August Relief

 

  Most Southern kids hate the oppressive heat of late summer, but I'm always grateful for August. It's the only month of the year when Daddy will run the air conditioning. No matter if July is sweltering and September is miserable, we only get relief in August. I can sleep past 8:00 a.m. without waking up in a puddle. Thanks goodness we don't live in Florida. It's hot enough here in North Carolina.
  I love falling to sleep to the gentle strains of the AC's mechanical buzz. Our home is cool for 31 blissful days, even though the summer heat lingers from late April to early October here.
  I always have nightmares when it's hot at night, but Daddy hasn't quite made the connection. I wake up to the continuous chirping of the crickets, but to me it sounds like monsters outside my window, ready to feast on my flesh like zombies.
  Once I woke up screaming for Daddy. There was a thunderstorm and the rain was coming in my window. I though a burglar had shoved me into a bag and tossed me in the river. I know it was just a bad dream, one of many, but my home doesn't feel safe in the summer. Something about the open windows, the stifling air, and an imagination that can't get a good night's sleep while I'm tossing and turning on sweat-soaked sheets.
  I only sleep soundly in August when the windows are closed. In August I'm safe from the storms and the monsters. My nightmares take their annual vacation, at least until Daddy gets the electric bill and opens the windows again.
  I'm grateful Daddy runs the heat December through February, at least.

Prayers for Nathaniel

  My life was a blur when I had small boys. The oldest was six years old when number four was born. 'Crazy' was an apt description of my life. I was so busy meeting their basic needs for food, clean clothes and diapers, and transportation to preschool and soccer practice, that sometimes I neglected my own needs. Thank goodness for a camcorder or I would have forgotten all the sweet moments, the laugh-out-loud funny things they did and said.

  My third son made me laugh the most, but he also gave me heart attacks. Nathaniel was absolutely fearless, very unlike his cautious, easy-going older brothers. I had to relearn how to parent when Nathaniel came along. At 18 months, he walked to the edge of a two-story balcony with no railing. I couldn't reach him because the space was only wide enough for a toddler to squeeze through.

  I've never prayed so hard in my life. But God heard my prayers, and Nathaniel turned away from the ledge and came back to my waiting arms.

 Two weeks later, Nathaniel vanished from the yard when I turned my back for a moment. We lived on a cul-de-sac so there was no fear of him getting hit by a car, but I frantically searched for half an hour, recruiting the help of any neighbor I could find. I don't think I stopped praying the entire thirty minutes, until he reappeared from a backyard. He explained that he had gone to see a doggie, and was mystified why I was sobbing and hugging him so tightly.
 
At twelve, Nathaniel was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. He spent his thirteen birthday in the hospital. Eighth grade was a blur as he recovered from surgery and struggled to adjust to a synthetic thyroid replacement while going through puberty. It was a long road to recovery, complicated by years of 'self-medicating' and addiction. I've never spent so much time on my knees, praying for one individual. I consider Nathaniel my greatest challenge in life, and one of my greatest blessings.

 I've never stopped asking God to watch over Nathaniel, my heart attack child. On Sunday he moves out to attend college. He'll be living by himself in an apartment in an unfamiliar city. I think I'll be doing a lot more praying, but I'll trust in God to watch over him. My job as a mother is (mostly) done.

Wedgewood

  Julie tried to ignore her stinging eyes as she started on the dining room. She told herself it was just the dust as she blinked hard and began to take the beautiful china out of the hutch. Julie took time to wrap each plate in newspaper before placing it in the box, but she had no illusions that her brothers were taking the same care in the kitchen.
  A crash and tinkling of glass met her ears, but she refused to go investigate. Let the selfish jerks clean up their own messes.
  "Aw, man, that might have been worth something!" Ed bellowed from the living room
  Mike bellowed back, "Shut it!" and "Where's the broom?"
  Julie assembled another box and started opening the drawers of the hutch. A long, tarnished, silver cake knife drew her attention. She took it out and squinted at the engraving on the handle: Michael and Anna, June 23, 1956.
  Julie wiped at her uncooperative eyes as she placed the knife in the box for the auction. She turned back to the hutch and opened another drawer. She discovered a blue velvet box filled with tarnished gold spoons. They looked very old, as if they had never been used.
  Mike walked in to check on Julie's progress. He snatched the box of spoons from her hands and tossed it onto the dining room table. "Don't get sentimental, Jules. We sell it all. Everything."