slow burn

Doug’s parents drove across several states to help out with funeral preparations. Upon arrival, they claimed the most difficult task. They took the youngest child shopping for appropriate funeral attire AND convinced him to wear the clothing that wasn’t shorts and a t-shirt while we visited the funeral home to discuss which funeral plans we were going to consider. After using their magical grandparent powers to shop with him, Nanny asked for supplies to hem the new suit pants for Evan. “I need a needle, black thread, scotch tape and paper clips.”

I stumbled around the house collecting the requested items. Why do I own pink paper clips? Have I really not used tape since Christmas? My sewing skills are limited to buttons and blanket stitching, so when a real seamstress works, I don’t question her mysterious MacGyver abilities. I piled the notions on the kitchen table and Nanny tilted her head so that she was looking at me thru her eyebrows. A slooow smile stretched across her face.

“All I need is the needle and thread.”

I’m not admitting that I have been in a disconnected fog since everything happened. I am only now realizing that Nanny’s famous dry humor, that she usually keeps locked away, made a rare appearance when we needed it the most.

Of course, I also failed to sign the youngest child’s Friday folder for the second time since I came unglued and he is going to be livid with me when he arrives home complaining about the lowered behavior grade that my failure caused him.

I need to get the jokes faster.

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