywhere in his contact list. He sent a different test email, it was still there. He insists he has no clue how it got there. I'm inclined to believe him. We spoke, and he was all apologies. I mean, come on. Does anyone over the age of 18 save a professional contact with the name LOSERFACE? I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

this is what happens when you dont sign out!

you see mom it isn't very smart to walk off without signing out. think of all the embarrassing stories i could post about you, that you haven't posted about yet. dang blogging is harder than it looks, i cant think of anything to say.

Shame

"It wasn't my kid, was it?" I asked, searching the faces of my fellow Cub Committee members. A few cast sidelong glances at each other.

"Do you really want to know?" Kristy could look me in the eye, her kid stories could top mine any day.

We were discussing the Spaceship Derby a couple of weeks before. It was a loud, overstimulating affair. There were so many little children running around screaming, it was the perfect birth control ad. I'd spent a few precious minutes of quiet helping in the kitchen. Apparently, I'd missed out on some action. Some punk kid (cough) called 911 and hung up. Of course the police came. They always come. The Bishop rounded up all the kids and tried to discover the culprit. No one came forward. He didn't want to humiliate anyone, so he asked that whoever did it come to him privately.

As I heard what had happened, my heart clenched. My pupils dilated. My nostrils flared. I expect all kinds of hi jinx from my boys, but some things cross the line. Mouthing off, being disrespectful, or lying to an adult that is not your parent carries a heavy punishment. I had a vague memory of some kid coming to me to tattle that Dainon was the one on the phone. He's almost 14, so the idea of him being on the phone wasn't particularly disturbing. I asked him about it, and he gave me an explanation so mundane that I completely forgot about it. Until that moment at the table.

I stewed.

Was my child on a path riddled with crime and disrespect to elders?

Could he, in fact, withstand the "please just confess in secret" line from a loving Bishop?

Hell in a hand basket, my friends. In a hand basket.

I stewed some more.

The more I thought about it, the less it sounded like him. It would have been pure idiocy to involve the police in your doings with your father in the next room.

As soon as he breezed in from school, we had a little chat.

"Um, Dain, I was at a meeting today, talking about the space derby. They said someone called 911 and the police came. Did you call 911?"

"Sure." He said, "But don't worry. I dialed it, but I didn't press send."

"Babe, it's not a cell phone. All you have to do is press the numbers. You did dial the police. They came."

"They came?" He asked in surprise. "I never saw them, I was outside." He missed the whole thing with the Bishop too, and was only too happy to explain to him how it had all gone down.

Whew!

Not so shameful after all. It was actually pretty funny.

Seriously Icky. You've Been Warned.

Remember when I was rhapsodizing about heaven the other day? We spend a lot of time at Two Rivers and Zintel Canyon, so a couple of Sundays ago we decided to branch out a bit. Lewis looked up some hiking trails (more like walking paths) on google earth, then we drove around to find them. Cool trails wound around on the banks of a very scarily swift river. We took our faithful nanny dog Jill, and had a nice, reverent Sunday stroll. (I stuck that reverent bit in for you judgemental types) When we all piled out of the van back home, there was a tick on the carpet of the van. Eww! Lewis squished it (which is more difficult than you would think) and we thought that was the end of it. We found two more on the ground that evening, much to my dismay, so I bought a tick collar for Jill. Flash forward to this afternoon. Dainon brought Jill over to me and showed me a very disgusting sight.

At first I thought she had a hand full of nasty tumors. Have you ever seen those on old dogs? Gross. Then I realized, they were very full, very satisfied ticks.

How did I handle this? I did what any sensible, liberated woman would do. I called my husband at work.

"Honey, there are ginormous ticks on Jill" I shrieked. "What do I do?"

I've never removed a tick in my life. I've seen it done when I was a girl. My mom did something with a match. I could just picture that going wrong and Jill bolting out of the house a flaming Dog of Death. The closest thing I've done would be when I was a teenager and my dog got too close to a porcupine. Of all the luck, my parents were gone. That was an adventure.

"I don't know, just Google it and do what they say."

That sounded reasonable enough.

I always do what Google says, even when I shouldn't. (Like when I was being induced with Liam. Don't follow Google instead of your own midwife. Someday I'll tell you the story.)

He then very chivalrously offered to take care of the problem when he got home. There was no way I was going to have a dog walking around with those blood-sucking fiends hanging off her, so Dainon and I decided to git 'er done.

Google said to pull them out with tweezers. They advised against yanking, just steady pressure. They told us not to be alarmed if the head stayed in, that the dog's immune system would take care of it.

I decided that now was the time to enjoy the benefits of only having boys. I found some gloves and some pliers, and made Dainon pull them out. I held Jill, spread her fur away from the offending pustules and tried not to watch.

It was horrible. Really.

I was nauseated. He had to pull so hard, her skin would stretch way out, then those ticks would end up with a piece of her as a souvenir.

But we did it.

He took the ticks outside to kill them, and their carcasses became a neighborhood sensation.

See, I told you it was disgusting.

Breaking Child Labor Laws

I took a mental health day yesterday. I remained in the fetal position, snug under a down comforter, hugging a bowl of popcorn, watching my beloved foreign movies. At the end of the day, I felt renewed. Alas, my house did not. Lewis read to us until after 10, and no dishes were done. (We HAD to find out if Max died in the creepy castle of death!)


A few of my boys have a cough. Dainon sounds pretty gross. Kelton has a sore throat. Logan has a minor cough. Dallin is fit as a fiddle, the poor boy. He's always healthy when they're sick. He has a bionic immune system. I surveyed the chaos in my house and made an executive decision.


Happy Mental Health Day!


Everyone gets to stay home and rest. As long as they work, too. So far, it's 8:18 and my powder room floor has been scrubbed and a big pile of laundry has been put away. It's going to be a nice long day breaking child labor laws!! (Rubbing hands together with unholy glee)

Mwa ha ha haaaaaaaa!!!