Kindergartners and death

We received some sad news on Friday morning. Scott's grandmother, the boys' Nana, died after a long battle with pneumonia.

Scott and I struggled with what to tell the twins. Nana was 88 years old, so the boys have no memories of the vibrant, witty woman who used to throw flapper parties in her basement. By the time the boys were born, Nana had already broken her hip and her wrist, and she was a shadow of her former self. It was a well-known fact that Nana wanted nothing more than to join her husband, who died in May of 2005. Still, the boys did have a relationship with her, and they were sad when she moved to Texas last year.

I decided it was time to hit the Internet. I stumbled upon this article on Babycenter about death and kindergartners. Mustering up as much courage as I could, I asked the boys, "Remember how Nana moved to Texas last year? And we said that you might not see her again?"

"Yes," they replied, in unison.

"Well, um, Nana died yesterday."

"Like my fish?" asked Rob. "Yes, Rob, like your fish." Thank God we bought those little 19-cent fish that expired so quickly.

"Why, Mama? Why'd Nana die?" Oh, shit. Why did I decide to do this when Scott was at work?

"Well, honey, Nana was old, and sometimes when you get old, you get sick. Nana got very sick, her body stopped working, and she died."

"Will we see Nana again? In heaven?" What? My husband and I don't attend church regularly, although Rob did participate in the MOPPETS program as part of Mothers of Preschoolers. I honestly had no idea that he'd retained any knowledge of heaven, since this is a child who, after at least two years' worth of exposure to the "Days of the Week" song, still can't say the days of the week in order.

"Yes, sweetie, we'll see Nana again in heaven. She'll be happy to see us, and we'll be happy to see her, even if we're sad now."

"Will Nana have a bed and food in heaven? And cookies?"

"Yes, honey. Nana will have everything she needs in heaven."

"OK!" he said, and skipped off. Russ was listening intently throughout the whole conversation but he never said anything. I asked him if he had any questions about Nana, and he shook his head silently. I don't know what he absorbed, if he absorbed anything at all. He wasn't particularly close to Nana. We shall see, I guess, in the following week when we deal with the visitation and funeral.

Krogering!

This morning, after depositing the boys at school, I needed to pick up a few things. I don't know why I decided to stop at Kroger instead of my usual supermarket of choice, Meijer, but I'm so glad I did. Here's why:

1. Kroger's frozen food aisles have lights that turn on and off as you walk by, much like the lighted tiles underneath Michael Jackson's feet in his "Billie Jean" video. Call me a dork, but this little experience totally made me feel like a rock star, even if I was wearing yesterday's dirty jeans and I hadn't showered yet.
2. Kroger's store brand shredded cheese products feature pictures of families. Mom, Dad, and child(ren) are pictured, strolling through wheat (or corn, I can't remember) fields towards a farmhouse. What this has to do with cheese is beyond me. What it did force me to do was reconsider my dinner plans for the evening. You see, the families are pictured with their backsides to the customer, and naturally, I can't buy finely shredded sharp cheddar cheese if the Mr. Reduced Fat Mozzarella has a nicer ass.
3. The whole Kroger savings card concept. My order came to over $80, but with a quick Harry Potter-like swipe of my Kroger card, I was down to $40. Yeah, I know, I'd probably only be paying $40 if I were at Meijer, but I wouldn't know what "lowerumium priceosa" means. 

I don't think I'll make Kroger my primary supermarket, but I'll definitely stop in there more often.

Anger

I opened the mail today only to receive a not-so-nice letter.

We're being sued.

Hubby rear-ended another driver on M-24 during his evening commute. This was back in May. Our car was totaled, but both drivers walked away uninjured, or so we thought.

This can't be happening, I thought. I saw pictures of the accident. Our car took the brunt of the damage. Either the other driver is a gigantic pansy or he's in desperate need of money. The firm representing the other driver is notorious for being an ambulance-chaser.

Our insurance company is recommending that we retain our own attorney, since the possible damages exceed our coverage. WTF?

As I read that, my blood boiled over with anger. Does this man realize what he is doing to us? That we have two little mouths to feed, backs to clothe, brains to send to college, sets of dreams to fulfill?

Probably not.   

But I also realized that this man probably doesn't have the faith that will get us through this crisis. And suddenly, I felt a lot less angry.

Mom, come see this!

There are times when, as the mother of twin boys, I really, really, really wish I had given birth to twin girls.

Like when the bathroom door opens and I hear, "Mama, come look at my poop! It's shaped like a spider!" While the logistics of spider-shaped poop are indeed intriguing, I decline the invitation.

Or when a finger is thrust three inches beneath my eyeball and I'm told, "Mama, look at this booger! It looks just like the letter J!" While I admire my son's enthusiasm, I quickly grab a tissue and the offending letter J is in the trash, much to his dismay.

Yep, it's times like these that I really wish I had a couple of girls. 

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