It’s 3:00 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I’ve been up for the last hour, lying in bed trying to get back to sleep. This happens to me occasionally and usually its anxiety related. I have plenty to be anxious about, my son starts first grade later today and I want to make sure we’re all up in time for pictures and to be able to walk him into school. In fact my alarm is going to go off in about 2 and a half hours so I can get myself ready before I get the kids up. School starts really early here. The thought that actually propelled me out of bed was checking the battery on the camera; I’d be really upset if I couldn’t get pictures.
Although I know this is why I’m not sleeping, I’ve spent most of the last hour thinking about Eric. After all going over the lack of parking at the school and how slow my kids are isn’t going to change anything. I’ve been remembering how thrilled Eric was to become an uncle. When my oldest son was born he raced to Oklahoma City to meet him. He must have slept on the couch because my parents had the guest room. He took the greatest photos—newborn slumped over a mug of beer, newborn with golf club and grandpa’s money clip and wedding ring, newborn in grandma’s luggage as she packed to go home.
My grandmother broke her hip the night before my oldest was born and wasn’t able to come to us. My husband and parents and Eric and I took him to see her in Florida and Eric wanted to be the first to take him to the beach. Over protective first time mother that I was I wouldn’t let the child touch the sand. At my grandmother’s apartment where Eric must have again been sleeping on the couch (and was probably way more comfortable than we were on the torture device known as the pull out couch) he lay face down on a blanket with my son trying to teach him to crawl. My son was three weeks old.
When my second son was born Eric was living in New Zealand and couldn’t rush right over. They met about six weeks later at Thanksgiving. Again Eric was entranced with his new nephew. Lots of great new photos followed—newborn in pot on the stove, newborn in china hutch, newborn in the back of a Tonka dump truck.
First grade is not as big a milestone as kindergarten, but still I’m sad that Eric isn’t here to see it. He would have called last night to wish my son luck and again after school to see how it went. He would have demanded pictures. He would have been so involved.
We miss you Uncle Eric.
Although I know this is why I’m not sleeping, I’ve spent most of the last hour thinking about Eric. After all going over the lack of parking at the school and how slow my kids are isn’t going to change anything. I’ve been remembering how thrilled Eric was to become an uncle. When my oldest son was born he raced to Oklahoma City to meet him. He must have slept on the couch because my parents had the guest room. He took the greatest photos—newborn slumped over a mug of beer, newborn with golf club and grandpa’s money clip and wedding ring, newborn in grandma’s luggage as she packed to go home.
My grandmother broke her hip the night before my oldest was born and wasn’t able to come to us. My husband and parents and Eric and I took him to see her in Florida and Eric wanted to be the first to take him to the beach. Over protective first time mother that I was I wouldn’t let the child touch the sand. At my grandmother’s apartment where Eric must have again been sleeping on the couch (and was probably way more comfortable than we were on the torture device known as the pull out couch) he lay face down on a blanket with my son trying to teach him to crawl. My son was three weeks old.
When my second son was born Eric was living in New Zealand and couldn’t rush right over. They met about six weeks later at Thanksgiving. Again Eric was entranced with his new nephew. Lots of great new photos followed—newborn in pot on the stove, newborn in china hutch, newborn in the back of a Tonka dump truck.
First grade is not as big a milestone as kindergarten, but still I’m sad that Eric isn’t here to see it. He would have called last night to wish my son luck and again after school to see how it went. He would have demanded pictures. He would have been so involved.
We miss you Uncle Eric.
LOVE these photos! Hilarious!
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