Pippi again

Small victory this week. I clogged up the kitchen sink yesterday trying to shove some leftover pork roast down the garbage disposal. The first 10 minutes free I had to work on this problem was about 9:30 last night after getting the kids home from softball and water polo and getting them fed. Life as a young widow of two busy teenagers would be more doable if I didn’t have to work, but that’s not going to happen. I had to take apart the plumbing under the sink – remove about 5 pipes, but I did clear the clog. I was happy with myself because my first thought was to call a plumber, which would have been expensive.

This would have fallen to me before Chuck died too… ( There’s one memorable Christmas dinner when I was pregnant with Charlie and my father-in-law, his wife, along with Chuck sister’s family all came for Christmas dinner and 20 minutes before time to serve, Chuck put several pounds of potato skins down the disposal. I was on the ground, hugely pregnant with a wrench and a bunch of towels, unclogging it so we could get our holiday dinner on the table)

It just felt different this time, because it HAD to be me.

Overheard at our house this week:

• When asked about having me sit in on his grief counseling appointment again, my son said: “Be sad on your own time.”
• When asked why she banged her bat on the plate when she was at bat, Samantha said: “It’s like a dog peeing on a tree. I’m marking my territory - telling the pitcher, this is MY HOUSE.” Chuck would have LOVED that, as he would have loved the way she’s been hitting the ball. We miss you at the softball fields, Papa, even if we can solve the minor plumbing crises on our own.