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Without going into gossipy detail, an acquaintance-friend lost her husband today.  They are my age, which is to say, MUCH TOO YOUNG to be dealing with this.  Two small-ish children lost their dad in a freak accident.

Everyone around here is getting a little extra love.  Including The Dog, who may need it as she’s limping around on one of her back legs. We took her to the vet and the diagnosis is a big, fat “Dunno” and a prescription for anti-inflammatory pills and directions to bring her back in on Tuesday.

She’s a dog.  She isn’t a father, a husband or a child.  But even she gets to enjoy the “I love and appreciate you” sense that comes when you are smacked hard across the head with the utter fragility of life.

Hug your babies–hard enough that they can’t breath and squirm to get away–smell their hair.  Kiss your lover straight on the mouth.  Pat the Dog’s head and scratch her just behind the ears where she likes it.

Life isn’t guaranteed.  It’s fragile.  Handle with much care.

Today is Malyn’s birthday.  And she’s 5.

I delivered cupcakes to her class for her birthday today and she clung to me while she ate her cheesy nachos and drank her strawberry milk, pausing occasionally to say, “I love you, Mom!” and “Thanks for bringing me birthday cupcakes!” and “Don’t you think we need to check on the cupcakes?”

She asked if I would come play on the playground and slide on the slides with her during recess and knowing my daughter and knowing that walking away to a playground filled with friends, swings and sugar highs (from the brightly colored icing) would be much easier for her than me leaving after the fun of recess is over and the dregs of the day begin, I hugged her tight, told her I had birthday surprises to wrap and watched her skip away happily.  And my heart broke.

When I was a little girl, I would walk in from school eager to shed the constraints of the day.  I looked forward to getting off the bus to a snack, some cartoons and play.  Sometimes, my Mom would pester me about changing my school clothes (something I DREADED) and picking up my bedroom (ALSO DREADED) and I would stall, whine, complain or ignore in my quest to avoid those dreaded chores.  Sometimes she would start to get that ’serious’ voice and I have vivid memories of her saying, “Gracie, you get in your bedroom RIGHT NOW and change your clothes and clean up your bedroom or YOU’RE GROUNDED, young lady!”  I imagine her amusement tinged in there with the put-on sternness.  I would sulkily oblige and trudge down the hall and s   l   o   w   l    y open the door…to a completely sparklingly clean room.  She had cleaned it while I was at school as a surprise.  I remember it being the BEST feeling in the world as I raced back to my now grinning Mom to squeeze her in a big hug and thank her excitedly.

All of these thoughts tumbled through my head as I stood in the doorway of my little’s girl’s bedroom.  It is messy–full of detritus from her games, little squiggly pieces of papers from her creations and stickers and tape sticking random bits of ideas and drawings to everything.  And so I sat down and started filtering through her possessions.  Her toys, her artwork, her school papers and her stuffed animals…all the little pieces of her life.  I stacked and organized and folded and staged and swept.  And when the last blanket had been arranged on her bed and the last dress hung back up, I surveyed my work.  She will be so excited.

Malyn, a couple of days old

Almost 1 year old

Two year old Girl

Three was a good year for us

Four was full of ENERGY

Oh, 5, you are already breaking my heart