Ostrich

I fell off the blogging wagon at 2:50p on Monday, April 15. I planned on posting about how lovely my weekend was, how I successfully cooked for 15-20 people for a party for a coworker and had an amazing time with work friends that I always forget are my friends, I got a haircut and took the kids to their first time at Disney Quest, got caught in the rain and made it an early quiet time home. I was going to tell you what a joy my kids are right now, how fun our weekends are and how much I look forward to going home to spend time with my family lately. I was going to tell you how that day was my anniversary, and how much I love my husband for all the things we’ve been through in six years of marriage and ten years of togetherness.

And then the bombings happened.

I rarely keep up with news. I read the occasional news website or check out our local free newspaper, but I’m just not good with keeping up to date with news. I really dislike it, truth be told. My husband reads the paper and watches the news channels all day, and if there’s something I really want to know eventually I’ll find out (Today! Trader Joe’s is coming to my town!)

When big things happen, I grasp at the news that I’m not accustomed to seeing, immerse myself in information. I want to know the facts. All the facts, but not someone’s interpretation of the facts. I stare at twitter and news websites, unable to DO anything but watch the news roll in.

Then, two days later, the Texas plant explosion. More dead, wounded, more things I can’t bury my head in the sand about. More watching, more waiting.

By Friday I couldn’t handle anymore, and so I took the weekend off. I spent another full day of Disney (Animal Kingdom AND Hollywood Studios), late night book club, Sunday morning gardening and pool time with my favorite boys. All I CAN tell you right now is that my boys are a joy. They’ve been on the low side of whine central so we all seem to be getting along well. I’ve been setting up the pool and sprinklers in the backyard every night so once S finishes his dern homework (this is our main fight, truthfully) they play in the water and C and I sit outside and talk or catch up on whatever we want to catch up on (me: twitter, him: random downloadable games). I WILL tell you how fun our weekends are and how much I look forward to going home to spend time with my family lately. I WILL tell you how that day was my anniversary, and how much I love my husband for all the things we’ve been through in six years of marriage and ten years of togetherness, good and bad.

We have a drink, I make dinner and we sit on the deck and soak up the beautiful weather and the happy kids and the fact that we’re there.

So here’s my point, in all this. 10 days is what it took me to stop dwelling on things. I will remember, and it hit me harder than I could have expected given my nature of ignoring the bad. I cannot forget. And while I think that the whole “enjoy every moment” is just pure bullshit, one moment here and there. Remember those moments. Remember the splashing and the dirt and even the play guns (I can’t escape the play guns, with no guns they resort to fingers). Remember the first time your five year old goes on Tower of Terror and begs to do it again. Remember them eating ramen by stretching out the noodles as long as their arms to slurp them down. Remember five times in three days at your favorite tea place and cats curled up on your lap. Don’t dwell on all those hard times, so many hard times and so much whining and arguing and timeouts and tantrums, fights with significant others and hard times at work. You don’t need to embrace those times. Just take a minute when things are going really well to acknowledge it, and put it in your memory bank and when terrible things happen in the world, or even to you personally, you have something to grasp onto.

You won’t need to put your head in the sand, although that’s where mine will be.