Friday, April 9, 2021

"Growing Old Gracefully" by I.P. Freely

Staying home during the pandemic was well-suited to the combo of my tiny bladder and huge water consumption. 

But things have started to open up a bit here with spring weather, devoted mask-wearing, and vaccines. We even signed Andrew up for t-ball. Last night was an hour-long practice. That, coupled with the drive across town, put my bladder right in the danger zone. 

After practice, we realized we needed to eat. You know I like eating and despise cooking, so we grabbed some food at an outdoor space in our town. 

I drank nothing with my meal and kept my legs crossed.

It was taking a while to get the bill, so I told Tim to wait for it and drive Andrew home in his car, while I raced  home to the bathroom. Those final seconds unbuckling Andrew from his carseat have gotten me in a wee bit of trouble before, so I was glad to be on my own. Tim eyed me suspiciously as if I were trying to pawn Andrew off on him for a few moments of alone time (who, me???), but he acquiesced.

All was fine until I reached our neighborhood. The trash cans were lined up for the next morning. I noticed one had a glass vase, that looked to be about the size of a large milk jug, sticking out of it. Not content to let it go a landfill, I decided to grab it. Perhaps it would like nice in our house, or I could give it away on our Buy Nothing group. 

As I pulled it out of the huge, wheeled trashcan, I stared in wonder. It was like a magician's scarf that just kept coming. What I thought was a sizable vase or jug seemed to grow as I reached deeper into the can, trying not to pee myself because of the numerous muscles involved. I placed it in the car, thanked my pelvic floor for making it this far, and climbed into my car. 

Then Tim drove by. 

He slowed down and asked what I'd been doing, but I silently waved him away with flailing arms, knowing if I had to explain why I'd been digging in the trash, I was going to wet myself. 

Moments later, I was in the garage. So many small victories: I'd attended a sporting event with my precious kid. I'd stayed out of the house for more than an hour. I'd saved the environment with my eagle eyes and brute strength hauling the vase into the car. The only thing that stood in my way was Tim, about to get Andrew out of the other car. I waved him aside again, my body bent, my face set in determination. I had the garage to traverse, then the kitchen, then a 1/2 flight of stairs down to the bathroom. 

Damn you, split level.

Then, as if he didn't know me at all. As if he hadn't been dealing with my tiny bladder since early 1992. As if he'd never been on a road trip with me. Or seen 3 babies' heads crown in my nether-regions, doing untold damage. He decided  to delay me with a smirk and, "You didn't LOOK like you were in much of a hurry to get home down on the road there." 

At which point I started to laugh. I thought of the world's biggest vase in my car. 

All was lost. 

I  crumpled to the ground, trapped between the car and the garage wall. The kitchen was close, but it might as well have been a continent away. I let loose a torrent like no other.  Andrew watched from his carseat. Tim looked on in horror and pity, trying to hold me up, but also avoid the splashing. 

A voice through the window: "Mommy always says she's going to pee herself, but this time I think she really did."

Anyone want a little vase? 

Photo credit: Newly-minted 5 year old. 

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

I'm Here

One of my favorite things for 4 year olds is the "basement play date." That last year of preschool before kindergarten opens up a child's world to the wonders of playing with someone else's stuff in the treasure trove of a basement or a playroom. Sometimes it even means going home from preschool in a friend's car, having a snack in an unfamiliar kitchen, and playing until mom picks you up hours later. Almost a whole day away! It's exciting, scary, fun, and an opportunity for growth.

The pandemic began shortly before Andrew turned 4. Now he's almost 5. So we were on the cusp of this magical stage right before everything changed. We canceled his birthday party at an indoor play place. (Sometimes I think this whole mess is my fault because as a germaphobe I threw caution to the wind to plan that kind of party in the first place!) Preschool shut down, and I became his primary playmate. 

If you ask Andrew today what his heart desires, it is to play inside a friend's house, and to have a friend come inside ours. Sitting inside McDonalds again is also pretty high on the list. In 10 months he has gone inside a Dollar Tree once, but no other stores or restaurants. 

I was thinking about all of the things he's missing and that I'm missing for him: church, sporting events, hugging his grandparents, and play dates are just a few. He has been resilient and adaptable, and I am so proud of him. I know for sure that I won't have to "play Legos" forever which, unfortunately, doesn't mean "build Legos"-- there are battles and backstories and I never seem to know what is going on, just that the clock seems to slow to less than a crawl when it's happening. 

Many, many people have lost so much more than my little guy. Jobs, physical and mental health, homes, food security, and a year of education slipping away and leaving those with "less than," with even less. 

And most especially, the death of family members.  

The death toll of covid is so VAST it is natural to start tune out, to not see each loss, each life as unique and precious. What seemed inconceivable in early March, is a daily reality that keeps getting worse, at least for now.

It's normal to see what's in our own home, our own families, and our own circumstances. I think it's valid and healthy to acknowledge and let my heart ache a little for some of the small losses of opportunity my little guy has had, and be genuinely sad that my big girl's college experience looks nothing like we'd all hoped. 

But when Andrew is finally playing in a friend's basement, and I am out of the lonely fog of my current circumstances and on to my "next thing," I want to remember them. Your grandma. Your sister. Your uncle. Your spouse. Your friend. 

This community has stood by me and honored Jack's death as significant for many years. Even as time has passed and the smaller issues of life have crept back in, you have said, "I'm here. Jack matters." 

I know I'm on Facebook and Instagram constantly and have been very quiet on the blog.

But I'm here. Your person matters.