Breather

I've just looked back over the last few posts, and all that comes to mind is "bleah." And Blah. Blurp. Blop. Man, I'm tired of being sad and stressed and tense, and I'm tired of being tired.

There are still things going on that are joyful and wonderful and that keep me on my feet. Sometimes it seems superficial to write about joyful moments when we are so heavy of heart, and at other times it feels absolutely crucial.



I was blessed, yesterday, to spend most of a day with my kid. Hours, people! Do you know what a gift this is? As I am pulled in many different directions, he is also, trying to tag up to as many friends and family as he can before he deploys.

But the planets aligned, and we picked Grandma up and went to see Aunt Teri. Her nausea subsided since last week, and our visit with her was longer. While she sipped on a grape Arctic Rush from Dairy Queen, we, along with Tim & Brandi, mucked through photo albums, laughing at our own bad haircuts from days gone by.

We took our leave, fixed dinner for Grandma, and then, we shoe-shopped. We ran into friends. We grocery shopped. We visited Clint at the fire station.

And in the interim, we talked. We got a giant booth at the Esquire and we ate pizza and we talked. We talked about our own lives, and about Teri and Mom and Iraq and about feet and money and cooking and trucks and people, and what did we not talk about, I just do not know.

We choked up at times, and laughed our asses off, and took this silly picture that I already posted to lure you to read this post:


He is, for the record, doing me a favor here. After previewing our first photo, I whined "Aw, I have dark circles under my eyes!" He said "We'll take another, and I'll cover them for you!" There. That's better.

Bonus! I loaned him my car today, so we grabbed lunch during the trade-off: "D.P. Dough" has a chicken fajita calzone full of a vinegary-wing sauce. We ordered 2, and hit the road back to the office, where Brian announced that he was coming in to hang out and eat.

Flashback to me as a single Mom, promising him some crappy happy meal if he could sit and behave with his toys while I worked some overtime on a Saturday morning...

...only he didn't sport a beard, back then.

At the end of the afternoon, we lucked out with one more beverage and one more hour of conversation. When I drove him back home, to ready for a date with my daughter-in-law, Courtney (working while she's home), one stoplight found me telling him "it's so nice to talk to you."

I have said here before, and I can only reiterate, that I am never more myself than I am with my son. I never defend, I worry not that I will offend. I never "smile politely." We agree, we disagree, we call each other on any B.S. or sugar-coating.

I am so proud and comforted, sometimes, to hear him initiate sentiments that mirror mine. He nonchalantly tells me of a friend that talks smack in public places, not bothering to curb his language or offensive discussion, say, when the waitress appears. "Whoa, whoa, whoa ... there's a time and a place, and you need to shut it, and I'm sorry for my friend here."

(Profanity-profanity) I'm so (profanity) proud of my kid when he tells me this!

I have a long list of other nice things that have transpired in the last week or so, but I've gone on long enough, and will save them for another day. I am, quite honestly, not at a loss for joyous content, any more than I am for heartache.

I've been handed a gift, of time, with my son.

I am thankful.

Godspeed, that kid.