Re-Cap

So, yesterday I returned from a long weekend (Thursday through Monday) from Savannah, spending time with my ailing grandfather and my sweet aunt.  Alzheimer's is a mean disease.  I don't like it.  One bit.  However, as he's regressing, my granddad is happy for the most part.  He sings, he still has a bit of his quirky wit about him and he's sweet to me.  I've never had a 'real' relationship with him until these last few months.  And, although I'm 32 now, in the end, I'll be happy to say I did indeed have a relationship with him ~ a sweet one, at that.  He gets confused.  Doesn't know who I am, or who most other people are, a lot of the time.  He isn't sure where he is or where he's going.  Waves of paranoia come and go with him.  But, for the most part, he's trusting.  Of me, and the others looking after him.  He doesn't put up a fight and is quite compliant and mostly pleasant.

The days I spent there were bitter-sweet.  Sweet to be with him and watch him sing along with his Il Divo CD, clap his hands, fade off to a sleepy afternoon nap, talk about long gone relatives he thinks are still around, sit outside with him after dinner in the breezy evening air.  Bitter, because he's fading.  And with this disease, obviously, there's no going back.  So, it's time to enjoy what we do have with Mr. Jack Logan, my granddad.  The only one I've ever had, the only one I ever will.

Aunt Mae and Granddad 

I flew home in time Monday morning to meet my sister at the Atlanta airport atrium.  I got to spend about half an hour with her before she walked through security and off to Phoenix she went.  Man, that was tough.  Is tough.  I'm still not accepting that she's gone yet.  It hits me now and again that I won't have anymore weekend nights out with her.  No more weekday morning talks over coffee this fall.  No more late night 'slumber parties' at my mom and dad's house.  I don't want to go to the places we went to together anymore.  And I really liked those places.  But, for now, at least, it's too sad.  My best friend has gone away and I'm lonely without her.

I woke up this morning to find Nicholas' hermit crab dead.  Fantastic.  Being amazingly under-dramatic and calm, like he is, it was no big deal.  And by 'no big deal', I mean he cried all morning and we had a funeral this afternoon for the crab before we buried him.  Hearts were heavy . . . (Well, the kids' were, at least - must admit, it's one LESS thing for me to keep up with around here!)

Happier times ~ Obviously, before his passing . . . .

Took the kids to school this morning, went and picked up the two bags of groceries and my change I'd left at the grocery store last night (with all three kids in tow - shocking how one could be so distracted to leave bags *plural* bags of groceries) and decided to go wash my car.  Where I promptly dropped three out of four quarters needed to vacuum.  So, I'm on my stomach reaching (and I have a fairly long reach) for these quarters.  Awesome.  They're directly under the center of my Expedition.  So, I hop in and move the thing to rescue the stupid quarters.  Afterwards, it needs a wash.  Water/money runs out half way through rinsing tons of foamy soap.  Perfect.  Go change a $5 into 20 MORE quarters and finish rinsing the car.  Still have time left, so I decide to 'Protect My Vehicle With A Tri-Color Protectant Foam'.  It's not coming out.  So, I do the brilliant thing and look directly into the nozzle, when the 'protectant foam' kicks in and blows a cuss-ton of tri-color foam all over my face.  Pretty sure my left contact is permanently seared to my eyeball.  Haven't really been able to see very well since that killer experience.

Finish up.  Drive home.  (Oh, spilled my Starbucks on the way, as well.  Par for the course . . . ) Trying not to burst into tears - just because, at this point.  Walk in the door and discover a dead mouse we've been trying to capture for a month or two in the handy-dandy mouse trap that's supposed to contain ALL of the trapped vermin.  Not so much.  Call me crazy, but at this point, I really didn't feel like disposing of a plastic container with two little mouse feet poking out.  It was just sad.

So, now, I'm gathering my three kiddos inside from playing in the sprinkler.  Yup.  September 7th, 7:20 and they're all in their swimsuits, running through the water - That's GA weather for ya!  And Stella has a pair of panties on her head.  Not sure why, but, that's Stella!  And they're happy.  Happy!  Oh, wonderful 'happy'.  And they're laughing.  And I hear them running carefree and acting silly.  So, I think I'll go join them.

I could use a little carefree and silly tonight . . . 

A shopping excursion, NOT for the impatient!

So, here's how it goes.  I'm in the grocery store with all three of my darling offspring - something I try to avoid these days.  Not because I don't enjoy their presence, but a grocery store isn't exactly the optimal place for bonding time between a mother and her children.  It takes me about twice as long to grab the 11 items I went in for because I'm either looking for a misplaced (i.e. 'lost') child, breaking up a fight between the boys, or restocking shelves, like I'm an employee, thanks to the 27+ items that have made their way into my cart, unbeknownst to me.  They're very skillfully and stealthy placed there by six little hands that think I'm actually NOT going to notice the extra eight boxes of gummy candy, Red Bull, every new flavor of Pop Tarts,  Hot Wheels (9 of them), Bubble Tape bubble gum (only to name a few),  speeding down the conveyer belt towards the register.  So, I'm scrambling at the last minute to shove and hide these items in the gum/candy/magazine section before I get in 'trouble' by the 16 year old scanning my groceries because I'm 'making more work for her' by not putting these random cavity inducing 'needs', as my children refer to them, back in their appropriate homes, peppered around the grocery store.  No. I am not retracing all my steps, because there were a LOT of extra and unanticipated ones.  We'd be here for two more hours.  And, frankly, my nerve has had about all it can handle and, honestly Sweetie, you'd REALLY be better off doing it yourself than having us stand in your line, creating any more commotion than we already are.  Trust me.  You're ready for us to bail.  Just like we are.

So, the lady in front of me watching all this craziness ensue, dressed to the nines and clearly childless, looks back and me and says in quite the dry tone, "Boy!  You sure have your hands full, dontcha?!"  My mind goes quickly to places it shouldn't, but I hold my tongue.  And, I reply with a smile . . . "Well, obviously, I do.  However, my heart is even fuller because of these three.  I'm a super lucky Mama." Which I indeed am.  She says nothing more.  And my kids smile at me.  I smile back and rub their little noggins.  Because even when I'm pulling my hair out by the hand full, shaking like a leaf and feel like my head might explode at any minute, I can look at my little guys and still see their precious little spirits that are just having temporary moments of insanity.  Just like their mother, from time to time.  Yes, it's true.  I DO lose my marbles on occasion, as shocking as that may be to hear . . .

We walk out, looking both ways and holding hands, heading to the car.  Yup, it was trying and frustrating, but it was just a short little shopping trip that we all survived.  Small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.  And one day, I'll have all the time in the world to grocery shop by myself . . . And I just might feel a tinge of sadness that I don't have to hide three boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups in the check-out line anymore.  Or I might just buy some for old time's sake.

My Mama says, "Days are long, but years are short".  She's a wise woman.  They'll be all growed up before I know it.  I'm working on relaxing, slowing down and enjoying the craziness that comes along with sweet times as well . . . Got a long way to go, but I'm really trying to stop and smell the roses.  Or the burning popcorn that those kiddos are currently making sans my permission.  Oh, boy - here we go again . . .