Lord of the Marbits

Do you know what a "marbit" is?

Never fear, I'll tell you.

A marbit is that little, crunchy, marshmallow-thing you find in certain breakfast cereals.

Why do I know this, you may wonder?

Because I love useless information.

Like this (Kaycee, I hope you're paying attention):  Washington drivers are legally required to carry an anchor to use as an emergency brake.

I delight in knowing things that make other people wonder "Why do you even want to know that?"  My response is always the same: "Because you don't...".

If you want to discuss politics, or the current world situation, you won't get much out of me.

But if you want to talk about "War Plan Red", the post-WWI plan designed in case the U.S. ever needed to invade Canada, I'm your guy.  There was even "Plan Indigo" for invading Iceland.

What does this have to do with marbits, you ask?

Never fear, I'll tell you.

Just a few days ago, Blake was outside playing with his friend from down the street.  He came into the house and asked if they could have a snack while they were playing.

I didn't have much snack food around except for an almost-empty bag of--you guessed it--Lucky Charms.

I gave the bag to Blake, and told him they could snack on handfuls of dry cereal.

He found this proposal acceptible.

As Blake was heading to the back door, he clutched the bag to his chest, huddled over it, and shuffled to a shaft of sunlight shining in through the blinds.  He reached into the bag, pulled out a yellow moon marbit, and, holding it aloft into the beam of non-marbit sun, said:

"My precioussssss...."

I have to admit that, glowing in the afternoon sunlight, the little marbit did have an almost-magical quality, a certain luminescence, like a bit of the moon mixed with sugar, puffed up and made into a sweet, crunchy piece of the sky...

Then he ate it, ending the moment.

Blake has not yet seen any of the Lord of the Rings films, but I think I know where this came from...you see, I've been known to do the same thing with the occasional Oreo (most people don't realize that "Oreo" is actually Swahili for "Official cookie of the Gods").

Some of you may be tempted to think that I make this stuff up, especially where Blake is concerned.

Allow me to assure that every single story I've ever posted about my kids is 100 % true.

They really are that fascinating...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go buy an anchor for my car in case I ever get out to Washington...
********************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

The Awakening

Wednesday morning, Blake and I dropped Hunter off at his second day of middle-school orientation, and then headed home.

It was fairly early in the morning, and Blake fell asleep mid-way through asking if he could play the Wii when we got home.

I enjoyed the rest of the ride in the all-too-rare moment of silence that I have come to cherish, and as we pulled into the driveway, told Blake it was time to wake up.

Now, here comes the interesting bit.

A normal seven-year-old would probably have answered with "Ok", or "I'm awake".  Even a snarky seven-year-old (and it should come as no surprise to you that Blake sometimes has an almost professional level of snark) would probably respond with "Okay, okay, sheesh, I'm awake".

Not my kid.

He wakes up, gets out of the car, looks at me through the open window and says--in total seriousness and without any indication that he was playing around:

"I...have...awakened..."

This may not surprise you, but I found this both amusing, and somewhat ominous.

You may remember that Blake has admitted himself to be the devil---not a devil, mind you, but the devil--and I couldn't help but wonder what part of him had awakened, and what might happen to me if I didn't get him into the house and fix his waffles, like, now.

I sacrificed the waffles to him, my soul was spared, and we went on to have a fairly normal (for this house, anyway) day with deceptively normal conversations and lots of Wii.

It should be noted, however, that I'm not overly fond of "normal".

Which is good, 'cause I know with this kid, normal ain't comin' round much...
************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

A New Normal...

We buried my mother Monday morning.

I haven't been able to post about it yet because, quite honestly, my thoughts and emotions have been rather scattered lately.

My mind has resembled nothing so much as the air over a field of dandelions after a strong wind has blown through; thousands of tiny-yet-important fluffs filling the air in every direction, scattering where they will, sometimes colliding with one another before drifting away to meet with other stray thoughts or perhaps fly away, never to return.

All of this is accompanied by a silence so profound that it is deafening.

But on this Wednesday morning, one week after her death, those seeds are beginning to take root.

Today, things are calming down, and now comes the truly difficult part, in many ways the most difficult part of dealing with any death.  Today, I have to begin--as my brother put it--trying to find a "new normal".

In many ways, my mother's declining health has been part of my life for years.  Those who know me well know that I had been worried about her for a very long time.

After being so concerned for so long, the astounding speed with which everything has happened (she was diagnosed with cancer just a bit over a month ago, and now she's gone) has been dizzying.

But now that's not part of my life anymore.  It can't be, because she's gone.

This morning, my brother and his wife and son left for their home in Alabama.  All of the other family and seldom-seen old friends have already gone home; my brother leaving this morning means that it is now time for things to get back to normal.

The bills still need to be paid, the kids still need to eat and play and be kids, and the dishes still need to be washed.

The day-to-day trivialities and routines come back, with one major exception: my mother is no longer a part of them.

Her memory is, certainly.  But her reality is gone.

Especially with the routine being cast aside for the past month in the all-consuming whirlwind of my mother's rapid decline, I'm finding it difficult to move back into the routine.

My path is broken, and now I have to find a way to either repair it or find a new path.

This is the hardest part, the part that truly drives home the fact that my mother is gone.

I know I'll find that path again, but it's going to take time.

Things will never get back to normal.

But they'll get back to a "new normal".

Eventually.

*****************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Un-fun Things to Write About

There are a million things going through my mind right now, but I needed to make a post and explaing to you why, even having a new computer finally, I haven't been able to post much lately.

My mother has cancer.

She was diagnosed just a few weeks ago with colon cancer that has spread into her liver, and is inoperable.

She decided to try chemotherapy and fight it, but before she could even start that, she ended up in the hospital with kidney failure.

Her kidneys have been improving, which obviously is good, but the intense misery of the past three weeks have made her re-think what she wants to do.

We're meeting with Hospice in her room tonight, to get some information about what kind of things to expect if she decides to just try and be as comfortable as possible for whatever time she has left.

I'm letting you all know this just to explain my continued erratic posts; obviously, this is monopolizing my time.

I haven't had the luxury of an emotional breakdown yet (truthfully, this has all happened so quickly that I'm still kind of numb), but I know it's coming, and I'll post some of my thoughts and feelings here, as some form of therapy, I guess.

I'll try and post updates as often as I can.
***********************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs...

Those of you who have read this little blog-o-mine over the past couple of years know that I cherish the creativity of my children.

Even when that creativity is used for nefarious means that result in either bodily harm or sometimes merely tears for me, I love it.

Since learning to write, Blake's creativity has taken off in a few ways that don't involve pain for me, and so I encourage this.

Yesterday, Blake decided that he needed to label everything in his room.

He took a pad of miniature Post-It notes and a pen, and proceeded to label things such as "the desk", "the fan",  and "the lamp".

He and his brother share a room, and their bunk bed was identified as "the top bunk", "the botum (c'mon, he's only seven) bunk", and "a ladr".

I'm not sure why the ladder deserved the much less personal "a" rather than "the", but Blake's logic doesn't always make sense to me.

My personal favorite was the lonely little label on a blank expanse of wall labelled---you can see this one coming---"the wall".

He then went on to stick a note on my pants, identifying "Dad's butt".  Notice that on funny words like "butt", his spelling is dead-on.

After his labeling spree, he went and got a large sheet of paper, some tape, and markers and created this for himself:

In case you can't make out the lettering, here's what it says:

"Where are you going?  Wait...where are you going?  Oh, okay, you may pass."

He says that he decided to create this so that "if I'm ever outside and I meet someone who can't hear they can read this letter".

I marvel at---and sometimes fear---the places his mind goes to.

Also, he inspires me; I think I may create a sign for myself, only mine will say "You may pass...but first, you must answer me these questions three"...

*********************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting, 

Brad

And So It Begins...

Ah, summer break...

Working in a school has its advantages.

First and foremost, of course, is making a daily difference in children's lives...make no doubt about it, I love what I do, and cherish every day that I'm there.

That being said, breaks are good.

I love the fact that I'm off when my kids are.  I don't have to worry about finding somewhere for them to be, and I get to spend my days with them.

Plus, there aren't many jobs where you get two weeks off every Christmas, a week off during spring, and let's not forget the grand-daddy of them all, the one that kids and teachers look forward to with a holy reverance, Summer Break.

I don't like summer, in and of itself.  I don't like heat, and the oppressive humidity that comes with living in the Ohio valley (being a mile away from the river doesn't help much in that respect) often makes me lose the will to live while on my way to the mailbox.

Which is attached to the house.

Right by the door.

That being said, there are lots of good reasons to go outside during the summer, such as the things you can find just in your backyard:

Is this a boy ladybug, or a girl---so confusing...

Or those wonderful trips to the zoo:

Whee!!!!  I'm swimming!

See ya, Landlubber!!!

I'm looking forward to summer this year, heat or not, and I'll be sure to show up here at my poor, neglected blog, as well as Second Star to the Right, more often, since I'll have much more time over the next couple of months.

I hope you'll check back in with me; big things are in store for this year, and it all starts here.

**********************************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting, 

Brad

The Graduate (No, Not That One...)

Hunter graduated from fifth grade today.

Among the feelings of joy and pride in my first-born (he hates it when I call him that ;)) son is just a little bit of sadness.

Just a bit, mind you, but it stems from the fact that Hunter is growing up so quickly.

Here's Hunter on his first day of school, not all that long ago:

Awww...

And here's today:

Look!  I's edu-mi-cated.  'N stuff...

In the fall, Hunter will attend Western Middle School, a local magnet school for visual and performing arts; he wants to be an artist/video game designer.  I have a feeling that he'll make it, and am really looking forward to watching him take that journey.

But just a little sad, because I'll always remember that little boy who stood on the front deck while his teary-eyed Dad took pictures.

From the boy you were and are, Hunter, to the man you'll be--I'll always be proud of you.

********************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting, 

Brad