Holding Steady?

13 weeks since the protective custody shuffle. About 6 weeks since the double funeral for my son and his mysterious wife. The time warp feel of all this is such that none of us know whether to put "only" or "already" in front of the notes on time passage. All this would probably still feel fragile, even without the mysteries of the lawyer attacks and adult manipulations of the children from the other grandparent house. With those legal manuevers still casting the shadow of doubt over the longevity of our current efforts to find the new normal, our morning and evening routines are beginning to *feel* routine. Big Bro's anger bursts are softening. Big Sis's panic attacks are smoothing. Little Sis is conquering the higher art of walking. Last night at the third swimming lesson for all three siblings, her enthusiasm for the newly familiar event carried her consecutive steps from the threesies and foursies here at the farm into the teens and twenties. Pretty soon the lifeguard will be nagging her about not running on the slick surfaces around the pool. The deep slumber in this morning's bewitching hour speaks of their satisfaction with last night's swim lessons and sweet anticipation of tomorrow's lessons. The lessons are on Tuesday and Thursday. Monday is dance lessons for Big Sis. She adores being a "Tiny Dancer," as the dance academy calls their pre-school dance class.

Hubs has shared my feeling of a spiritual family reunion going on up here on the hill. He believes the entity which joined my own Big Bro during the finishing touches on the Honey Barn is his maternal grandfather, Taz. He was a devoted dairy farmer all his days on a farm not too far north of here. His dairy farm is now a garishly lit shopping mecca. The cotton farm of his paternal grandparents is now under airport runways not too far from the shiney new world league shopping mecca.

While mindfully saluting the psycho nag flags on the delusional aspects of my mental health herstory, the perceived family reunion seems to be morphing into a playful sidebar in the discussions of Mommy and Daddy with the children. Maybe. We see what grows.

For now, I believe we are holding steady at not worse. Just believing. . . Still praying my ABC's. We see what grows. . .