Put on a Brave Face

I'm linking up with Mama Kat for her Writer's Workshop this week.  The prompt I chose was:

Open your picture folders, close your eyes and pick a random photo to share and write about.

I randomly opened my pics folder on my desktop and quickly chose a folder without thinking, and this was the first picture I saw:

 

It took my breath away.  My heart hurt a little.  Unresolved grief washed over me. 

I try to stay positive, laugh through the tears, and reassure myself that it’s all going to be ok, but then there are moments when I have to just let myself feel the grief again.  Just for a moment. 

That picture was taken this time last year on the day that my ex-husband was moving out of the house.  The hardest part of that entire experience was worrying about my son and how he would handle all the change. 

I took him to the Manitou Arts and Crafts Festival for the day so that he didn’t have to watch his daddy move out.  He knew the basics of what was occurring that day, but he didn’t have to watch it. 

Don’t worry, he wasn’t stricken with grief, lying on the sidewalk, and I wasn’t taking pictures of sad things.  We had walked a lot that day, and we had to make it up a big hill before reaching our car.  Parker was in good spirits, but he was tired and decided to rest for a moment.  I was giggling as I took the picture, saying, “Geez, Parker, you’re just going to lay down right here?  I’m going to take your picture!” 

My happiness that day was basically fake.  I was just trying to get us through a very hard day.  I was putting on a brave face for my son.   I remember many times that day when I held back the tears and kept pressing forward.  You just aren’t allowed to grieve anytime you want when you have a child, and every mom can relate to that in some way.

I took him to lunch, and I remember every detail.  What we ate, where we sat, what toys he played with at the table.  I was hyper-alert because of my conflicted emotional state.  I was nervous, worried, and sad, and I just wanted my child to make it through the day without his mother losing it.  We went to the park and the festival.  Live music was playing, face-painted children ran around at the playground, crowds of people milled about talking and laughing. 

That’s the thing about life that we all inevitably learn.  In every experience that is sad and awful and heartbreaking, there are reminders all around that laughter is around the corner, rest will eventually come to you, and life goes on.  

And, sometimes when you're just putting on a brave face, you need to stop and lay down.

Don't Call Me Dummie

I'm linking up with Mama Kat for her writer's workshop.  

The prompt is: retell a conversation that made you laugh.

Don't Call Me Dummie

“Geez, I hope she’s alright,” I said. 

Earlier, I was talking on the sidewalk with a neighbor mom.  Her little daughter had run across the street to get to her mom.  She had tripped in the street and then gone into a seizure.  Everyone was shaken by the event, but everyone ended up being ok.  The little girl went with her mom in an ambulance to the hospital to be checked out.  After the fire department, EMT workers, and police had left, we were still talking about the event.

“Dummie?  Yeah, she runs and falls all the time,” my son said.

“What did you call her?”  I asked.

“Dummie!” My son exclaimed.

“Surely, her name is not Dummie.  Why do you think her name is Dummie?”  I asked.  I was part exasperated that my son could unknowingly be so rude, but I was also trying not to laugh.

“That’s what her brother calls her!” My son explained.  (My son usually shouts everything.)

I laughed.  “Well, that may be what her brother calls her, but I’m sure that’s not her name.”

“It is her name!  Darren calls her Dummie!” My son was getting frustrated with me, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Parker,” I said, “Brothers call their sister’s names.  Dummie is not a nice word for someone.  Even if that is what Darren calls her, you should not call her Dummie!”

……………………

The next day, Darren came over to play.  He explained that his sister was alright.  She would be monitored for the seizure.  It could have been a one-time occurrence, but we wouldn’t know yet.

I said, “Hey, Darren, by the way, what is your sister’s name?”

“Demi,” Darren said.

I just laughed and laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” Darren asked.

“Oh, nothing, we just thought her name was something different.”  I tried to calm my laughing.  “Demi is a pretty name.”

My son, Parker, who has the social grace of, well, a five year old, shouted, “We thought her name was Dummie!”

And we all laughed and laughed, but Darren did not. 

Cringe.

from Pinterest

And now my son is too.