Engaged!?!?!????

So here it is ten minutes till I have to go teach a class and I get a phone call from my mother. She reads an article from the Dallas newspaper which details the proposal to my friend Shannon from James which apparently occurred in Italy.

What!

Surely that Shannon would have called or emailed such news!

some one is in trouble

Congratulations, Shannon girl!
(I will call you once I am out of class)
:)

Four Down, a Lifetime to Go

Tuesday, Julius had his fourth surgery. It went smoothly -- he went in perfectly as scheduled, no big delays, no emergencies rushed in ahead of us. We got the best staff -- my favorite anestheseology technician who I call "Dr. Bubbles". He carries containers of bubbles in his pocket and blows them liberally.

This time before the surgery, because Julius was a little wheezy they decided to do a breathing treatment. There's nothing quite like having to hold your child down while he's screaming, "HELP ME MOMMY" and begging you to make the nurse stop what she's doing to him. I don't wish it on anyone. But Dr. Bubbles heard from the hallway and stepped in to distract him. He has my undying gratitude.

But that was really the biggest ordeal out of the entire day (unlike last time which was a total nightmare that I don't even want to describe). A blessing to have things go so smoothly. Next time Rob says he will go with me since he hasn't been yet. The first time Julius's birth mother's mom was with me. The second surgery I attended alone. The third and fourth, my mom came with me. It is too difficult to do alone, although I'd like it better if my mother didn't cry each time. It's hard enough not to cry myself.

A couple of weeks ago a lady listening to him talk asked if he had a cold. I used to try to explain, but after the looks of embarrassment or sympathy I've decide it's just better to nod and smile, to just agree. It's better for everyone, really.

But now he has more of a voice than ever and it's fun. He sounds a little like Froggy from the Little Rascals. Occasionally he sounds like Donald Duck which verges simultaneously on the hilarious and the horrific. In a few weeks I anticipate it to be gone as the nodules grow back. But in the meantime he delights in screaming at the top of his lungs because it's actually loud! It's a fun treat for him (not so fun for me but I try not to get on to him about it since I know soon enough it will be gone).

He's a great conversationalist for his age, so we make tapes of him talking about his life, friends, etc. We just goof off, really. I have a tape of myself when I was about four. My mom made a tape of me trying to sing a song and in the middle of the song I burped and both of us ended up completely unable to speak because we were laughing so hard. It's a great tape and every time I hear it now I laugh so hard I cry. Still funny to this day. So, I hope he will enjoy the tapes I make of him as much as I like the one mom made of me.

I thought it would be fun for him to know the person I am now, not just the one he's going to end up fighting with and hating when he's a teenager. I didn't really have that epiphany about my own parents until I was in college. I felt a lot more peace about my childhood once I realized my parents were just screwed up people in their 20's and 30's when they had me and my brothers.

See how well I think ahead? I'm already setting myself up for forgiveness and I haven't done anything yet. Brilliant!

2.05

I read recently that consumer optimism is up in America.

Today on the way to work I drove past the gas station and the price of gas was $2.05 and that made me feel really good, considering it's down from close to three dollars per gallon. Shows how "low" is a relative term. I never thought I'd feel good about two dollars per gallon.

So, yeah, my own attitude about consumer spending is definitely more optimistic.

So buoyant was I feeling that I cranked up the Eve 6 on the CD player until it drove out every other sound in my universe. Nothing but me and the notes seeping through my skin, beating next to my heart, sinking down into my bones, throbbing in my vital tissues. Primal, sexy, thumping bass.

The little things sure make life good.

A Dish Best Served Cold

Earlier today I was herding two little boys (2-3/4 and 3-1/4 years old) through my kitchen, trying to get them through the back door and into the fenced back yard before they found something inside the house that would interest them more than the great outdoors.

And lo, there came a horrible pain to my foot, a slicing, a stabbing -- something my brain was not able to really put a word to, except that it was intense pain.

Down I looked and there was a wasp crawling across the kitchen floor on his way to wherever wasps go when they are dopey from the newly chilled fall weather. Apparently this one was not out of his mind enough to let go of his quick survival instincts.

"Oh... a wasp."

My son turned to look at me, knowing how a wasp sting felt since he'd gotten his own taste of that pain in daycare a few weeks ago. "Keep moving, go boys, go!"

I staggered, sweating, to find my big size 8 sneaker. Hobbling my return I slammed it down on the unhurried wasp, cracking his spine and cutting short the last few days he had.

I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn't.