A new Tooth Fairy theory
The Bug has developed a new theory about how the the Tooth Fairy operates, and it's far more plausible than any explanation that I might have invented. Now, granted, it's plausible in the sense that if you believe a Tooth Fairy exists, then this just might be how she operates. If you don't believe in the Tooth Fairy, then you're probably far too practical to be reading this particular blog posting and you might want to just hang it up here. For those of you who are that literal-minded, I can't help you.
On the way to Carter's morning day care program today (when all of our really important talks take place), we got to discussing the Bug's missing tooth. He was wondering when he'd get his new tooth and how it would happen. So I explained to him how a tooth grows in from the gum and will continually get bigger until it matches his other teeth. Afterward, I saw him chewing on that thought for several blocks and then came his "eureka" look ... you know, the one where you can just tell he's figured it all out.
"So, the Tooth Fairy helps it grow?" he asked.
"I guess," I answered, not having expected the direction this was taking.
"So, she sneaks in at night and helps it grow?" he followed.
"Yep," I said.
"So, she comes in at night, while we sleep, and sprinkles water into the hole until the tooth gets big like the others?" he continued.
"Yep, that's exactly how it works," I said, thinking that I couldn't have explained it any better myself.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/20/2008 at 5:20 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink
Time to pay the bills
Newspapers need ka-ching to keep peddling our paragraphs, right?
And the needs of advertisers are changing because the needs of readers are changing, right?
And, finally, I enjoy having a job, right? ... Well, not necessarily, but I do enjoy paying the bills, let's say.
So what do those three things have in common ... well, a Web site. More specifically ... http://moms.inforum.com/.
The site is a niche site produced by staff here at The Forum, and populated with content by everyone ... meaning possibly you and me and anyone else who has an interest in parenting. The site could be considered an off-shoot of The Forum's weekly page in our Life section called "Moms and More".
Granted, the name may be a little bit of a misnomer. There certainly will be a number of moms that will be attracted to the site, but it's meant more to be a site that collects news stories, blogs and multimedia components that all parents would be interested in. It's new and just catching on, but its something I thought many other parents might find intriguing. In this age of hectic schedules and families being separated by many miles, I think a lot of us are looking for a wider network of parents who we might lean on for advice, for a laugh or just for camaraderie. That's the intention of the site.
And no, I'm not plugging the site because my boss is standing over my shoulder and giving me strong words of encouragement. (Really, he isn't ... wink, wink.) Nor is there a direct financial benefit to me. (Hint, hint to the bosses!) It's just that I set as one of the early goals of this blog to give other parents, single or not, a way to link up with other parents. I've joined as a participant on the site - yes even though I'm not a mom - and there are some really cool features. I probably won't be jumping in on the discussions about breast feeding anytime soon, but I've learned or appreciated something each time I've been on the site.
Sure, there's probably a Fargo-Moorhead tilt to the site, but I think even those of you not from the area would find it interesting. Let's face it: When you're a parent, you're a parent, whether it's here or in Truth or Consequences, N.M. There's always commonalities.
If you join, become my friend on the site so that I know you're there. (Actually, I would just turn that over to my editors as proof that my blog matters and force them to recognize the value of it! ... Think about it as like the impact Oprah has on something she endorses. Ahh, a guy can dream, right?)
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/19/2008 at 1:07 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink
Caught in 'Retail Hell'
Full disclosure here: I can't stand going shopping. Even worse: I can't stand going shopping in mega-retailers that are brimming with shoppers who are bargain crazy. To put my loathing into perspective: I'd much rather have infection-ridden, sharp, hot objects repeatedly poked into my eyes. I hate it so much that I go out of my way to shop at grocery and big box stores at times when there likely will be far fewer people. I'm willing to leave my house at 10 p.m. on a weeknight to get what I need, just to avoid the people, the hassle and the frustration.
But on Saturday, I found myself a block away from Wal-Mart after having made a stop in the vicinity. I knew I needed a lot of household staples and could finish all of this business off in one stop at the store I lovingly call "Retail Hell." After deciding it just made sense to save the extra trip, I found myself sitting in my car, steeling myself for the upcoming trauma. I put the car in gear and headed across the street to the gigantic parking lot.
Instantly, I knew I had made a mistake: Saturday afternoon at Wal-Mart is meant for only the retail hardy, and I admittedly am not one. But once you get into a Wal-Mart parking lot, it is near impossible to get out. So after finding an open spot, I figured I'd already invested nearly 15 minutes, I might as well finish the job. Again, I forged on.
Once in the store, the din of the cash registers dinging, the Wal-Mart employees calling for this and that over the intercom and the shrill voices of the teaming masses instantly reminded me why I shop during hours most people sleep. However, in all fairness to my fellow shoppers, most of my trip went fine. There was a minimum of "aisle-dwellers", as I call them -- you know the people who will sit in the middle of aisle or at the intersections of aisles talking on the phone, visiting with another shopper or just parked there for an inexplicable reason, oblivious that other people are trying in vain to get around them. And no one jumped in front of me as I was looking at something on a shelf. And no one ran or backed into me with their cart. All in all, after an hour in the store, my blood pressure was at a fairly regular level.
I was even happily headed to the check-out line when I realized I needed one last item: a hair dryer. I had purchased some plastic window covering which requires a hair dryer to shrink to a tight fit, and I didn't own a hair dryer. Obviously, with there being no women in our little bachelor house, we had no use for one. I changed course and headed back to the personal hygeine aisles where they are kept. I had quickly located the asile I needed and even managed to wiggle my overloading cart through a couple of tight spots to get in front of the hair dryers. Little did I know my day was about to worsen.
Like clocwork, as soon as I had positioned myself to be able to carefully study the hair dryer options in front me, both ends of the aisle filled with women. I hadn't really paid attention to the signs hanging overhead, except to note the one that included what I needed. In my zone, I hadn't really noticed that the hairdryers, for a very good reason I'm sure, were located in the middle of an entire section of women's products that included every imaginable fingernail care product on one end and Vagisil and a number of other feminin hygiene products on the other.
As soon as I was in the aisle, magically a gaggle of teen-aged girls moved in to form a blockade on the end with the fingernail polish, and a trio of what I assume to be college-aged women gathered at the other end of the aisle to peruse the options for curing a vaginal infection. Both groups began chattering away, all the while answering a myriad of text messages and taking up enough room that making a quiet exit was not a possibility. On one end, the teenagers were tittering away about the latest happenings in high school girls' lives and simultaneously discussing cuticle care. It was far more information than I wanted to know about what teen girls were doing. On the other end, the three 20-somethings were discussing things I wish I wouldn't have heard and do not have the stomach to repeat. That was information I wanted know even less. And then was me, sandwiched between them, just trying to find a cheap hair dryer. Problem was, it was taking far longer than I wished.
The cheapest dryer they had was on the top shelf, positioned there to be out of reach for most women and thus subtly encouraging them to buy a more expensive model, I would assume. But there was only one of the cheap ones left and it was to the back of the shelf, where even I couldn't get to it without stepping on the bottom shelf. Meanwhile, the conversations on both ends of the aisle were growing more intense and far more personal, and yet they remained oblivious to all 6-foot-3-inches of me standing between them.
Weighing my options, I knew I wasn't about to uncomfortably remove myself from the situation, only to grab a Wal-Mart worker and make another embarrassing foray into the center of the women's health hygeine world. And I ruled out using the flimsy metal shelves as a step stool to reach the top shelf, thinking it could only make things worse if I were to bring the entire works down. When the discussions were coming to a crescendo, I finally broke down and grabbed the next cheapest model I could find.
But there was no simple way of getting out the aisle without asking one of the groups to move aside. I decided upon the younger set because they were on the end closest to the check-out counters, but over the squealing and shrieking, I couldn't get their attention to move. And then, just as magically as all of the girls appeared or maybe more so, a woman, whom I can only imagine was a mother to one of the teenagers, appeared and sensed my distress. "Girls," she said, "I think the gentleman behind you wants out." I expressed my gratitude and started my way out of the estrogen epicenter of Wal-Mart. As I was passing the mom, she looked at me with a bemused look on her face, a look that seemed to express some sympathy to my discomfort, and asked, "Tough day shopping?"
"A little bit," I admitted. "A little bit."
Screw convenience from now on. I'm sticking to shopping late at night on weeknights.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/17/2008 at 11:07 AM | Comments (5) | Permalink
You can't outrun genetics
Garrett is learning a tough lesson this week: You can't outrun or hide from genetics.
Unfortunately, the poor kid has had to endure two consecutive nights of parents carving on his toe. Garrett has a pretty bad in-grown toenail and so two nights ago I cut the majority of it out until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then his mom finished off the job last night.
Afterward, he called to express his disappointment with my side of the family, being we are the ones he inherited the bad toenails from. I told him I thought the same thing years ago when I started suffering from in-grown toenails and learned that it is a lifetime problem.
"That sucks," he said.
"I can't disagree, buddy," I said. "But the problem with genetics is that you can't do anything about them. You're stuck with what you're given, pal."
"Mom says you gave me all the bad genes," he said, "that I'm going to be bald like you will be and that I need glasses because of your side of the family, too."
"Yeah, but at least you got your height from me," I said. "You're already taller than most of your mom's family, right?"
"Yeah, thank god for that," he said.
"And guess what else?" I said.
"What?"
"You also inherited Dad's striking good looks," I said.
"Oh, puh-l-l-e-e-a-a-s-s-e-e, Dad!" he said.
"Well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?"
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/14/2008 at 9:17 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink
ANOTHER RETREAD: A response to Kirby's death
EDITOR'S NOTE: This is another column re-tread that I pulled from an earlier column writing time. But, again, I thought the story was timeless so I would share. - Devlyn
NORTHFIELD NEWS
PUBLISHED MARCH 17, 2006
NORTHFIELD, Minn. - I got lucky ... Kirby Puckett didn't.
No, this isn't just another column from a one-time fan about an adolescent sports hero. I believe that many better columnists than I this past week have extolled Puckett's virtues on the field and discussed his more recent poor off-the-field behavior.
No, this column is more about the mind-boggling and awesome twists that life can throw at anyone ... even multi-millionaire sports heroes.
It's been thoroughly reported this past week that Puckett died from the effects of a massive stroke he suffered on March 5. To many the news probably was shocking because they think of strokes as something that afflicts the old: How could someone as young as Kirby, who was 45, suffer a stroke?
Unfortunately, the reality is that anyone can have a stroke at any moment. Stroke does not discriminate against the old; it afflicts the young just as often. And it is the nation's third-leading cause of death behind heart disease and cancer.
It's not a surprise that most know so little about stroke; there aren't large national awareness campaigns such as there is for the various forms of cancer, and so how would the public know the facts about stroke until it impacts their own lives.
That's probably the only reason that I know more than I care to about stroke.
In fact, when I heard the news about Puckett's stroke that fateful Sunday night, a shiver crawled up from the base of my spine until my scalp tingled. It was a familiar feeling of fear.
On an April afternoon three years ago, my life changed forever when I awoke from a short cat nap after work to find that the right side of my body was numb, my motor skills were slowed and all of my thoughts were cloudy.
You guessed it ... I had suffered a stroke. Of course I didn't learn this for a frightening few days, and more specifically I suffered a transient ischemic attack, also known as a TIA or a "mini-stroke."
So, as I heard the news reports about Puckett stream through my TV, my mind drifted back to another time in my life that I'd just assume like to forget, but can't.
That afternoon when I suffered my stroke, I was awakened from my cat nap by my family coming home. I had arrived home early and was catching a snooze while listening to the 5 p.m. news. The next moment I remember is waking to hear my oldest son barging into the house, but my thoughts just weren't clear. And I noticed a strange numbness that ran down the right side of my face into my arm and leg.
That night I went to the hospital and several blood tests and a CAT scan revealed nothing. The next day I returned when I didn't feel any better and so I underwent a MRI, which detected a spot on my brain, the scar tissue left from my stroke.
I was immediately referred to a much larger hospital in Duluth and eventually to the Mayo in Rochester. My family and I endured several months of agony until finally doctors at the Mayo discovered that I had a small hole in my heart that allowed oxygen to enter the blood being pumped to my brain ... not a good thing. That had caused my stroke.
Finally, about six months after my stroke, Mayo doctors inserted a tiny titanium button into my heart to close the hole. That they believe should prevent me from having another stroke for at least that reason.
As my mind drifted when I heard the Puckett news, I was personally struck by his prophetic words he spoke the day he announced that he could no longer play baseball. Essentially, he told the world not to be sad for Kirby Puckett because there are no guarantees about tomorrow. And that was what my mind seized on that night in my living room: Kirby's resolve to never take anything for granted.
That was the very same promise I made to myself after my scary brush with my stroke: I remember thinking that I had survived a tremendous scare and I wasn't about to take my life for granted any longer. Especially being I was the father of two young children, and I had lost my dad as a 12-year-old.
But then life intervened, and I got busy taking care of kids and working and the many other thousands of other details that creep into our lives that make us forget just how awesome life is. I realized as the news about Puckett's death was announced that I had broken my own promise and forgotten about never taking life for granted. And that is why I thank Mr. Puckett.
Through his death, I again remembered something that I had forgotten since my own scare: There is nothing so big, so scary looming in the future that I can't be thankful for today. Today I will get to talk to and play with my two wonderful sons, Garrett and Carter, and go home to the wonderfully stupid grin of my 10-year-old Husky named Chuck, and go to a job I love, and visit with my friends, and call my mom. And I am happy about all of that because I remember too well that tomorrow is not guaranteed. Thanks to Kirby, I hopefully will hang on to this lesson a little bit longer this time.
-- Devlyn Brooks is the managing editor of the Northfield News.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/13/2008 at 4:45 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink
A RETREAD: A look back at an earlier column
EDITOR'S NOTE: This weekend I was revisiting some of my earlier columns as I was weeding out stuff in an effort to downsize. Some of that included print columns that I've written before for other newspapers for which I've worked. My oldest son spottest this one, which of course is one of his favorites, and encouraged me to post some of my better previous columns. So, in essence, this is a re-tread from when Garrett was 7 years old. But it was an interesting enough story and most of you haven't read it. So here it is. -- Devlyn
NORTHFIELD NEWS
PUBLISHED FEB. 3, 2006
NORTHFIELD, Minn. - As I sit to write this column, I do so without a soda pop in front of me.
It's not that I can't afford one; it's just that I don't have any available spare change to buy one. And I can thank my 7-year-old son, Garrett, for that.
No, he didn't clean me out to buy the latest shoot-'em-up video game, or some other new techno gadget.
He, like the other hundreds of students at Greenvale Park Elementary, scavenged all of our available change for a project at school called "Pennies for Patients."
Last week, the students were challenged to bring in change to collect it to give to cancer research. The first day, the kids brought in all their pennies, the next all their nickels, and so on until this week they were collecting dollars. Ultimately, all the money from all the Greenvale classrooms will be collected, totaled and given to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
It was inspirational to see how Garrett dove into the project, and I admit a bit humbling for myself. He's always been a generous kid, always wanting to give to someone else much more than he wants to receive himself. But this past week he's been on a mission to ensure that there wasn't one single coin left in our house, car or my office, for that matter. (Hence, no soda pop for Dad.) He wanted it all to go to "Pennies for Patients."
For example, we have a routine in which after school, Garrett comes to the office with me and he receives a couple of bucks for a treat from the vending machine. Since the "Pennies for Patients" project began, however, he's accepted that money only twice, and only after I convinced him both times that he had earned those treats. Otherwise, he's collected for "Pennies for Patients."
Finally, after the third or fourth night of the ritual of turning over couch cushions and emptying out the pesky catch-all containers where change always ends up, I asked him what it was that lit a fire under him about this particular project.
I innocently assumed I'd hear an answer about his Nana who was diagnosed with cancer several years ago and continues to bravely battle a disease that has ravaged her body. In fact, his Nana, after hearing about the project, even mailed Garrett a few bucks to help him chip in.
But I was wrong.
His answer was much more simple and humbling. With all the nonchalance of a 7-year-old, he said, "Cuz, Dad, they need it more than I do," and he proceeded to dump out the small wicker basket I have on my home desk that serves as the vessel for my end-of-the-day pocket contents. "Score," he said, "there's quarters in here."
And that is why I don't have a soda in front of me as I write this. That 65 cents is being kept company by thousands of other coins somewhere, and eventually will make a difference for someone who needs it more than I do.
But by no means do I want to celebrate the philanthropic deeds of my son alone. It took the efforts of hundreds of his schoolmates to collect the $4,565.93 total that was added up on Friday. And it took the donations of hundreds more parents than just myself to reach that figure.
I suspect that Garrett's drive to collect change this past week could have been found in all of the Greenvale kids, and that is why I am humbled. Thanks to a simple idea, i.e. -- collecting the change that lies around uselessly in all of our homes, these children collected more than $4,500 that will go toward cancer research that could one day cure people whom need the money more than I do. People like Garrett's Nana.
So, today I drink coffee. It's available free at work and the money I may have spent on a soda is on its way to a much more important use. I suspect there are Greenvale Park parents all over Northfield who feel the same way.
-- Devlyn Brooks is the managing editor of the Northfield News.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/13/2008 at 4:37 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink
Don't ya love libraries?
Sitting in my cubicle here at our little ol' community library, I'm surrounded by the sounds of people tapping on keyboards, sifting through thousands of books on shelves and rustling through a stack of newspapers ... just to find that one section of the local daily you really want and that someone probably absconded with hours ago.
The boys and I are here for our fairly regular "Library Night", the night when we head to the library so that the Bug can play on the computers set aside just for the young ones, Bubba can browse through aisles of young adult literature built on mysterious worlds of swords and castles and dragons and spaceships and magical cities, and Dad can peruse the Internet or read a news magazine or contemplate life without even the slightest of interuptions. You might call the library the Brooks Boys' own little playland.
Library Night is a creation of my own, I am proud to say. My fascination with libraries began young. Growing up poor in a town of about 8,000 in the Red River Valley, there wasn't a lot of action for a young boy. Sure, all summer long you could tear around town on your dirt bike or head to the river to fish, but even that becomes dull after a few weeks in the summer. There also wasn't money in my family for me to hang out at the video arcade like most of the boys my age were doing in the early '80s. And movies ... forget it: Movies were a rare treat enjoyed only when the entire family could go, which wasn't often. So come late fall, when most summer activities were off limits and we didn't have access to teen centers or after-school programs then, I headed indoors to our local library.
It was a small, community library - much like Moorhead's. Just a couple of thousand square feet, nothing special. And we still looked up everything in the card catalog. But early on, I learned that as soon as I walked through the doors of my library, I could go anywhere, do anything and meet anyone I wanted. There was vast shelves of books and magazines that held more knowledge than I could ever hope to learn in a lifetime and so the library became my home away from home. It's where I read the entire collections of Peanuts, Garfield and other comic books, and books about Sherlocke Holmes and The Hardy Boys and about sports legends. I discovered the refernce books containing literally thousands of pages about foreign lands and historic events and monumental adventures. And by the time I hit sixth grade, I knew every inch, nook and cranny of that library about as well as many of the staff members. ... Then, the summer after sixth grade, we moved to a smaller little town about half an hour away. Imagine how devastated I was to learn the town had what I would call a makeshift library that was open limited hours and contained a fraction of the collection of my library back "home." It was crushing.
Of course, I adapted, as kids are so good at doing. I found new friends and new places to bike and soon found girls and sports and cars when I became old enough to drive. In the process my trips to the library abruptly ceased. I didn't find my love for libraries again until just a few years ago. After the divorce, on the nights the boys and I were together, we needed to find something to do to keep my mind occupied and the boys busy ... or we were all going to go nuts ... Dad first. One Saturday we were on one of our many walks when we crossed by the library in downtown Northfield. I realized although I'd taken Bubba to the library a few times over the years, I'd never taken both the boys together. Life had just gotten too busy since Bug was born. So we bounded up the long, concrete steps and you'd have thought we'd found Nirvana by the look on the boys' faces when we pushed through the heavy doors. And that was how "Library Night" began. Three-plus years later and the boys and I are still jonesin' to get to the library when we can.
I don't know that I can explain our love affair with the library ... any library really, not just our hometown one. The boys obviously enjoy it because they know that once they step foot inside the doors, they are on their own for an our, maybe two if we have the time ... 60 to 120 minutes of unsupervised playtime in a world enriched by toys, books and computers.
As for me, I'm still trying to discover what my affinity for libraries is. Sure, the books and the thousands upon thousands of printed words contained within each library would be an easily explanation for somoene who makes a living by writing and editing. But I know that my fascination is rooted in something so much deeper. I love the quiet hush which serves as a hideway from the manic everyday life outside those doors. And I love the people I meet at the library, whether it's the staff who helps me with my queries or the people sitting next to me at the open computer carrels. I love the smell of printed words and the sounds associated with libraries. And I love the thought that our communities value education so dearly that we fund places where everyone, rich or poor, can obtain a free education - from the basics of children's books on up to the most complicated of sciences. I love the democracy of libraries and the fact that they are responding to the 21st century and beyond by becoming ever-more focused on multimedia. (NEWSFLASH: The Bug just informed me that the kid's section is getting for more computers just for them tomorrow, the librarion told him so!)
I love libraries ... simply for every reason you may think of.
As Bubba grows older I wonder how much longer that "Library Night" will remain an awaited event for him. He's almost 11 now and although he's beginning to read more now than he ever has, there are other activities and priorities creeping into his life. And I see a boy who is becoming a young man who could lose interest in libraries very soon. That makes me sad, of course, but I do hope to hang on to my youngest library buddy for a few more years. He's several years behind his brother and won't know the excitment of the young teen years for a while. If Bubba does wonder away from our library trips, I won't be surprised. But, I certainly do hope that he'll have enough good memories of our "Library Nights" that he'll do this for his own kids one day.
I guess that that's all one obssessive library maniac can hope for.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/12/2008 at 7:45 PM | Comments (2) | Permalink
Working in a service industry
I've done my fair share of griping about those mysterious service representatives who work for large coperations on the other end of a phone line and are paid to make our lives miserable. I'm sure we all have a time or two. I mean, how many times have you tried to resolve a problem with an employee of a phone company, cable company, utility company, insurance company ... you name it. We all know how frustrating it can be ... especially if you're trying to resolve a problem that you didn't cause. I even admit that I've taken out a certain level of frustration on these faceless souls who continually repeat, "Now, sir, if you'd just calm down, I'm sure that we can get to the bottom of this situation. Now, let me put you on hold and transfer you to another department."
But this past week, I received such outstanding, professional and fair treatment from Xcel Energy that I was moved, no compelled, to contact the "investigator" that had been working on my complaint and thank her for the work she'd done. Being someone who works in a postion that is accustomed to talking to angry customers, I know from experience that every great once in a while you take a call or an e-mail from someone who thanks you for the work you do. And I know that when I do take that call or receive that e-mail, I never know how to respond. I'm grateful, but seriously you're not used to being grateful. Unfortunatlely , working in customer service, you get so accustomed to adopting your "I-could-give-a-crap" voice to deal with people who call and want to bitch at you ... you know that voice that is just a tad too soothing and pleasing, the voice you both know is fake but you keep up because it's the voice that business decorum demands.
And so, when the woman at Xcel wrapped up my case - which incidentally would have cost me something like $5,000 in charges that weren't mine - I was very impressed with the concern she demonstrated in wanting to really resolve the issue. She could have very easily passed it off as just another customer trying to pull one over on the company, but over the course of a week, she exhibited a concern that was above and beyond what I've come to expect. And so I wanted to tell her that. And you know what? It made me feel good. It also got me to thinking that maybe, just maybe, the next time a customer service rep tells me to hold on a minute, she's going to transfer me to someone who could help me, I might believe her.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/12/2008 at 12:10 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink
A very difficult trip home
The boys and I headed home for the weekend to visit my ex-in-laws. The family was having a birthday party for the newest addition to the family, a baby girl born a year ago who was the last grandchild born before Nana passed away this spring.
However, for the boys and I, the trip was turned out to be about a lot amount more than just a chance to attend a family get-together and for the boys to play with their cousins. This trip was the first time we'd been back to the in-laws since the boys' grandmother (who was known as "Nana") died from cancer in April. Besides it being a long time since we had a chance to be with that side of the family, it was a challenge to both Garrett and I, although I didn't figure it out until we were in the car headed home Sunday night.
I am proud that I still am considered family by my ex-in-laws. We converse on a regular basis and still try to get together when the opportunity presents itself, which unfortunately isn't as often as one would like. But we were all excited for this weekend. The boys and I headed up on Saturday and made ourselves at home at my ex-brother-in-law's, a place where we know we're always welcome.
The boys got busy playing with their cousins and later that night I went out with two of the brothers and their uncle, something we hadn't had the opportunity to do in a long time. In fact, I'd never been out for a beer with my youngest ex-brother-in-law as he just turned 21 this year.
On Sunday the kids were up early playing and my ex-brother and sister-in-law got to prepping the house for their daughter's b-day party. And then the family started arriving and the teasing started and everybody was sprawled all over the house. It almost felt like the old times, before the divorce and before Nana became really sick. We ate dinner and had cake and sang happy birthday to the birthday girl and then it was time for me and the boys to hit the road. The Bug already had fallen asleep in a Lazy-Boy and I could see the tiredness in Garrett's eyes.
About 5 miles down the road, I noticed that Garrett was awfully quiet and I asked him if he was OK. That's when I heard the sniffling. Garrett doesn't cry often and so this was big. He admitted that he'd had a difficult time without Nana being there. He said it just didn't feel right being at a family celebration without Nana. And that turned the light bulb on in my head. Up 'til then, I hadn't known what was nagging at me during the weekend. However, Garrett's comments immediately brought into focus what I had been feeling.
I realized that the rest of the family has had time to deal with missing Nana. They have lived it every day since April ... they've moved about in the house she so wonderfully ran and have incorporated new rhythms into their lives without Nana. Prior to visiting this weekend, Garrett and I hadn't had that opportunity. While the Bug is too young to have known his Nana very well, Garrett had a very special bond with her. For 6 years, he was the family's only grandchild and he had developed a special bond with her. And for myself, my ex-mother-in-law became someone very special to me during the last three years after the divorce. And so, while we didn't know it heading up there on Saturday, for two of us, this weekend turned out to be a time to grieve and to learn a new reality. No longer when we visit, will Nana be there.
It was a long car ride back to Moorhead for Garrett and I. We attempted to talk about this or that, but there was a prevailing sorrow that hung in the air. Neither of really rebounded until we hit town.
I hope the next vitsit home is a little easier.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/10/2008 at 2:22 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink
Technical issues solved ... hopefully
My apologies to those who most recently discovered that my blog type was appearing about the size of the type on the bottom of legal forms. You know that stuff that is generally pretty important, but no one ever reads. I started getting comments about the type size last week and unfortunately in the election hangover days, I never got the chance to deal with it.
Unfortunately, the type size wasn't a planned change. The areavoices.com site seemed to have made the decision for me. It didn't matter that I was writing in my normal font style and size, it still appeared in a size that would have been suitable for Minnesota's mosquito population. And then I returned from being out of town this weekend to find that the problem persisted ... but not on every blog post mind you, just on random ones, just enough to drive a person insane.
While this morning, I don't have any answers, I've determined that at least I can cheat the system. And so I went back to fix the posts that appeared in mini-mini size. Let's see if those of you who couldn't read the previous posts for molecule-sized people can now see them.
That's the problem with being someone who is comfortable at using technology, but completely incapable of fixing technological issues. Despite what the techies tell me, I'm completely convinced that gremlins exist and that periodically they invade my computer. The techies, of course, tell me they are certain there are no mythological creatures that haunt gadgets and them wreck them when you most need them. I disagree ... I firmly believe that gremlins exist and I hope that is the explanation to my font style problems. Maybe they'll move on to bother someone else's computer.
Posted by: Devlyn Brooks on 11/10/2008 at 8:42 AM | Comments (2) | Permalink
