Stories - real and imagined - have always had power over me.
I crave them. I seek them out.
Some stories have a way of getting under my skin and into my mind. They refuse to let go. I obsess over details: facts, maps,
graphics, photographs. I run them over and over in my head, pondering the hows and whys.
It's not always a bad thing, but there are times when it threatens to undo me.
Last December, it was the children of Sandy Hook.
Today, it's the image of a dark-haired, eight year old running to meet his father. I haven't stopped thinking of him since I heard one of those killed in the Boston Marathon bombings was a little boy.
I've cut myself off from the news coverage, but I can't stop asking questions. And they may not be what you'd expect.
As he walked back to his mother, did he grin and display his missing front teeth? Did he talk constantly of Ninjas? Revel in the joke of burps coming from the attic and not the basement? Did he hug his mama twice every night - one regular and one extra tight?
Because there is another dark-haired, toothless eight-year-old boy I will be hugging three times - all extra tight.
I used to be really good at planning the week's menu and keeping to a grocery budget. I've fallen off that wagon, but resolved this weekend to get back on.
I made a pretty spreadsheet and spent an hour staring at it. I couldn't remember what I used to make!
So, I surfed the web looking for recipes. Grown up meal ideas were pretty easy, but boy meals were challenging. Mostly because of the smaller boy.
Matt hates most green things (with the exceptions of raw cucumbers and raw celery). He will not eat anything mixed together. He does not like cheese or eggs. Most vegetables beyond those already mentioned are out of the question.
I've found that non-parents and parents with easy eaters tend to be a little judgmental about this.
"Don't allow that," they say. "Make him eat his veggies."
Or my favorite: "he'd eat them for me!"
Be guest, my friend. May the Force be with you. You apparently have not met my son with the will of steel.
My meal policy is my compromise. I do my best to make healthy meals they like. If they suddenly decide to hate the entree they loved last week, they don't have to eat it. But there's nothing else. No alternative meals and no dessert. And they have to try at least one bite of anything new before they decide it's disgusting.
That's the law.
Or at least the law when Granny isn't around. Granny (great-Granny to the boys) flouts the law and makes sure bananas or hotdogs are available in place of the prescribed dinner. Sometimes she goes straight to the mint chocolate chip ice cream.
I roll my eyes, but what else can I do? Should I attempt to thwart my 87-year-old grandmother?
So far, this is what four to ten inches of snow from Saturn/Snowquester looks like.
Yeah, I can't see it either.
The morning rain was supposed to turn to heavy snow this afternoon. We had some torrential downpours, the wind blew hard, but no snow.
It's a little disappointing. I like the snow. But the boys and I got off work and school, so I'm not complaining.
My feelings aren't apparently shared. The Interwebs, especially social media, have been full of gripes and moans and downright nastiness. I suppose that's nothing new, but come on people! Give the weather guys a break!
Most of the reports I watched emphasized the complicated factors involved with this storm. Air masses, highs and lows, the temperature of the Bay. . . It may be science, but with so many variables, what happens in the end is still an educated guess.
I'm glad the school systems erred on the side of keeping our kids safe. And I'm glad my employer did the same. I spent the day with my guys, playing "Just Dance" and watching Star Wars in front of the fireplace.