Bernadette, how wonderful!
Here's the scene in Bellevue, Wa . . .
I'm trying to get our wash done--mine and Bruce's, I mean, because the girls have long since preferred to do their own. My method is to do all the sorting and folding up in the living room where the tree is glowing with those old-timey colored lights. Also that's where TIVO keeps all the shows we love on tap for the odd moment when we have time to watch them.
While I sorted wash, I saw Bill Kristol on the Daily Show. While I folded the first dry load, I saw some of Deepak Chopra on Stephen Colbert. Our 16-year-old left a little while ago with my debit card and the keys to the Honda in her hands. Our college student is home for three weeks--at this moment she's in the kitchen with her boyfriend sneaking snuggling sessions while her laptop provides background music. I'm pretending not to notice.
She's the one who was determined to hold on to Santa for as long as she possibly could. She makes sure we do the traditional things, like listen to cheesy songs while putting the ornaments on the tree and choosing names for Santa presents . . . after she learned the truth about Santa, she insisted that we be Santa to one another. We have this ridiculous ceremony every December in which the 4 of us choose names from a hat, trying not to get our own. It always takes 2 or 3 draws to work, and this year I got her.
I bought her an extremely soft red sweater and some extremely soft and fluffy socks to put in her stocking. Dear Emily! I can tolerate her boyfriend because he seems so devoted to her. She finished her 1st quarter of college with a B average and lots of determination to do better next time.
Bruce is downstairs; a month or so ago he reclaimed his old office/art space for the first time since his injury in March of 2001. I wish I could say he's painting, but he's actually working on a project for his job. The injury took out his drawing/painting hand . . . he's only tried a few drawings with his other hand.
I miss the artist. It's funny--he's not himself unless he's being physcal and being a tech geek and being a dad and doing art. Those things are him. He sitskis, he handcycles, he does his suspended gait training and he rides the e-stim bike. He works in high tech again. He helps Heather with her chemistry and goes to her soccer games. He's the guy who spent every single evening for years and years reading to his daughters--ah, so many great books the three of them heard together.
I've been looking for what to give this man for Christmas. It couldn't be near enough.
Here's the scene in Bellevue, Wa . . .
I'm trying to get our wash done--mine and Bruce's, I mean, because the girls have long since preferred to do their own. My method is to do all the sorting and folding up in the living room where the tree is glowing with those old-timey colored lights. Also that's where TIVO keeps all the shows we love on tap for the odd moment when we have time to watch them.
While I sorted wash, I saw Bill Kristol on the Daily Show. While I folded the first dry load, I saw some of Deepak Chopra on Stephen Colbert. Our 16-year-old left a little while ago with my debit card and the keys to the Honda in her hands. Our college student is home for three weeks--at this moment she's in the kitchen with her boyfriend sneaking snuggling sessions while her laptop provides background music. I'm pretending not to notice.
She's the one who was determined to hold on to Santa for as long as she possibly could. She makes sure we do the traditional things, like listen to cheesy songs while putting the ornaments on the tree and choosing names for Santa presents . . . after she learned the truth about Santa, she insisted that we be Santa to one another. We have this ridiculous ceremony every December in which the 4 of us choose names from a hat, trying not to get our own. It always takes 2 or 3 draws to work, and this year I got her.
I bought her an extremely soft red sweater and some extremely soft and fluffy socks to put in her stocking. Dear Emily! I can tolerate her boyfriend because he seems so devoted to her. She finished her 1st quarter of college with a B average and lots of determination to do better next time.
Bruce is downstairs; a month or so ago he reclaimed his old office/art space for the first time since his injury in March of 2001. I wish I could say he's painting, but he's actually working on a project for his job. The injury took out his drawing/painting hand . . . he's only tried a few drawings with his other hand.
I miss the artist. It's funny--he's not himself unless he's being physcal and being a tech geek and being a dad and doing art. Those things are him. He sitskis, he handcycles, he does his suspended gait training and he rides the e-stim bike. He works in high tech again. He helps Heather with her chemistry and goes to her soccer games. He's the guy who spent every single evening for years and years reading to his daughters--ah, so many great books the three of them heard together.
I've been looking for what to give this man for Christmas. It couldn't be near enough.
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