Bluesy

Today, on Father's Day, I'm missing the best dad I know.  Best man I know if you want to get technical.  I sure am lucky.  Love you Natey.  Really, really.

"Mr. Mac" Barwick you come in a close second.  I watch you with your kids, Matt, and am proud to know you.  Happy Father's Day.

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My kids and their cousins are piled into a mini-winnie on their way to Oregon to spend a week with Grandi and Papa.  I couldn't fall asleep last night I was so lonely.  Jensie gave me extra hugs and kisses before they left. I noticed again how beautiful she is.

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Night before last Frankie tried every trick in the book to avoid having to go to sleep. She was hungry, thirsty, lost her blankie, had to go potty, and just wasn't tired.  I told her to "stay in bed" and shut the door. She started crying but I decided to ignore her. I heard Asher sneak out of the room and down the hallway, where he found me at the computer writing to Nate.  

"Um, Mom?"  he said. "I'm not trying to lie to you, but, um, Frankie just threw up all over her sleeping bag."

Good grief.  I believe you son!

I found Frankie, cupped hands full of vomit, glaring as I knelt by her side.  "You didn't bring me a bowl in time."

Oops.  In my defense, she hadn't asked for one.  Cross my heart.

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Family dinners are a big deal around here.  On a good night we seat 22.  Sunday, when we'd all gathered around the table, an apprehensive Asher blurted "My mom is crazy!  She stabbed Jensie with a needle over and over.  Jensie was gonna pass out."

*Silence*

"Asher, do you mean the other day when I used a needle to get a splinter out of Jensie's toe?"  I asked, nervously.  "When I was very slow and calm and Jensie said it didn't hurt at all?"

"Yeah."  he said, and began to cry.

Whew.  We turned again to our plates and I did my best to comfort my Trypanophobic wee one. 

Later that night I needed to run outside to grab something I'd left in the car.  Asher asked if he could come with me.  When we stepped onto the porch, however, Asher seemed surprised by the chilly blast of cold mountain air--typical of June evenings in the high desert.  

"It's too cold for me." he cried.

"Well run and get your sweatshirt," I advised.

"I don't want to." he said.

"Ok, then just be cold."

With a panicked look Asher turned to Bonnie and my step-brother who stood nearby. "She just told me to be cold." he shrieked. "I told you she was crazy. She makes terrible choices!" 

Asher.  Sweet, sensitive, anxious Asher.  I will miss you and your sisters so.