Complaint: My children are kicking my ass.

Again, I’m kvetching. But seriously, after an entire day of answering a constant stream of (difficult) questions, changing band-aids, serving meals, drinks and snacks, and cleaning errant urine off the floor, is it any wonder a gal wants to stick her face in a chocolate cake and inhale? (Do they make chocolate wine? Because that would pretty much be the nadir. Or is it apex? I mean the peak. The top part, thingy. Me want choco-wine!)

I get through about 13 hours of hard core solo parenting and I think I’m some kind of superhero. Really, I’m just dog tired. I love my kids so much. And I think I have it rough because I’m on my own…and I wonder where my kids get their drama streak.

When I think of my neighbors, who are watching their gentle patriarch die before their eyes, my problems seem paltry by comparison. So many people are suffering more than me. Does that negate my suffering? No. But it does put it in perspective.

I’m all for some perspective right about now.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of someone who is dying and seen the love in their heart? Because that’s the experience I got when I looked at Grandpa Gilbert. He is suffering, his family is suffering, but the guy has so much love in his heart, it spills over onto anyone who comes near him. He has lived a good life and I hope he is not in pain. I hope my kids and I will see him again. But his daughter, my neighbor, thinks he will go any day now.

I haven’t explained to my kids the fact that Mr. Gilbert is dying. I don’t even know where to begin. But I think I owe them an explanation. How do you talk to children about death? You won’t be surprised to hear that I have a book about it. I have to find it amongst all the other ones I own, but it’s called “Lifetimes” and in a very matter of fact way, it talks about life cycles of all living things.

I think I need to go and read it again.