Brokeback Mama

Life is crazy. Life is unexpected. Life should be simpler.

Many of you know by now, but my back is broken. Literally broken. Two vertebrae. The bottom vertebrae that support all the others; thus, all the others are collapsing. The x-ray of my spine looks like a giant C. It was so simple to diagnose - a simple x-ray - the dinosaur of modern diagnostic testing. So simple the local docs missed it.

Sometimes parenting is like that. The simple things are so simple I sometimes miss them. Funny how a scary diagnosis from a doc makes you look at things differently. Notice things.

Pumpkin is only four but I think she understands something. In the hustle and bustle of this first morning post-diagnosis she stopped me amidst my topping-off-coffee-packing-lunch-chugging-a-protein-shake-needing-to-get-dressed frenzy and asked so sweetly, "will you snuggle with me for one minute?" How could I say no? I curled up with her on the couch, breathed in her hair, felt her inhale and exhale. I realized I won't be able to do that for some time after surgery. What if I could never do it again? Why do I ever miss these opportunities? Is there anything in this world more important.

Then, this evening after work I needed to be doing a number of other things, but somehow I found myself sitting on the floor in the midst of a hysterical game of ring around the rosie with Pumpkin and Bug that had Bug laughing so hard she could barely breathe. To think that I could have had the satisfaction of setting my coffee pot to brew at 5:30 AM and actually missed those deep, belly laughs and the utmost in joy that accompanied them.

The simple things. Those sweet angels teach me about the simple things. Every day there are lessons. Granted, sometimes (maybe most times) I miss them. I'm too busy. But there are lessons. Lessons about the world. Lessons about myself. Lessons about the women they are going to be one day.

Pumpkin is an artist. She's a brilliant mind. A storyteller. She sees the world in colors and shapes. She will sit with a coloring book for hours. Same for a library book. Even as a baby she would point and describe. Her little soul is deep and sometimes brooding. She hates goodbyes. She doesn't care how others feel. Her emotions are often more than she can deal with but she doesn't hide them. She doesn't ever miss the opportunity to see something; to take things in; to know the intimate details of them and weave those details into a lively, animated tale.

Bug, on the other hand, is a lover and a jokester. She sees the world in relation to the people she loves. When she sees a white truck, it's "da-da" or "pop-pop." A Ford Explorer, "mama, mama, mama." She is constantly pointing and relating things to the people in her life. She is also constantly trying to find a way to make those people laugh. She's the clown. She is sensitive to other people's feelings. She is always trying to make others happy. She can fall head first off of a piece of furniture and she'll get up and smile; but if she upsets someone, she's hysterical. She stays tuned in to those around her.

Both of my sweet girls remind me to stop and smell the roses, or see the colors, or make my loved ones smile. I don't want to miss a thing - not one fine detail, not one chance to snuggle, or play, or learn from them. We will be apart too soon and I vow not to regret the amazing chance I have now, today, and every day I am blessed enough to wake up and see their beautiful faces.