Today the snow was relentless and I was starting to feel a tiny bit like a snowbound Jack in "The Shining". I thought I'd better venture out to pick up the mail before I start typing "All work and no play makes Allyson a dull girl." endlessly before running outside and getting lost in a snow-drift. Since Dave was gone and the cats don't have opposable thumbs to be able to hold a snow-shovel, I figured if I wanted to go into the big city, I'd have to do it myself.
I don't completely detest the task. Similar to mowing grass and other gardening chores I relish in, it is mostly mindless work and a good time to reflect while making passes back and forth, (in my case, crooked passes, but we're not building a piano here folks); just trying to have a little fun and go get the mail.
"Don't worry about sending me anything for my birthday Mama." Bronson and I were finishing up our weekly FaceTime call last Sunday, and I apologized for not getting a package sent to the Philippines in time for it to arrive for his upcoming birthday. I turned the camera around so he could show his missionary companion (a native Filipino) the view of all the snow. "I'm sorry son....I've been pretty sick for a couple of weeks but I'm much better now." I'd had intentions of having all the grandies make home-made cards for him and send them along with some much needed new white dress shirts and the obligatory chocolate bars he craves. This will be the last birthday he'll celebrate before returning home. I decided to save time and have the kids text me pictures of the cards their littles drew and then print them off. It's probably the best thing to do anyway, since on the off-chance the package never did make it to him, the original cards will still be here in safe keeping upon his return this coming late Summer..
"The babies". "The littles". "My E and my B". The sixth and seventh born children. Both born in January, just two day shy of two years apart. Natalie was fifteen years old when Bronson was born. Along with the four other siblings that had Winter birthdays, they would celebrate during cold and flu season; and we usually made a valiant effort to let them each have their own individual birthday party (of sorts), but usually ended up succumbing to a joint family party on a Sunday so everyone could easily attend.
One frigid January day when they were both so little, I'd gotten the other five kids off to school and was preparing breakfast for my "babies". Standing at the kitchen sink, I heard a thud and then the dreaded long silence before the crying. Bronson had fallen off the bar stool and I could tell he'd most likely broken his collar bone. I had no cell phone, but only a land-line and didn't really know who to call anyway. I threw a coats on over all three of our pajama'd selves, and drove straight to the Insta-care. After parking I frantically unbuckled each of them from their car-seats, trying to be so careful with Bronson's. "Terrific. I forgot to put shoes on either of them." I had Eli hop onto my back and hang on tightly and then cradled Bronson in my arms, shutting the car door with my hip.
Walking through the icy parking lot, I silently prayed to not fall while carrying my precious load. A couple of hours and a few x-rays later, we were sent home with a sling to stabilize his arm and a prescription for managing the pain.
Several years later, Eli also broke his collar bone while snow-boarding. We got a call from the EMT on the ski-slope letting us know what had happened; we were relieved knowing it could have been so much worse.
As I walk back and forth and heave shovels-full of snow onto the ever-growing icy berm, I think to myself "I'd better be very careful about not falling and breaking my own collar bone. And also....how is it that just yesterday I had babies and teens to worry about and now I'm worrying about "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"
And now I'm filled with guilt that Dave has been eyeing that new battery-operated snow-blower ever since our other one bit the dust, and I keep telling him to "Just think of it like doing cross-fit or something like that!" Our anniversary is in February. Maybe I'll get him an early gift. Either that or get us matching medical alert necklaces in case either of us fall. So very romantic!
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I made it down the mountain with my cardboard box filled with a couple of new white dress shirts for Bronson and some large bags full of various chocolate bars. Resting on top is an envelope of printed cards that his little nieces and nephews drew for his birthday. It won't arrive to the Philippines in time for his birthday, but that's okay. It's become a tradition to celebrate on a different day anyway. He'll be home next year for his birthday, and maybe he'll even be here at the cabin with us to celebrate. And if there's snow, he can shovel it. He misses the seasons and especially winter. We miss him. One thing is for certain, time flies.
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