The Dot

We had a relaxing weekend at home with just us.  It's been so long since it's been just us.  It felt good.

It started with a date night.

There was also a post-game trip to Dairy Queen.

An important meeting of the minds.

After dinner walks.

And a million more tiny wonderful, normal moments.  And a few not so fabulous, normal moments.

After a rough transition back home after a little independence at Grandpa Camp, Lucy is back.  She is back to nonstop make believe, nonstop storytelling.  And man, can she tell a story.

And she's asking questions again.  Lots and lots of questions.
"What are your thoughts on Santa?" she asked on the after dinner walk.  "It's okay if you don't believe, I do."  

"Well, I love that you believe," I answered hoping that's where it would end.

"What about unicorns?"  "Fairies?" "Spirits?"  It went on and on.

"What do you think happens when we die?," she asked without skipping a beat.

"And what's a dot?," she asked.  Okay, I dealt with Santa, fairies, unicorns and even death, but I was stumped.  I had no idea what the hell she was talking about.  

"You know, the dot, that happens to every girl when she grows up," she said, sensing my confusion.

Holy shit she was talking about getting her period.  
"Oh look there's Grace, why don't you go ask her to play," I said quickly as we got closer to our home.  She ran off to our neighbor's house to play with her friend and I avoided talking about the "dot."

Is it strange that I am more comfortable talking about death than  menstrual cycles?  

Even though it is uncomfortable at times, I am so happy that our life is back to a wonderful sort of complicated normal.

Delirious

I am delirious.  With fever.


It happened fast.  First Peyton, my 10-year-old, came down in the middle of the night with freaky high fever eyes.  I knew it was bad when he let me snuggle with him for five minutes.


Then as JT, my newly turned 6-year-old, and I were getting ready to go to the belated Mother's Day Tea at kindergarten, he started crying and he had the fever eyes.  

I was disappointed about not going to the party.  I was like really, really disappointed.  Crying and saying things in my head like "nothing ever goes my way."  The grand overreacting, while pretty common for me, was a tad over the top, even for me.  It was the first sign.  Then the chills, the aches and finally I looked in the mirror and I too had the crazy high fever eyes.


It's a game changer when the mama gets sick.  Who the hell does everything?  I have a good husband, a very good one, and he still doesn't do everything.  At least the way I do it, ahem, the right way.


Hopefully this is a fast bug, because it sure is aggressive.  I have to get better.  We have our busy life to get back to.  Baseball practices to go to, bills to pay, laundry to constantly try and "catch up" on, season finales to watch, plumbers to let in and so much more.


"I have a really important question," Lucy asked Tim last night.  "Not a 'can I have a chocolate milk?' kind of question."


Tim, being the amazing, kind father that he is leaned in closer and gently said "What is it honey?" (I told you he is good.)


"How are we made? How do our body parts work?," she said with a very serious voice.  "How did God make us so perfect, well not all of us." 


Tim's eyes widened.  I sat up from my sick couch to watch how Tim handled himself.  "When your mother is better, she is going to answer all those really important questions," he told her.


I gotta get better.


Yesterday before the fever invaded our house I signed the parent consent form for my fourth grader to listen to the first very important health talk.  You know the talk where they separate the girls and the boys in the class.

Being the mature parent that I am, I giggled as I signed it and asked him if he knew what this was all about.  I told him it was important to not giggle like me while his teachers talked.


I gotta get better.


There's really important stuff I've got to handle and even without a fever I'm not the best.  It could get even messier around here.