Saturday, August 25, 2007

insert elevator music here - and a meshaberach

I promise, good things are coming and there is nary a tirade among them. In a future post, currently under production, there will be angry redheads, a report from the Eldest on the number of triangles in a local post office, a transition to kindergarten and a yarmulka with sonic properties.

Right now, though, the Man is away in one of them squarish states, visiting an old friend - the best man from our wedding. The kids are having a wonderful, wonderful (and shockingly peaceful) vacation, though it's the first week of vacation and I should know better than to toot any horns (Murphy? That you, lad? Ah. Thought so), but I'm so delighted to see them relaxed and playing happily together than I can't sensibly keep my mouth shut.

We're perambulating, we're playing daily at parks (yes, I am taking my kids to the park - even twice a day, yes it's me, no I'm not a sparkly or gooey alien wearing Mama skin), and the boys are collapsing and filthy at the end of the day. I feel fiendishly clever - why didn't anyone tell me that this was so easy?

Except, of course, it's only somewhat easy and mostly lovely. Except, I do not hesitate to add, in the morning when the Man is gone and the Eldest is asking for something complex for breakfast like, you know, toast. The Mama, she is a nocturnal beastie, and toast - well, toast is simply beyond me before, oh, 9 am.

Meanwhile, if anyone has a spare moment, my uncle is in extremely bad shape. After a botched surgery, he collapsed with sepsis and multiple organ failure, was whisked off to an ICU and has now come down with penumonia in both lungs. (I am, of course, finishing up Atul Gawande's new book, Better, and have many grumpy thoughts about handwashing and ICUs. Grumpy but useless, I'm afraid - my uncle is an ocean away, and my ability to stand guard over him with a bottle of Purell is pretty limited.) He's in need of a meshaberach (prayer for the ill), a prayer or two to the deity or creative energy of your choice, a moment of hope and thought: his name is Daniel ben Gittel and he is a chef, a thinker, a hugger and a lover of energetic dogs.

So hang with us, folks - I'll be back with photos and kid stuff and oh so much after Monday, when the square state spits out a happy Man and sends him home.


ALG said...

That sucks, and it's especially hard to be so far away. Sending thoughts of refuah sheleyma to your uncle.

dykewife said...

i'll send reiki energy his way.

when boy was a kid (well, a younger kid) he really enjoyed it when, the night before, i'd prepare something and stick it in the fridge with his name labelled on it. i'd prep things like bread with butter, some cheese, a few pickles, cut up fruit and i'd pour milk into a drink container for him to sip on while he watched cartoons. perhaps eldest might also enjoy something like that. it helped boy feel really independent and let us sleep a little longer (even though we really didn't but listened over the baby monitor but still got to laze in bed)