The hits keep on comin'

Apparently this month it's not so good to be related to me.

Monday evening I got a call from Meemaw who announced herself in that special tone of voice. She was in the ER with Poppop. While taking the trash down to the curb that night, he slipped on an icy patch and fell. He broke his leg so majorly that he required surgery to set it right again, with new rods in both his tibia and fibia. That was pretty bad, but perhaps worse was that my mom was at work at the time, so for 20 minutes Poppop lay outside on the icy concrete, in the cold and in morphine-deserving pain, screaming for help from his snooty Carmelite neighbors tucked away in their cute little houses. He was eventually carted away in an ambulance.

At almost the same time two states away, Grandma Ross took Grandpa Ross to the ER. While we were in Missouri, Grandma had told me of Grandpa's crazy and unrelenting shoulder pain, and that the doctors kept blowing them off about it. When it got bad enough to suggest an ER trip, the required further investigation revealed that Grandpa has at least one blocked artery. He's going through a stress test to reveal the extent of the problem or damage, and will probably need surgery to place a stint in an affected vessel.

A few days later now, Poppop's leg situation is better. Bionic Poppop can take some steps on his own with a boot on, and his leg is healing nicely. But now his throat is clogged up so much that he's having breathing trouble because his uvula has swollen up with some sort of infection that hopefully is not due to a hospital-acquired superbug.

I'm just glad in all this that we're going back to Indiana on Sunday, having aborted our original plan of staying home for Christmas even before all this happened. But it makes me wonder, seriously, why is it that we live nearly 700 miles away?

Party animals

We've been busy this weekend attending Christmas festivities at the houses of others, since we can't ever seem to keep ours clean long enough to have a party in it. Does anyone sense a new year's resolution coming on?

Last night we went to our friend Eva and Molly's house for their annual holiday party. We went last year, too. It is always a wild affair, one that is attended by the entire University physics department as well as Eva and Molly's mommy's vast network of mommy-friends. It think it is not unreasonable to suggest there were more than 50 people in their decently-sized two story home. Their daddy is an accomplished piano player and leads the house in carol-singing throughout the night. There is a truckload of pizza, wine, things covered in chocolate. It is the classy, grown-up version of a frat-house kegger.

Certainly we are not ones to say no to a party, especially one with free pizza and other people's toys. We went and had a good time and screamed at our kids to share those toys! and chatted with some of an outer circle of mommy friends. But those kinds of parties are really not our faves. In parties that large, we find it's actually harder to talk to people, because it's either too loud or because the sheer frightening numbers force people into cliques that they don't leave. That's right -- we're total squares. Daddy and I somehow never found ourselves at frat parties. We always leaned towards the parties that involved less than eight people, you know, the kind where the entertainment was provided by Taboo, Trivial Pursuit, or that Indiana staple, Euchre.

Today we went to a party at Camille and Noah's house, where they fed us roasted beast, potatoes, salad, noodles, bread, and wine. Including us, there were three families of four there, plus one single. We sat down to dinner, and the kids took turns refusing to eat anything and vacating the table. We played with their toys and talked in-depth with grown-ups we didn't know. It was pretty awesome. It's the kind of party I hope to host one day, when I get around to sanitizing our crap shack.

A place for everything

Our car is a mess, as is every car that ferries little people around each day. Although goldfish crumbs make up a significant portion of the floorboard mulch, I would estimate that, by weight if not volume, we chauffeur enough toys around town to seriously affect our gas mileage. Our three in-car Woody dolls say "Eat that, Mother Earth!"

We now limit each boy to one toy in-hand per car trip, usually a Cars car or a stuffed animal. Most times these things find their way to the floorboard before we get back to the house. They lie there for months until I overcome the insanely high activation energy required to rid the car of clutter. It's a hobby of our pal Anthony's to inspect our backseat whenever we'd get together. "Whatcha got in there today, Miss Claire?" He is always seriously disappointed if I'd cleaned.

Isaac is the self-appointed Safety Officer for the toy cargo. "Mommy, my Mickey needs a seat belt, too." He tries to insist that Mickey or Woody or Buzz or Teddy Bear should ride in the dinky seat space between the car seats, but I usually suggest that his friend of choice is the safest on his lap.

As we ran errands today, the boys and I finished off a bag of gummy bears left in the car from our trip home. I found a red gummy bear for Isaac, and apparently its safety also needed to be kept in mind.

"Mommy," he told me, "I'm keeping my gummy bear safe. It has a special seat in my mouth."

The pick-up artist

Today my nightmare came true and for the first time I was late to pick up Isaac from preschool. The clock in the car said I was just barely on time, but those evil ho-bags Miss Susie and Miss Barbara let the kids out just a bit early. Isaac was literally waiting by the door, looking out, as all the other moms were bustling around picking up their babies' artwork from the day.

I had played this scene over and over in my head, what would happen, how our hearts would break together at how I wasn't there when I was supposed to be. There would be much wailing on the part of Isaac, then once safely in the car, I would start bawling my eyes out at how I was suddenly (GASP!) "that mom".

But none of this happened. Isaac saw me and gave me an excited and big hug, leading me back to his cubby to get his junk. I started asking him about his day, and he told me they read a story about Santa Mouse. "Do you want to see it, Mommy?" Sure I do, especially since you don't hate me for not being on time.

He led me into their classroom, now empty except for 1) the teachers busying themselves tidying up the room for the day, and 2) a classmate of his, Samantha - whose mom or dad had not yet arrived either - busily flipping through The Very Busy Spider. This is really a pretty laid-back school. Santa Mouse was sitting on a nearby table, but now that we were in the room Isaac wanted to show me all around.

Samantha was glad to see us and came over to hang out around the boys and I. She is a really, really sweet girl, as all the kids in his class are super-sweet. She was especially fond of Jacob, repeatedly trying to introduce herself to and hug him. Jacob spurned her advances in favor of a basket of buttons. Isaac was a little offended by all this attention thrown at little brother.

"Mommy," he said, "I want Samantha to hug me." Um, cheeseball, then why don't you ask her? So he did. "Samantha, can I have a hug?" But Samantha couldn't hear him, or wasn't paying attention to his voice underneath all her cooing over her new love Jacob.

Isaac was frustrated. "Mommy, I want her to hug me. Why won't she hug me?" Well, why don't you try asking her again?

So Isaac blasts out his masterful pick-up line: "Samantha, I'm getting to be really sad because you won't give me any hugs." And the girl STILL won't pay attention to him, so enamored she is of his little brother who won't give her the time of day. It's as true at three years as at twenty-three.

Seeing that she really wasn't ignoring Isaac so much as enveloped in cutie-Jake, I told Samantha that Isaac would really like a hug. She immediately turned towards Isaac, blasting him a mega-watt smile, and folded her arms all around him. Isaac grinned and wiggled under her like a goon.

Boys.

Snow angels

On our way back home from Missouri we made a pit stop in Indiana to visit with the folks. Thursday we hung out with Mamaw and Dadaw, and then Meemaw took off work Friday and we played with her and Uncle Chrissy. I brought my camera along but never could remember to take any pictures. It was a good thing, then, that shutterbug Chrissy got SLR-happy while the boys played in the snow on Friday. Isaac became a snowball-throwing machine.





And an Isaac funny: We rarely go to church, but we intend to go more now that the boys are old enough to sit still(er). In TiVo-ing Christmas things, I recorded a PBS special that had marionettes performing the nativity, and I thought it sparked much useful discussion. As we were driving out for the funeral we talked a bunch about Christmas. We reminded Isaac that Christmas is Jesus's birthday. Thereupon ensued a discussion of Jesus's mommy and daddy, and I retold the nativity story.

Isaac, ever the storyteller, says, "Now I have a story. It's called Baby Jesus's Mommy Goes Sledding."

Obituary

Below is the entire, verbatim text of the obituary written for my grandpa by his pastor. Pastor Hoffstetter had help from our family but also personally knew grandpa quite well. It was read at his funeral service and printed in the service bulletin.

---

Wilbert Raymond Peetz was born in the family home near Tilsit, Missouri on September 23rd in the year of our Lord 1924, the second child of Edwin A. and Emilie Voges Peetz.

He was baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit at St. James Evangelical Church in Tilsit on October 19th, 1924 by the Rev. Johannes Viehe. He was then confirmed at St. James by the Rev. F. W. Weltze on April 2, 1939. He was again confirmed by the Rev. Channing Miller when he became a member of Christ Evangelical Lutheran Church in Gordonville, Missouri on July 25, 1948 where he remained a faithful member for the rest of his life.

He was raised west of Gordonville and attended grade school in Tilsit and High School in Gordonville and Vo-Tech and HVAC schools in Jackson.

In December of 1944, Wib was inducted into the United States Army and saw action in the Phillippines. He was honorably discharged in November of 1946 with the rank of Staff Sergeant.

On October 5, 1947 Wilbert Raymond Peetz was united in Holy Matrimony to Dorothy Lee Winkler at Christ Lutheran Church in Gordonville. The Lord blessed their union with two children: Darryl Keith [my uncle] and Alice Jane [known here as Meemaw].

During his life, Wib was self-employed. He was a farmer, owning and operating an Angus cattle farm west of Gordonville, where he also raised Christmas trees. It is said that he would give away as many trees as he sold. He was also an able carpenter. He was fond of pointing out the more than one hundred homes that he had helped to build over the years, in addition to many of the farm buildings he had built and homes he had remodeled.

Over the years, Wib was very active in the Christ Lutheran congregation where he served on the Boards of Trustees, Elders, and Finance, and as Sunday School Superintendent. He was also a member of the American Legion Post 158 for over 50 years. He had also served as a Boy Scout leader.

Wib enjoyed bird hunting, camping, traveling, and fishing with his grandchildren. But most of all he liked to visit with people. He would go on long walks. This is not to say that he would go very far, but that he would often stop and talk to people.

The Lord in His wisdom and mercy called Wilbert Raymond Peetz from this life on Sunday, December 2, 2007, having granted him a pilgrimage through this world of 83 years, 3 months, and 9 days.

Wib was preceded in death by his parents, Edwin and Emilie Peetz; by two brothers, Clarence and Eldon Peetz, and by one grandson, Andrew.

He is survived by his loving wife of 60 years, Dorothy of their home in Jackson; by their son Darryl and his wife Joy Peetz of Shawneetown, Missouri; by their daughter, Janie and her husband Walter Ross, of Indianapolis, Indiana; by one brother, Junior Peetz; three sisters Ruby Sander, Helen Moll, and Bernice Overbeck; by three grandchildren: Claire, Christian, and Joshua; by two great-grandchildren, Isaac and Jacob; and by many other relatives, friends, and neighbors.

Following this service, burial will be in Christ Church Cemetery after which you are invited to join the family in fellowship at the Parish Hall of Zion Lutheran Church which is located 7/10ths of a mile south on State Highway 25 at County Road 229.

---

His newspaper obituary can be read here, though I don't think it quite captures Grandpa as well, and they misspelled Meemaw's married name.

Saying goodbye

After about a month of battling congestive heart failure, my grandpa died this morning at the age of 83.





He celebrated his 60th anniversary of marriage to my grandma last month.



The O'Neal clan is packing up the house now, cat and all, and heading to Missouri for the funeral to say our own goodbyes.

We'll miss you, Grandpa.