Thursday, November 5, 2009

At Least it Wasn't Eighty Hours

November 7, 2009 sometime afternoon. Saturday.

At least the workweek was sixty, not eighty hours.

The boys were at their dad's house this week. Well. Ray was at his dad's house all week. Dylan spent most nights over here and Chuck dropped in and out. At his dad's house, here, who-knows-where. Does this make me a bad mother? He is nineteen and saving to move out with his friend Gandhi. Excuses, possibly, on my part. Let me put it this way. He is an adult, almost, pays most of his way and has shown a certain level of responsibility in saving money to fix the monster that sits in front of the house. That is, the Exploder (Explorer).
Happenings this week:

Thursday morning Ray was presented with another award. We met at the alumni Center. He told me about the ceremony Wednesday afternoon, after school, while he was taking Dylan to the orthodontist. Dylan's braces will come off in December.

Thursday morning was cool and sunny and the walk to the Alumni center was pleasant. Ray was wearing jeans and a hoodie. He received the same award last year, a sort of merit award. Students were nominated by either their instructor or classmates. He was nominated by his instructor in Computer Aided Design. Ray is tall, broad shouldered. He walks stoop-shouldered sometimes. At the Alumni Center there were trays and trays of goodies set up on tables for parents and students. Sliced fruits, pastries, etc. Coffee, tea. We sat and clapped for other students. Ray walked up to the podium, accepted his award. Gracious. A friend of his, who has been over to the house, also received an award, one per class, of course. We stood around afterward talking. Walking back to the car and then driving him back to school allowed us time to visit. He plans on attending MU next fall to major in Engineering. He thinks that this will suit him well. And it will. Like all my children, I pray for him. There are so many things that are out of our hands. Things that seem random, that we have no control over. Fear parading as anxiety resides in this mother's heart.

Chuck has been in and out this week. Usually showering, doing laundry or on his way to work.

And Saturday:
A young man (i.e. boy) was sleeping on the couch this morning. If they wake up when I come in from work I'll ask: who do you belong to and they will say, Chuck or Ray or Dylan. This one belonged to Dylan, but he didn't wake up. He just turned into the back pillows of the couch while I passed through on my way to making some breakfast before bath and bed. Dylan woke and came downstairs which woke his friend up. We sat around watching "Property Ladder", making commentary. The boys ate cereal. After he left I asked Dylan, now who was that? He replied, "Brian mom,(somewhat exasperated) you've met him three or four times before!" "Well honey, I can't remember all of your friends (times three)...What are you doing later today?" "Hanging out with Taylor. Do you remember Taylor?" "Ye-es (?), of course I remember Taylor (thinking: well, I know his dad anyway, he is a surgeon I've worked with, although I don't know that I would recognize him (Taylor) on the street).." Oi!

Outside it is pleasantly mild. Oh so very mild. The windows are open and Dylan and Taylor have been at the house, hanging out and throwing a frisbee, then going downtown. So the house is quiet again.

"..stop and consider God's wonders.." Job 37: 14

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