Mindy is upstairs weeping right now, and it's my fault.
Today is the Bible Challenge. This is Isaac's second year competing, and it's his first year having put any real effort into preparing for it. I know he's going to do a wonderful job, and I really, really want to be there to see it. However, I am kidding myself if I think my body can handle not only an hour round-trip in the car to get there, but hours of waiting while the competition is going on. I'm hoping to take my last oxycodone this weekend, not start popping them every three hours again.
So I came up with a compromise. Isaac will hitch a ride with his cousin, then we'll go this afternoon to watch the individual competition and see the awards ceremony. What a great solution, right? It'll still be rough on my body, but hopefully not too much to handle. It's also better for Jacob, who has several commitments all afternoon and evening.
But Mindy is heartbroken. She wants to go and hang out with the older kids like she did last year. She wants to watch all the games and questions and pretend she's a part of it.
I made my daughter cry, just like I've had to so many other times. They should tell you that before you have kids. They should say, "You're about to have a little person that looks exactly like you. You will love them in a way you've never imagined, and you are going to have to disappoint them and watch them cry, knowing it's your fault."
It is in this mood I share with you a link to a song off of Brandi Carlile's new album Bear Creek (via Paste Magazine). The song is "That Wasn't Me," and it's beautiful and heart-wrenching, like most of her music.
Maybe that's what I can tell Mindy: when I make you cry, that wasn't me.
It's going to be okay, anyway. I can hear her giggling in her room upstairs with her dad.