Hey there-
Sometimes things work out better than you hoped.
I love that!
We celebrate Bob's birthday every year with pizza (a dish he was famous for making, with yeast and everything), a favorite dessert of his (varies from year to year), Sprecher soda (a local favorite) and balloons that we let off into the universe.
I am a person who believes in ritual and I feel it is important to continue to celebrate the day Bob was born. Even though Bob is no longer here to celebrate his birthday with us it is certainly still a day worth celebrating.
The first pizza and balloon party Henry and Arthur were just one and four and I had to drag the KitchenAid from the way back of the shelf, dust it off, and weed through all of Bob's cook books to find the correct crust recipe. Each year the boys have enjoyed the balloon tradition but it has grown in meaning. The first year Arthur just wanted to suck on the balloon and this year he picked out his own rainbow design. Last year I succumbed to store bought crust after three years of struggling to perfect Bob's crust. This year we had dough from a specialty shop that we still got to roll out and toss up in the air.
So things are evolving, but the heart of the event remains the same.
This year I was awoken on the day of the party to the tears of Arthur and a piece of paper being thrust in my face. He and Henry were writing notes to their daddy to attach to the balloons and Henry had told him his was "dumb". Arthur's note, written all by himself, said;
I lov you. Do you lov me. Lov, Arthur
Henry thought it was dumb because "obviously Daddy loves him", and there is an "e" on the end of love.
I thought it was the most precious thing I had ever read in my life.
Henry's note was much more Henry like; Are you happy in Heaven? I am doing good here. It has been hard and sad without you. Could you send me a note please? I hope you have the best birthday ever. Signed, Henry
Once I recovered from the emotions the letters brought up (it was way too early and I hadn't had my chai yet) we all went downstairs to make the cherry bars we were bringing for dessert. Once those were out of the oven we were off to pick out the balloons and then head to the aunts where we started making the pizzas. We all laughed when Henry threw that crust in the air as if he were in some kind of disc throwing competition, flour flying all over the kitchen and coming to rest on his eyelashes.
After the pizza was devoured we sent the balloons off with a "happy birthday, Bob" toast. Arthur's balloon with his note tied to it went sailing over the trees and into the universe. Henry's got stuck in the tree in the front yard and we all watched while the balloon valiantly attempted to free itself and sail off. Mike eventually got some long stick thing from the basement and hung over the porch railing trying to free that darn thing.
He was only successful in scaring us all, especially Henry who decided he didn't want to be sending balloons off for Mike on his next birthday. Stuck balloon or not it was a wonderful party all the same.
Last night I was thinking about what a great afternoon we had. I was so proud of the boys for writing those notes all on their own (although Henry could have been a bit nicer and they could have waited a little longer to show them to me)and remembering Henry tossing the crust in the air made me smile. The birthday ritual has turned out better than I had hoped when I started it five years ago.
Each year the boys understand a little more about the significance of the event and the note writing gives me a little window into how they are feeling about their dads absence. What do they believe? How are they feeling? Does Henry really think his dad can write him a note? Does Arthur truly doubt his dad loved him?
The answer to that last question is so obvious to me. It was so obvious when I saw Bob holding Arthur and bouncing with him on the big exercise ball to try to get him to sleep when he was first born. I saw how hard Bob tried to stay alive so he could be there for both the boys as they grew up. I remember Bob smiling at Arthur and holding his little thumbs and saying softly to him; "I love you little guy."
But Arthur doesn't remember those things. Henry has some memories of things he did with his daddy; going down the "roller slide" at the park, going on bike rides to the lake, talking about what his dreams might be as he went to sleep, making pizza with him. Henry has concrete proof his dad loved him, but Arthur doesn't.
So the birthday ritual is turning out even better than I hoped. It gives me and the boys and Bob's family an opportunity to celebrate the fact that Bob was born. And we get to celebrate with many of Bob's favorite things that he enjoyed here on earth.
Two of those things, the most important things, being his boys. I will be sure to remind Arthur of that more often this year.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Monday, April 12, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
2 ChaiDay
Hay there-
Well, another two chai day has arrived.
For those that might not understand that statement.......
The day that Bob died was established a "two chai day" by my friend, Mark, who was one of my support people with me those last days. I am oddly structure about weird things at times and I only allow myself one chai latte per day. But at seven in the morning when you are sitting around your dining room table with all your support people in the grey morning light and awkward silence and you have already been up for hours and you are waiting for the undertakers to arrive and your three year old is asking you way too many questions about his daddy who is still lying in the living room and your five month old starts making noise to be nursed and you are holding your coffee mug so tightly that your knuckles are turning white while you stare at the last remaining foam at the bottom of the mug thinking that you will probably never have another chai again since your now dead husband always made it for you and maybe if you stare at the foam long enough some of it might somehow burst into just one more sip of the delicious, spicy, warm, drink that makes you think of Thanksgiving and pumpkin pie and being cared for and nurtured.
And then a friend reaches out his hand and gently takes that mug from your clutches and as you look at him dubiously he says;
"Irene, I think it's a two chai day."
And why not? Why can't you have a second chai that day? No reason in the world.
I have declared every March 29th to be a two chai day. There have been other two chai days on occasion as well, days when I just needed a little bit of extra comfort, a little Thanksgiving.
I realized I was out of chai last night too late to get to the store. But have no fear, my sainted live husband picked some up early this morning and made me a perfectly frothed deliciously spiced chai. It was pure love and comfort that I could never have imagined would be mine six years ago.
Life is unpredictable, and it can be rough at times, and sometimes you just have to allow yourself to have a two chai day.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Well, another two chai day has arrived.
For those that might not understand that statement.......
The day that Bob died was established a "two chai day" by my friend, Mark, who was one of my support people with me those last days. I am oddly structure about weird things at times and I only allow myself one chai latte per day. But at seven in the morning when you are sitting around your dining room table with all your support people in the grey morning light and awkward silence and you have already been up for hours and you are waiting for the undertakers to arrive and your three year old is asking you way too many questions about his daddy who is still lying in the living room and your five month old starts making noise to be nursed and you are holding your coffee mug so tightly that your knuckles are turning white while you stare at the last remaining foam at the bottom of the mug thinking that you will probably never have another chai again since your now dead husband always made it for you and maybe if you stare at the foam long enough some of it might somehow burst into just one more sip of the delicious, spicy, warm, drink that makes you think of Thanksgiving and pumpkin pie and being cared for and nurtured.
And then a friend reaches out his hand and gently takes that mug from your clutches and as you look at him dubiously he says;
"Irene, I think it's a two chai day."
And why not? Why can't you have a second chai that day? No reason in the world.
I have declared every March 29th to be a two chai day. There have been other two chai days on occasion as well, days when I just needed a little bit of extra comfort, a little Thanksgiving.
I realized I was out of chai last night too late to get to the store. But have no fear, my sainted live husband picked some up early this morning and made me a perfectly frothed deliciously spiced chai. It was pure love and comfort that I could never have imagined would be mine six years ago.
Life is unpredictable, and it can be rough at times, and sometimes you just have to allow yourself to have a two chai day.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
March
Hey there-
I don't like March.
It has never been my favorite month. March has always seemed so long to me, longer than any other month somehow. The weeks stretch out with no holiday weekends. And by March I am soooo ready for winter to be over, but spring is nowhere close to arriving here in the Midwest.
The only time I have found March palatable was when Bob and I were living in Portland. In Portland March had the white petals of the dogwood trees, the pink blooms of the azalea bushes, the rich reds of the tulips, some yellow from late blooming daffodils, delicate purples of the early iris', plus the varied greens from all the ferns unfolding from the damp earth. In Portland March was an array of colors. Then we moved back to Milwaukee and March became brown and grey once again.
To make matters worse Bob was diagnosed in March, and then he died the next March, making March even more bleak.
Now it is March again. Another mourning march. I can recall so vividly the events happening exactly six years ago on this date. Last night was the night that I called my sister, Anne, the one who was going to come "when things got bad". I had my last lucid conversation with Bob that same night, just before I made the phone call. I was apologizing to him for following him around the house like a toddler. I tried to explain how worried I was that something would happen to him and I wasn't going to be able to handle it.
"Don't worry, Renie, you will," he told me.
Bob spoke so clearly, with that calm, thoughtful tone of his. He looked me straight in the eyes when he said it and I knew he was talking about more than just the next few days.
Well, it's six years later, and here we are, another March, alive and well. I severly doubted his wisdom at times, but Bob was right, as he usually was, I handled everything, just barely sometimes, but I handled it.
No worries. (HA! Well, I am glad he had none anyway)
It takes a whole lot of patience and confidence that there will, indeed, be new life coming out of that kind of darkness. I am thankful for the confidence Bob had in me, and I am thankful Bob died in March, when all the new life forcing it's way out of the cold dark earth is a reminder of the resilience and the undaunted possibility of the human spirit.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
I don't like March.
It has never been my favorite month. March has always seemed so long to me, longer than any other month somehow. The weeks stretch out with no holiday weekends. And by March I am soooo ready for winter to be over, but spring is nowhere close to arriving here in the Midwest.
The only time I have found March palatable was when Bob and I were living in Portland. In Portland March had the white petals of the dogwood trees, the pink blooms of the azalea bushes, the rich reds of the tulips, some yellow from late blooming daffodils, delicate purples of the early iris', plus the varied greens from all the ferns unfolding from the damp earth. In Portland March was an array of colors. Then we moved back to Milwaukee and March became brown and grey once again.
To make matters worse Bob was diagnosed in March, and then he died the next March, making March even more bleak.
Now it is March again. Another mourning march. I can recall so vividly the events happening exactly six years ago on this date. Last night was the night that I called my sister, Anne, the one who was going to come "when things got bad". I had my last lucid conversation with Bob that same night, just before I made the phone call. I was apologizing to him for following him around the house like a toddler. I tried to explain how worried I was that something would happen to him and I wasn't going to be able to handle it.
"Don't worry, Renie, you will," he told me.
Bob spoke so clearly, with that calm, thoughtful tone of his. He looked me straight in the eyes when he said it and I knew he was talking about more than just the next few days.
Well, it's six years later, and here we are, another March, alive and well. I severly doubted his wisdom at times, but Bob was right, as he usually was, I handled everything, just barely sometimes, but I handled it.
No worries. (HA! Well, I am glad he had none anyway)
It takes a whole lot of patience and confidence that there will, indeed, be new life coming out of that kind of darkness. I am thankful for the confidence Bob had in me, and I am thankful Bob died in March, when all the new life forcing it's way out of the cold dark earth is a reminder of the resilience and the undaunted possibility of the human spirit.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Blender
I walked into the Living Room after hanging up the phone with my sister, Anne. Laughing, I repeated the conversation about the blender to Bob. I thought it was a cute that my family remembered how important the morning smoothie was to Henry and a very telling story about the McGoldrick attention to detail.
Bob obviously did not find the story so funny. His blue eyes darkened with worry. I sat down on the couch primly, hands carefully placed on my knees, waiting for him to reveal himself.
“You know Renie, I might not even be able to go to Nebraska. If my blood counts aren’t good or if the radiation doesn’t work,” he trailed off, reaching for his latte. It had to be cold by now.
I appreciated his concern. It was not easy to be at the mercy of tumors, blood counts, and doctors opinions. Now tickets were being purchased, calendars were being changed, apartments were being rented, all this planning because of Bob. What if it didn’t happen? What if we couldn’t go? What if the tumor didn’t go away?
“Well,” I spoke curtly, “The McGoldrick’s are mobilizing, Bob. You can’t stop them. This is their chance to help, to get involved. So we are going to Nebraska, whether or not you are getting a stem cell transplant, we are going to Nebraska.”
I stood up and walked out of the room, without even a glance behind me.
Bob obviously did not find the story so funny. His blue eyes darkened with worry. I sat down on the couch primly, hands carefully placed on my knees, waiting for him to reveal himself.
“You know Renie, I might not even be able to go to Nebraska. If my blood counts aren’t good or if the radiation doesn’t work,” he trailed off, reaching for his latte. It had to be cold by now.
I appreciated his concern. It was not easy to be at the mercy of tumors, blood counts, and doctors opinions. Now tickets were being purchased, calendars were being changed, apartments were being rented, all this planning because of Bob. What if it didn’t happen? What if we couldn’t go? What if the tumor didn’t go away?
“Well,” I spoke curtly, “The McGoldrick’s are mobilizing, Bob. You can’t stop them. This is their chance to help, to get involved. So we are going to Nebraska, whether or not you are getting a stem cell transplant, we are going to Nebraska.”
I stood up and walked out of the room, without even a glance behind me.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Conundrum
Hey there-
I recently returned from a trip to Colorado. I like to get the boys out there to visit my family and do a little skiing. We stayed with some friends of mine from college. One evening we were having a lovely adults only meal in the dining room complete with candles.(we like to light candles at home but the boys just want to blow them out so they can dip their fingers in the hot wax and make wax finger tips that I later find all over the house-kind of ruins the ambiance of the candlelight for me)
My friends have two boys of their own and all four boys were busy watching some Olympic ski jump competition on the TV. Visions of rigging up a jump of their own in the backyard were racing through their little boy minds no doubt.
While enjoying the relative peace and quiet and good conversation with completed sentences and everything the all too common topic came up of "How does Mike do it?"
How does he live in the shadow of the sainted dead husband?
"I couldn't do it," said my friend. "It's gotta be tough."
I am not picking on this particular friend, I have heard this sentiment many a time from all different people. Mike's friends (some of whom suggested he not even date a widow to begin with), my friends, my family (some of whom suggested I not mention Bob's name in front of Mike), neighbors, coworkers......the list goes on. Everyone seems to believe that Mike deserves some kind of medal for putting up with the likes of me. A widow who remembers her late husband fondly, misses him and believes that he should still be a presence in his sons lives even though (especially because) he is not here live and in person. I never seem to get an equal amount of recognition for putting up with my particular situation, maybe because the phrase sainted ex-wife is not sweeping the nation.
But I am not bitter.
Let me state for the record that I think Mike is am amazing man. He is my greatest fan and supporter, has a great sense of self, is very concerned about my happiness,is great with my boys, and has a wonderful sense of humor about the whole sainted dead spouse thing. One of my favorite examples to share is a time we were spending the night at a friend's house. This was a couple that Bob and I were very close to and Mike was meeting for the first time. The topic of where people would sleep came up and the husband said to the wife; "Irene and Bob could sleep in our bed". While I was cringing on the other side of the table Mike leaned over to me and asked; "Where am I going to sleep?"
See, now that is funny! What are you going to do, be upset? It was an honest mistake.
Anyway,the boys and I were driving to the library yesterday when I heard a familiar CSN tune come on the radio.
My friends have two boys of their own and all four boys were busy watching some Olympic ski jump competition on the TV. Visions of rigging up a jump of their own in the backyard were racing through their little boy minds no doubt.
While enjoying the relative peace and quiet and good conversation with completed sentences and everything the all too common topic came up of "How does Mike do it?"
How does he live in the shadow of the sainted dead husband?
"I couldn't do it," said my friend. "It's gotta be tough."
I am not picking on this particular friend, I have heard this sentiment many a time from all different people. Mike's friends (some of whom suggested he not even date a widow to begin with), my friends, my family (some of whom suggested I not mention Bob's name in front of Mike), neighbors, coworkers......the list goes on. Everyone seems to believe that Mike deserves some kind of medal for putting up with the likes of me. A widow who remembers her late husband fondly, misses him and believes that he should still be a presence in his sons lives even though (especially because) he is not here live and in person. I never seem to get an equal amount of recognition for putting up with my particular situation, maybe because the phrase sainted ex-wife is not sweeping the nation.
But I am not bitter.
Let me state for the record that I think Mike is am amazing man. He is my greatest fan and supporter, has a great sense of self, is very concerned about my happiness,is great with my boys, and has a wonderful sense of humor about the whole sainted dead spouse thing. One of my favorite examples to share is a time we were spending the night at a friend's house. This was a couple that Bob and I were very close to and Mike was meeting for the first time. The topic of where people would sleep came up and the husband said to the wife; "Irene and Bob could sleep in our bed". While I was cringing on the other side of the table Mike leaned over to me and asked; "Where am I going to sleep?"
See, now that is funny! What are you going to do, be upset? It was an honest mistake.
Anyway,the boys and I were driving to the library yesterday when I heard a familiar CSN tune come on the radio.
"If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one your with." (That would be Crosby, Stills and Nash for those not familiar)
I don't know that the lyrics were meant to speak to a widow necessarily, I am thinking it was more of a war time song, but these words spoke to me during this particular outing.
I can't be with Bob. But I can be with Mike. And I can love him. Not the same way I loved Bob, but not any less, just different. Mike is here....right next to me. (as the song goes)
Maybe it is all just too weird for people not in the situation to understand. It is a conundrum for sure. People try and put themselves in our place and imagine, and maybe you just can't imagine. And both Mike and I seem unable to explain it to people so that they seem to truly understand. We seem to get a lot of odd looks and shaking heads.
Well, I will keep working on the right words. But until then I will continue to love the one I am with as best I can. And, hopefully, the rest will work itself out.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Oldest
Hey there-
Just a quick update regarding my last post. I thank everyone for their advice and support. This parenting stuff is hard work!
Henry will stay where he is for now. His first choice would be for me to home school him but I believe everyone should stick with their strengths and that is NOT mine. Left to our own devices Henry and I would rarely leave the house and would spend the day either reading, baking,sprouting apple trees from seeds, or Googling the latest Greek God Henry was obsessed with. We might take a break for a walk or bike ride around the neighborhood but I am not sure those activities alone would make for a well rounded child.
Anyway, when it came down to it Henry said he would rather be the oldest.
"I am kind of small, you know, Mom," he told me.
I believe Henry will learn because he wants to learn. Bob's greatest concern would have been that Henry live up to his potential as Bob felt he did not. But that concern seems to be universal amongst parents. Luckily, Henry is rather driven at this point so that is not a concern of mine as of right now.
I will keep you posted and until then....in the words of Nancy McGoldrick, and my current mantra;
I am just doing the best I can.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Just a quick update regarding my last post. I thank everyone for their advice and support. This parenting stuff is hard work!
Henry will stay where he is for now. His first choice would be for me to home school him but I believe everyone should stick with their strengths and that is NOT mine. Left to our own devices Henry and I would rarely leave the house and would spend the day either reading, baking,sprouting apple trees from seeds, or Googling the latest Greek God Henry was obsessed with. We might take a break for a walk or bike ride around the neighborhood but I am not sure those activities alone would make for a well rounded child.
Anyway, when it came down to it Henry said he would rather be the oldest.
"I am kind of small, you know, Mom," he told me.
I believe Henry will learn because he wants to learn. Bob's greatest concern would have been that Henry live up to his potential as Bob felt he did not. But that concern seems to be universal amongst parents. Luckily, Henry is rather driven at this point so that is not a concern of mine as of right now.
I will keep you posted and until then....in the words of Nancy McGoldrick, and my current mantra;
I am just doing the best I can.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Saturday, February 13, 2010
WWBD?
Hey there-
What!?!?!? I immediately begin to over analyze, because that is what I do best. I recall a recent conversation about super heroes while I was putting the boys to bed. I asked what they would do with their super power. Henry answered immediately that he would make a classroom just for himself.
"Why? " I asked, preparing myself for some awful story of teasing or bullying.
"So then I could hear the teacher and actually learn something."
Oh dear, that is not what I wanted to hear. I mean, I am glad he wants to learn something........
What should I do? I need help.
What would Bob do?
First of all, he would not over analyze everything, he never over analyzed anything. His favorite words to me were; "Relax, don't worry, it will all work out." Maybe it was the scientist in him but he believed in waiting, collecting more information, not jumping to conclusions. That man had patience!
I, on the other hand, love to jump to conclusions, I hate waiting. Patience is not my strongest quality, it might even be my weakest link, right next to organization. I want a decision made and I want to act on it.
So, what will I do with my latest quandary? I will try to channel Bob and "hear" what he has to tell me, I will feel his patience and understanding of who Henry is and what he needs and I will try to honor that.
I will collect more information, I will wait and see.
I will work on patience.
(and Bob, if you are out there, somewhere in the cosmos, sorry for the swearing. But seriously, if you could send me some of your patience it would be greatly appreciated. It is not as if you need it right now, right?)
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
I am having an F-you Bob kind of a week.
That's right, pardon my language, but F-you Bob for leaving me here to raise these boys and make all these decisions without you.
Oh, I can ask family and friends and my husband for advice, but in the end the decisions feel 100% mine. All mine. Which is a blessing and a curse really. My intention was never to be making these decisions without Bob.
The road to where is paved with good intentions?!
Anyway......my latest quandary is regarding Henry and his education.
Long story short: late summer birthday, decision was made (by me) that he be older rather then younger for his grade, very bright, not very social, in a "bad" class, teacher suggests he test to skip a grade.What!?!?!? I immediately begin to over analyze, because that is what I do best. I recall a recent conversation about super heroes while I was putting the boys to bed. I asked what they would do with their super power. Henry answered immediately that he would make a classroom just for himself.
"Why? " I asked, preparing myself for some awful story of teasing or bullying.
"So then I could hear the teacher and actually learn something."
Oh dear, that is not what I wanted to hear. I mean, I am glad he wants to learn something........
What should I do? I need help.
What would Bob do?
First of all, he would not over analyze everything, he never over analyzed anything. His favorite words to me were; "Relax, don't worry, it will all work out." Maybe it was the scientist in him but he believed in waiting, collecting more information, not jumping to conclusions. That man had patience!
I, on the other hand, love to jump to conclusions, I hate waiting. Patience is not my strongest quality, it might even be my weakest link, right next to organization. I want a decision made and I want to act on it.
So, what will I do with my latest quandary? I will try to channel Bob and "hear" what he has to tell me, I will feel his patience and understanding of who Henry is and what he needs and I will try to honor that.
I will collect more information, I will wait and see.
I will work on patience.
(and Bob, if you are out there, somewhere in the cosmos, sorry for the swearing. But seriously, if you could send me some of your patience it would be greatly appreciated. It is not as if you need it right now, right?)
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Haiku
Hey there-
Our church had their annual "Lessons on Loss" this morning during religious education for the children.
Today the teacher asked Henry's class to write a poem about someone, or something, that they had lost. Henry chose the Haiku. With his permission I am sharing some of these below. I think he was excited at the idea of the poems being "published", although when he heard there was no money involved his enthusiasm did wane a bit.
Our church had their annual "Lessons on Loss" this morning during religious education for the children.
Today the teacher asked Henry's class to write a poem about someone, or something, that they had lost. Henry chose the Haiku. With his permission I am sharing some of these below. I think he was excited at the idea of the poems being "published", although when he heard there was no money involved his enthusiasm did wane a bit.
I am very sad
My father passed away
I cry every day
When she said he's dead
I didn't know what to do
I had no idea
She is very sad
My mother mourns away now
She is very sad
I had no idea
So I tried to cheer her up
It did not work well
(that is my personal favorite)
In the past I have approached this series with some trepidation. Mainly because my kids are the only ones in their class to have lost a parent. Most children talk about a pet, maybe a grandparent, and one child mentioned his dead iPod. I kid you not.
Henry proudly marched up to me in the sanctuary to show me his poems. I happened to be talking to the mom of the dead iPod at the time. As I teared up reading Henry's poems I heard her gently remind her child that some people had experienced much more significant losses. Henry seemed unfazed by the difference between the two boys losses and, in fact, told me the story of how the iPod had died on the way home. (it involved a soda and Mentos)
I can learn so much from the children. While I worry and fret about my poor son having to talk about his dad's death while others talk about lost electronics, my son seems to find sympathy for every one's loss, no matter how small.
My lesson for the day was all loss is significant.
But come on.....an iPod?
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
PS- I can't seem to make the computer do a space in between each haiku? So you will just have to pretend it is there. Sorry.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Luck
Hey there-
Yesterday at dinner Mike and I were discussing an event that involved our friend, Bob.
"Who?" Henry asked. "Bob? Our dad is back? He's alive again?"
Of course, he knows the truth, he was just being silly.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" I asked. "He could move back in here with all of us."
Mike chuckled from the other side of the table.
"Your mom could be the first woman polygamist, Henry," he said.
This brought on a very interesting conversation about polygamy that I won't go into now, but it got me thinking.........
What if Bob were to arrive at my doorstep, and I was to discover that his absence the last six years had just been some terrible mistake?
Then what?!
Yesterday at dinner Mike and I were discussing an event that involved our friend, Bob.
"Who?" Henry asked. "Bob? Our dad is back? He's alive again?"
Of course, he knows the truth, he was just being silly.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" I asked. "He could move back in here with all of us."
Mike chuckled from the other side of the table.
"Your mom could be the first woman polygamist, Henry," he said.
This brought on a very interesting conversation about polygamy that I won't go into now, but it got me thinking.........
What if Bob were to arrive at my doorstep, and I was to discover that his absence the last six years had just been some terrible mistake?
Then what?!
I would be thrilled of course, I can almost feel his arms around me as I type this, and the sound of his voice greeting me; "Hey Sug"
After the shock of seeing me in a house with 5 children wore off I would call for the boys.
"Daddy's home!" I would say, just like I did many times before.
Henry would be shy at first, stare at him with reserved awe, and then want to show Bob his bicycle and how well he can play Othello. Arthur would probably bound into Bob's arms, even though he wouldn't really know who this man was, it might be similar to Santa coming alive in our house for Arthur.
Then Mike would appear at the door to see what all the commotion was about.
hmmmmmm, that is when it gets sticky.
Now what?
Would I run back to Bob and leave everything that Mike and I have built together?
I couldn't do that.
Would I stay with Mike and arrange a visiting schedule for the boys with Bob?
Nope, that doesn't sound good either.
I don't see any of us going for a plural marriage, I can't see Mike and Bob as "brother husbands". And me deciding which door to knock on at night?! ICK! (maybe I have been watching too much Big Love)
How could I decide? Bob is the boys dad, obviously, but they are rather attached to Mike by this point. Mike can even make a better smoothie than me according to Arthur (trader!). Mike never complains about his job but he also doesn't have the summers off like Bob did as a teacher. They both like camping and cooking, although Bob did a lot more of it. Bob never brought me chai in bed, but he made one for me every morning. They both like to travel. Bob was more frugal (which I like) but he never brought me home gifts for no reason. Bob and my wine budget was much less but I do enjoy a good glass of red wine before dinner. Mike is always up for going out with people but, Mike is always up for going out with people.They both put up with me and love me in totally different ways.
Wow, I am glad I won't ever have to decide ......(maybe?).
How lucky am I to have had the chance to love and be loved by two such wonderful men? How lucky am I that, after everything, I still feel lucky?
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
Thursday, January 7, 2010
2.4
Hey there-
The boys and I were driving to the store the other day to buy their grandma a puzzle they could all do together.
"Mom, how old was I when you and Mike got married?" Henry asked from the backseat.
"Six, why?"
"I was just wondering how long it took for me to get used to Mike," he responded.
"Get used to Mike?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowed and his little voice rising in confusion. "What does THAT mean?"
Henry went on to explain; "Well, since Daddy was our daddy, I didn't have to get used to him. He just....... was. And since Mike is our step-dad, I had to get used to him." (duh, I could hear him thinking)
"So, you are used to Mike now?" I asked him.
"Yup."
"How long did it take?" I asked as we pulled into the parking lot of the puzzle store.
"About.......two years, and........four months." He nodded his head in satisfaction and opened the door to get out of the car.
Arthur nodded his head too, in disbelief.
"Whatever Henry," he said as he kicked his own door open.
I am still pondering if he is counting 2 years and 4 months from the time Mike and I met, or the time we got married? I wanted to look back at the calender and see what was going on at both of those times. Knowing Henry this time frame was not just pulled out randomly.
Mike and I met in August of 2005 and we married in September of 2006 so, what was going on December of 2007 or January of 2009? Random life it seemed like to me.
Two years and four months to get used to something, hmmmmm.
I, myself, am a big believer of a year for any period of adjustment, like a move or a new job. Getting through all the seasons, the anniversaries and holidays. After that first year the newness wears off, the initial excitement or fog begins to lift and you can begin to settle down and form an educated opinion about the situation with a little more clarity and first hand knowledge.
But a death? And all the changes that come along with it, how long is that adjustment period? There has historically been a magical number of one year for mourning, wearing black and all that. From my own experience I can say it takes much longer than a year, there are still times I want to wear a black arm band.
A wise friend once told me; "It takes how long it takes".
For Henry it took 2 years and 4 months to "get used" to having a step-dad. (he is learning decimals now in school, could explain something)
As for me, Bob has been gone 5 years and 9 months and Mike and I have been married for 3 years and 3 months. I have accepted the situation, grown accustomed to it, love a lot of it, but I will let you know when I have fully adjusted.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
The boys and I were driving to the store the other day to buy their grandma a puzzle they could all do together.
"Mom, how old was I when you and Mike got married?" Henry asked from the backseat.
"Six, why?"
"I was just wondering how long it took for me to get used to Mike," he responded.
"Get used to Mike?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowed and his little voice rising in confusion. "What does THAT mean?"
Henry went on to explain; "Well, since Daddy was our daddy, I didn't have to get used to him. He just....... was. And since Mike is our step-dad, I had to get used to him." (duh, I could hear him thinking)
"So, you are used to Mike now?" I asked him.
"Yup."
"How long did it take?" I asked as we pulled into the parking lot of the puzzle store.
"About.......two years, and........four months." He nodded his head in satisfaction and opened the door to get out of the car.
Arthur nodded his head too, in disbelief.
"Whatever Henry," he said as he kicked his own door open.
I am still pondering if he is counting 2 years and 4 months from the time Mike and I met, or the time we got married? I wanted to look back at the calender and see what was going on at both of those times. Knowing Henry this time frame was not just pulled out randomly.
Mike and I met in August of 2005 and we married in September of 2006 so, what was going on December of 2007 or January of 2009? Random life it seemed like to me.
Two years and four months to get used to something, hmmmmm.
I, myself, am a big believer of a year for any period of adjustment, like a move or a new job. Getting through all the seasons, the anniversaries and holidays. After that first year the newness wears off, the initial excitement or fog begins to lift and you can begin to settle down and form an educated opinion about the situation with a little more clarity and first hand knowledge.
But a death? And all the changes that come along with it, how long is that adjustment period? There has historically been a magical number of one year for mourning, wearing black and all that. From my own experience I can say it takes much longer than a year, there are still times I want to wear a black arm band.
A wise friend once told me; "It takes how long it takes".
For Henry it took 2 years and 4 months to "get used" to having a step-dad. (he is learning decimals now in school, could explain something)
As for me, Bob has been gone 5 years and 9 months and Mike and I have been married for 3 years and 3 months. I have accepted the situation, grown accustomed to it, love a lot of it, but I will let you know when I have fully adjusted.
Thanks for checking in-
Irene
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