Make believe

This will be another quick post, short and to the point.  Mostly we just haven't done much out of the ordinary lately, or, perhaps that alone is worthy of mention.  Calvin, as I mentioned before, had a successful swim class on Saturday, then this week he had wonderful music and library classes.  We're all healthy again, and the weather has been warm enough to entice outside for short periods of exercise.  Maybe the only notable events this week (aside, that is, from the new era of hope that was beautifully sworn in on Tuesday at noon) were the sighting of the sun, the discovery that we have a rabbit living under our deck (we can tell by the track patterns), the darling little bluebirds who have started hanging out on our deck again, and the fantastic make believe play in the train town that has been built in our play room.  Actually, come to think of it, it really has been a great and busy week.  And if you want to see more pictures of our fantastic train town, you can visit our January photo gallery.

Balloons

We are now completely healed and healthy as a household. Calvin's first day in his new semester of swimming lessons went by without a hitch (he missed the actual first day because of his absorbable stitches) and all of our household schedules and planned events are back underway. Right about now we are finally ready to greet the new year, how about you?

Oh. And balloons are fun.

A slippery slope to normal

Sometimes you come home from vacation and *WHAM* reality hits you in the head like a snowball.  Other times, not so much.  When we came home from our winter vacation last week we fully expected to return to our previously scheduled programming, including work for Jon, work for me, and classes for Calvin, but a few colds here and there, a few falls, and one ER visit later and we are still trying to get our feet under us.  I think it's mostly me, but the whole stitches under anesthesia bit really threw me for a loop; now every time Calvin goes running through the house I feel the urge to reach out and slow him down.  Of course, he's two and a half and if I expect him to nap in the afternoon that will never work, but I can't seem to stop that niggling fear of injury.  And thanks to the aforementioned stitches we had to skip Calvin's first swim class of the semester (thankfully toddlers heal quickly and we are back in business this week), plus Jon missed nearly a full day of work for that lovely afternoon at the hospital, so we've both been trying to get caught up on some of his projects, which has made for some late nights.  But a whole new week is now underway and things are healing up nicely (by the plural I mean both Calvin's nose and my nerves), we've completed our weekly projects and chores on time, and Calvin's semester of classes is now successfully underway.  Okay, normal, I'm ready.

The blink of an eye

That's all it takes to turn your day topsy turvy–the quiet afternoon you had planned, the dinner waiting to be cooked, the chores slated for finishing.  To be fair, for us it was longer than a blink, since I was reading my book during our usual afternoon quiet time when that moment occurred which sent us on a journey we knew awaited us one day but always hoped to avoid–that trip to the emergency room.  Thankfully our trip ended in nothing worse than 5 stitches (which you can't even see since they are in the fold of his nose) and that surrealistic feel brought on by spending eight hours in small rooms and long hallways with fluorescent lights only to emerge after darkness has fallen.  I'm sure all parents house in their minds flashbulb memories they regret, and it will take years, if not a lifetime, to erase this afternoon from my mind.  Individually it's not the copious amount of blood that bothered me, or the drawn out hours in the hospital room; It's not the heart wrenching time he spent doped up on Ketamine, and it's not as if our lives will be different beyond the week of wound care; what stays with me is that moment–that blink of an eye–when you hear the immediate cry of pain and know, in your gut, that this time it's not all right.  Although there is nothing I could have done, short of holding his hand as he walked to the bookcase to keep him from tripping and slamming his face into the nearby chest, I will always wish I could will it away.

Helping...

make pizza dough.