I'm getting there. Slowly but surely.

Okay... well it seems that my little foot stomping, full blown tantrum did me a world of good yesterday.
Gettin' it off my chest and all.
Either that, or the home made enchiladas that I made for myself last night - and which I didn't have to share with anybody.
Especially any turned-up noses, non-Mexican food loving philistines.

And the beauty is, I slept like a proverbial baby.
Like for almost 7 hours.

So here I sit this morning in my jammies, just as the sun's coming up... with a fresh hot cup of Folgers by my side, all ready to share the next little bit of my vacation with y'all.
And my mind's a blank.

Dammit.

Have you ever had one of those fantastic dreams where everything is just so perfect, so wonderful... and just as you're waking up, you think "Nooooo... I don't want this dream to end"?
But you wake up anyway and lay there for a while basking in the glow of that dream... and then 10 minutes later, you can't remember a single solitary bit of it?
You know that it was good, and you still feel the essence of it, but it's all jumbled up and gone with the morning light but there's enough left in your heart and mind, to light up your day and to keep you smiling?
That's me right now.

I know that I had a wonderful time and I know that it was pretty nigh perfect in every way, (well, except for the shopping bits and not getting Mexican food of course) but I just can't get it all ordered in my mind.

See, I can still feel Brandons' little feet as he stood on my lap, breathing his wicked burning dragon breath in my face, while I pretended to pass out from the scariness of it all...

And I can still feel the weight of Draven curled up in my lap stroking my face and arm while he talked about this and that and voiced his worry about me living in such a dangerous place...

And I still feel the tears on my shoulder as Griffin sat in my lap and cried his little heart out at the thought of us leaving... days before it actually happened.

Being fed "dipped in the ashes" gritty toasted marshmallows. Burned marshmallows so hot I could barely stand it, under-cooked and rubbery marshmallows... until I thought I was gonna chuck.
Then moving on to S'mores.
Burned ones... crispy ones... perfect except for the burning lava chocolate ones... Even a few made with Reese's miniatures that had been cut in half.

Holding those boys in my lap and wrapping them in my sweater to keep them warm as we sat around the fire pit, with burning faces and numb frozen bottoms... with Grummie having pride of place in the only decent recliner/rocker and everyone else teetered on plastic chairs.

These are my grandsons... not born of my son, and already complete and formed and making their tentative way in the world before they ever came into my sons life...
And mine too, for that matter.
But mine.
All mine.

Could it be possible that I could love them more, even if they were my own flesh and blood?
I doubt it.
They have my heart. My whole heart, and I would lay down my life in a heartbeat, for each and every one of them.
I would even eat ashy gritty marshmallows for any of them... and swear they were ambrosia.

Maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time getting thoughts to paper. (So to speak, anyway. Lord knows I can talk... and I can talk the hind leg off of a donkey, but it doesn't always come out like I want it to.)

Maybe because it's all about love.

My grandsons... my son Josh and daughter in law Becky... friends old and new... family and extended family...
You can talk about it, and you can feel it in the air, but you can't always just put your finger on it or hold it in your hand to show off to people.

Because it's like a dream you never want to wake up from.