Tag Archives: childhood

Up On The Roof & Gumby

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It was really windy today.  Things were whipping around in our backyard like crazy.  It always amazes me that our dirty old inflatable beach ball is still out there when we go looking.

There’s a weird downdraft at the top of our back wall that prevents stuff from escaping.  It doesn’t prevent them from dancing violently on the ground until the wind dies down though.  The beach ball never leaves home, but it sure does cha cha.

Wind like this always makes me think of my dad.  When I was little, a windy day usually meant Dad would be climbing onto the roof to check that nothing had blown off and away.

We had a long aluminum ladder that he would lean against the wall behind the garage.  Up he would climb.  Sometimes my brothers and I got to go with him.  It was truly a great adventure and treat – doing something dangerous with my dad.  Looking back on that with my grown-up eyes, I see now that the whole thing probably made both of my parents very nervous.

Having the three of us so keen to walk the edges of the open roof was worrisome enough, but finding wind damage would mean money, time, and inconvenience.

Dad climbed the ladder fearing the worst, I suppose.  And he always took his tools in hope he could fix things himself.

My dad was a true DIY pioneer back then.  He taught the three of us how to hammer nails, use a saw, and improvise, whenever we could.  On the roof.  In the wind.  Even in the rain.  Eventually though, Dad’s age and declining mobility would keep him on the ground and away from that ladder.

Husband and I are lucky enough to have sturdy clay tiles on the roof of our own house.  We don’t worry that the wind will mess with them much.  I wish my dad had experienced that same peace of mind when he was my age.

Then again, I’ll bet he really enjoyed showing us around the top of the world.  🙂

♥

P.S.  Someone just knocked on my front door.  I peered through the peephole and spied a well dressed man whom I didn’t recognize.  I did not answer the knock.  What’s your policy?  Do you answer when it’s someone you don’t know?

♥

P.P.S. And for your viewing pleasure, here is something I didn’t buy from the thrift store this month.  Ha!

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Happy Birthday

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Happy Birthday, Thomas!

You are the sweetest, smartest, cutest, kindest,
most beautiful baby boy that ever lived.

I love you.

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2002

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2003

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2004

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2005

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2006

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2007

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2008

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2009

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2010

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2011

This year, you turned nine and became an amazing reader.  You would only wear orange and you discovered the joys of the iPad.  You began telling us “I love you” without hearing it from us first and you decided the cats might actually be interesting after all.  You love school and can’t wait to go back this week and you notice and remember your friends more than ever.

And when I told you that the flash was making you close your eyes, you were fascinated and became determined to keep them open.

You are sweet and funny.

Happy Birthday, Baby.

♥♥

Another Goodbye

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My uncle died.  Yesterday.  He died.  Far away from here.

My mom was there, with her sister and my cousins and their families.

This wasn’t completely unexpected.  He had cancer and he fought, but it’s sitting heavily with me and I wish I could be there too.

My uncle was a good man, he provided a good life for his family and I think he loved me in whatever way an uncle loves a niece.  I loved him too, but now he is gone.  Just like that.  Just like everyone.

Just like my dad.

I hadn’t seen my uncle in person since July of 2005.  We were all in Lexington to scatter my dad’s ashes at the Kentucky Horse Park.

My dad’s name is on a plaque there, under a maple tree.  Someday, I will get there to see it again.  Mom brought me a leaf the last time she went.

I keep it with the pieces of the leaf I took when I was there in 2004.

That first one was the victim of the little boy’s curiosity.  My heart ached a bit when he broke it apart, but I had to let that go.

He was just a boy.

It was just a leaf.

And I still had the pieces.

Even so, I was relieved when Mom brought me a new one.  I keep it in the same box as the first, but now the box is stowed away from tiny dancing fingers.

I don’t mean to make a ritual of it, but I tend to take out the leaf whenever someone dies.  Seeing it makes me feel better for a moment.

My uncle was funny.  I remember his sense of humor.  I remember being amused around him all the time.  That’s a good thing.  That makes me feel better too.

I know what will happen in the next several days.  My mom will extend her trip, there will be a service of sorts and everyone will say goodbye.  And then, the arduous task of going forward, one man fewer.

I remember when I left Kentucky, I felt so conflicted about leaving my father behind me.  The most painful part of the trip was the day after the service, when I went again to the Horse Park to say a last farewell.

When I turned my back on dad’s tree, my limbs got heavy and the air felt like drying mud in front of me.  It was hard to wade through it and get to the car.  I kind of had to swim.  Swim or sink.

I swam.

I swim.

Now my uncle is gone and the air feels a little bit muddy again.

I am sad for my aunt.

I am sad for my cousins.

And the kids.

My uncle has sweet grandchildren.

I am so sorry for their loss.

Goodbye, Uncle Bill.

I will never forget you.

♥♥

Here We Go Again

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The little boy’s aide is leaving.  That was the straw that broke this camel’s back.  I just cried to my mom.  Sorry, Mom.

This has been such an emotional year for me.  I don’t even think I fully realized why until today.

I told my mom that my son is right on the cusp of knowing he is different from other kids.  His awareness of the world is expanding and it won’t be long before he knows that his place in it may not be the same as it is for his cousins and his friends.  That kills me.  I am sad for him.

He’s going through a growth spurt.  Husband brought that up the other day and I realized he is right.  The boy has been drinking milk and milkshakes and chocolate milk like crazy – a sure sign that he is wanting fast calories.  Every few months he goes on an intense dairy binge and then suddenly his pants are all too short again.  He has grown an inch since September.

Maybe it’s just this lickety split growth plan that has caused me to see the future a little too fast this Christmas.  He’s too big for some of the toys he’s getting, but he wants them and he will play with them anyway.  The juxtaposition of his long legs against a pile of little stuffed animals on his bed is a constant reminder.  He is outgrowing everything.

Everything except his innocence and dependence on adults.  That’s just changing its nature, but it’s not going away.  Someday really soon, he will depend on us for explanations.  And that’s what makes my eyes wet.  Because I don’t have any explanations.

What possible reason for the aide’s departure could ever make sense to my son?  Not one.  She’ll just be gone and he will miss her.  We will both miss her.

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P.S.  He still looks like this to me:

Happy Tuesday.

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