I hate waiting for information. I'm okay waiting in line at the checkout counter. I'm okay waiting for the airplane to take off. I'm even okay waiting in traffic, so long as I can hear the traffic report and I know why I'm stuck. But waiting without knowing is not for me. So today is hard. S. is in the OR and I am in the waiting room, waiting. It could be one hour, it could be four or five. They could find something, or not. If they find something, they may be able to do something about it, or not. If they do something about it, there may be complications, or not. Depending on what they choose to do, he may have to spend the night in the hospital, or not.
There are more branches to this tree than Henry VIII's family tree. So I wait.
Yesterday my oldest daughter had a fit about her new jacket. She couldn't decide in the store whether she wanted tan or denim so I waited. Forty-five minutes spent trying both on, debating the relative merits of each, and finally a choice. Tan. Five minutes later, buyer's remorse. She hated it - had to go back and exchange it. The sleeves were too long, she looked "funny", the denim one would go with more stuff... Within fifteen minutes she was screaming and throwing the jacket across the room. Two minutes later I stood watching her thread her little fingers through the silky black hair of the dog's floppy ears, him licking the tears from her cheeks.
I patted the couch, "C'mere. Let's figure out what's really going on here, okay?"
"MAYBE I'M REALLY UPSET BECAUSE DADDY'S GOING BACK TO THE HOSPITAL AND I KNOW IT!!" she shrieked. Oh. Now we get down to it.
This morning she wanted to color before I took her to the neighbors' house to wait for school. She chose a color-by-number page. No imagination or fantasy this morning. Tell me what colors to put in which places and I'll do it. Stay inside the lines today.
So, I wait.