Exhausted

Himself is out of town yet again.  Good god this single parenting thing is getting old, as much as I love my kids.

Spent two hours standing out in 45 degree rain this morning watching Petunia play soccer.  Luckily the field configuration was such that I could leave the boys in the car with video games to keep them warm and dry.  Fed them lunch, got them all spiffed up and then took them to the first memorial service of their lives (for a friend's mother), which was an adventure in and of itself.

They behaved amazingly well, all things considered.  Especially since they were the only kids there.  We rehearsed beforehand what is and is NOT appropriate to say to the bereaved, and luckily all three remembered their manners.  On the bright side, the bereaved in question is a guy with a good sense of humor who has known them all for years, and would doubtless have been able to muster the proper perspective had one of them banged it up.  I would have left them home with Himself had the man been in town, but considering that the kids have known the bereaved gentleman as long as I have, I decided to just bring them with me rather than getting a sitter, after first ascertaining that there was not going to be an open casket involved.  That gives me the heebie-jeebies and I'm a grown-ass woman.

Anyway, under the best of circumstances, a first memorial service is a situation that comes just LOADED with questions.  "What's a funeral home?  What do they do here? Why are we waiting in this line?"  Then it gets real.  "What's that vase thing by the flowers up in front, and why are people crying by it?"  (Detour to explain the concept of cremation at an age-appropriate level, which flipped the hell out of Petunia since she initially thought family members had to watch.)  THEN Thing One read the obituary, which was printed on the back of the memorial service program, and noticed the part where it referred to our friend's husband, so another detour to explain that yes, he is both gay and married to another guy and by the way, that changes NOTHING about how we interact with him.  Which news, I will say, did not appear to faze Thing One in the slightest, so happily I do appear to be successfully raising a non-homophobic son.  But kee-rist on a goldfish, what a series of conversations.

Home to change afterward, out to the local neighborhood Italian joint for a comfort-food dinner, a quick stop at the grocery store and then back for pjs and bed.  Kids are down and there's a nice glass of Merlot sharing the desk with my computer right now.