OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY FOUR
Woohoo comes home from school on Thursday STARVING, wants to know if I'll make spaghetti with meat sauce. Again. Made it Wednesday, too. But she's now the Only Child and is milking it, and that's okay. That's better than okay.
So I'm standing at my very nice and hardly used six-burner, cobalt blue Viking stove, stirring and simmering and the phone rings. Scares the hell out of me for two reasons: 1) Nobody calls us - I've got everyone well trained to e-mail me instead, and 2) Thought for sure it was Outdoor School calling to tell me there was a problem, since it had been a full hour since St. Kathleen had left Rojo up there, "alone."
It was our attorney. I say that all, "we have our own personal attorney on retainer" type of way, and that couldn't be further from the truth. But we do have an attorney we used five years ago when we wrote up our first and only Wills, and now we're using him again, so basically, yeah, we "have" an attorney. ANYWAY. He called because he'd received our revisions and had a few questions and clarifications he needed made before committing our dying wishes to paper and making them bound by law.
So, what just a few weeks ago had me "janked" and in a funk, was a mild intrusion and matter of fact exchange of information Thursday.
"You have that at age 25 Woohoo becomes the trustee for Rojo. I'd recommend 30."
"Okay, 30," I say, giving the sauce a gentle nudge.
"You have that ________ would have Power of Attorney. Who should I put for STM? I spend 2 seconds considering who should make life or death decisions for STM if I am already dead and he's incapacitated. I supply the name while pouring the noodles over the strainer and giving them a shake.
Five minutes later we've sewed up all the loose ends. Our Wills will be prepared accordingly, and next week we'll sign.
None of this matters to me yesterday, the only thing that matters is that my boy, MY boy, is "alone" at Outdoor School, surrounded by people that love him - old and new friends- and I'm home with my girl, making spaghetti. All is right with the world. This "Rojo overnight at ODS" marked on my Daytimer forever, is now here. Here. Not out there, not coming up, here.
And it's so fine it's funny.
If I could take back all the angst I endured in preparation for this night, I would. Now that it's here it's no big deal. I wouldn't take back all the careful planning, all the ducks in a row, step-by-step way we prepared for this day, starting YEARS ago, but I would remove and effectively dispose of the ANGST.
Now I'm applying this lesson to Rojo's future. If he can do this, he can do lots of things I have not thought possible.
Let the planning, without the angst, begin.