All four eyes on you

Well, it was bound to happen. Geddy and I both needed corrective lenses beginning in our young teen years, so we started taking the children for annual eye exams when Larry was 11. Oddly enough, it is Moe that first needs glasses. Odder still, he's not even nearsighted like his dad and me but needs them for schoolwork, reading and computer work. They're adorable and he's very happy because he thinks he looks like Dad in them.

Larry is on a tear with the drums right now. It is absolutely incredible to see this child I carried inside me do amazing things I never could dream of doing. I always thought I'd be sadder to watch him grow into a young man, but he is just so interesting as a person separate from me and I so much enjoy learning with and from him that I forget to miss him as a baby. He wants to chase tornadoes and play drums in a Christian band and engineer warning sirens and make movies -- to watch the world unfold in front of his eyes is a gift. (That, and no messy nappies.)

Miss Curly Sue had a week she'd rather forget. G took the children to the lake to play last weekend and was teaching her to shell sunflower seeds in her mouth like a baseball player, only one went down her throat sideways and -- we thought -- scratched enough to make her throat sore. All three children came home to me full of stories about the fantastic hill down which they rolled repeatedly, but no one noticed the spider Curly rolled over on one of her trips down. Clearly offended, said spider took a bite at Curly's arm and left a nasty abcess.

Curly griped about her throat until I took a peek and discovered that the sunflower seed shell never made it down and instead was lodged firmly in her right tonsil. New doctor, awkward explanation of odd injuries, prodding and gagging, 10-day antibiotic...you get the picture. She's definitely off sunflower seeds now.

Today's lovely fall day that we spent picnicking, playing soccer and baseball, exploring and rolling down hills, almost made up for our aborted plans two weeks ago. G took three days off, the first to accompany us on a field trip and the others to visit his dad and drive up to a little alpine village in north Georgia. Pop's lady friend cooked us a tasty lunch, and we got ready to follow them to the village. I realized I'd had a grumpy headache most of the day, so I thought I'd swallow a couple of ibuprofen pills to ward off anything nastier.

It was too late. We'd only been in the car 10 minutes when we had to pull over because a migraine had taken hold and nausea was setting in. We made it the other 20 minutes, parked by the river and prayed the Advil would hold.

It didn't.

I sent the lot out into the village while I tried to tame my head with fresh air and a nap in the van, but they had only been out of sight five minutes when I lost my lunch and Advil plus some right there on the riverbank. It figures. I'd been wanting to visit and show the children the town for six months, and it was a perfect autumn day, and I was barfing all over the bushes. We had planned to stay overnight and mosey our way home Halloween afternoon in time for the festivities, but instead I wound up in a walk-in clinic for a phenergan injection so I could get home to my own bed, where I stayed three days. I missed trick-or-treating with the children and didn't even get to see them dressed up.

That was only my second migraine, but I remember my mom having awful "sick headaches" and my grandmother has told me she had headaches so bad she prayed to die. Wonderful. Next thing you know, I'll be having my bladder tacked up as well.

....

Last Thursday was the anniversary of my brother Ben's death in a car wreck. My parents, brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews gathered at his grave Saturday afternoon to remember him with stories about his life, a song Bubby wrote, and some messages we wanted him to hear. It was beautiful and painful. Afterward, we had a bonfire at my parents' and missed him some more, even as we were all enjoying being together. After a whole year, I still can't get out of the habit of looking around for him at family gatherings or look for his number on Caller ID or e-mail him something interesting. The grief has turned into something duller but ever-present, like a pulled muscle that pains sharply with a sudden turn of my head. Still, we are the same old clan -- loud, loving, emotional -- that we have always been, just with a gaping hole in our midst.