Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Coldest Day of the Year

It's bitterly cold in Virginia today, the first Sunday of the new year, below freezing with great blustering winds. (I like that word, "blustering.") Just walking to the car is misery, there's no chance in hell that the kids will be outside today on bikes or scooters, which means it's going to make for a long day for Mommy, Daddy, and YaYa unless we figure out a way to burn some energy off of the minions.

I remember well the first Sunday of the new year last year, another incredibly, painfully, blisteringly cold day. Late in the afternoon, we had taken the kids and gone to the grocery store to restock from having been in TN for the holidays. I remember fighting the crowds, and B taking the kids to the car while I waited in the checkout line. I remember pushing the cart full of bags through the parking lot, and swearing under my breath at the wind. I remember reaching the car to find B answering his phone (I hadn't heard mine ringing and had missed the call), watching his face crumple as he spoke to my brother, the stab of panic I felt, and then the total confusion as Bellamy turned away from us into the darkness and vomited in the parking lot (thankfully unrelated--the kid has a curry allergy and had unknowingly ingested curry earlier in the day via a fancy grilled cheese sandwich at a brunch with her Suffolk grandparents). I remember talking to my Dad and asking him to wait for me. This was the beginning of the end.

Obviously, this isn't a happy blog. But part of the purpose of this blog is to say what I'm thinking, and today, this is what I'm thinking--that I know exactly what I was doing a year ago today, and it wasn't fun. Damn you, memory.

My New Year is going to start on Thursday, after I've crossed the finish line of the First Year Without Dad. I don't know if I'm going to feel better or worse on that day, but I'm rallying for better. Dad would want me to feel better, no question about that, but Dad knows that I didn't always listen to him (even when I should have). He's probably somewhere shaking his head at me now, wondering when in the hell I'm going to quit being so damn stubborn.

Sometimes I wonder the same thing, Dad.

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