My mother can see with vivid clarity. Everything.

It has been a crazy week, which makes for plenty of fodder for this blog.

Everyone who knows me knows I believe my mother is a living saint. A saint for having lived through what she has, and still maintain her sweet, kind, and patient disposition toward her family. Her fierce protection of her grandchildren, children and husband (probably in that order) are to be simultaneously admired and feared.

And you also know that I am not anything close to being a saint. So as much as I love my mother, I do get impatient with her and lose my temper too often. Enough that I live in dread that when I lose her, I will not be able to move forward with my life. That when that horrible day comes, my children will also lose their mother because I am certain I will not be able to recover from such a tremendous loss. So, that keeps me going, trying to be a better person. Be more patient. Be more like my mother.

For most of my life, I remember my mother's vision to be poor. Finally, when I was in junior high and in the throes of teenaged acne, she got glasses. At the table one afternoon, she put on her glasses and marveled at what she could see. Then she turned to me, and her brows furrowed. Then she stated "My goodness, you have a lot of zits on your forehead." End of commentary, and never commented on again. Until now.

Earlier this year, my mother was diagnosed with cataracts. After much discussion and convincing, she agreed to have surgery. Before her surgery, her vision was 20/125, which means she can see at 20 feet what a normal person can see at 125 feet. Pretty bad. Finally, she had the surgery on Wednesday with much trepidation on her part, my part, my sister's part, and just about everyone else we knew got the pleasure of hearing of our apprehensions. It was the first time she had had an IV, much less be admitted into a hospital, stripped down, and wheeled away on a bed.

But as we all know, the surgery is really quick and relatively simple. Not 24 hours post-surgery, her vision had improved to 20/40! She was so excited at the clarity of everything around her. She, and truth be told, and I were so pleased at how well she could see and navigate her way through everything. It really was like a new beginning for her--seeing the world through new eyes, the way God intended for her to appreciate all the colors to go with all the sounds and smells.

Then, she turned to me. Her brows furrowed. Again. "What is THAT on your FACE?!!!" Huh? What? What's on my face? "It's on your cheek, over your nose, and over your other cheek!" Ah, that would be my freckles. You know, the ones I've been sporting for about 30 years or so. Her response? "Oh. Well, that's not good."

And to think, that's just one eye. I just can't wait to see what other imperfections are revealed when BOTH eyes get to explore this "new" world.

My baby boy is growing up so fast. Too fast.

Was it really a little over two years ago that Ethan came home to us, so tiny?

 Ally was so thrilled to have her baby brother at home, and we would have to watch to make sure she would not smother him with her affection.

At six months, he was a very happy and slobbery baby with two teeth. 

A few months after he turned one, Sam brought his mini-me to the company picnic, who was not impressed.

The boy has been addicted to TV since he was a tiny infant.  We call it his altar.

A big boy now, he tackled his trike while playing with bubbles this spring.

Although Ethan is two years old, he still does not speak intelligible words beyond "mama", "dada", and "uh oh".  Rather, he makes a noise that seems to substitute for everything.  We decided to enlist the help of Infant and Toddler Services of Johnson County, and he now works once a week with a speech therapist.  In addition, we decided to send him to school once a week, hoping peer modeling would encourage his speech development.  This past Tuesday was his first day; he was very happy and proud to show he's a big boy and can navigate the stairs to his classroom.

Then he realized Mommy and Ally may not stick around...

We snuck out of the classroom, and there were absolutely no tears from him.  I immediately went back to the office, where they called his teacher to make sure he was still fine.  Yes, he was fine.  No, he did not cry.

Ally and I had no choice but to leave.  On the drive back, I held it together.  Then Ally whimpered "Mommy, I miss Ethan!" and the tears started streaming down her face.  At this point, I should clarify that I cry on an average of once a year.  It has been justifiably argued that I am much like the Tin Man, except I have no special desire to find a heart.  When one of the kids cry, I ask them to re-evaluate the situation to determine the justification for their tears.  From my perspective, there is generally very little reason for them to shed tears.

But seeing my sweet, compassionate little girl cry because she missed her baby brother was too much.  I, too, started tearing up, and I did not reprimand her.  How did our baby boy grow up so fast?  How did my sweet little Ally get to be such a big girl?  WHERE IN THE THE HELL DID THIS HEART COME FROM, AND WHO SNUCK IT IN?!!!