The timing of Tony's sister's passing was the same day as Youngest's departure to summer camp. Which was fine, as this was not my first rodeo and I had obligations to the Troop that I needed to settle up while I was there.
So while he went to be with his mother when the news was delivered, I set forth into the forest where I'd be dropping my son for the next 6 days. And when I tell you how fortunate we are that this excursion for him is local I truly mean it, even though trekking him there takes a half a tank of gas. Three hours later, I have secured the camp sites for next year, checked him through Medical, and met with the chef regarding his gluten free meals for the week. I left without looking back, as this was not his first rodeo either, and even though the temperatures would be in the low 90's all week, I knew he was in good hands.
Until 730 pm Monday night when the good hands I left him in called to tell me he needed to come home.
Apparently, he had not been eating and was sick. So off I went... over the river, through the woods... to get him and bring him home. On the ride home, I asked Tony to cook him up a quick burger, which he inhaled as he walked through the door. After a quick shower he was off to bed, and after seeing his color return to his face, I was confident he was fine, just a bit dehydrated and hungry.
By 655 am, I was back in the car, heading back to the forest where I dropped him off, fingers crossed for better days. I then headed to another camp where Oldest is a Counselor in Training three days a week, dropped him off, and then back on the highway to work. By the time I got there I was already done for the day. But instead, I drove around in the EZ bake oven truck, desperately trying to stave off the heat induced migraine that had been forming all week. No such luck. As soon as I was out of work, I was back to get Oldest and drop him at the High School for summer conditioning, run some more errands, and then back home for dinner.
Wednesday was my day off, and while I could have spent the day relaxing in the AC, I spent the day running errands with Oldest, and waiting for emails to be returned. *sigh* Why no one else understands my sense of urgency is beyond me, but whatever. Needless to say, the day was spent spinning wheels until it was too late to do any of the things in the emails, so I dropped Oldest at conditioning and then headed BACK to the forest for family night, where I hiked all over the 300 acre camp looking for my Scout, only to find him completely engrossed in a game of Magic with some other Scouts. Turns out, he was kicking everyone's butt.... and he was skipping merit badge classes to play. *sigh*
Sweat pouring down my face, we met up with my parents, and hung out at the camp site for a bit before heading back to the mess hall for dinner. Tony met us there about 15 minutes before he then had to leave and go back to pick up Oldest from conditioning. Before I left for what I hoped would be my last trip to the forest, I ran though the "No more skipping classes, 3 meals a day, hydrate or die!" speech, and said I was all set with seeing him until Saturday after work.
I haven't heard a peep from camp.
I assume he's still alive.
Thursday was the wake for his sister. Tony made his own peace with his loss, and he had already had plans to be out of town for the night, so I wanted to go down and stay with his Mom while the rest of the family attended. Traffic, while not horrendous, still sucked and it took me 30 minutes longer to get there than I had anticipated, leaving no one home when I got there.
This is key folks, because my mother in law has an attack dog. Sure, he looks all small and nice when the family is there, but when they are not home, he will growl and nip at anyone who tries to come in. The dog gets locked in the basement when they know we are coming, so when I saw him in the basement window, I just opened the front door.
And he FLEW up the stairs, barking up a storm, growling as if he was the most ferocious beast ever.
Good times.
So we danced, one step at a time, him growling, me telling him to knock it off. He jumped on my mother in law, trying to get in between us, she yelled at him... blah blah... he settled in between us.
And the I moved my foot. Growl. SNAP. (twice) I tried to get up and get something for her, he jumped, scratched my legs, and snapped at my hands.
Even better times.
So here I am, here to help her, and I can't move off the couch. The doorbell rings. The dog's down at the door growling. I go to the top of the stairs, he runs up and growls. the doorbell rings again... he's back growling at the door. Seriously. This was the longest, most comical 3 minutes I had even seen, the dog running up and down the stairs, growling, barking. My mother in law is cracking up in her chair, likely the most excitement she's seen all day. Luckily my nephew showed up, meeting the pizza delivery person at the door, because I had no idea how we were going to get it in the house. And as soon as he walked in, the dog was fine.
No barking. No snapping. Nothing.
Weirdo, psycho, hobo dog.
When the rest of the family arrived I got the low-down on the wake. Quiet. Small. Non-dramatic. I picked up ice cream on the way home. As I was leaving the grocery store the sky opened up and POURED. *sigh* Oldest and I made the biggest ice cream sundaes and sat and watched game shows for the rest of the night. Because I mean, come on, what else would we have done?
So now it's Friday night. Tony's returned. We took Oldest to dinner, met up with my parents, priced out new washing machines for my mother in law's if the old one can't be fixed. Youngest will return home tomorrow, Tony will be off to investigate the status of the washing machine, and I will be de-crusting camping gear. Rest assured, by Sunday I will be floating around on a pond somewhere, far away from accountability.
This has to have been the longest week ever.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Monday, July 27, 2015
The Last Four Days....
I pulled into the driveway on Thursday night after another hectic day of running around, and he was out watering. We exchanged hellos, and he asked if I wanted to take the kayaks out.
Convinced I would fall asleep on the water, we tentatively planned out the week.
Friday?
"Can't."
Saturday?
"I think my sister is going to die on Saturday."
"Did your brother say something changed with her?"
"No. Just gut feeling."
He finished up his watering, I went inside. Friday came. I worked and picked up Youngest from day camp. He started packing for his overnight camp on Sunday, made the list, and we all headed to Walmart. We bought the necessary evils... extra shirts, a lantern, socks, a three pound bag of Swedish fish. You've got to have all the essentials for Scout camp, ya know.
Saturday came.
I worked, he painted the window casings and sills so I could install the new shades. He washed the cars. We took the kayaks for a spin around the perimeter of "our" 62 acre pond, around to the half way point, and then made a bee line back to shore. The water was only a bit choppy, the sky overcast, the shoreline quiet. It was nice, floating around, just me and him. Peaceful. Relaxing.
Back home, we grabbed Youngest since we wouldn't be seeing him for the next 7 nights, and headed out for dinner. Saturday night was quite busy downtown and had us bouncing from place to place for a table, checking out the local architecture, reading the history plaques adorning the 300 year old homes. We ended up at our usual place on the waterfront, about a mile from where we parked. The night was unusually cool, about 60 degrees, breezy, but quiet. Youngest had the gluten free pizza, Tony a burger, and myself, chicken santorini. Somehow my inability to pronounce it never inhibits it's deliciousness. The walk home was quiet, dimly lit, and peaceful.
"This turned out to be a pretty good day." he says.
"Yes it did." I say.
"And my sister didn't die." he says.
Saturday's extra curricular activities, left us sleeping in late Sunday morning. I rolled over and kissed his face all over like I used to, way back when we were dating, not unlike a mother kisses the faces of her children embarrassing them in front of all their friends. He got out of bed shortly after and checked his phone in the kitchen.
His sister past away at 7am.
And just like that, she was gone. He would never know why she had chosen not to speak to him or their mother for the last 8 years. He would never know why she did not want to see them the week before She took with her the family's infamous stubbornness and anger despite how easy it would have been to let it go. The extended family is already swarming, and talking behind each other's backs. Posts have shown up all over face book preaching the ultimate in hypocrisy. Her obituary mentions everyone but her own mother, which I pray was a careless oversight, but still hurtful nonetheless.
He left on Sunday morning to meet his brother to tell his mother who is home on hospice. She has not taken it well and I wonder if this will mark a tremendous back slide for her. The wake is Thursday. He is unsure of if he will attend. Most likely, he will not.
The woman in the coffin is not his sister, fragile and sick.
His sister took him to yard sales.
His sister drove around in her car back in the day, listening to music.
His sister spoke her mind.
That woman is not his sister. Just as the people who will descend upon the funeral home, for the most part, are not his family. The chaos and dysfunction they bring with them will not effect him as it is not his to endure. That well is full of tainted water, and he learned long ago not to drink from it.
Today, he needs time.
Time to get used to knowing he will not run into her on the street.
Time to mourn the sister he had, and accept the stranger she became.
Time to appreciate the time he had, and the time he still has with the chosen family he has left.
Convinced I would fall asleep on the water, we tentatively planned out the week.
Friday?
"Can't."
Saturday?
"I think my sister is going to die on Saturday."
"Did your brother say something changed with her?"
"No. Just gut feeling."
He finished up his watering, I went inside. Friday came. I worked and picked up Youngest from day camp. He started packing for his overnight camp on Sunday, made the list, and we all headed to Walmart. We bought the necessary evils... extra shirts, a lantern, socks, a three pound bag of Swedish fish. You've got to have all the essentials for Scout camp, ya know.
Saturday came.
I worked, he painted the window casings and sills so I could install the new shades. He washed the cars. We took the kayaks for a spin around the perimeter of "our" 62 acre pond, around to the half way point, and then made a bee line back to shore. The water was only a bit choppy, the sky overcast, the shoreline quiet. It was nice, floating around, just me and him. Peaceful. Relaxing.
Back home, we grabbed Youngest since we wouldn't be seeing him for the next 7 nights, and headed out for dinner. Saturday night was quite busy downtown and had us bouncing from place to place for a table, checking out the local architecture, reading the history plaques adorning the 300 year old homes. We ended up at our usual place on the waterfront, about a mile from where we parked. The night was unusually cool, about 60 degrees, breezy, but quiet. Youngest had the gluten free pizza, Tony a burger, and myself, chicken santorini. Somehow my inability to pronounce it never inhibits it's deliciousness. The walk home was quiet, dimly lit, and peaceful.
"This turned out to be a pretty good day." he says.
"Yes it did." I say.
"And my sister didn't die." he says.
Saturday's extra curricular activities, left us sleeping in late Sunday morning. I rolled over and kissed his face all over like I used to, way back when we were dating, not unlike a mother kisses the faces of her children embarrassing them in front of all their friends. He got out of bed shortly after and checked his phone in the kitchen.
His sister past away at 7am.
And just like that, she was gone. He would never know why she had chosen not to speak to him or their mother for the last 8 years. He would never know why she did not want to see them the week before She took with her the family's infamous stubbornness and anger despite how easy it would have been to let it go. The extended family is already swarming, and talking behind each other's backs. Posts have shown up all over face book preaching the ultimate in hypocrisy. Her obituary mentions everyone but her own mother, which I pray was a careless oversight, but still hurtful nonetheless.
He left on Sunday morning to meet his brother to tell his mother who is home on hospice. She has not taken it well and I wonder if this will mark a tremendous back slide for her. The wake is Thursday. He is unsure of if he will attend. Most likely, he will not.
The woman in the coffin is not his sister, fragile and sick.
His sister took him to yard sales.
His sister drove around in her car back in the day, listening to music.
His sister spoke her mind.
That woman is not his sister. Just as the people who will descend upon the funeral home, for the most part, are not his family. The chaos and dysfunction they bring with them will not effect him as it is not his to endure. That well is full of tainted water, and he learned long ago not to drink from it.
Today, he needs time.
Time to get used to knowing he will not run into her on the street.
Time to mourn the sister he had, and accept the stranger she became.
Time to appreciate the time he had, and the time he still has with the chosen family he has left.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Their Own Private Island....
I think the planning started in December.
Someone mentioned to the committee chair of our scout troop that there was "this island", and of course my ears perked up. Because "the island" they were talking about was the same one I had mentioned 2 years ago, when they were in cub scouts.
So of course, this became my new project.
Phone calls were made. Emails were sent. More phone calls, and more emails, and then eventually a personal visit. When it became apparent that I was not going away, the town finally gave in and produced a 3 page list of requirements that most people would have glanced at and said, "No, thanks. I'm good."
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I pitched it to the Troop.
I made tentative plans.
I applied for fire permits.
I produced maps and site plans.
I developed a BSA and Town approved "What if?" disaster plan.
I arranged an off site parking plan, recruited a BSA approved lifeguard, and solicited for kayaks.
I took 3 safety courses through the scouts, so I could be a back up leader.
I encouraged and aided a scout patrol leader to take over the finer details.
I purchased a portable toilet.
I explained why we needed a portable toilet, over and over and OVER again.
I hunted down people for money and permission slips.
I had to start a wait list for what was supposed to be our teeny tiny summer camp out.
We borrowed kayaks...
The town finally approved our island camp out 6 weeks ago. As it turns out, the town owns the island in the center of one of our larger ponds and they allow overnight camp outs only for the Boy Scouts. Except they don't want the island spoiled or over used, so they don't advertise it or release any information about it. The only ones who are allowed permits are the ones that persist.
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Last weekend, 14 scouts and 4 leaders set sail into the sunset for their island adventure carrying everything they would need for 3 days with them on their kayaks (and one inflatable raft), including tents, sleeping bags, food, fire wood....
.....and a portable toilet.
It took two hours to get every boy and leader launched. And I mean that in the most literal sense. We were utilizing a private dock and once the boys were loaded up my husband literally launched them off the edge. Amazingly, not one person capsized and all the gear made it over nice and dry. I'd love to say that I planned the weather to be perfect, but that would be a lie. It just worked out that way. Beautiful, sunny days 85 degrees, with minimal humidity.
On Saturday I opted to head out on my own to see how the guys were holding up. I loaded the spare kayak with some special survival gear for the men...
Perfectly loaded, I carefully stepped off the dock into the vessel, popped my butt in the seat, steadied myself and grabbed the paddle.
Then completely capsized in hip deep water.
So that my friends, is where the photos end. I managed to save the coffee, the cup of ice, cream, and some extra yummy goodies I was bringing over for Youngest. The sugar, camera, and phone, not so much. When I arrived on the island I quickly un-assembled everything and dried it all out using one of Youngest's spare socks. On my return trip I wrapped everything in plastic, twice. The phone did survive, but I am now in the market for a new camera.
The boys had a fantastic time. They spent the days kayaking, fishing, checking out wildlife, and exploring the island. Each scout pitched their tent on a different site on the island. Some high, some low, some with a nice water view. Others skipped pitching tents all together and strung a hammock between trees. Two camp fires dotted the center of the isle, both burning just enough to rekindle for lunch and again for dinner and ghost stories. At least one Sasquatch sighing was reported. Apparently, he loves s'mores.
It was the perfect weekend and a camp out they'll likely want to do every year. And now that all the leg work has been done it should be easier to pull off in the years to come. We've actually purchased our own kayaks, and as long as no one speaks of the portable toilet. ever, I may invest in a waterproof camera for next year.
Someone mentioned to the committee chair of our scout troop that there was "this island", and of course my ears perked up. Because "the island" they were talking about was the same one I had mentioned 2 years ago, when they were in cub scouts.
So of course, this became my new project.
Phone calls were made. Emails were sent. More phone calls, and more emails, and then eventually a personal visit. When it became apparent that I was not going away, the town finally gave in and produced a 3 page list of requirements that most people would have glanced at and said, "No, thanks. I'm good."
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I pitched it to the Troop.
I made tentative plans.
I applied for fire permits.
I produced maps and site plans.
I developed a BSA and Town approved "What if?" disaster plan.
I arranged an off site parking plan, recruited a BSA approved lifeguard, and solicited for kayaks.
I took 3 safety courses through the scouts, so I could be a back up leader.
I encouraged and aided a scout patrol leader to take over the finer details.
I purchased a portable toilet.
I explained why we needed a portable toilet, over and over and OVER again.
I hunted down people for money and permission slips.
I had to start a wait list for what was supposed to be our teeny tiny summer camp out.
We borrowed kayaks...
The town finally approved our island camp out 6 weeks ago. As it turns out, the town owns the island in the center of one of our larger ponds and they allow overnight camp outs only for the Boy Scouts. Except they don't want the island spoiled or over used, so they don't advertise it or release any information about it. The only ones who are allowed permits are the ones that persist.
Clearly they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Last weekend, 14 scouts and 4 leaders set sail into the sunset for their island adventure carrying everything they would need for 3 days with them on their kayaks (and one inflatable raft), including tents, sleeping bags, food, fire wood....
.....and a portable toilet.
It took two hours to get every boy and leader launched. And I mean that in the most literal sense. We were utilizing a private dock and once the boys were loaded up my husband literally launched them off the edge. Amazingly, not one person capsized and all the gear made it over nice and dry. I'd love to say that I planned the weather to be perfect, but that would be a lie. It just worked out that way. Beautiful, sunny days 85 degrees, with minimal humidity.
On Saturday I opted to head out on my own to see how the guys were holding up. I loaded the spare kayak with some special survival gear for the men...
Perfectly loaded, I carefully stepped off the dock into the vessel, popped my butt in the seat, steadied myself and grabbed the paddle.
Then completely capsized in hip deep water.
So that my friends, is where the photos end. I managed to save the coffee, the cup of ice, cream, and some extra yummy goodies I was bringing over for Youngest. The sugar, camera, and phone, not so much. When I arrived on the island I quickly un-assembled everything and dried it all out using one of Youngest's spare socks. On my return trip I wrapped everything in plastic, twice. The phone did survive, but I am now in the market for a new camera.
The boys had a fantastic time. They spent the days kayaking, fishing, checking out wildlife, and exploring the island. Each scout pitched their tent on a different site on the island. Some high, some low, some with a nice water view. Others skipped pitching tents all together and strung a hammock between trees. Two camp fires dotted the center of the isle, both burning just enough to rekindle for lunch and again for dinner and ghost stories. At least one Sasquatch sighing was reported. Apparently, he loves s'mores.
It was the perfect weekend and a camp out they'll likely want to do every year. And now that all the leg work has been done it should be easier to pull off in the years to come. We've actually purchased our own kayaks, and as long as no one speaks of the portable toilet. ever, I may invest in a waterproof camera for next year.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Present And Accounted For...
I assure you, as I sit here typing away, I am alive and well.
The house is finally quiet, and I am in the midst of a rare moment of awake-ness, which I am sure won't last much longer than it takes for me to type this up and hit post. Mr. Chewey is off hunting rogue moths that have flown in and everyone else is asleep, which you'd think would lend the perfect scenario in which I could get my thoughts together, but it doesn't. Truth is my head is swimming with thoughts of everything I forgot to do today and things I can't control. I am not unlike ninety percent of the rest of the planet in that respect.
I'm not sure why I haven't posted in over a month. It's not as if nothing has gone on. My mother in law is home on Level 1 hospice, but one of her drainage tubes as been removed, and otherwise she is status quo. Tony had a birthday, the last of his 40's, and we spent it with her and some of his family. Perhaps the last one he'll see with his mom and sadly not one photo was taken. His sister has stopped all her chemo treatments. In the 2 months since she has received her diagnosis, it's unlikely she'll see Christmas. What's sadder is the unspoken words between her and her mother that will likely fall away to the Portuguese stubbornness that they are all known for. The hypocrisy between the nephews, aunts, and cousins will likely never be resolved and will only fuel the division in the family. All things Portuguese, the language, those left back in Portugal, will likely die with her.
Death tends to magnify everything. Anger. Resentment. Guilt.
And yet, somehow it can make good things sweeter. Slower. More enjoyable. Among the countless guilts I have as a mother is that the boys don't get a real summer. Sure, they get a break from classrooms and homework, but they go to camp 3 days a week. Oldest is a counselor in training, so in reality he's like an intern. Youngest still gets to play soccer and basketball along side arts and crafts, but is still stuck in the routine of a program. Which is why, for the first time ever on Wednesdays, when I'm off from work, and no one has to get out of bed, and the phone rings, I don't answer it. I want them to have a summer day. A do nothing, lay around the house in your underwear day. Or, a cartoon marathon and eat ice cream for breakfast day. Whatever.
And we have. Two weeks in and we have watched more TV and eaten more ice cream than I care to admit. We have grilled burgers, picked peas from the garden, planted flowers and watched them bloom. We've watched fireworks downtown with the masses, readied the fishing poles, and borrowed kayaks for boy sized adventures that took months to plan but will hopefully last in their memory for a lifetime.
We've done house projects. I'm in the middle of another bedroom makeover that no one will ever notice but me. (Seriously, I spent 3.5 hours making a tailored bed skirt. Tony saw the sewing machine, noticed the fabric was gone, commented on the mess of threads on the floor, and still didn't notice the bed skirt.) We've got the last of the windows going in, and a roof scheduled to go on. A 75 pound hand crafted wooden flag now hangs proudly 13 feet up on our garage, a team effort of dangerous (and yet semi comical) proportions.
We are outside soaking in sunshine. Tony is running. I am walking fast and running the length of someone's front lawn, with all the grace of an under accessorized Mrs. Potato Head, but I am out there along side him. Oldest is doing the summer conditioning program at the High School.... everyday... for 2 hours. Youngest is reading but hiding less and less. He's also eating everything in sight, and if my math is right, has gained 15 pounds in 3 months. He's talking to me. They both are.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm engaged as a parent. I am here. Not on the computer. Not running into work to pick up overtime. Not lost in my phone. Not planning some crazy vacation, or working the budget.
I. Am. Here.
Napping on the couch with our now 15 year old Mr. Chewey Cat. Making grilled cheese for dinner. Sneaking 3 Musketeers into their lunchboxes. Teaching Youngest how to cast a line, while insisting he applies his poison ivy cream. Ensuring sure Oldest has his CIT shirt clean for camp the next day. Changing the battery in the smoke detector that starts chirping at 10:16 PM.
So while I may not be here, typing, or figuring out how to get the pictures of all the aforementioned fun times downloaded off my new phone so I can make this post pretty for y'all, rest assured....
I am here.
The house is finally quiet, and I am in the midst of a rare moment of awake-ness, which I am sure won't last much longer than it takes for me to type this up and hit post. Mr. Chewey is off hunting rogue moths that have flown in and everyone else is asleep, which you'd think would lend the perfect scenario in which I could get my thoughts together, but it doesn't. Truth is my head is swimming with thoughts of everything I forgot to do today and things I can't control. I am not unlike ninety percent of the rest of the planet in that respect.
I'm not sure why I haven't posted in over a month. It's not as if nothing has gone on. My mother in law is home on Level 1 hospice, but one of her drainage tubes as been removed, and otherwise she is status quo. Tony had a birthday, the last of his 40's, and we spent it with her and some of his family. Perhaps the last one he'll see with his mom and sadly not one photo was taken. His sister has stopped all her chemo treatments. In the 2 months since she has received her diagnosis, it's unlikely she'll see Christmas. What's sadder is the unspoken words between her and her mother that will likely fall away to the Portuguese stubbornness that they are all known for. The hypocrisy between the nephews, aunts, and cousins will likely never be resolved and will only fuel the division in the family. All things Portuguese, the language, those left back in Portugal, will likely die with her.
Death tends to magnify everything. Anger. Resentment. Guilt.
And yet, somehow it can make good things sweeter. Slower. More enjoyable. Among the countless guilts I have as a mother is that the boys don't get a real summer. Sure, they get a break from classrooms and homework, but they go to camp 3 days a week. Oldest is a counselor in training, so in reality he's like an intern. Youngest still gets to play soccer and basketball along side arts and crafts, but is still stuck in the routine of a program. Which is why, for the first time ever on Wednesdays, when I'm off from work, and no one has to get out of bed, and the phone rings, I don't answer it. I want them to have a summer day. A do nothing, lay around the house in your underwear day. Or, a cartoon marathon and eat ice cream for breakfast day. Whatever.
And we have. Two weeks in and we have watched more TV and eaten more ice cream than I care to admit. We have grilled burgers, picked peas from the garden, planted flowers and watched them bloom. We've watched fireworks downtown with the masses, readied the fishing poles, and borrowed kayaks for boy sized adventures that took months to plan but will hopefully last in their memory for a lifetime.
We've done house projects. I'm in the middle of another bedroom makeover that no one will ever notice but me. (Seriously, I spent 3.5 hours making a tailored bed skirt. Tony saw the sewing machine, noticed the fabric was gone, commented on the mess of threads on the floor, and still didn't notice the bed skirt.) We've got the last of the windows going in, and a roof scheduled to go on. A 75 pound hand crafted wooden flag now hangs proudly 13 feet up on our garage, a team effort of dangerous (and yet semi comical) proportions.
We are outside soaking in sunshine. Tony is running. I am walking fast and running the length of someone's front lawn, with all the grace of an under accessorized Mrs. Potato Head, but I am out there along side him. Oldest is doing the summer conditioning program at the High School.... everyday... for 2 hours. Youngest is reading but hiding less and less. He's also eating everything in sight, and if my math is right, has gained 15 pounds in 3 months. He's talking to me. They both are.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm engaged as a parent. I am here. Not on the computer. Not running into work to pick up overtime. Not lost in my phone. Not planning some crazy vacation, or working the budget.
I. Am. Here.
Napping on the couch with our now 15 year old Mr. Chewey Cat. Making grilled cheese for dinner. Sneaking 3 Musketeers into their lunchboxes. Teaching Youngest how to cast a line, while insisting he applies his poison ivy cream. Ensuring sure Oldest has his CIT shirt clean for camp the next day. Changing the battery in the smoke detector that starts chirping at 10:16 PM.
So while I may not be here, typing, or figuring out how to get the pictures of all the aforementioned fun times downloaded off my new phone so I can make this post pretty for y'all, rest assured....
I am here.
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