I love it so much when Chipmunk rambles to me about Star Wars.
Every Wednesday, I sit in this big waiting room at the Children’s Hospital. They have some deal with our insurance that makes the allergy shots cheaper, which is great except for how there’s always a 30-40 minute wait and then a 30 minute wait after that so the whole shebang is pretty time consuming.
On the other hand, he loves it there and we both love the entire staff. That’s kind of a bonus when you’re somewhere once a week for more than a year.
I expected Chipmunk to be a nutcase about his allergy shots. He’s the kind of kid who has big hysterical crying fits over barely bumping his head. (He shares my irrational rage about head bumps, too. The other day he bumped into a ladder while talking and screamed “THAT WAS YOUR FAULT. IT WAS YOUR FAULT.”) But he’s actually very brave. As long as everyone follows his meticulous instructions and nothing changes, it’s always a non issue. He says, “Count to three, please.” And yells at me if I make small talk.
His immunologist shares a space with a the children’s reconstructive surgeon and the oncologist. His allergies? They’re okay.
The immunotherapy is good for both of us.
Taking a picture of your daddy helping your son play with a new toy at his birthday party.
This weekend was great. We celebrated Moose’s birthday today with family and friends, in a really low-key way on a playground I played on when I was growing up.
One time, I went to a middle school party and we all ended up on the tennis courts. We had those kind of Very Important Conversations you have when you’re 12, and this red-haired boy began teasing me. I don’t remember anything he said, only that I felt horribly inadequate and ugly and sad and terrible. I felt physically ill and angry. As with many times around my peers, I didn’t feel like I fit in, and it sucked a bag of dicks, basically.
You know what I didn’t think of when I was at that very same playground today? I didn’t think of that. I chased my kids around in the sun and kissed their sweaty faces and watched my family play with my boys and my husband take pictures of them and I celebrated them and I celebrated life.
It wasn’t until I sat here reminiscing that I remembered that one time, in the mosaic of days at that park. (The spinning metal merry-go-round, the acorns that attracted squirrels, the red clay from the baseball field in my shoes and running from one sprawling end of the field to the other.)
The best days are spent outside, being present, with nothing chasing you but laughter.
Right in time to remind me how impossible it is to get both my children to look at the camera at the same time. Today they were especially skilled at awkward family photos.
I could never pick a favorite thing you do, but it always, always makes me smile when you say your brother’s name. You’re so earnest around him, so eager for him to listen to you. You try to make him laugh. Sometimes you hit him in the head with toys. The two of you fight and fight but you’re together, and it’s wild and perfect.
You still play with your little kee-kee’s, unabashedly attached to them and unable to sleep without the softest ones. You’re a picky eater, but you’d do anything for a piece of cheese.
I can’t pick you up without kissing your head. Kiss, kiss, kiss.
I take a lot of pictures of your face when you’re asleep. It’s only then that you still look like the little baby you were, all fat-cheeked and eyelashes. You have a lot of hair. The other day I used conditioner on it and after it dried it was so soft. You’re going to break hearts with those dark eyes, my little nerdbird.
Happy Birthday, from your mama and your daddy and your brother and the trash man.