Dear old Simon got some QT with his Pops this weekend when my parents came to visit us. It was great to have extra hands to help us out. We are all still coming down from the high of having YaYa and Pops around to laugh, play and eat cake with us.
While here, my Dad celebrated his 68th birthday. It's so hard to believe he's 68. I remember when he turned 40. He has the same sense of humor and the same self-effacing manner. And, as always, he's Texas to the core. Not many men strolling through Millenium Park with a cowboy hat on, but my dad did. He's the real deal.
I did have a moment when I thought I should take stock and recognize that my dad isn't the spry 40 year old he was 28 years ago. When he insisted that he take a turn riding in the back of our mini-van I was on hand to help him exit the van once we reached our destination. Maybe it was the hat, but he seemed a little less agile than he used to be. Granted, he had to navigate two car seats, thousands of Cheerios and cracker crumbs and try to exit gracefully on the street side ... all while keeping his hat on. This isn't easy for anyone, but I did find my self gulping down a little fear and sadness about the passage of time.
And that's all I will say about for now. Because if I keep going I am going to start crying and feeling sad and scared and then feeling old and thinking about all the things in the world that are sad to me right now, including the death of Steve Jobs (actually, terminal cancer is what is really sad to me), Tay Sachs disease, menopause, lost time, mastitis and impending winter darkness. I can't cry right now because downstairs waiting for me and Jeff is a pot of dal I made today that is rumored to taste delicious and I don't want to ruin it with my salty, morose tears. After dinner I will cry into my apple crisp after watching Dancing with the Stars results show and then I will take my antidepressant and plan a future visit to Texas so we can all spend as much time together as possible while everyone is alive and well.
(I swear I have tried to brush Simon's hair to the side. Not happening. I can't tame my children's hair. Sue me.)