The Road Home (a short story)

He unlocked his front door with a sigh. This was not how he'd envisioned the holidays. He'd enjoyed the decorating, and even the arguments about the placement of some of the lights. Now, today, they looked garish, mocking. He didn't even bother to turn them on. After locking the door behind him, he threw his jacket on the couch and made his way upstairs. His shoes felt like bricks. He didn't want to do this alone, but the only person he wanted to lean on was gone forever. Home. This wasn't home. Home was gone. Home would never be the same again. When he opened their bedroom door, her smell was everywhere. Through his tears, he could see the indention in the bed where she'd sat to put on her shoes before leaving for their much-needed vacation. Her lotion tube lay forgotten on the bed where she'd tossed it when he interrupted her packing to kiss her. She'd playfully patted his shoulder and told him she didn't have time, but she gave in and let him kiss her anyway, twining her arms around his neck and lacing her fingers in his hair. He could see her makeup and her toiletries, what she didn't pack in her suitcase, on the bathroom counter. Unable to touch anything, he stumbled downstairs and turned on the tv. In the dark, the flashing light and sounds could almost drown out the noise in his head. The thoughts of 'what am I going to do now?' were loud enough to drive him crazy. He turned off the tv and sat in the dark. He could almost believe she was just in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for them to share in front of the fireplace. When he looked at the darkened doorway to the kitchen and the cold, empty fireplace, he sneered at his hopefulness. The tears just wouldn't stop. He finally gave in and let them come.

He woke up stiff and sore with a splitting headache. He didn't remember falling asleep on the couch, but then, he didn't remember much about the last week. Everything was a blur. The hospital, the funeral home, the relatives' homes, and everything else just ran together. The only constant was the tears. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, his house, his life. Even the sun streaming through the living room window seemed like it came from some other dimension to which he no longer belonged. The warmth and light had no place in his world, cold and dark and so very lonely. He melted into tears again and faded away into the swimming abyss of grief.

The phone was ringing when he surfaced again. The sun was high in the sky, and his stomach was rumbling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He thought it was sometime yesterday but couldn't be sure. He looked at the phone but couldn't fathom speaking to anyone right now. He pulled himself upright and caught a glimpse of his haggard, drawn face staring back at him from the mirror over the mantle. Startled, he jumped and averted his eyes. He needed a shower, but he wasn't about to venture upstairs again, so he opted for the kitchen. He put some coffee on. They had intended to be gone over two weeks, so they'd emptied the fridge of most of the perishable stuff before they left. He found a loaf of bread and some butter, made himself some toast and sat down at the table to eat it. He looked out the window on the backyard. He had taken such care to make it look nice, mowing, mulching, and fertilizing, because he knew she liked it when the grass was green and thick. He would watch her smile as she sunk her toes in the cool grass on summer mornings. Now, like everything else, it seemed foreign, like someone else's backyard. He ate the rest of his toast with his eyes closed.  He drank his coffee in silence without really tasting it. When he was done, he washed his plate and cup and knife and tried to figure out what to do next. His phone was ringing again. He ignored it again. Since he couldn't go upstairs, he took out his toiletry bag from his suitcase and showered in the downstairs bathroom. She had decorated it, and just looking at the frilly curtain and feeling the fuzzy rugs made him cry again. He let the shower carry away the tears.

After the shower, he felt a little more composed. He looked at his phone. His sister had called. Twice. Because he was feeling better, he called her back. She asked if he needed anything. He said no. He couldn't tell her what he needed. He couldn't put a voice to the loneliness and grief. He couldn't say he needed someone to take his hand and tell him what to do next. He couldn't say he needed someone to take over cleaning up all the leftover stuff. He couldn't look at it, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. He couldn't say he needed someone to be with him while he fell apart but to give him space at the same time. She would have understood, but she was gone.

He cleaned out his suitcase and put his clothes in the washer. He left his toiletries in the downstairs bathroom. Once that was done, he sat in the living room until the shadows lengthened and dusk became dark. Before it was full dark, a neighbor was walking her dog on the sidewalk. She stopped and raised her hand in greeting. He just stared through the window. His arm was too heavy to return her wave. She dropped her hand, smiled a small smile, and walked on. As he sat in the darkness, the doorbell rang. He ignored it. After the third chime, it stopped. He didn't know how long he sat there on the couch after that. He thought he felt hungry. He didn't know anymore-feelings were something that only existed in that dimension he was in before. Now, everything was cold and empty. No feeling. Only tears. Before the tears could overwhelm him again, he got up and looked out the front door. On the doorstep, there was a casserole dish with a sympathy card. "Sorry for your loss," it said. "Yeah, me too," he said to no one in particular as he picked it up. He took the dish to the kitchen, dished out a slice of the casserole and warmed it in the microwave. He ate it at the kitchen table in the dark. When the dishes were cleaned up, he sat on the couch again and watched tv until the tears came again. He felt the warmth of them trail down his face and the cold splash they made when they hit his legs. It was like the warmth of his essence was leaving his body. More days went by without him noticing or caring.

In a few mornings, he had no idea how many really, it was almost like everything was normal. He had dreamed about her. She was smiling and it left a good feeling so he woke in a good mood. It must have been a Saturday, and he could see the neighbors outside tending their chores as the sun warmed up the neighborhood. He could almost envision her in the kitchen making breakfast. He managed a look toward the kitchen door only to realize it was dark and he was alone. He made breakfast of toast and coffee and took it out to the back porch to eat it. Today, he could look at the yard and the plants without immediately breaking down in tears. He finished his toast and drank his coffee listening to the birds who didn't seem quite as foreign as they did yesterday. He took comfort in listening to the sounds of the 'normal' people. After a while, he felt braver and ventured out to let his bare feet sink into the grass. He closed his eyes and pictured her smile. He felt better.

He knew he needed to do some things, but he couldn't imagine what those things might be. He couldn't remember what normal people did. He knew he needed food, but he wasn't about to go to the store and see everyone's pity. He wasn't nearly ready for that. Instead, he decided to check the mail. He waited until everyone had gone inside for lunch to venture out to his mailbox. He practically ran back to the house, afraid of meeting anyone's eyes and having to speak to them. In the mail were holiday cards, sympathy cards, bills, insurance letters, and some junk mail. He threw away the junk, put the cards and insurance letters to the side-he wasn't ready to read them- and opened the bills. Normal people pay bills. He paid them and filed them in the cabinet using the system she insisted on. Instead of grieving, surprisingly, he found comfort in the memory. He ate lunch of bread and some nuts he found in the cabinet and tried to decide how to get food in his house. Eventually, he called his sister and asked her to do it for him. He just couldn't face any of his friends and neighbors yet. His sister came with everything he needed, food, toilet paper, all the things he wouldn't have thought of because She always did the grocery shopping. His sister put everything away, cleaned his bathroom and made dinner for him. He invited her to stay and eat with him. It felt good to talk to someone again. After his sister left, the house felt so empty, almost as empty as the first night he spent there without her. He cried himself to sleep on the couch.

A few weeks later, he decided he should pack up her things. He called his sister to help him. By help, he meant, just do it so I don't have to. She understood without having to be told and did the work quickly. She put away all the holiday decorations and all her stuff and cleaned the house. She also read the mail he couldn't and helped him get it taken care of.  Her husband, his brother-in-law, worked outside, mowing, trimming and taking down the decorations and lights. They ate dinner together and he even laughed a little bit. The world felt a little bit lighter for the first time in almost a month.

Now that all her stuff was gone, the house felt brighter and less oppressive. He could move around the entire house and felt less like a stranger in it. It was like he could almost breathe again. A few weeks after the day they worked to clean out the house, he chose a few pictures of her to put up on the mantle that were his favorites. He cried as he touched the frames she had picked out and relived the memories of when each picture was taken. He talked to her sometimes, when he was feeling lonely. Then he would sit in the silence and wait for her answers. They never came. He went to sleep thinking of her smile.

The phone was ringing when he woke. The sun was shining through the bedroom window. He didn't remember going to bed in their bed. He must have ventured up there when he was looking through pictures. The memories were vivid in his mind, and he spent much of the day thinking of her and their life together. After dinner, he checked his phone and realized his boss had called. Normal people go to work. He decided he wasn't that normal yet and put the phone down. He flipped on the tv and watched until he fell asleep. No tears came.

Sometime after that, a few days maybe, he called his boss back. Normal people go to work. He could go to work, but didn't know if he was normal. Maybe normal wasn't what he thought. Maybe normal was something altogether different now. He gave himself a week, almost four months after she died, and set a date to go back.

Those days passed in a blur. He spent them getting him and his stuff ready. He washed, pressed and hung his shirts and pants, found his briefcase and filled it with normal things-notebook, pen, wallet, calendar. On the last night before he returned to work, he walked through the house, turning out lights one by one, remembering her. Remembering her presence. He could feel her there with him-watching him, comforting him. He settled into bed more content that he could remember feeling in a very long time and slept a dreamless sleep. The next morning, the sun was shining, breakfast actually tasted good, and he found a spring in his step. No darkness. No guilt. Only a shadow of longing to share this with her, but he knew she was there just beyond what he could see. He could still feel here there. As he backed out of the driveway, he was so focused on the brightness and novelty of the world, he never saw the bus before it smashed into his car. The light glared even brighter and filled his entire consciousness. Suddenly, a hand grasped his. He looked up into her beautiful face and smiled. Drawing her into an embrace, he heard her say, "Welcome home, sweetheart."

Speed Week 2014 that never was and the vacation that almost wasn't

Welcome to Strosser Vacation 101.
First lesson: Nothing will go as planned.
Lesson 2: see lesson 1.
Congratulations-you've officially graduated from Strosser Vacation 101!

For years, Clinton has followed the story of Mickey and Danny Thompson. Mickey built a car that set land speed records on the salt flats of Bonneville, but was gunned down over a business dispute before he could compete again with his son, Danny. Danny has since returned to the racing scene with the same car to try to revive his father's legacy and set some more records. We wanted to be part of that rebuilding. At first, we deliberated whether we would go at all. Then we decided that, yes, we will go, and then the weather was iffy. Finally, on Wednesday, the SCTA posted they would delay racing, but it would still be held. We bought our plane tickets and paid for our hotel reservation We were going now, no matter what.

Friday, I dropped off the kids and the dog at Nana's and Poppy's at 6pm and returned home to finish packing my own suitcase and readying the house to be gone for 5 days. 4:00am Saturday came awfully early. We left by 4:40, only 10 minutes behind schedule. About 10 minutes into the drive, I realized we didn't have a copy of our insurance card for the car rental. We turned around to retrieve it, and then we were REALLY late All this is not a surprise to the Strosser clan, who is perpetually, by definition, late. So, we screeched to a halt in long-term parking and boarded a miraculously present shuttle at 5:31am. I checked in online, so we just had to go thru security. I whipped off my shoes, emptied my pockets, and pulled out my baggie of liquids, tossed them in the bins, and stood on the little yellow feet with my arms stretched overhead. Behind me, I heard, 'What's that on your pants, sir?" Clinton replied, "I spilled water on my lap in the car." "I'm sorry, but I have to touch it." the security guard replied. I thought we were going to miss our flight right then and there, to the tune of a $200 change fee per ticket. Turns out, that took all of a couple seconds and we were speeding through the airport. On the way, we dodged sleepy travelers and wandering toddlers, all at breakneck speed while pulling a suitcase and trying to finish tying my shoes. We skidded to a stop in front of our gate at 5:50am for a 6am flight and heard, "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Strosser! We've been waiting for you!" That's flight attendant speak for "Get your a** on the plane-You're late!" The flight attendants rebuke was nothing compared to the icy stares of our fellow passengers as we boarded the plane. I'd like to note, we arrived 10 minutes ahead of schedule in Phoenix. The layover and the rest of the flight were uneventful, thankfully! As I settled into my seat, I turned my phone off and tried to lower my heart rate and relax.

We touched down in Salt Lake City about 10am and went in search of our rental car. Our attendant had a bum foot and asked if we wanted a free upgrade to a minivan, since the compacts were parked so far away. We declined, on the basis of gas mileage and ease of parking. We settled on a black VW Jetta, just one step up from the compact we reserved, but a nice car, nonetheless They didn't even ask for my insurance card.

As we pulled out of the airport in search of Coachman's, a cash-only dive recommended by the Enterprise attendant for breakfast for their Swedish pancakes, I checked my phone. There, on the screen, was a text that changed our whole trip: "Hey, I saw the races were canceled for good. Is that true?" or something like that. We spent the rest of our time at breakfast (FANTASTIC food and atmosphere, btw) searching the SCTA website for confirmation, and yes, it was true. So now what?

I texted Clinton's cousin Lance and his brother and sister-in-law, Garrett and Charla, both of whom live in Utah, and told them we had a much freer schedule than we'd originally anticipated. I sat back and waited for a reply. While I waited, I idly perused the Utah visitors website for ideas of how to spend our 5 days, now that we wouldn't be at the track for most of them.

Danny Thompson's car in front of Montego Bay Casino

The rest of that first day was spent in a haze of disappointment and more than a little frustration. We checked into our hotel, The Crystal Inn & Suites in downtown SLC (a boon, considering it was really well appointed, the staff was nice, and I picked it sight unseen). Then we decided we'd go out to Wendover and the salt flats anyway, just to see if anybody was still hanging out. We pulled into Montego Bay casino (we stayed there 2 nights last year with the kids-gorgeous hotel!), and there in all its glory, stood Danny Thompson's car in front of the main entrance. We'd hoped to get a tshirt and get it signed by him, but it was not to be. We got a few pics of the car and spent the rest of the afternoon stalking the casino floor, but we didn't see Danny. The salt flats were essentially a lake. You couldn't really drive on them, much less set records. You can see in the pics below, where the water is-That's supposed to be dry salt.We saw some interesting people out there, including the World's Fastest Hot Tub, which pulled up next to us as we parked and asked, "Excuse me, is this carpool parking?" Clever.

"Excuse me-Is this carpool parking?"

After that, we returned to the casino, ate a $50 buffet and then headed out to walk it off. We ran across an impromptu car show across the street at another casino. They had all kinds of rat rods, panel trucks, hot rods and a couple of vendors of race swag, Salt Flat history, and more parked outside the hotel and in the parking garage. We took it all in, and then we decided it was time to call it a day.

on the salt flats

a streamliner parked at a hotel in Wendover

Genius decided to play in the wet salt and got stuck

At the salt flats

The next day, we met Lance and Julie at Ruth's Diner, the second oldest restaurant in Utah. They had awesome food, and the portions were HUGE. I regretted stuffing myself later when we found ourselves at Snowbird Ski Resort. We purchased an all day activity pass and rode the Alpine Slide and Coaster on toboggans and the Mountain Flyer (a type of zip line but on a chair instead of a harness), and the tram and chair lifts.
When we reached the top of the mountain, we were pelted with what I first thought was rain, but it turned out to be little ice balls. In August. Crazy.
After the 'rain' let up, we hiked around a bit and rode the chair lift down to ride the rides some more. We ate at a Mexican food restaurant at the resort and wisely chose to abide by the signs which said "Don't feed the animals. They bite!" when the chipmunks, ground squirrels and potguts came begging at our table (see video). Sunburnt, full of good food, and exhilarated from all the activity, we drove back down to SLC. Once there, after waving at all the zombies running around for Comic-con, we found a little gastropub, Gracie's, with a second story patio in downtown and drank a beer, watching the scenery and people with equal interest.

on the drive to Park City

abandoned mine building

Water tanks for abandoned mine

view of Park City from the lift

Monday, we decided to drive out to Park City, after a second breakfast at Ruth's. The drive was beautiful! Mountains, lakes, canyons, oh my! When we arrived and parked, we visited the shops and galleries on Main Street for a couple of hours and ended up at High West Whiskey Distillery for our distillery tour. We topped off the informative tour with a tasting flight of 4 whiskeys, all of which were amazing!, and then took a ride on the Town Lift up to the mountain. We hiked around, looking at all the abandoned mine buildings. As soon as we boarded the lift to come down, it started lightening and thundering. We managed to make it to the bottom, only slightly rained on. We left Park City about 5pm and headed into Provo for a dinner of Indian food with Lance, Lance's daughter Tarin, Clinton's brother Garrett, and his wife Charla and son Miles. The restaurant, Bombay House, was SO GOOD! We decided to share our entrees family style, and I didn't try one thing I didn't like! If the food was good, the conversation was great! We all had a wonderful time catching up and visiting with one another. Afterward, Clinton and I strolled up and down the street and looked in on a couple of wine bars and music venues before we called it a night.

Tuesday broke with renewed heat. For Utah folks, that means over 85 degrees in August. Phew! We had a full day ahead of us, and after a McDonald's breakfast, we drove to Ogden, Utah to Hill Air Force Base Aerospace Museum. They had SO MANY planes there. The in-depth exhibits were informative and interesting. I'd say, of all the air museums we've been to (and there have been MANY) Hill AFB is second only to the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum in Washington, D.C.

One of the many planes we saw at Hill AFB

   

For our final destination of the trip, we chose Timpanogos Cave in American Fork Canyon-an aggressive venture, to be sure. There, we met Lance and his 3 sons, Brayden, Isaiah, and Carter. I knew right then I was out-manned and would probably fall behind. There were signs warning, "This hike is strenuous. Please rest often" or something like that. When we left Snowbird, there were signs on the exit doors stating, "Outside these doors, hazards exist. Please use caution." so I didn't take those warnings in Timpanogos quite as seriously as I probably should have. The hike to the cave is about a mile and a half. But it's almost straight up. You gain 1100 feet of altitude in that mile and a half, to end at the mouth of the cave at over 6700 feet. For a sea-level dweller, it might as well have been climbing into outer space. After about the 4th switchback, I have never been so glad to see a bench. I was already out of breath, and was ready for a break.

Seriously? You're taking my picture right now?! At least the boys look like they're having fun.

We sat down and rested until our heart rate went back down to somewhere near normal before we set out again. Before we reached the next switchback, I was seriously winded and considered going back down to the bench. Then we passed a sign that read "1/4 way". WTF?! About halfway up, you couldn't hear any sounds of civilization, only the rushing river below. And our panting. We finally managed to make it up the mountain. I SWEAR I heard "Eye of the Tiger" playing as we crested the cave entrance. It could have just been the blood rushing in my ears.

When we entered the cave, the sweat on my clothes made the 45 degree chill even colder, but after a few minutes, I didn't even notice anymore. The cave is actually 3 caves joined together by man-made tunnels. Each room or cave had flowstone formations that looked like flowing rivers in the rock and so much more. To say the cave was beautiful is an understatement! I especially enjoyed the story of how they were found and subsequently opened to the public. Some of the passages were quite narrow and required acrobatics to get through them without touching the formations-no small feat with a backpack and after the exertion of climbing the mountain. Our general consensus: What do you mean, they were playing around and found the entrance? Why would they be climbing up this far without a reason, and how would they have the energy afterward to 'play around'??

View of the canyon and mountains and the city beyond  from the mouth of the cave

Once out of the cave, it was time to descend. Even going down, the walk was quite taxing. We stopped several times to rest our knees. Once, when we were snacking on some trail mix, a waiting squirrel approached and looked expectantly at us, not unlike a predator stalking its prey. After that, it wouldn't leave us alone, threatening to climb up our legs and take what he wanted, so we decided it was time to move on. I guess that warning about feeding the wildlife on Snowbird was based on fact and also applies at Timpanogos. Shortly after that, it started raining-hard! By the time we reached the bottom, we were soaked. We stopped at a pizza buffet place on the way out of the canyon and gorged ourselves on pizza, salad, pasta and a genius culinary invention of "cookie dough pizza". SO GOOD! I wanted to take a whole one home! It was well after dark when we arrived back at our hotel, and we crashed out almost immediately.

The next morning was spent taking care of a little business on the computer-emails and such, and another breakfast at McDonald's. We packed up our things, read for a while and checked out of the hotel. After exploring North Salt Lake City, driving around, we headed to the airport and checked into our flight. We did the usual airport pastimes-reading, eating, people watching, etc.-and boarded our plane. This time, there was no rushing, no running, no icy stares, and despite a little turbulence, the flight home was uneventful. We retrieved our car and left the Austin airport about 930pm, picked up Taco Bell on the way and afterward, slept soundly in our own bed.

This was taken at the hotel, but it's what I felt like when we finally arrived home!

Even though our trip was nothing like we envisioned it when we set out, we had a terrific time! It's good to be home!

4 year old interview about himself

Recently, my sister-in-law suggested I conduct this interview or something similar with Colton (almost 4), like Amber at Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures. I think it's safe to say we're pretty big fans of hers. :) Given his typically boisterous personality, I decided this could be entertaining, so I did. This was the result. 

What do you love most? 

     "Cupcakes"

If you could have one wish, what would you wish for? 

     "A Spaceship"

What is the meaning of life? 

    "What is life?"

What are you supposed to do when you're alive? 

     "Play"

What do you want to be when you grow up? 

    "A Daddy"

What are you most afraid of?

    "Monsters"

What is the funniest word you've ever heard? 

     "Juggle"

If you had all the money in the world, what would you do with it? 

     “Pay it to the pay guy” 

Who’s the pay guy? 

     “Daddy”

What makes you mad? 

    “When Lincoln (1yr old brother) takes my toys.”

What’s really hard to do? 

      “To obey.”

What’s really easy to do? 

     “cleaning up my room”

What is the meaning of love? 

     “It means, I love you forever”

Who do you love most? 

     "You"

What makes you happy? 

     "You"

The answers weren't as crazy as I would have expected from him. They were rather tame, actually. The last three, though, were my favorite. <3

Testament to human kindness

At the grocery store this evening, I decided to treat myself and purchase premade cookies, something I haven't done in months. After spending some time reading labels, I realized there are startlingly few which are peanut-allergy friendly. Besides the overtly peanut butter ones (nutter butters, and those with peanut butter cups in them, etc.), most are made in facilities that also process peanuts. During my reading, Colton kept taking different boxes off the shelf and asking for different types of cookies. After about the tenth time of explaining why we couldn't buy each one, I opted to just make my own. There was a woman in the aisle with me who mentioned her conversations with her young daughter were similar to ours, and food allergies are the worst. I agreed with her. At this time,it dawned on me I was out of chocolate chips and told Colton so, and that we were going to buy some. Sadly, I found most chocolate chips are also processed in facilities that process peanuts. I was so disappointed. I wanted cookies, and it wasn't supposed to be this hard. I stood in front of the chocolate chips trying to read labels faster than my older son could open the bags and boxes of food already in the cart and the younger could get turned around and tangled up in the seat, and I saw the same woman walking down the baking aisle. She had clearly followed me as she didn't stop anywhere else in the aisle. She handed me a box of chocolate chip cookies, and said, "here are the ones I've found to be the best. My daughter has allergies to peanuts, eggs, gluten and dairy. These are the ones that comply and taste the best, even if they are a little crunchy. I hope this helps. Food allergies were a learning process for us too." I just about broke into tears at the kindness shown to me by a total stranger. I thanked her and she went her way and I went mine. I don't even know her name, but she took an overwhelming prospect and made it into a manageable one for me. I can only hope she knows the difference she made.

As an FYI, the brand of cookie is Back To Nature . I did find a chocolate chip brand that said their chips are processed in a gluten and peanut free facility right on the package: Guittard. See pic below.

We've come a long way, Baby!

I don't do too many posts focusing solely on my kids, but I thought it would be a good idea to chronicle their progress. I may want this someday. :)

Colton has come so far in this past week. He can officially take care of bathroom business-including handwashing, fully dress himself including shoes (not socks though-they're hard!), and pour juice and water ALL BY HIMSELF. He is an excellent cleaner-even separates toys into appropriate bins without help. He can successfully manipulate stickers and is getting better about coloring and painting in the lines. He LOVES watercolors and play dough. He can use scissors and dispense appropriate amounts of glue for googly eyes and pom poms and also put the right amount of toothpaste on his toothbrush. We're still working on the handsoap as he creates a slick on the counter every time he washes his hands. (For the record, I've tried the rubber band thing so he can only push the plunger down a little bit, but he absolutely refuses to stop at one pump. ugh.) He can even match correct letters 100% of the time to make sight-words in an iPad app I just acquired. He doesn't know letters by name or sound yet, just matches shapes, but the app sounds the letters out and pronounces the words for him, making it the first step in recognition. He can also recite several of his books, as well as the rhyme, "Little Miss Muffet" which I presented orally (no pics), by rote.

Lincoln is jabbering away, cruising and standing independently (although not yet walking) and can recognize several words and tries to repeat them. Even though he's not walking independently, he likes to walk behind his walker toy and gets angry when he runs it into a wall or door jamb. He's totally into putting things in boxes and buckets and taking them out again. We have a box full of bean bags for that purpose. He eats about 15 oz of food per meal four times per day. He is fully weaned (for almost a month) and is eating mostly solid food now. I only feed him purees when I feel lazy and don't want to clean up a mess. He still won't drink milk, but eats yogurt and cheese like it's going out of style. He gave me a high five for the first time yesterday too. He has all 8 front teeth (and has since he was about 9 months old), and his 1 year molars are poised to come out. The top left one is already through, and the others are painfully swollen and red. He is fearless and ready to follow big brother anywhere no matter the consequences. He also loves to horseplay.

Thank you all for listening to my enthusiasm for my children's accomplishments. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming. :)

Oh, Baby! Why do you do the things you do?

For a while, I've been compiling questions in my head that I can never ask. Specifically, questions I would like to ask my 9.5 month old baby. I would LOVE to know why he does some things.

1. What is humorous to you? For example, you laugh at your own feet. You laugh when I shake my head or look at you with a certain look, or play peek a boo. You laugh when you're being tickled. You laugh when your brother squeezes you so tight, your face turns red. I'm pretty sure you laugh when you want others to laugh-even though nothing funny is going on. Why? How do you determine what's funny?

2. What is SO FREAKING INTERESTING behind the wood stove that you must crawl back there at least 4 times/day?? I mean, I understand unshelving the DVD's at least once an hour because they're bright colors, have faces, etc., but a deep, dark, dirty space that's impossible to squeeze my body behind to extricate you without banging your limbs or head when you become entangled in its legs-c'mon!

3. Why do you look over my shoulder when I look at you sometimes? It makes me think there's something behind me. Then when I look and there's nothing there, I wonder if you can see ghosts. It seriously creeps me out.

4. Why must you chew on electrical cords? I understand it if they are just within your reach and we don't realize it or if they are accidentally left so that you tangle yourself in them. However, if you see one across the room, you will crawl as fast as you can to get to it and immediately shove it in your mouth with its sharp little teeth and commence gnawing. I thought we gave up that annoyance when we bid adieu to those cats.

5. How do you choose when to sleep and eat? Some days you do exactly as you need to (sleep when you're tired, etc.) Other days, you fight it every step of the way. There is no logic to it that I can figure.

I'm sure this list will grow as I have time to think of more. Until then, I will continue to be amazed by you every day. :)

An injustice corrected

Sometimes, we stroll down memory lane alone, just remembering the way things were. Other times, we amble as a group and make a few adjustments. This weekend, we attended the consecration of a grave that had previously been unblessed. It was a grave of a four-year-old boy, named Robert Earl Strosser, my father-in-law's uncle. He passed away after dehydrating as a result of eating too many green apples or pears. The oral history is unclear on his actual cause of death as he died in 1921. At the time of his death, there was some disagreement about the fact he was not laid to rest in a Catholic cemetery so the serving priest refused to bless the grave. Saturday, that injustice was addressed and corrected. Deacon Ed conducted the consecration and gave a beautiful prayer, and for that, we cannot be grateful enough. My mother-in-law brought the prayer book of Robert's mother and a picture of her at her first communion and laid it on the grave during the service. There are no pictures of the little boy that we know of. Inside the prayer book, Helen (the mother) had written many events, like births and deaths. It broke this mother's heart to see how she had to squeeze in the date of her little boy's death, as I'm sure she didn't expect to write it in herself and did not leave enough room.

There was one woman, Dorothy Heib, at the consecration who had attended the funeral as a six-year-old girl. She is 93 now. She told of how she was forced to sit during the service and was restless and wanted to know what was going on. As soon as my father-in-law's father (her uncle) relaxed his grip on her hand, she scampered up to the grave site as they were lowering the casket. She said a chill came over her as she saw the fabric lining the grave and the dirt falling on top of the casket as they filled in the hole. She ran back to him as fast as she could. She recalled he held her especially hard after that, but it was unnecessary since she was so disturbed.

After the service, we all went to Schilo's to drink homemade root beer and eat Ruebens or hamburger steak. We talked for hours, sharing memories and making new ones.

These memories are important to all of us. Without oral history, we lose the spirit of our existence and of who we are. When our elders pass on those memories, we become the keeper of them. They belong to us. It is our responsibility to protect their integrity and pass them to our children. It is also our responsibility to ensure our children are aware of these responsibilities and act on them. So the next time you find yourself on the listening end of a story that begins, "Back then, things were different...," relax and really listen and take it in. You never know what you might learn about your elders, or about yourself.