Suzy Q Homemaker

My wonderfully hilarious  midwife made this. The best line is the comeback to the frequently asked question “You do know what causes that, right?”

The last time we had family portraits done was when Simon was eight months old.  Eight months!  He’ll be four in May, so…yeah.  I sought out a local photographer who was looking to expand her portfolio and she offered to do the session for free.  We paid for the digital copies, but I think it was worth it not to have to go to a studio and risk major meltdowns from one or all of the children.  Overall, I like the photos (there are 30 in all).  I learned from a friend of mine, though, that we really should have done the shoot later in the day when the sun wasn’t so bright.  I’m considering a reshoot of just the boys together so I can get at least one portrait of them without Aiden making this face:

At least we got one good shot of all of us together.  What you can’t see in this photo is Jamie’s mom standing there yelling, “DON’T YOU CALL ME A MONKEY BUTT!”

An excerpt from my personal diary three years ago:

I tried memorizing every detail of these past few days, from the moment we got in the van to drive to Atlanta up until now. I memorized the way I felt when Scriabin was playing, a sombre piece as we turned into the parking deck at Emory. I memorized the silence that fell over us as the hospital buildings towered over us and I turned down the stereo. I memorized the smell of the parking deck elevator, a used car or a repair shop. I memorized the walk from the van to the 5th floor ICU, the orchids in the lobby, the numbness that took over as we approached the waiting area we carved out in the hallway with extra chairs.

I memorized all these things, but I don’t think I needed to try.

I won’t forget the way she cried. We were playing cards in the other waiting room and a single sob came from the hallway. It was late Thursday night, and my heart fell into the pit of my stomach. Jamie got up to check on things, then his brother, then his brother’s wife. Simon was asleep on the floor next to me and I waited for them to come back.

She had just had a moment. A break in her strength. She’d been at the hospital for days and just couldn’t stand it anymore. The waiting, the watching, the listening.

But we were all there. Every cousin who could come, every friend, we were all there to hold her up. To make sure she had a shoulder to cry on. To make sure she was never alone. They told stories late into the night to help us laugh away the pain. We all slept on and off, curling up on the floor, slumping in the chairs. I don’t think she slept.

I ate breakfast with her and a few others Friday morning. After breakfast, we went back upstairs to wait some more. The doctors were still doing their report.

I wish I could erase the images of him lying there and replace them with the ones that make me smile. I don’t want to remember the way his mouth opened and closed like a fish when the paralytic started to wear off. I don’t want to remember how swollen he was, even if it was funny that he would have been proud he didn’t have chicken legs anymore. I don’t want to remember the way she draped herself over him and sobbed, “Oh darlin’,” into the ice blanket that was supposed to keep his fever down. I don’t want to remember the color of his face as his heart slowed down.

I know it’ll start to fade.

I just don’t know how soon.

From Aiden’s scrapbook:

Timothy didn’t fall asleep until after midnight.  As a result, I had a hard time falling asleep myself and couldn’t even concentrate on the book I was reading.   When I looked at my snuggle buddies, it amazed me how much Timothy looks like Jamie.  All the boys look like Jamie, but more so when they are tiny.

I pulled out my old copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends and Corey read to Aiden for at least half an hour.

Meanwhile, Simon was reading some poems to me.