We skipped straight from winter to summer this year. We were robbed of spring. It’s been hot and the air is filled with humidity and there has been a lot of rain and everything is damp.
My naturally wavy hair is reflecting the atmospheric conditions and this morning, while preparing school lunches for the kids, Charlie looked at me, tilted his head studiously and said, “Your hair is sticking up everywhere. You look like Albert Einstein.”
“If Albert Einstein were accidentally electrocuted.”
Cherish. Cherish every moment.
I was in the emergency room with Henry one evening last week. Our visit stretched into the wee hours of the morning while the staff diligently worked to determine why he was in so much pain.
At one point, in order to more comfortably perform a diagnostic test, they administered pain medication to him through an intravenous drip. Henry’s relief was almost instantaneous and he marveled aloud at how quickly the drug had worked.
“I can’t believe how much better I feel already,” Henry declared.
Having been given the same drug in the same emergency room last summer for an interminable migraine and having found the same tremendous fast-acting relief from pain, I looked at Henry and said a little too excitedly, “I KNOW, RIGHT? AREN’T DRUGS AMAZING?”
It wasn’t until the nurse looked at me a little wide-eyed that I realized I may have sounded a bit overly enthusiastic for pharmaceuticals. It was so very late and I was so very tired. I tried to course correct by launching into a brief summary for Henry of the nation’s current opioid crisis and the challenges we face in fighting the devastating effects of powerful drugs. Then, I inexplicably gave the nurse a knowing wink but somehow this just made everything tragically worse and significantly more uncomfortable.
I’m pretty sure the nurse thought the D.A.R.E. t-shirt Henry was wearing by sheer coincidence was merely a prop.
I find thunderstorms mostly delightful so on Monday afternoon, when the skies turned dark, I told the kids to put down the small screens and join me in my bedroom for a good old-fashioned storm-watchin’. When the rain began and hindered our view out the windows, Henry asked if we could go sit in the garage, with the door open, to watch the storm. I hesitated momentarily because I had definitely heard some thunder but agreed it would be fun so we relocated to a decidedly more hazardous location.
Since we’re responsible parents, we made the kids sit towards the back of the garage. You know, for safety.
Within minutes, everything went from FUN to DOOM. I remember hearing Bob slam the garage door shut and I remember thinking the big bay windows were definitely, most likely, positively going to break from the hail and I remember being in disbelief at how loud it all was and I remember hustling everyone to the basement.
Charlie, no one’s fool, was already down there. With a blanket, a book, several stuffed animals, and a flashlight.
The worst of it was over in a few minutes but our home is a mess. Shredded window screens, damaged roof, punctured siding, mangled trim, dented everything. We’re fine. It will all be fine. But, still. That was SOME storm.
While I was at the drug store late Saturday night, buying all manner of items to soothe the never-ending parade of symptoms and ailments that have descended upon our home of late, I picked up a pint of my favorite ice cream. Showing an unreasonable amount of restraint, I didn’t open it that evening. Charlie took notice of it in the freezer the next afternoon though and asked, rather slyly, what my intentions with that ice cream were. I explained I was saving it.
“For another time,” I replied.
“Oh, come on, mom,” Charlie pleaded. “It’s Mother’s Day. Doesn’t that mean you have to share?”
I chuckled and said, “Charlie. That’s not how it works.”
But then I thought, yes, that’s pretty much exactly how it works. Every time.