When I was younger I always looked forward to Sunday mornings. That was the day of the week that Dad would empty his pockets of change and send Erica and I to DairyMart to pick up the Sunday paper. My sister and I would take out the amount needed for the paper and set it aside and then count up the remaining change and divide it as equally as we could. Off we would go down the street, down through the trailer courts and across the metal bridge that went over the creek to snag some candy for breakfast.
I used to think that my parents were the most awesome ever because they let us eat candy on Sunday mornings…but now I realize that they were bribing us to have an hour or so to themselves ( don’t worry, I still think you are awesome…and what a brilliant idea, by the way! ) but we thought that we were the biggest kids in the neighborhood and we loved it.
Our candy was given to us in a little paper bag and my sister and I would buy things that we knew that we were not allowed to have. Oh how we loved buying up boxes of candy cigarettes and BIG CHEW bubble gum…hardly able to stand the wait to get to our favorite spot ( the metal bridge ) to scarf it all down quickly before we got back home. I recall fondly the time that my sister and I spent, legs dangling over the rusty edge of that bridge, talking about everything and filling our cheeks with grape “chew” and then spitting it out into the creek as soon as the flavor departed.
These days, our Sunday mornings have not been as meaningful as I would like them to be. Fear of illness keeps me from taking the baby to church and I miss the fellowship so much. I loved the routine of getting up and getting ready for church…shaking hands with the greeters as we entered the building…the smell of church…that indescribable scent of wood polish and worshipful hearts…the smiles of friends genuinely glad to see us…singing praises to the Lord and then sitting and waiting for the passionate message from Pastor John. I miss all of that terribly. I need to spend more time in prayer asking God to ease my anxiety about large gatherings/germs/public places…and trust that He would protect Little C from anything contagious so that our family can enjoy the beauty of what Sunday mornings should be.
For now, Sunday mornings are pretty low-key and certainly nothing horrible. A pot of coffee brewing while the bigger boys sleep warmly in bed…the baby playing happily at my feet…sitting on the couch and looking down at the same Sunday paper that my sister and I used to walk a few miles to retrieve for the price of some banned candy products and a thankful heart.
The day after a hospitalization always feels like a birthday. The joy of having Corrigan feeling better is overwhelming it just feels like we should be celebrating and I love to watch Mark and Connor going about their day, delighting in the way that they talk to each other in video game language that I will never understand, not letting any stray dog hairs ruin my mood, so happy to be home and have some laundry to finish up…and knowing that for at least ONE day…24 hours…the chances of Corrigan becoming hyperammonemic is highly improbable. I feel like the day after Hopkins is a day that I can let down my guard….
uh, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty
Somebody “borrowed” my coupons this morning. I am not sure who but I know that someone is sitting there looking a bit snagged. “What?!?!?!?! me?!?!?!?! what did I do?” (Oh, any advice on how to remove the sticky gunk that is left on his chest from the leads at the hospital( those rings/circles in the photo) ? I hate to scrub hard when I know his poor skin is so tender and sensitive from the glue…the hospital has these wipes but honest to goodness it smells just like lighter fluid and I am not putting that on his baby skin)
Well, he was already in the middle of it so I asked him to clip a few for me
He is really not good with scissors yet so he just shook some loose for me.
After several days of one-on-one mommy time I get nary a moment to myself…I managed to fire off maybe 5 shots and he quickly crawled over to snag me, whining “mmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm” (his way of saying “mama” when he is whining ) and then grabbing on for dear life because heaven only knows if Mama steps away for five minutes he might melt or something.
Gah, look at that face…it’s Mama that does the melting when she sees that look.
Sunday mornings…not that bad after all…but will get better soon. Soon. Someone grab me the hand sanitzer, would ya?