Peonies

One of my favorite summer flowers.


They make me happy.

My First Pomp and Circumstance

(Wow. I'm surprised I just remembered my login password.)

I'm going through pictures tonight (what else is new) and looked at Grant's graduation pictures for the first time.

He starts kindergarten in the fall, and graduated from preschool a week (or two-ish?) ago.

We went to dinner before the ceremony, and Grant knew that there was a nicer change of clothes in the van waiting for him; that his shorts and t-shirt would not be acceptable.

He looked Cannon up and down and asked, "Is he going to wear that Wolverine shirt to my graduation? He IS NOT going to look very handsome. I want him to change."

Right.

Anyway, I was very excited for him and happy and "maybe I'll cry maybe I won't". Everyone was dressed a little nicer than usual and we fought to get Cannon to stay in a metal folding chair and not embarrass us too badly with his horrendous two/three year old behavior. Josh and I had determined who would man the video camera (him) and who would man the camera (me) and who would man-handle Cannon (him).

I could hear shuffling behind the big white screen that separated the parents from the kids.

And then someone hit play on (what I can imagine was) a boom box and THE processional march echoed throughout the room via a microphone. Cameras were aimed high and I could hear the buzzing start of nine thousand over-priced video cameras above the music.

I stayed in my seat.

I didn't squirm up and raise my camera.

I froze for a second. I watched the teacher motion a signal for about 40 four year olds to start the walk they all practiced.

It hit me so unexpectedly.

My throat tightened up, my lip quivered, my eyes welled, and I could feel the silent cry coming hard.

It was so unexpected.

It was the first time in my life that I sat in a room for a graduation ceremony that played Pomp and Circumstance.


It was the first time I had ever HEARD that song.

Of course I am familiar with the song. From movies and, hell, I don't know. General knowledge I guess.

But as I sat there listening to the crappy recorded rendition of that piece and anxiously watching a white curtain for my first born son to round it (complete with a blue Made in China felt "mortarboard"), I couldn't hold back tears.

I was embarrassed. That it appeared I was crying over a preschool graduation. But it was more than that to me. It was monumental.

We didn't have graduation ceremonies when I was in preschool and kindergarten. I graduated high school when I was 17, joined the Army, and was at my second training school by the time my high school class took the stage.

I chipped away at college courses and professional development courses over the last twelve years but I will probably never participate in an actual ceremony-ish graduation ceremony, even after I finish what I started.

I'm not sad about what I haven't experienced. I was just, in that moment, shocked at what I haven't experienced.

And overwhelmed that my first time sitting in a metal folding chair and hearing the march was for Grant.

My son.

Who worked so hard at school and is so proud of himself for completing something.

And now, I can't hear that damn song without being immediately brought to tears.




Grant- I am really so very proud of you.

{paragraph deleted because I can't publish it through my mushy gushy tears}

And YOU so are amazing. I just love you.

PS: Pictures with me not included because A) I was manning the camera, remember and B) I didn't realize then exactly how busted up my face looked with stitches and green bruising. Cannon actually took a pretty well-composed picture of Josh, Grant and I, but I seriously look scary. So I won't post it.

PPS: The stitches were from me slipping in the shower at my mom's house, falling sideways OUT of the shower and cracking my head on the toilet. Glamorous, no? Our first Colorado vacation in three years resulted in another trip to the ER.

...Because I Have the Stitches on Mah Head

"Can we stop for Starbucks when we leave the ER? It sounds good because I have stitches in my head."

"Oh! Pink Princess band-aids! I need those because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you please just wash my hair in the sink because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you please bring me another cookie? I'm laying down because I have stitches in my head."

"I can't take care of the boys right now because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you just cuddle with me tonight because I have stitches in my head."

"I need to sit by myself on the plane because I have stitches in my head."

"I'm not really going to finish unpacking or start the laundry because I have stitches in my head."

"I deserve to sleep in a little because I have stitches in my head. Eight stitches, if you're counting."

"I can't play softball on Wednesday because I have stitches in my head."




It's turning out to be a pretty air tight excuse...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I can't blog right now. Because I'm tired. Because of the stitches in my head.

Well Crap

1. Sunday I started getting a muscle spasm in my neck that had me begging for mercy.
2. Monday morning I went to Club Doctor for muscle relaxers.
3. Monday afternoon I passed out in a drugged up stupor while magical goodness worked its voodoo on my neck.
4. Tuesday the spasms were gone, but I was still pretty sore.
5. Wednesday morning, things were looking up.
6. Wednesday night I stumbled upon a clogged toilet in my Master Bathroom. Again. Because this always happens when your husband has a high protein diet.
7. Wednesday night I attempted to flush clogged toilet. When it didn't work, I angrily slammed the lid and used the boy bathroom, leaving the de-clogging efforts for the offender.
8. Wednesday night I entered my Master Bathroom again, for who the hell knows what, and stumbled upon a FULLY FLOODED bathroom.
9. Wednesday night I screeched through every room in the house and then outside for Husband to immediately fix the situation.
10. Wednesday night, after I found Husband in the garage, I mentioned he may want to bring a Wet-Vac, and that something sounded awfully "funny" in the living room ceiling.
11. Wednesday night he brushed me off.
12. Wednesday night he sucked the water up off the floor and then proceeded to argue with me over whose responsibility it was to "scrub" the shit water off the floor. (Guess who won after dropping many f-bombs.)
13. Wednesday night I lay in bed perusing trashy gossip websites when Husband casually saunters upstairs and declares "Guess I'll be staying home tomorrow." "You were right about the ceiling."
14. Wednesday night I rush downstairs to help with buckets, and my ENTIRE ceiling is wet. And drippy.
15. Wednesday night, Husband call 24-hour I'm Fucked Hotline, and is awaiting the arrival of guys in white suits.
16. The spasms in my neck? They are so fucking back.
    

Love Hate

I love sitting here in the air conditioning after sitting in a puddle of my own sweaty filth on Saturday because we missed the "turn the air on" window.
I hate that we missed Spring (WTF climate?)

I love the Spohr's and the amazing show of community and love that has enveloped them.
I hate the reason why.

I love writing.
I hate this blog. The one you are looking at right now.

I love pictures.
I hate that teeny tiny picture up there that I can't make big because of "the fold".

I love community.
I hate that I was once addicted to page visits and comments.

I love coming up with fun things to do and write about.
I hate when it gets "borrowed" by people. who shall remain nameless.

I love having something to say and a voice to say it with.
I hate the word blog.

I love volunteering.
I hate that I suck at volunteering.

I love signing up for shit.
I hate these ads all over the place.

I love buying stuff.
I hate that I can't buy what I really want right this second that starts with "New" and ends with "Bad ASS Website".

Changes are on the horizon.

As soon as I can scrape up some dough.