9/11 and a Little Blue
My morning began at 6:15 a.m. with a series of NPR stories about 9/11 memorials and remembering those who died horribly seven years ago. By 6:25 a.m., I was in tears, clutching my boys and wishing my husband were home with us. Not my favorite way to start the day. Honestly, I tried hard not to replay that day in my mind. Little flashes of memory arose, despite my efforts at avoidance. Sometimes this world is so fucked up.
It’s hard, but things are going pretty well even though Ian’s not here. The mundane, rhythmical household stuff is getting done, for the most part. Yesterday evening I even cooked a nice meal of pasta with green beans, walnuts, and feta cheese. I got everyone up this morning, fed well, dressed, and off to carpool and the babysitters’. Then I worked and did more taxes stuff. Picked Lucas up from Ryan’s house at 4 and drove the kids over to see RoRo and Nana. A whole parade of people arrived while we were there: Julie, Ro’s PT, us, Bob, Mike, and finally Dad.
(RoRo is grumpy and stubborn. We learned from my aunt that Ro had eaten nothing but candy since Dad brought her breakfast. We tried to cheer her up, and cheered for her while she did her PT with her therapist. He’s making her get up out of her chair, having her practice the movements necessary to do so unaided. Her balance stinks and she seems to have forgotten the body mechanics she has used all her life to move around. She doesn’t want to try, to work for it. She won’t do anything for herself. If she’s not very careful, she’ll lose her ability to walk altogether.)
I took Lucas and Asher out to Rubios for dinner. I just couldn’t face cooking and cleaning everything tonight. All Asher wants to eat is rice. All Lucas wants to eat are bean and cheese burritos and churros. Fine. Whatever. "No, we can’t have ice cream, too. But nice try."
They’re both asleep as of 8:15, which is good. I’m really glad Asher isn’t pulling one of his stay-up-late stunts. We’re out of vodka, damn it.
Tomorrow will be another busy morning, with Dad coming to take Lucas to school and me and Asher braving the pediatrician’s office and another wicked round of shots. (Must remember to dose him with ibuprofen before we leave.) Later, though, we’ll be having dinner with my parents, who are well aware that I’ll probably be totally pooped and out of my gourd by then. It’s great that they’re so involved and helpful in my life. Some days I don’t know what I’d do without them.
Ian, come home. I miss you.
