Tuesday was my son's birthday. He is now 26 years old. He celebrated with his girlfriend. I plan on taking him to dinner this weekend. After payday.
Then there was the time he and his friends were out partying. They decided to jump a fence. My son slipped and impaled himself on his left armpit on one of the spears on the iron fence. The doctor told me that if he had landed just half an inch to the left, he would have hit and artery and bleed to death.
26.
Life sure does fly by. Doesn't it?
Life sure does fly by. Doesn't it?
My son was like Bam-Bam from the Flintstones when he was young. You know, banging on things. Cute little blonde haired, blued eyed boy. Bam, bam! Bam bam bam!
His sister, my oldest child was like Pebbles. Even down to the little ponytail on top of her head. Cooing and sweet.
And I, with my Fred Flintstone feet.
We really are the Flintstones!
I spent many hours in hospital rooms with my son. Tonsilectomy. Adenoidectomy. Stitches in his foot when he jumped on a piece of broken glass in the basement. Not his fault. One of our cats knocked it off the shelf. There was much blood. And seven stitches. Then there was the time he stabbed his foot with a homemade spear at the beach. He and his friends were trying to spear a crab. My son speared his foot.
Then there was the time he and his friends were out partying. They decided to jump a fence. My son slipped and impaled himself on his left armpit on one of the spears on the iron fence. The doctor told me that if he had landed just half an inch to the left, he would have hit and artery and bleed to death.
Then there was the time two years ago that we spent the 4th of July in the ER. I could go on. But it occurred to me that I am very fortunate that my son is still here. On this planet. I worry about him constantly. I have always worried about him. But occasionally I sit down and tell myself that I need to be just grateful for the time I have with him. With anyone. And that worry does nothing to change anything. Except give me more gray hair and robs me of time that I could be enjoying life.
Yesterday, 4th of July, I spent with Baby Grace on my lap. Her mom and dad and cousin had gone out to see the fireworks. She had been asleep in her bed for about15 minutes, before I heard her yelp. Right after yet another M-80 sounding firecracker exploded outside my bedroom window. I scooped her up and held her on my lap, rocking and soothing her until she fell back to sleep. Oblivious to what sounded like World War III outside.
In Vancouver, Washington. My childhood city. Home of Fort Vancouver. And the "biggest fireworks display west of the Mississippi". At least it used to be. The city of Vancouver had cancelled it's annual 4th of July festivities this year. The fireworks display, which had been cancelled ended up going as planned. I watched it on Facebook. With Baby Grace in my lap. And Honey Dawg sitting at my feet. And M-80's exploding all around.
In a city that has proclaimed all fireworks illegal within the city limits since 2015.
Across the street, at the park, a huge crowd had gathered. My daughter, son-in-law and his niece walked across the street to watch as fireworks were lit. They had decided against the big display at the Fort. Rumors of difficult parking, huge crowds and traffic jams kept them away.
They got to see not only fireworks in the park, but law enforcement at work. The crowd dispersed quickly as several police cars screeched to a stop at the park entrance. Many fireworks were confiscated, people were lectured about the law. It is unclear how many tickets were given out.
The firecrackers and sirens kept up until about midnight. And then all was quiet.
It made me a little sad. Many responsible people want to carry on the tradition of lighting fireworks to celebrate our independence.
The few that are reckless have ruined it for everyone. Well, perhaps not everyone. My daughter came in and relieve me of Baby Gracie duty about 10:15 p.m. I walked out and watched crowds of young people walk by, chattering excitingly. I watched police cars patrol the streets. I watched the air light up with all the illegal fireworks. And I felt a thrill. I don't think the people of Vancouver will stop lighting fireworks on Fourth of July.
And for some, the thrill of avoiding getting caught might make it even more fun.
This morning, I went for a walk in the park with my daughter and Baby Gracie. We observed the carnage from the night before. And I must say, it was not as bad as the usual trash and tagging on the picnic benches I find during my early morning hoop sessions.
All we saw were some pathetic firework remains.
I had a thought last night. I wasn't celebrating 4th of July. I was on baby and dog duty. But I felt a sense of relief. My independence is coming from letting go of my adult children. Letting go of worry, well at least some of it. Letting go of the unrealistic expectations I put upon myself. And letting go of trying to fit into society.
I actually went to a bar-b-cue with my daughter, son-in-law and Baby Gracie. I almost stayed home to continue unpacking. But my daughter told me she would like me to come.
And I enjoyed myself. I helped with the baby. I brought some food. I visited a bit. I played a game. And I even invited my daughter's father, who we ran into on the way. He showed up. And we had a pleasant conversation.
This 4th of July was the beginning of my independence. And hopefully the beginning of a new, more positive era.
I hope to get back to a regular blogging routine. I have felt myself slide back into negative thinking. I am fighting it, but I find regular blogging keeps it in check.
At least I have kept up my hooping!
On that note, here are my two recent videos.
Talk to you tomorrow. (I hope!)
Love,
Zita
Yesterday, 4th of July, I spent with Baby Grace on my lap. Her mom and dad and cousin had gone out to see the fireworks. She had been asleep in her bed for about15 minutes, before I heard her yelp. Right after yet another M-80 sounding firecracker exploded outside my bedroom window. I scooped her up and held her on my lap, rocking and soothing her until she fell back to sleep. Oblivious to what sounded like World War III outside.
In Vancouver, Washington. My childhood city. Home of Fort Vancouver. And the "biggest fireworks display west of the Mississippi". At least it used to be. The city of Vancouver had cancelled it's annual 4th of July festivities this year. The fireworks display, which had been cancelled ended up going as planned. I watched it on Facebook. With Baby Grace in my lap. And Honey Dawg sitting at my feet. And M-80's exploding all around.
In a city that has proclaimed all fireworks illegal within the city limits since 2015.
Across the street, at the park, a huge crowd had gathered. My daughter, son-in-law and his niece walked across the street to watch as fireworks were lit. They had decided against the big display at the Fort. Rumors of difficult parking, huge crowds and traffic jams kept them away.
They got to see not only fireworks in the park, but law enforcement at work. The crowd dispersed quickly as several police cars screeched to a stop at the park entrance. Many fireworks were confiscated, people were lectured about the law. It is unclear how many tickets were given out.
The firecrackers and sirens kept up until about midnight. And then all was quiet.
It made me a little sad. Many responsible people want to carry on the tradition of lighting fireworks to celebrate our independence.
The few that are reckless have ruined it for everyone. Well, perhaps not everyone. My daughter came in and relieve me of Baby Gracie duty about 10:15 p.m. I walked out and watched crowds of young people walk by, chattering excitingly. I watched police cars patrol the streets. I watched the air light up with all the illegal fireworks. And I felt a thrill. I don't think the people of Vancouver will stop lighting fireworks on Fourth of July.
And for some, the thrill of avoiding getting caught might make it even more fun.
This morning, I went for a walk in the park with my daughter and Baby Gracie. We observed the carnage from the night before. And I must say, it was not as bad as the usual trash and tagging on the picnic benches I find during my early morning hoop sessions.
All we saw were some pathetic firework remains.
I had a thought last night. I wasn't celebrating 4th of July. I was on baby and dog duty. But I felt a sense of relief. My independence is coming from letting go of my adult children. Letting go of worry, well at least some of it. Letting go of the unrealistic expectations I put upon myself. And letting go of trying to fit into society.
I actually went to a bar-b-cue with my daughter, son-in-law and Baby Gracie. I almost stayed home to continue unpacking. But my daughter told me she would like me to come.
And I enjoyed myself. I helped with the baby. I brought some food. I visited a bit. I played a game. And I even invited my daughter's father, who we ran into on the way. He showed up. And we had a pleasant conversation.
This 4th of July was the beginning of my independence. And hopefully the beginning of a new, more positive era.
I hope to get back to a regular blogging routine. I have felt myself slide back into negative thinking. I am fighting it, but I find regular blogging keeps it in check.
At least I have kept up my hooping!
On that note, here are my two recent videos.
Talk to you tomorrow. (I hope!)
Love,
Zita
Comments
Post a Comment