Number Nine. Number Nine. Number Nine.

18 11 2012

Someone had a birthday yesterday.

She got the special baby doll she wanted.

And she also got the chocolate cake she wanted.

Sure love this girl and the light she brings into my life!

Happy birthday, Rainbow!





R.I.P. Stinky

11 11 2012

The other night I took the kids to our monthly potluck at the church. We got there a little late, and I was tired. You know, the usual. I ate my food, and then ended up eating Colby’s food, too, because it’s different food than what we have at home so he won’t eat it. (Again, the usual.) I saw a lot of people I thought I should go and talk to, since our ward boundaries were just changed, but I was feeling pretty lethargic. So I looked around and tried to remember people’s names, when my friend came up and said, “I think your car might have been broken into.”

Seriously? My Kia is kursed.

I took the time to deposit my paper plate in the trash can before I took a deep breath and went out to the parking lot.

There was glass everywhere. I groaned a little bit. The driver’s door was open, and only the one window broken, but it wasn’t a carefully executed crime. Hasty, if you know what I mean. The car parked next to mine had its window shattered as well. In fact, that’s probably why mine got hit in the first place: it was conveniently located next to a big Expedition. Because I ask you: who breaks into a Kia?

A girl that noticed the break-ins first had called 9-1-1. I took the phone that she handed me and talked to the dispatcher as I looked inside my minivan. The bag in the front seat was gone.

She was giving me instructions, telling me what website to go to to file a police report, but I was terribly distracted.

The bag in the front seat was gone.

I handed the phone over to the Expedition owner and started to shake.

There was an iPad in that bag. And Colby’s backpack (yes, the one he wears to bed every night) that had his kindergarten notebook inside, charting his daily progress so far this year, noting the first time he answered a question asked to the entire class (hasn’t happened since, I don’t think). But the thing that made me feel like I’d been dunked in ice water was when I realized Colby’s dolphins were in that bag.

He had three dolphins that were identical. One, for some reason, was superior. Consequently, it was also the most chewed on, rubbed, and loved.

This extra-special dolphin was dubbed “Stinky,” because he really was. We took him camping,

to the zoo,

and to concerts and dance recitals. Any place that was weird, Stinky came with us to give us an island of normal amid the strangeness. If Colby could just suck on Stinky’s tail for a few seconds, we could avoid some meltdowns. If Colby could smell Stinky and give him Eskimo kisses, he could calm down faster. If Colby could play with the stuffing poking out of Stinky’s side, he had something to focus on.

I’m not gonna lie: Stinky made life easier.

So as I tried to assimilate that my car had been broken into and what I needed to do to get it repaired, my heart was wailing, “Oh, my sweet baby! What will he do without his Stinky?”

The hardest part for me is knowing the thieves glanced at those dolphins and saw a bunch of ratty stuffed animals: nothing of worth.

And they threw them away.

My sweet boy, who deals in the concrete, has no concept of the word “forever.” But my heart aches when he goes to bed at night, crying a little, and saying, “Dolphins all gone. All gone dolphins.”

I don’t care about the iPad. I honestly don’t. I’ve even been able to doctor up a backpack so that it is a fair exchange for his old one (although he hasn’t asked to wear this one to bed). But it really burns me up that my son’s best friend was stolen, and most likely discarded.

Because even though to most people Stinky was worthless, to us he is irreplaceable.





Oops

5 11 2012

 

We missed the bus this morning. We were running down the street to the bus stop when it passed by. Colby saw it, and wept. “No bus. No bus. Bus on Tuesday. Bus tomorrow.”

I took him to school, thinking he would enjoy running around the playground in the extra minutes before school started.

Nope.

Even though the playground is one of his favorite places ever, he wanted to go and stand by the wall (which is what he does every morning when he gets off the bus).

So we did.

Hopefully the change in his routine isn’t a deal-breaker today.