I think one death is too much. Two deaths in less than a month has been far too much for both me and FireDad and we’re adults. Or at least we portray adults on this blog. At any rate, I’ve been worried about how all of this loss has been affecting the boys. LittleBrother has the grace of not really understanding. Being just barely over the age of two, he only understands that sometimes Mommy and Daddy are sad and that he’s seen a lot of his relatives in the past month.

BigBrother, on the other hand, is a different story.

At four, he’s understanding much more of what is going on that some people want to give young children credit. When I explained last Tuesday that Daddy, Mommy and Nana were sad because Uncle died, he brought up the fact that Big Papau died. We then launched into a lengthy discussion over our grilled cheese sandwiches about death, Heaven and other concepts that still confuse me. Sometimes it stings, how bluntly he talks about it.

“Uncle died. Like Big Papau is dead. They’re both dead.”

As adults, we tiptoe around the concept. We use words and phrases that are supposed to somehow make it seem less in-your-face, less real. He passed away. He’s no longer with us. He’s gone on to Heaven. He’s no longer suffering. No, for BigBrother, the two men who have left us are simply dead. No sugar coating. No easing into the concept. Just dead. He doesn’t cringe when he says it, like I do. His stomach doesn’t churn like mine does. He accepts it. Oh, to be four years old.

At the funeral on Friday, we waited our turn to pay our last respects while the rest of the non-related mourners made their way to the casket, down the family line and out the door to their waiting cars. Our turn arrived and I walked toward the casket with my mother-in-law, sister-and-brother-in-law, husband and two sons. I stood back. My grief from last month still so raw, I didn’t want to push myself. BigBrother walked right up to the casket, put his hands on the side and peered at Uncle. There was no fear of seeing someone you love looking like someone else in a big box. There was no fear of death at all, like the rest of us have when faced with the death of a loved one. His acceptance is somewhat inspiring. But still very heartbreaking.

I debated not taking them to Uncle’s funeral. They’re kind of noisy, being my children. Sitting still is not their strongest suit. But, after doing some reading and soul searching, I decided that they would come with us, just as they came with us to Big Papau’s funeral. Why? I found this quote.

If the child is old enough to walk, let them walk with you into the funeral home. If not old enough to walk, carry them with you.

Point taken.

In the week or so after Big Papau’s funeral, BigBrother would ask me if I was still sad. One day he told me to try harder. I love being challenged by my children. I also love their innocence, their acceptance of life… and death. I wish I could be more like them in these ways. I’m working on not being sad. It would help if I could have one full month off. Right? Someone work on that one, please.

Because, while the flowers are pretty, they’re killing my monthly budget. And, you know, grief is emotionally taxing when you’re not four. So, really, one month off, at the very least, okay? Okay.

I know that I’m touchy about certain aspects of parenting and, more specifically, my parenting. I realize that my emotions are on overdrive this weekend as Munchkin’s birthday is on Sunday. I’m touchy, moody and will likely dissolve into a puddle of tears and/or a screaming maniac if you look at me sideways. Maybe even if you look at me directly. Even when Munchkin’s birthday is not on the immediate horizon, I’m still kind of touchy about my parenting. As I was once made to believe that I wasn’t good enough to parent, I have this overzealous need to prove that I am, in fact, The Best Parent Alive. At All Times. Ever.

This may also have something to do with my perfectionist personality. Double whammy on the issues! I never do things halfway, do I?

Perfectionism aside, you can insult me about my writing, my photography, my crazy hair, the fact that I always wear green or just about anything under the sun and I’ll merely rant about you to my husband. If you insult my parenting, or, rather, if I even think you are insulting my parenting, all bets are off. When I say all bets are off, I mean that I’m going to go out to my vehicle and cry. So, really, I wouldn’t worry too much about yourself. I have no bite.

It happened today at the checkout while running errands with LittleBrother. It’s cold out right now. It hit 26 degrees just a few minutes ago and that’s a heatwave. LittleBrother and I were bundled in our coats and he still had his very adorable knit hat atop his head. As I swiped my card and entered numbers without my gloves on because I can’t press numbers on a touch screen pad with gloves on, the cashier says to LittleBrother in a sing-songy, judgmental voice, “Where’s your gloves little buddy? It’s too cold for you to be out without gloves on.”

I paused. I looked across the counter. I had my Mama Bear Eyes blazing and my Serious Voice on.

“They’re in his pocket.”

I said nothing more. I said nothing of how he hates gloves, mittens or anything that covers his hands. I said nothing of how it is a fight but we still put them on, screaming and wailing the whole time. (Him, not us. Most of the time.) I said nothing of how I take them off when we get in somewhere warm so he doesn’t have something to whine and fuss about as we make our way through the store because I, unlike some people, don’t like to bug others in stores. Or checkout lines. You know. I did, and I mean I really did want to say, “His gloves must be wherever you left your manners today.” But I didn’t.

Because I felt judged.

I felt that this woman was judging me as an unfit mother for taking my son out in the cold weather without gloves. I wanted to crawl under a rock with my son, with gloves on, and just cry for awhile. I didn’t as there are very rarely large rocks at the end of checkout counters. I finished the transaction, stood too long at the end of the aisle and loudly talked with LittleBrother as I put his gloves on his poor, pitiful, but not even remotely cold little hands. I may have shot a smug look in the direction of the cashier as I walked away.

But I cried when I got out to the vehicle.

There are things in life that I don’t care if I’m good at or, even maybe more importantly, things that I don’t care if the rest of the world doesn’t know or think I’m good at. Parenting is not one of those things. While I admit my faults (remember me talking about yelling too much?), I really can’t handle passing judgment. It’s even worse if it is judgment from someone within my family or friend circle but passing judgment still hurts. I’ve worked very hard on trying not to be a helicopter parent at the playground or elsewhere, knowing that my issues with adoption often lead me to overprotectiveness. At the same time, while I’m forcing myself to sit still at the playground and let them try out their wings, hopefully not literally, I fear that other parents are looking at me and wondering why I’m not at their side every second. I try so hard to not only be the best parent I can be but to get past these darn issues.

And I fail. A lot. Too much.

This is all just a long winded way of saying: if you see my children without gloves, look in their pockets before calling Child Protective Services on me. I really don’t want to have to use my Serious Voice on you.

Or LittleBrother to have to smile you to death in his adorable knit hat and very warm jacket. Ahem.

We used to use the star that my grandparents used upon their first Christmas tree. It died last year. We went out today to purchase a new one. FireDad vetoed one of my selections while I vetoed his old school foil looking one that my parents totally had atop our tree in the 80’s. I asked a question.

FireMom: So, does it have to be a star?
FireDad: Not a bow. Not an angel. A flippin’ star.
FireMom: Well then.
FireDad: The dad doesn’t say, “No, that bow is crooked.” He doesn’t say, “No, that angel is crooked.” He says, “No, that star is crooked.”
FireMom: Right. A star then.

He was obviously referencing A Christmas Story because that’s what we do around here from now until next Christmas, rinse repeat. Anyway, our tree is decorated, complete with our new star which had to be wrestled onto its perch. We’ll show you the whole tree tomorrow along with the boys’ tree. For now, our new star, minus the audio snippets of FireDad cussing as he tried to get it to fit right.

Side note: the boys tree doesn’t have a star. Perhaps we should have them make one. Opinions?

I’ve become hip for at least six or seven months. You know, until Apple releases yet another iPhone and mine becomes obsolete. But, for now, it’s true. I’m hip! I’m “in”! I know what’s going on! All thanks to my iPhone! (And the apps that are supposed to tell me what’s going on…)

See?

Here’s how all of this came about: I’ve been stalking my upgrade date for an iPhone via my AT&T web account for… months. Originally, I couldn’t upgrade until November of this year. When they released the iPhone 3Gs, AT&T bumped my upgrade date to August 10, 2009. (Also known as yesterday.) Now, we’re leaving for vacation in four days. I figured that I wouldn’t be able to purchase my iPhone until sometime in October as we have a lot of things going on including a radiator repair on our main vehicle. I figured that one month early would be just fine.

And then I won a $250 Visa gift card from All Thumbs Reviews courtesy of BlogHer and Capri-Sun. Not only was I excited but when I did the math, that gift card put us back above where we needed to be with respect to the car maintenance, leaving me free to do what I wanted with said gift card. When the gift card arrived on Saturday, the last possible mail date before the 10:00am open of my AT&T store on the morning of my upgrade date, I took it as a sign and ran with it.

My experience at the AT&T store was fabulous. True, I know the manager but, as a manager, he can’t make the sale. My salesman was wonderful, considerate of my time frame as I had two little boys who were giggly and ready to head to the library and, generally helpful with the sale. Soon enough, I walked out the door with my new iPhone 3Gs. Since then, I’ve fallen in love. Or, you know, as “in love” as you can be with an inanimate object.

I’ve downloaded various apps. (Twitterfon, Facebook, AIM, Klick (for flickr), Wordpress and… on and on.) I’ve figured out how to program the weather for our city as well as for my parents town, Pittsburgh (my love), and Emerald Isle, NC (FOUR DAYS!). I’ve added various email accounts. I’ve added pictures from my computer so that pictures from my fancy dSLR show up when people call me. I’m not loving the camera (did I mention I own a dSLR) but I will survive. Really I feel that camera phones are made to capture funny license plates, misspelled signs and embarrassing moments out and about. I’ve upgraded to the 3.0.1 firmware so no one can turn my phone off with a wayward text message.

Did I mention that I’m in love?

(Did I also mention that it was ridiculously hot and humid today, making my hair insanely curly?)

And so, here I am. Four days from vacation with a brand new fancy phone that, in all reality, cost me absolutely nothing. I’m feeling pretty good right about now. The best part of the day, however, was the discussion I had with BigBrother on the way to the “phone store,” as I explained where we were going and what we were doing.

Me: We’re going to the phone store because I need to buy a new phone.

BigBrother: Is your phone broken?

Me: No. It’s just time for a new phone.

BigBrother: Is it an iPhone?

Me: How do you know about the iPhone?

BigBrother: *cue giggles*

And so the two Brothers ran around the house all day yesterday with their cardboard replicas of the iPhone, saying, “iPhone! iPhone! My phone! iPhone!” Interspersing that with, “FIVE DAYS!” But today, of course, it’s FOUR DAYS! FOUR DAYS until our glorious beach vacation.

Be prepared for lots of twitpics from my iPhone. Maybe even a whrrl story of our trip!