Tentacles: A Photo Essay

Grief is, as I've said before, an odd beast, that travels in drunken, staggering lines and weaves its tentacles into odd places in life, popping up at the most unexpected moments. For reasons I have not been able to determine, this week it has hovered dangerously close to the surface, leaving me teetering on the edge of tears on a near-constant basis.

I miss my dad.

A lot.

No amount of chocolate or french fries can fix it.

I miss my dad.

So, indulge me for a few minutes while I share some of my favorite memories.

Dad's 70th, making s'mores in his birthday firepit.

Mom & Dad with all the grandies (at that time)

That's Dad there on the right (thanks to DM, to his left, for this pic).
Dad loved to sing with the choir.

Middle, peering into The Crystal Bald.

Dad with his 2E buddies (from the choir's select group).
Handsome guys, right? (I love that tie.) Another one from DM.

Dad as a boy. Isn't he cute?
No, I don't remember back this far.

Dad would often lay in bed and pretend to be asleep,
just so the girls would come wake him up with a zillion smooches.

Dad and me, on my wedding day.

Dad as a young man. Handsome dude, he was.

Middle discovers Boppa's sweater has buttons.

Middle learns the art of combing Boppa's hair.

"Take a picture of me and my girls. Now make sure you send that to me!"

2010, when we all went to Florida together.

With Youngest.

Another from Dad's 70th. That was my gift to him that year.
Of course he went and put it on right away.

Dressed up as The Evil Queen. (You had to be there.)

Boppa was given Duckie for safekeeping.

Taking selfies with Boppa!

Dad really was such a good sport.

Yes, he's wearing a (clean) Pull-up for a hat.
I got in so much trouble for taking this.

Gotta love a guy who will let his granddaughters dress him up in pom-poms.

And boas.

Boppa makes a good slide!

See?

That flip-out LCD on Boppa's camera is so cool.

What we do while we're waiting for the twins' birthday party to start...

I just love the abject glee on both their faces here.

Buddies.

Also during our 2010 trip. Youngest got fed up with the splash park.

A bald Poppa is a good foundation.

Come on, Boppa!

Story time.

Mom specifically requested that the Play-Doh pictures be in the slideshow for Dad's memorial service.

I think Youngest wouldn't go to the water's edge without Dad.

Another of the Play-Doh pictures. Anything is a blank slate to an artist...

Together.

I think this is when he realized I was "documenting."

Her grandpa is not only rockin', as her shirt says.
He's also pretty silly. She comes by it honestly.

Boppa, help!

Reading a favorite.

Of course, he had to get a picture with the twins wearing these shirts.

The hat lights up, folks. It lights up.

Hat heads.

Middle needed a moment at a splash park. Boppa was good for those times.

Dr. Oldest gives Boppa a checkup.

We gave Dad this blanket for Christmas one year. I have it now.

The hat lights up. Along the letters, yes. I have the hat, too.

I forget what year this was, but it was shortly after Christmas one year,
and we were out at Mom & Dad's. Dad fell asleep on the couch,
and one of the girls covered him with the blanket
and then tucked LarryBoy in next to him so he wouldn't be alone.

These two. So silly together.

This was Dad's birthday, and right before Middle and Oldest helped him
by blowing out the candle before he could.

Oldest, showing off my sandals. I don't know why.

Waiting to ride the Easter train.

Looking at train stuff.

I am not sure why Middle grabbed Dad's ear with her toes, other than that she could.

Dad was pretending to "cut" her toes with that toy straightener,
and Middle was squealing with delight. What a night.

Wearing a Duplo block. Left there by a granddaughter, no doubt.

Puzzlin'.

Together.

Storytime again.

The kids gave him this book for Christmas one year.

One of few normal-ish pictures of Dad and Middle.

Dad and Youngest.

Dad and Oldest. He looks like he's keeping a secret. She looks like she's gone off the deep end.

Bedtime story.

Boppa makes funny noises!

And funny faces!

Oldest sharing some of her strawberry shortcake with Dad (it was his birthday).

Dad loved the BBC's "Top Gear," so we made him this shirt one year
for his birthday. The girls' shirts all say "STIGLET." He loved it.

Bedtime snuggles.

Back when the girls first came to live with us,
and Youngest still was so unsure of things.

At the Smithsonian National Zoo, and Youngest was a little cranky. Until Boppa got her.

"I'm following The Toucher."

Oldest's birthday. Already high on sugar, and hadn't even had cake yet.

I love this purple-lips picture. (Her Tangled cake had purple icing on it...)

Another one I'm pretty sure I got in trouble for. But if he's gonna wear 'em...

Christmas in February. These two.

Smooches!

Dad and the girls at our vacation rental home in Ocean City, MD, a few years back.

Dad and the girls, on Easter Sunday, several years ago.

The girls decided to bury Hubby in the sand. Dad decided to help.

♫ Ring around the roooooosie... ♪

Mom and Dad treated us to Sweet Frog right before they went to FL
in January 2015. This bit of magic happened.

And then this, which became Dad's final Facebook profile picture.
It's now my cover photo.

Further "Evedence"

I was the recipient of a blitzkrieg-hug this morning from Middle, before I'd had a chance to fully wake up. I wasn't quite sure what I'd done to deserve it when she squeezed and said, "What you wrote helped, Mommy."

Oh. Okay. I'm with you now, kiddo.

"I'm glad, sweetie."

I slowly meandered down to the kitchen and debated breakfast ideas for myself. Oldest bundled up and headed out to the bus stop. Miracle of miracles, she closed the back door behind her.

Middle, meanwhile, informed me that Kimo had been waiting in her bedroom this morning when she woke up. Middle was delighted by this.

I was dicing potatoes for home fries when Middle piped up from where she sat, watching over her feline best bud as Kimo ate. "Mom, have you ever thought about brushing the kitties' teeth?"

My mind flashed back to our old vet in Darn-near-smack-dab-middle, Ohio, who had basically retired

Full of sass.

from retirement and ran his own clinic on a side street where you wouldn't expect to find a veterinary office. He was good, he was cheap, and he had absolutely no bedside manner. (I loved him.) I had taken Popoki in for a checkup, and he said he wanted to check her teeth to see if he could clean them without any issues. She nearly took a chunk out of his thumb, he announced he'd have to sedate her for a dental cleaning, and I'm pretty sure he charged me an extra $5 for Po's sass.

"Yes," I said, "our old vet back in Ohio once talked about cleaning Po's teeth, but he said he'd have to sedate her for that, so I never worried about it again."

This, of course, led to a discussion about what sedating meant.

"So it's like when I had my surgery," Youngest said, referencing her tonsillectomy.

"Exactly like that," I agreed.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

Then...

"I brushed Kimo's teeth with water. I used an old toothbrush, not one of my sisters', but an extra one, because we've got extras, and I brushed her teeth in my bed. She didn't mind."

I'm amazed my chin didn't hit the floor.

Middle delivered this so nonchalantly, too.

As if we needed more "evedence"...

When Your 9-Year-Old Uses Big Words

Middle came up to me tonight after getting ready for bed, handing me her letter journal.

Hand-delivery. That meant a big question, an important question, one that she didn't want to have put off.

I was a little afraid to open it, I tell you.

This is what I found:

We're still working on verb tenses...

If only all my problems were this easy to address.

Now, Wednesday nights are chaotic, so the kids grabbed dinner for themselves before I ran them over to church and then scooted up to the grocery store for a couple of things. Now that we were all back home, I was finally getting myself something to eat, so Hubby was tucking them in.

Middle hesitated before heading upstairs with everyone. "Mommy? Will you...can you answer that by morning?"

"Yes, honey," I reassured her. "I'll answer it tonight. You can read it in the morning."

As they all tromped upstairs, I was struck by three thoughts:

• Only Middle would demand "evedence."
• I wish my dad was still here, because he would have loved this story.
• I wish I could hear my dad laugh one more time, because he would have let out a good one over the "evedence."

This led to me humming a very silly song from an old episode of M*A*S*H, where Hawkeye sings about wishing there was a way to communicate with his mother up in heaven every day.

And, if you were wondering how I answered Middle's demand for evidence, this right here was a big part of it:

Kimo doesn't mind this.

And this:

And Kimo will stay tucked in like this.

Oh, yes. Kimo has chosen Middle. Of that, I have no doubt.

There had better be school tomorrow.

I'm in the kitchen, with dinner simmering, and taking a few minutes to breathe while things finish cooking. The cutting board and knife are in the dishwasher, the dishwasher is running, and my hands are clean. I figured I had about five minutes to read before dinner was ready.

Silly me.

"Mommy," Oldest said in most serious tones, "Youngest mixed water and Play-Doh and made a potion again. And she put it under her bed."

I closed my eyes briefly and counted silently to five. "Youngest!" When she appeared in the kitchen, I asked (as calmly as I could), "Did you mix water and Play-Doh again?"

"Yes," Youngest muttered, barely moving her lips.

"Go get it," I ordered firmly.

She headed upstairs and I tried to not scream. This is not the first time we've had this issue. Or the second. Or the fifth. There's a water ban for the twins' bedroom for a reason.

Oldest piped up again. "She also put in syrup."

I felt my eyes bug out.

Medium, not wanting to be left out, added, "And water from this—" she hefted the Kitty Discipline squirt bottle—"and some of this—" oh, great, the diluted conditioner for brushing out hair. Medium walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door, tugging on the pitcher of Kool Aid I'd made earlier this afternoon. "And some of the Mixed Berry Kool Aid."

Well. That's quite a potion. Youngest has never used quite so many ingredients before.

Youngest returned to the kitchen and handed me the generic Play-Doh container. I opened it—huh, pink—and cautiously gave it a sniff. Definite notes of syrup and mixed berry. "Want to tell me what else you put in here besides water?"

I watched the wheels turn as Youngest scrambled to come up with answers that wouldn't get her in trouble. Well, in more trouble.

"You might as well tell me the truth. I already know."

"Syrup. And Mixed Berry Kool Aid."

I held up the squirt bottle of diluted conditioner. "This?"

She nodded morosely.

"And water from here?"

Another nod.

"Syrup is food, and the Kool Aid is for drinking! These are not toys!" I dumped the extra fluid down the sink and pitched the contaminated Play-Doh into the trash can, and then confiscated any other Play-Doh in the twins' room, with apologies to Middle. "I'm going to have to talk with Daddy about how to deal with this, because whatever we have come up with in the past has not discouraged you from continuing to do this."

I was able to determine that Youngest was attempting to make a pretend potion. I wasn't able to determine just what she was pretending her pretend potion would do.

I am, however, now insanely curious. What was this magical concoction going to accomplish?

I'm also pretty sure there's something wrong with me.

This is the kind of day it's been.

"Mommy, I have a question for you...or two."

These words from Middle tend to strike fear into my heart, as there's no telling what she's about to ask.

"Okay..."

"Mommy, when you fart, does it come out your butt?"

"Yes..."

"And when you burp, does it come out your mouth?"

"Yes..."

"I told Youngest..."


Yep, that kind of a day.

Snow Day #2

Of this week.

On the one hand, I'm relieved, because it meant I didn't have to drive in the yuck to take Hubby to work just so that I could make sure Oldest got picked up from jump rope troupe practice this afternoon. Nor did I have to make alternate transportation arrangements.

On the other hand, well, I have to mediate disputes that start like this:

"Mommy, Youngest says the clear plastic box with the purple lid, the one that has the paper hearts, is hers, even though it's mine and has my name on it, and Youngest says she wrote 'Middle' on it because she likes to write my name on her things."

Egad.

I determined that Youngest is being weird by writing Middle's name on Youngest's belongings, and that Middle is occasionally putting her own things away in Youngest's toy bins. Thusly, I decreed that Youngest needed to stop labeling her belongings with Middle's name, and that Middle needed to stop putting her belongings away in her twin's bins, and they needed to share the paper hearts.

*gavel bangs*

So ordered.

Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel

"Did you bring her up here?"

Middle gasped in faux shock. "I would NEVER!"

Uh-huh.

Riiiiiiiiight.