Lights will guide you home

The fact that it stormed the day before the Boy(s) first day of school was apropos of my emotional state. You see, Dear Reader, I had returned from a hard trip to Houston the night before. The storm was bad enough that the power went out, and stayed out, long after the weather had passed our little piece of the Messoplex. As time passed, it became clear that TX(Screw)U was not going to fix the problem before night time. That was a problem. Imagine bathing a 4 1/2 and 2 1/2 year old by candlelight. Trying to get them ready and to bed early for their first day of school with no electricity. Trying to explain why they couldn't watch TV. Why it was so hot in the house. Why we couldn't turn on their night lights.

My Lovely Bride, much smarter in real time, than I, suggested we divide and conquer. Thus, she took the Little Warrior as I wrangled the Elder Boy.

After I had E bathed and ready for bed, I decided to preserve some sense of normalcy by reading books. Easier said than done with a flashlight. After one book, I decided to change my course and promised the Boy I would lay with him until he fell asleep. He was cool with that, so I turned the flash light off and watched the votive candle on his dresser as we laid together in silence. I actually became so mesmerized by the flickering of the flame and the strange shadows it cast that I didn't quite get what the Boy meant when he asked, "Where was his crib?"

"In Wy Wy's room. You know that. We gave it to Wy when you..."
"No," he said, "Where was it in my room when I was a baby?"
"Oh..." I, (king of the dipshits) said, "It was over there, where your dresser is, right under the shelf on the wall that has the ship."

Sweet mother of all that is good. The ship reference caused a torrent of questions from the Boy. Seriously, full-on Five Ws! Who, What, Why,Where, When and How!

Outside the sky turned black, as I answered his questions. I explained that the ship was made by his Great Papa, the late Roe Jarman, who made many scale model ships, like the one in his room. That his Great Papa, who was his Mom's Papa, and his Mimi's Daddy, made the ship when he was 80 years old. How it was hard to make a scale model ship no matter how old you are, because of the time and the intricate work it required. That someone doing it at 80 was very impressive. I told him that the ship was actually made for his Mom, that she got it before he was born, but that Ethan (and the ship) meant so much to her, she decided to decorate his room around a nautical theme using the ship as the centerpiece. I finished by telling him, that the ship was a scale model of an actual ship from olden times. The H.M.S. Rattlesnake. That we could actually look it up on the computer if he wanted to learn more about it.

"Can we take it down?"
"Sure," I said, "We have to be careful, it is not a toy. But I don't see why we can't take it down so you can have a closer look in the morning."

Looking at the ship, and the strange shadows cast by the votive candle, we fell asleep.

Fast forward. Crick of the crack next morning. I was up, on the computer trying to do something for my Mom. I had promised her, upon my return from Houston, to email Dad some links to stuff for the Boy(s). Since my parents live in Houston, they haven't had the chance to see the Boy(s) as much as they would like. To make their visits extra special, Mom has always bought the Boy(s) a prize for when she does get to see them. The Boy(s) are like Pavlo's dog when it comes to their prize. They expect it. Ever the Granny, Mom was concerned that the cancer and the treatments would trip her up and she would not be able to get the Boy(s) something for our trip that weekend. That she would disappoint them. Before I had returned to Dallas she had me promise to send them some links on some toys that they wanted so they could get them after one of her chemo sessions. To be honest, I already felt impotent in regard to being able to help my Mom. Thus I was hellbent on accomplishing this simple task before I had to go to work. In fact, I would have done it the night before, but, TX(Screw)U and Mother Nature thwarted that.

It was in the middle of this search, when E awoke, and yelled, "Daddy! I need you!!!" Now it was my turn to play Pavlo's dog, as my first reaction to his call was to go to his room. I fought that impulse though, as I knew if I didn't send the info to my Mom that morning, I would have a hard time getting it done. I'm obsessed with doing what I say I will do anytime, but considering this task, even more so. I ignored E' calls, and continued my task, growing more and more agitated each time he called out for me.

Enter my Lovely Bride. I heard her go into E's room. Usually, being a Daddy's Boy, E will cruelly reject my Lovely Bride and ask for me. Thankfully not this morning. All he could think about was the ship on the shelf, which I heard My Lovely Bride take down for him. I could sort of hear them talking in his room, more murmurs really, as I drifted back to what I was doing on the computer.

Upon completion of the email, as I sort of half ass spell checked it, I spaced out staring at the screen. Sad thoughts. I wondered if this upcoming trip to Houston, would be the last time the Boy(s) saw their Granny alive? Was it the last time they'd get a prize from her? Those thoughts snowballed as I realized all the things we would lose when Mom died. That made me cry. That is what I was doing, in front of the computer when E startled me as he said, "Here Dad." I Turned from the screen and saw that he was handing me a sailboat picture frame. This picture frame was on the shelf next to the ship his Great Papa made. The photo was from June 2002. The six month old version of the Boy is in the surf on the beach at Galveston Island. His first time at the beach. I'm proudly holding him, as my Mom, his Granny stands behind us. We're smiling.

"I know you are sad about Granny - Because she's sick. Here."

As I took the frame from his hand, he gave me a hug. I was stunned. I sat there, as tears streamed down my face, looking into his brown eyes. My Mom's eyes. He smiled and said, "This will make you feel better." Then, he turned and ran back to his room to see his ship.

Until I BLOG again...And I will try to fix you.