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Asher picks his nose before falling asleep. Every night, without fail, it is the last thing he does before closing his eyes. I know this because I am always beside him, sharing his twin bed, listening to his music, trying to coax him to sleep. On nights like tonight it takes just minutes. He plays with a couple of action figures, rolls to his side, picks his nose and out like a light.
Other nights are long and loud and full of tears, his and mine.
Read moreShe reached me under cover of darkness - literally - hiding in my room behind closed door and drawn blinds, curled up beneath sheets. I called her that morning, told her I couldn't go on, that something had happened, that I needed her Right Now. The dorm phone rang and I knew it was her reaching for me, buying me a train ticket, meeting me to take me home.
I don't know what happened that year, to my brain and the serotonin levels and the fear that clocked minutes away like eternity. She didn't know, either. But she knew enough to know I needed her, and a good therapist, and probably some meds. She knew enough to know that when I reach out, it's usually a last ditch effort.
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We sit on the hardwood floor, facing eachother, surrounded by half-opened wedding gifts and torn pastel tissue paper. My pen in hand, he reads aloud to me: "Wine decanter," and who it is from. I write it down for the thank you list. We are...
Read moreIt's all a blur... just how I'll remember their childhood.
But still, it is one of my favourites.
I'll be sharing some of my favourite family photos on Sundays this month. Join me and comment with a link to your favourite (or not so favourite) family photo; one with a story to tell, maybe... let's remember the moments that go by in a blur.
Do you remember how cute and adorable Asher was last week at the farmer's market, all dolled up in his new monkey leash and curly, dew-dropped hair?
Yeah, well, that child is missing today. As are the other two. They have been replaced by ransacking criminals. And their parents are gone, too; we are their henchmen.
Contract killers of Saturday Morning Family Fun.
:: at least i got some good images before the sadness ::
I like to think I roll with the punches, that I bend down on one knee, look them in the eye, and firmly (yet softly) tell them their behaviour is a little wanting and I need their help in adhering to a more affirming family philosophy.
But I don't. We whisper fiercely through clenched teeth, grab an arm and sigh loud enough so there is no mistaking the foreshadowed consequence. We heave and pull and walk quickly to the exits. In fact, the only parent worth her metal is my mother, who keeps a smile and easy-going "You're doing grand" look on her face. She's got more experience, after all.
We are the amateurs.
So a morning of family fun has gone awry. This sometimes happens. Ok, this often happens.
Does this ever happen to you? How do you shake off the shame and frustration, and reconcile with your precious fam?
