36

    The obligatory after birthday reflection post is here. Another year. Thirty-six. 36. Last year, at 35, my only complaint was how unappealing the look of 35 had. This year, I've no complaints, 36 is such a round looking number much more aesthetically pleasing than 35. Needless to say, age rarely bothers me. The husband glibly reminded me that I'm closer to forty, but then 40 looks pretty, too. I must have a thing for even numbers, which will work out quite well in the long run.
    The greatest upsets of my life happened at thirty-four and thirty-five; the changes were enormous, the stresses left me gasping for breath, and more tears have flowed from the events of those years than ever before. It's not a comforting existence spending months waiting for the other shoe to drop, that next bad thing to happen. I've a whole list of bad things that paced themselves every couple of weeks to every month for roughly sixteen months. These months had their joys, but the hard things were glaring and quick as a stab to the heart. For the first time in my life I became intimately acquainted with panic attacks, specifically with the fiasco of a frozen house and the dealings with an insurance company, the move to Arkansas, the vandalism to the PA house, the financial insecurity of two mortgages, and a buyer/renter who turned out to be the wicked step sister of Cruella DeVille. I'm fond of saying "I live a fabulous life" and that "It makes for a good story." This is the Reader's Digest Version, the unabridged version will appear someday in an autobiography of how life was calling the shots faster than I could comprehend and react. It's a strange sense of being drug along, helpless, somewhat like drowning, everything completely out of your hands and relentless.
    Life has always been a simple matter of dealing with the next thing for me. It worked well for a good portion of those sixteen months, but the next thing started coming in multiples and very little was done to keep up with the emotions of all the chaos. I hit the wall too many times. It's taken a while to ease back into a sense of normalcy (for me, because you know I'm as unorthodox as they come). I feel the stress finally got to my overall health, which I hate using that card, but some trips to the doctor, a trip to the ER a few months ago, and a surgery later, I can't ignore it. I donated an organ to stress (or multiple pregnancies-- they could be related). My uterus turned on me, the ingrate... so it's been chucked and despite the long healing process, I have felt more myself in the last few weeks than I have for the better part of two years (or more-- apparently Paxton was a big reason, the organ took up hating me). All other details aside (because 1: you don't want to know and 2: specific details freak me out), I have found my emotional range is a nice plateau, the roller coaster disappeared. I have not had one migraine since the surgery in June (which is gargantuan in my books because I've had them since I was seventeen), and I feel more like me.
    Thirty-six is promising. It's a bit more settled. It's adventurous. It's creative. It's motivated. It's snarky. It's not dreading the days. It's welcoming. It's laughter, uncontrolled. It's the smug reality that I'm skipping course, gray hair for smooth, white strands. It's twisting the realities of negativity back to the positive where I've always been more comfortable. It's remembering that I have this blog with the cute subtitle I gave it years ago of "accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative." Which also means I'm back to blogging about this life, one moment at a time (because you really didn't want my blog posts a year ago). Yep, I think thirty-six and I will get along just fine. Cheers.
   

Grape Juice

    In the grand scheme of life that is parenting, I'd like to think that Brannon children are the zest of life and do what they can to fill it beautifully with laughter, tears, knowledge and the occasional splat into embarrassment. As the parent of such children, it can be a fabulous life (mostly) and sometimes the blush rushes to my face over escapades I would have never considered as a child. Several weeks ago I was in the middle of school with McKenna when the husband called to tell me a story and to question the Brannon children on their roles in said story. Long story quite short, the grape juice in the communion trays at church went missing from all the little cups. My chest tightened some and my stomach dropped. I knew some Brannons were involved. They had to be.
    Sitting across the desk from me was McKenna, deep into her grammar work. I asked her if she knew anything about the AWOL grape juice. Her body slid down into her chair and her eyes were huge, peering up from the edge of the desk. "Yes," she whispered. Fantastic. "But Caelan did it, too." Of course, she did. I called her in. "Caelan, do you know anything about the missing grape juice from the communion cups at church. And think carefully before answering because I'm aware of the truth." She ducked her head "Yes, we drank it." Brilliant. Now in typical me behavior I stalled. Where to even begin. I watched my two daughters who refused to make eye contact with me. Somewhere in my mind I'm evilly rubbing my hands together with the "Gotcha" train of thought.
    Evelynn had walked in about the time I confronted Caelan and she heard enough of the conversation. As I paused to consider my options, the drama that is Evelynn and her overwhelming need to set things straight took over. To put it kindly, she flipped out, wildly waving her hands, gesturing grandly and with many words. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! Do you have any idea how bad this is? That's for communion. It's SACRED. That is for people who have been baptized. And you are NOT baptized. And it was all gone for those who are baptized. You need to have a long conversation with God about this. Communion has a purpose. It's not for you to drink. You need to pray to God and make it right with him. I can't believe you did that. You need to go to your room and think about this. It's terrible. Pray about it, repent, and then move on with your life (she gestures widely with her arms). That's all you can do at this point. AND NEVER DO IT AGAIN."
    Caelan was sobbing, tears pouring down her face, about halfway trough the tirade. She left for her room. And I was still sitting there. It was brilliant. It ranks up there with the greatest parenting moments, and it's also on the list of moments that I could hardly keep it together from laughing. So not the moment for giggles. Evelynn huffed from the room and about fifteen minutes later Caelan retuned with red eyes and puffy, wet cheeks. "I am so sorry, Mom. It was wrong. But now I've prayed about it, I'm good and now I just need to move on with my life." I told her "That's great, but there's a little more to it than that. You have inconvenienced those who prepared the trays and now you will tell them what you have done and apologize. " Caelan and McKenna stared at me. "But that's embarrassing!" they informed me. "Tell me about it. I'm the mother of two children who drank the grape juice out of the communion trays. Don't you think I'm aware of the embarrassment involved?" They've since apologized. I'm fairly certain there will be no repeat offenses. Such a great moment and I'm amused frequently by it.