There is this episode of breaking bad, when Jesse Pinkman goes to retrieve money from a meth couple and finds a little kid at the house.
We have a little kid at our house on weekends, the foster kid. Mr. Hall and I bring him every where we go with our kids, like to the park. The park kids say to him, "Can your Dad push us on the spinning thing?" He says, "That's not my Dad. My Dad's in jail." Which, oddly enough, doesn't make me that sad. His dad writes him, calls him and sends his son pictures he drew.
"That's more that I got from my Dad", says Mr. Hall, whose Dad was never in jail, just in California.
That bums me out.
The kid's mom is not in jail. I think about her when I tie her son's shoes, watch him pet our kitty, tuck him in at night and make him pancakes. I think about what she is missing, like I'm stealing her moments.
All she has to do is simple things and she gets the boy back in her life. When I say simple things, I say REALLY SIMPLE THINGS. No heavy lifting required. But she's not. And so we get him on weekends.
He sleeps on the bottom bunk in my son's room. We're going to give him his own two drawers next weekend so he won't have to pack a bag each time he comes.
All of this is driving me a bit crazy. I'm starting to feel less of a babysitter to this kid. I'm starting to love him and put him in line with my kids, love wise. This is dangerous. He's not ours. He has a Mom and Dad. The kid wants to be with his mom. I want him to be with his mom.
So, I pray for her and try to hold back my judgement. I try not to bristle when his grandma comes and drops him off. Her pain fills the room and I feel sucker punched by it. EVERY SINGLE TIME.
So I hold the kid when he lets me. No stopping the love now, it's already out there.
There is a character named Hank on the show. He unexpectedly gets shot and is in the hospital. His wife fights the insurance to pay for his therapy.
Last week we got a call that my Dad is in the hospital. He dumped his motorcycle, broke a collar bone and nine of his ribs on the right side.
It's going to take a long time to heal from this. He's 72 and has the old bastard trifecta of diabetes, high blood pressure and obesity. They are weaning him off the ventilator in the next few days. The co-pay for the insurance is nutz and we are all struggling with this.
This is not the first time we've had hospital calls about my Dad. He's a big bull who is stubborn and not careful. He's broken ribs, nearly cut off his thumb and gotten subdural hematomas all within the last few years.
He's not careful.
Today he was alert enough to make facial expressions and gestures. It was weird and shocking for me. He wants the tube out. I wonder if he'll be a different person after this-the most severe of injuries. I'll love him no matter what though. I've long since forgiven him and have grown actually found of him lately.
Like I said to my mom, "We'll get through this as a family."
Meanwhile, the pregnancy on Breaking Bad produced a little love of a girl. I'm now 37 weeks pregnant and READY TO GO.