Signs of Spring

Chalk art. In the form of butterflies, flowers, reindeer, and hearts scattered on the driveway, patio, and garage floor. Chalk pieces, pulverized by bikes and cars, can be found in similar locations.

Moldy Uggs. Fake ones, of course. Stiff from finally being dried out, they've been forgotten in lieu of flip flops and crocs.

Crocus stems. I say stems, because I didn't spray these little gems early enough and the rabbits have already feasted on the blossoms.

Shorts. It doesn't matter if it's 45 degrees in the morning, because by recess my kids are "so hot!"

Fundraisers. Why do 90% of non-profits seem to have their dinners and galas in the same three weeks of April and May?

Snow. We live in Minnesota - need I say more?

Tennis court trauma. Our neighbors in the back may not have the nets up yet, but scooters and bikes have made an early entrance.

Dried leaf cyclones. Leftovers from the fall that caught in the bushes snake their way onto our driveway and form annoying spirals with each new windy day.

A frenetic puppy. Through the cold of winter, small wildlife seemed so much quieter and out of sight. In these lengthening days, the singing and chatter of birds and squirrels now keep Millie pulling on her leash when outside and running from window to window when inside.

Cousin camp inquiries. We haven't even been to the cabin for Memorial Day, yet our kids are wondering about three days of family frolicking that don't take place till late August!

It's Not About Me, But it Still Bugs

I have read all kinds of family manuals which talk about the volatile, self-centered behavior I should expect with my dad's brain injury. It's part of the disability - yada yada yada. But there's still a part of me that is so shocked that my own father could say such vile words to me on a regular basis.

Some days I can take it better than others. Like when he calls me "mean," it reminds me more of what my kids would have said when they were toddlers.

Then there are times like yesterday - when he uttered words I don't even want to repeat - that are said with such a venomous tone that I have to listen to the message a couple times because I find it a little surreal that he's actually talking to me in that fashion.

The interesting part is that he is usually mad about something that we've covered a hundred times before. The frustrating part is that is usually follows an event or activity where I've gone out of my way to do something special for him. Whatever that special event happened to be is completely forgotten in his rage.

I have found that time does help to give me perspective. I woke up this morning, and the heightened emotions that I'd attached to my dad's message had evaporated. I remind myself that his inappropriate behavior is about him, not me. In the end, however, it's still stinks to have my dad talk like that to me.