Spending ten cumulative hours in the car, followed by a night and morning of having to behave in a hotel room is quite an accomplishment for three wild savages. Have no doubt, there have been numerous infractions and ‘moments’ with which we’ve had to deal, but, overall, they’ve done pretty well. Considering the whole family’s irritability after a trip like that, including a stop at the mall to check EVERY store for the disturbingly elusive boys’ brown dress shoes, it’s a miracle we made it through the day without blood.
I, of course, am using this time to catch up on my journaling, as it’s been sorely neglected. A swim would be nice, but I didn’t sleep uncomfortably in my rollers all night to drown my coif now! Actually, I haven’t taken the rollers out yet, since I’ve been ironing all morning, so I just wrapped my head in a scarf. Jake, my most candid, cynical child, tried to boost my self-confidence as I attempted to make the best of my look before leaving the room, and said, “Well, at least you know no men will be looking at you! It’s okay, you can just be like those Muslim women… your hair is just for your husband!” And all with a comforting smile. Meh.
Honey is representing us at the funeral home for the family viewing of his recently departed grandfather, the whole reason we are here in breezy Oklahoma. We figured, after yesterday’s trip, a three-hour visitation tonight, and a funeral tomorrow, the kids would do better burning off a little steam at the moment. We’ll be glad they did when they aren’t hanging from the funeral home rafters going into the third hour of visitation this evening. Oh, and we’ll take the handheld gaming situations, which, I’m convinced, the Lord gave us just for such events.
Honey’s grandfather, who lived ninety-one years at almost-full capacity, was my Rook partner. If you aren’t familiar with Rook, it’s a card game similar to Spades that, as I found when we married, can captivate whole families. They used to play it at almost every family get-together, at least when PaPa was there. The first time I played, when Honey and I were engaged, was when his grandparents were visiting, and PaPa was my partner. I bet we played three or four hours every night that week. Fifteen years later, whenever he came to town and we were both there, we were a team. We didn’t always win, but we were partners through thick and thin. We knew fairly well the way the other played, even though we only got to play a few hours annually. As the years progressed, he began to give me subtle hints when he had a good hand, like a little nudge under the table, or a wink. I tried to ignore them, as I love to win, and it’s just not the same when it’s not completely fair. He loved to win, too, though, and I think he just decided that a man of his age, with all the years of Rook playing he had under his belt, had a right to a little nudging and winking. By the last time we played, which was probably a year or so ago, he wasn’t very far from just showing me the cards! And he didn’t have time for table talk… he wanted the cards moving. It was so funny! I will never play a game of Rook again without thinking of my most-cherished partner, who taught a young, non-strategically-minded girl how to play cards with some SERIOUS family members, which, aside from being fun and allowing me to beat my husband often, actually did so much to establish many relationships in my new family. There’s just nothing like beating, I mean, competing with people in an intimate, late-night setting that endears you to one another. And it did, indeed, endear him to me. That, however, doesn’t hold a candle to the legacy he left as a kind, strong Christian man, faithful and active in the Lord’s Church. While I will always remember him with ‘the bird’ in his hand (the Rook card is a crow), the Bible in his hand and heart is the real gift he left for us, and I, among many others, will miss him.
So many emotional things going on around here lately… makes a girl have to go out and buy waterproof mascara! Literally… I could have my own show on tv, with the kind of Tammy Faye streaks my wonderful all-natural mascara leaves. And I do love that mascara. (Here it is if you’re interested… no chemicals, smells divine, but they don’t make waterproof.)
Look at that, folks, she can go from a heavy subject to a cosmetic plug all in one breath. Talented? Bi-polar? Good at ignoring grief and frustration with the old distraction trick? Survey says… most definitely the latter. Does that sometimes come back to bite her with an emotional breakdown that could wash away all the mascara in the state of Texas? For sure. But, getting it all out in a couple of hours is much more time and energy efficient. Moving on.
Before I forget, Honey informed me that my last entry was a little, well, disturbing. ‘Creepy,’ I think he said. Please be assured that the neck nibbling incident was nothing more than a mommy’s normal enjoyment of her baby’s sweet neck skin that gave him tickle shivers. It just happened to turn into a funny dialogue opportunity. Sorry if it came across a little weird. Not that I’m claiming we’re not weird, but we’re not that kind of weird. Case closed.
Okay, the noise from the fountain echoing in this humid, chlorine-filled room is getting a little overwhelming. Besides, I think they’ve absorbed enough bleach for today, and their lips are dark blue… Wow, it’s more of a violet. Kind of cool. We are heading back to the room resume the three-day Animal Planet marathon. Ugh, Animal Cops: Houston… just another reason for that waterproof mascara.
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