The Summer House Rules

Tags

Cool Hand Luke, Dairy Queen, Ice cream, Kids out of school, Popsicles, Summer vacation

Good morning, you children of mine, you spoiled of summer.  After three short days out of school, I see the need for boundaries and structure, lest the summer break become a summer sentence for us all, ending in heartbreak and destruction to our home and our very souls.

The rules are posted to the doorway of the kitchen:

1.  No TV, computer or video games before 7:00 a.m.  It’s indecent.

2.  There is a strict limit of two popsicles per day.  Three when the heat index hits 105 degrees.  I will not buy new popsicles until all of the old ones are gone, including the yucky grape ones.

3.  You will make your bed and brush your teeth in the mornings and get dressed.  You will not lie about in your pajamas all day while your teeth rot in your head from eating so many popsicles.  You will bathe at least every other day.  It’s up to you if you wear shoes or not when you are outside, but if you get a splinter, I will dig it out with a needle and make sure it doesn’t get infected.  Capeeshe? Or is it capiche? Maybe it’s capishe?  It doesn’t matter, you know what I mean.

4.  There will be a quiet time each day and you will read.  Books.  Good ones.  One day you will thank me for this.  Books will take you places that your father and I never can and will stay with you the rest of your lives.  I wish someone would send me to my room to read every day.

5.  We are not a family of raccoons.  You will not forage for food all day long.  You will eat three squares with an afternoon snack and maybe an evening treat and your two popsicles.  That is plenty.

6.  Your mother does not work here, clean up after yourselves.  If you open it, close it.  If you get it out, put it back.  Throw away your trash, put your dishes in the sink, laundry goes in the basket.  Seriously.

7.  Do not, under any circumstances, wake the baby while he is sleeping.  If you wake the sleeping baby with your shenanigans or fusses or loud feet, you will hold, rock and pat the nonsleeping baby until he goes back to sleep.  You will then be forced to spend the night in the box or eat a bunch of boiled eggs or something.

8.  Just because we go somewhere during the day does not mean we can stop at Dairy Queen for ice cream every single time.  I know you have been somewhat conditioned to expect this but you are out of school for two and a half months and our budget will not withstand that kind of extravagance.

9.  The answer to the question “Can we get wet?” is going to be ‘No’ on Wednesdays, Sundays and any day following a day that you got wet and left a mess in the yard or mildewed, grassy towels on the floor.  Refer back to rule 6.

10. It’s summertime and the livin’ is as easy as you want it to be…

40.5

Tags

Action and Reaction, Balance, Gravity, Inertia, Prose, Seesaw, Teeter-totter, Tilting Board

Squeaky voices rise and fall.

Ci-ca.  Ci-ca.  Ci-ca.  Ci-ca.

Sing-song voices.

Can you hear them?

See-saw.  See-saw.  See-saw.  See-saw.

Sneakered feet, grounded in dirt, push off, and truths are revealed against the azure blue of the sky and the blazing heat of a summer day.

Up-down.  Up-down.  There is action and reaction, equal and opposite.

Up-down.  Up-down.  What goes up must come down and Gravity is a dependable teacher.

Up-down.  Up-down.  Keep moving your feet or the see won’t saw, this warning from the one they call Inertia.

See-saw.  See-saw.

A child’s game.

I remember the see-saws at the park when I was a child, peeling green paint on wooden boards, the sound of metal rubbing metal when we teetered up and down, and sun-seared iron handles that you dared not touch, holding instead to the backside of the board and taking your chances with the splinters.

If you had a really good partner and the weight was even and you were just the right distance from the middle, the two of you could sit completely still and conspire against Gravity for just a moment, letting your feet dangle above the dirt, neither up nor down, but up and down all at once.

I remember standing on the middle of the see-saw by myself, planting one foot on each side of the bar, working my legs to shift the balance of the board.  Sometimes I rocked back and forth with all my might to slam the board down to Earth, creating a clatter that jarred my bones.  Mostly, though, I liked standing in the middle, as still as possible with the length of the board balanced beneath me, neither up nor down.

See-saw no more.

See-see.

Then, a shift, from the wind or a fly buzzing ’round or some other slight thing and the board was in motion again, Gravity returning to set things right.

Up-DOWN.  Up-DOWN.

See-saw.  She-saw.

I was a child, then a girl.  I was 16, driving and dating, then 20 and getting married. I was turning 25, buying face cream and hair color, then 28 and 33 and my babies were being born. I was 35, 37, 39, and then, out of nowhere, I turned 40.

Forty.  I thought I knew it all.

See-saw.

Ci-ca.

From the French meaning this-that.

See-saw.  See-saw.

This-that.  This-that.

Life.  Joy.  Grief.  Worry.  Despair.  Hope.  Love.

At 40 I didn’t know.  I didn’t know I would find myself in words or that my blog would connect me to others in ways I didn’t know were possible.  I didn’t know I would lay eyes on the toughest 1 pound 9 ounce baby boy I ever saw or that I would be the one to bring him home from the hospital.  I didn’t know I would worry so much in such a short period of time or that my faith would be tested in new and scary ways.  I didn’t know I would love and cherish my family as much as I do right this minute.  I just didn’t know.

In some places a see-saw is called a tilting board.  Yesterday the tilting board leaned toward 40 and all the things I didn’t know.  Tomorrow it will lean toward 41 and all that is possible in the crazy, wonderful, bone-jarring see-saw that is the up-down, up-down of Life.

Today, though, I find myself standing in the middle and the tilting board doesn’t see or saw or tilt or teeter.  It is neither up nor down but balancing on what I know.

40.5.

For Worse or For Better

Tags

Husbands & Wives, Marriage, Mother's Day

I didn’t see the part where they stood at the front of a church or before a judge to say the vows.  I didn’t see the part where they looked into each other’s eyes and promised to love each other for better or for worse til death do us part.  All I saw was the part where they were out to dinner together on Mother’s Day, sitting at a table in the back, side by side instead of across from each other.  My husband and I used to sit that way in restaurants, hip to hip, talking and touching and eating from each other’s plates, in the days before we had children who needed to be separated and corralled into booth corners.

They were the only ones in the restaurant that didn’t look like they were celebrating Mother’s Day.  Many tables were filled with families and generations of mothers, theirs seemed empty by comparison.  An older couple but not old, they sat side by side with empty chairs across.  Even seated I could tell he was a tall man and she probably had to stand on tiptoes when they kissed on their wedding day.

When the server brought their food I watched in surprise as the wife began to feed her husband and then herself.  Alternating bites of salad and pasta passed between them, amongst bits of conversation and smiles.  She fed him every bite, right down to the hot fudge covered dessert that they shared.

I don’t know how the for worse part happened, the part where their lives individually and as a couple changed forever.  Maybe it happened a few years ago or before they ever met or maybe before he was ever born but something terrible happened, this I know.

Maybe war or some dread disease put him there or maybe it was a car accident that he was lucky to survive.  Something put this tall man in a wheelchair for the rest of his life and took his ability to stand or move or feed himself.  That something was the for worse, til death do us part, part of the vows.

What I saw in the restaurant on Mother’s Day was the for better part.  It was the part where a wife and a husband sat side by side in a restaurant on the busiest day of the year and ate together intimately and joyfully even though some terrible thing had happened to them and changed their lives forever.  It was the part where a wife seemed happy to feed her husband and he seemed glad to let her do it.  It was the marriage part…

For better, for worse, then for better again.

It’s the Bigs #34

Tags

America's Pastime, Babe Ruth, Baseball, Little League, Tball, World Series

Hey #34, you’re in the Big Leagues now.  No more hitting off the tee.  You’re gonna have to stand in the box and swing at the heat.  Your dad knows a lot about baseball and it’s his job to teach you but there are a few things I want you to know.  It may be a while before you have to deal with some of it but it’s never too early to start learning.

It’s a whole new ballgame in more ways than one.  There are girls on your team (yes, GIRLS) and that’s okay.  I know they have foofy pink gloves and cleats and helmets.  I know they wear ribbons in their hair and non-regulation spirit socks but they’re your teammates…and some of them are really good.  Better than you, even.  Watch and learn and be nice to them.  Eventually you’ll want them at the baseball field.

Don’t swing at everything that comes across the plate.  I know your coach is pitching but let’s face it, he’s no Carl Pavano.  Let one go by every now and then.  Get your elbow up and when you swing, swing like you mean it.  Babe Ruth missed a lot of balls, but when he hit one, it went.  Speaking of elbows…

Don’t throw an elbow, it’s dirty.  Run hard and beat the throw.  I know you may have heard your father yell this at the TV a time or two while watching a game, but it’s not cool to take out the catcher, especially when you’re six.  Everyone will think you’re a bully and it takes all the fun out of the game when you make somebody cry…which leads me to this universal baseball truth…

There’s no crying in baseball.

Well, actually that is a big fat lie.  Big, giant grown men cry over baseball all of the time.  They cry when they lose the World Series, they cry when they win the World Series.  They cry when they don’t get to go to the World Series.  Their fans cry.  Big, giant crocodile tears.  The only people in baseball who don’t cry are the managers.  They may have a stroke or slowly go insane, but they don’t usually cry.  Anyway, if something awful happens during the game, try not to cry on the field.  If you do that’s okay, you’re gonna get ice cream either way.

Baseball seems like an easy sport.  Hit the ball.  Run the bases.  Field the ball.  Throw the ball to first.  It is not as easy as it looks and you did not come from athletic stock.  Your father is a musician and my greatest athletic achievement in life was winning the long jump at third grade field day.  Don’t sweat it if you don’t get a hit or can’t catch the ball when it comes your way.  Just do your best and have a good time.

It’s important to be a good sport.  Your Best Bud is on the other team along with your other friends from school and church.  It’s not personal if he hits the ball over your head or makes the throw to first when you hit the ball.  It’s just part of the game.  I expect you to keep a good attitude and high-five everybody afterwards.  This one can be a toughie and the grown-ups at the field don’t always provide the best example for you guys to follow.

Oh, and one more thing.  Go ahead and get your pants dirty.  Yes, your white baseball pants.  Really.  I know sometimes I fuss at you for getting your pants dirty, but in this case, go for it.  Round third and slide into home if you feel like it, kicking up a cloud of dust.  If you do a good one you’ll have a streak of dirt from your calf to your hip.  Major league baseball would be a lot more fun to watch if the players just went for it sometimes.  Don’t play it safe.

And can I just say one more thing #34?  It kills me how your little boy ears stick out from under your baseball cap and I think you are so stinkin’ handsome in your baseball uniform.  I promise never to say that in front of anyone else or call you Honey Bunny or Bubby or any other baby names out on the field like some moms do.

Okay.  I’m done.  Almost.

One more thing…

Baseball is a game.  Remember that.  Have fun and play hard and show the big boys how it’s done.

#34 at the plate

Saying Goodbye to Old Dreams

Tags

Dream Home, Dreams, Family, Fixer-upper, Front porch, Growing Pains, Job Change, Moving, Old House, Recession

When Chickie was three we bought a front porch.  It was a glorious Southern porch complete with a wicker swing and a ceiling fan, hanging ferns and azalea bushes.  English Ivy creeped up the sides and it looked out on a magnolia tree and a Bradford pear.  The front walk was lined with monkey grass and the two corners hosted bushes that erupted into a profusion of white blooms every spring.  The porch was a cheerful sight to neighbors walking dogs and kids on bikes.

When Chickie was three we also bought windows, windows so big that a grown man could stand in them without stooping.  The light streamed through these windows into every room of the old house, some rooms with double and triple windows casting sunbeams and creating shadows that shifted and changed as the day faded to night.

The porch and the windows came with a yard.  Several mighty pin oaks graced the rear along with a French blue hydrangea about the size of the kitchen.  At the first sign of warm weather each year the yard came to life as buttercups, lilies and irises popped up all over, flowers planted long ago by a lady that people around town called Mama Deere.  She had lived in the house when it was new, before it had indoor bathrooms or closets, along with her husband and five children.  One cheerful neighbor told us that when the man of the house passed away he was laid out in the front room for his funeral visitation.  Truth be told I often felt a chill pass through the place.

After many years away from our small hometown we moved back for a job change.  We were living in a tiny rental house around the corner from this one with our baby girl and our yellow dog.  My husband had gotten his dream job as a professor at a small liberal arts college and I had found a way to stay close to Chickie and put my teaching experience to use at a nearby preschool.  Things were going well.

If we were smitten with the house on our neighborhood strolls we were absolutely enthralled when we toured the inside one evening in late summer.  High ceilings, large rooms and built-in bookcases convinced us that it was the perfect house for our young family of three.  It was all of 1250 square feet with two bedrooms and one and a half baths.  When you opened the front door you could see straight through the house to the back door.  Living room, dining room and kitchen lined up on the left, bedrooms and bathrooms on the right.  A realtor might describe it as cozy and charming or a cozy charmer…. or a fixer-upper…

We knew the house was small.  We knew we might one day need more room and that it needed some work.  The previous owners had done a lot to improve it in the four years they had lived there.  We thought we could do more.  Potential is both an exciting and dangerous thing.

We bought it.

We didn’t even rent a truck to make the move.  My husband and my dad made a few quick trips around the corner with a pickup and I put Sadie on a leash and she and Chickie and I walked to our new house.  Moving day revealed a few flaws in the old charmer.  We hadn’t noticed the hump in the dining room floor, or the fact that the original single-paned leaded glass windows needed replacing, or the overgrown hedge teeming with poison ivy. The floors were weak in general and quite uneven and the closet revealed a light bulb hanging down from a cloth-covered cord.  It was a little unfortunate that we didn’t anticipate the lack of heating until the bitter cold crept in during winter and ice formed on the inside of the windows.

We didn’t care.  We wanted a home with history and character.  We could fix the flaws, remodel the interior and build an addition on the back.  We could create the home of our dreams in our own sweet time.

Eventually our family of three became a family of four and things were definitely getting tight.  At this point we had invested many thousands of dollars into a central heat and air system, new floor joists, plumbing, lot excavation and a circuit panel.  After seven years we had not remodeled or built an addition to our dream house but we were finally at the point where we could.

Enter the recession.

My husband found himself trapped in an impossible work situation.  Even though he had advanced to Department Chair and completed his terminal degree, the picture perfect liberal arts school was struggling to maintain enrollment and pay bills, including payroll.  For two long summers, the professors and staff were told there was no money for payroll.  They did eventually get paid but the long weeks and months took their toll on morale.  The school did everything it could to try to raise funds, but failed.  We stuck with the school the first year hoping it could be saved but started looking for a new job when they announced once again there was no money for payroll in the summer.  My husband said goodbye to the colleagues who remained.  Those same devoted few found themselves without jobs the following year when the university closed its doors after 168 years.  We were lucky we left when we did.

The old house stood empty for a long while.  We didn’t have the time or energy to deal with it as we worked on creating new lives for ourselves in our new town. Then, in the spring of 2011 a devastating storm caused a heavy tree limb to fall on the back of the house, crushing the roof.  The insurance settlement went a long way towards some of the improvements we wanted to make.  We had some work done and put the house up for sale.  The light was even brighter coming through the new windows.

Finally, one month ago, twenty months after we left it, we sold our dream home to somebody else.  They were charmed by it, just as we were.

I know now why I liked it so much.  I’ve been drawing pictures of my dream house since I was five.  Rectangle bottom, triangle roof, window, door, window, everything nice and even.  I used to lay in that wicker swing on the porch, rocking back and forth, reading, drinking tea and watching the clouds, thinking there was no better place to be.  Neighbors and friends would visit me there.  When I came home at night, the moonlight would bounce off the white clapboards of the house and it would literally glow against the backdrop of the trees and the night sky.  When the fireflies were out, it was positively bewitching.

We no longer own a home.  We decided after moving to our new town that we would not buy again until we sold our other home.  Now that we have sold it I feel both gratitude and unease.  We no longer have mortgage payments.  Our lease is up and we are paying month to month for our rent.  Nothing is tying us down.  We could pick up and go anywhere, anytime.

If I’m honest, that frightens me a little.  It’s much easier to have something holding you back.  I think of dear friends who gave up their home and most of their belongings to move to Africa to serve as missionaries a few years ago.  At the time I couldn’t imagine doing anything like that.  Now I find myself hoping that we find the courage to do some great big thing.

Saying goodbye to old dreams hurts a little…like growing pains you have as a kid.  Your legs hurt everyday for a while and then all of a sudden they don’t hurt anymore and you’re the tallest kid in class.

I’m glad we bought the front porch and the old house that came with it.  I hope the new owners sit on my swing and watch the clouds and think there’s no better place to be.

The Old Charmer

You can read a post about a special neighbor here.

The Man With the Broken Art

Tags

100 Word Challenge, Art, creativity, Fiction

Lily wasn’t planning to go in but the door to Mark’s studio was ajar and she was dying to see what he had been working on all these months.  The critical acclaim and prestigious Rising New Artist award that heralded his first collection had convinced him to quit his job and pursue his art full-time.  He had even given up working with the at-risk kids down at the youth center.  Lily’s confusion turned to dismay as she looked at the easel and the blank canvases stacked in the corner. 

Mark hadn’t created anything. 

Without turning from the window, he spoke.

“I’m exhausted.  Shut the door behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week’s 100 Word Challenge was actually a 107 word challenge using the prompt
“…I’m exhausted.  Shut the door behind you.”  Join the fun and link up to the 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups #39 at Julia’s Place.  I really enjoy the challenge of writing a complete piece in 100 words and then reading everyone else’s take on the same prompt!  Try it!

Spring Break…(Or, Don’t Worry Be Happy)

Tags

Big Lots, Bubbles, Children, Flarp, Microphone, Mothers & Sons, Sidewalk chalk, Spring break, Toys, Walgreens

It is Spring Break for the hubby and kiddos and yesterday I asked my son if he wanted to go out with me to run some errands.  It was a gorgeous day with blue skies and fluffy clouds and we were all wishing we were on a sunny beach somewhere.  However, a day out of school is a day out of school and my six-year-old son had his own agenda and his own ideas about how to spend his time.  After my invitation to run errands he did a quick Q&A to determine whether he should go out with mom or (more likely) stay home with his cooler-than-mom stuff.

Me:  Do you want to go on an outing with me?

Him:  Where?

Me:  Walgreens.

Him:  Can I look at the toys?

Me:  (Sighing)  Sure.

Any trip with my son to a retail establishment involves a plea to look at the toys.  It doesn’t matter if it’s Walmart or the grocery store or a gas station.  If there are toys to be had, my son wants to look at them.  Most of the time I say no.  Sometimes I tell him he can look but we aren’t buying.  On this spring day I say sure, we can look at the toys.

I knew before we got there that we would be buying a toy.  Something about the words “Spring Break” command you to forget your worries and have some fun.  After finding what we needed at Walgreens, I kept my promise and we went over to “look” at the toys.

First purchase:  Giant Chalk Pencil with Working Eraser for $4.99.  I cannot tell you how giant or awesome this chalk pencil is.  I put the regular pencil in the photo so you can fully appreciate the scale of this item.  My son could not stop laughing at the silliness of the Giant Chalk Pencil and said several times that he was “just overwhelmed” by it.  Kid laughs are awesome.  My son loves to draw.  Chalk on driveway is one of his better mediums.  Kid chalk drawings are awesome.

Second purchase:  A Billion Bubbles for $1.00.

Bubbles + children=wonder +joy.

Best dollar I’ve spent in a long time.

My son was very satisfied with his choices and readily agreed to stop in at another store that I needed to visit.  Big Lots.

As we got out of the car he made another plea to look at the toys there and I told him he could look but we wouldn’t buy anything else.  Like a lion who waits by the watering hole, I’m sure he sensed a weakness in my resolve and did not protest, but waited patiently to see what Big Lots had to offer in the toy department.  In retrospect I can see that the Giant Chalk Pencil and its awesomeness pretty much dissolved my resistance to buying other frivolous items.

Big Lots did not let him down.  After perusing an aisle of cars, trucks and action figures, many of whom already reside in our home, we found the cheap toys and novelty items.  Each one was a revelation.

Him:  Look Mom! It’s a microphone! (holding it up to his mouth)  Who wants to hear a joke?

The microphone amplifies his voice to a louder than usual setting.

Me:  I do.

Him:  What do you call a church with a pancake on the roof?

Me:  I don’t know.

Him:  A giant dog!!!! (Laughing)  Now it’s your turn.  Tell a joke.

Me:  I don’t think I can top that one.

Him:  (With pity) You’re just not that funny Mom.

Me:  So true.

Putting the microphone down, he picks up a can of Flarp.  For those of you who have not encountered Flarp (meaning those without hooligan sons), Flarp is a substance advertised as “noise putty”.

Him:  FLARP!!  (Loudly)  Flarp is like play-doh that makes a farting sound.

Me:  Yes.  I know.

Him:  Flarp is funny!

Me:  (Silence)

Putting the Flarp down, he begins to look around for an item I might let him buy.  He finds a nature set with a magnifying glass and some bug tweezers for 2 dollars and asks if he can have it.

Me:  Why do you need that?

Him:  So I can look at tiny things.  My other magnifying glass is broken.

Me:  Okay. (Mother guilt works for this child once again.  Big sister is at the mall with a friend and cash in her pocket and I cannot justify saying no to the educational toy that is the two dollar nature set.)

It occurs to me that I do not have any cash in my wallet and I will have to use my debit card to pay for it.  Thinking it is ridiculous to use my debit card for a two dollar purchase, I look at my carefree son and tell him he can get the microphone too…and the Flarp.

Him:  (Incredulous)  All of this??

Me:  Yep.

Him:  Thanks Mom!!

He is one happy boy.  When the cashier asks him how he’s doing today, he replies “GREAT!” with a smile that could melt an ogre.

In the car he regales me with other “jokes” told into his microphone, recounts the attributes of the giant chalk pencil, and demonstrates why Flarp is like play-doh that can make farting sounds.  The farting sounds are incredibly realistic.  I laugh in spite of myself.

Then his mood turns serious.

Him:  Can you imagine what the world would be like without toys?

Me:  No.  I sure can’t.

Him:  Did you know some kids don’t even have toys?

Me:  Yes.  That’s sad.

My son…hooligan, comedian, philosopher.

We should all take notes.

Don’t worry.  Be happy.  Think of others.

Laugh and laugh and laugh.

Losing the Baby Weight

Tags

Almond Joy, diets, Newborns, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, Weight loss

Not too long ago I was doing the one-leg, two-leg, pull, jump and shimmy to get my favorite jeans on and muttering that I needed to go on a diet.  I have never actually been on a diet but increasing evidence that I am too big for my britches led me to the conclusion that I should do something about it.  Either go on a diet or buy new pants.

Ugh.  And ugh.

I did not go on the diet.  Or buy new pants.

I am nothing if not decisive.

Nevertheless I find that I am losing weight.

Five pounds in about two weeks.

What am I eating, you ask?

Pork roast with potatoes and carrots, BBQ, Casseroles, Homemade cherry pie with honest to goodness homemade crust, Brownies, Macadamia Nut Cookies, Hot Dogs, Pizza, and all the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Almond Joy candy bars I can stand.  No kidding. 

Here is my weight loss secret revealed…

All you have to do to lose weight is bring a fragile and tiny human being into your home and provide round the clock care.  You can eat whatever you want when you are not changing, feeding, patting and rocking the baby.  I have found that I am burning an exorbitant amount of calories with this exercise regimen.

The other secret I’ve discovered is that you can eat whatever you want if you eat it while standing over the sink.  Sleeping babies don’t sleep long so you have to make the most of naptime.  Don’t waste precious minutes eating in a civilized manner, wolf down your food as quickly as possible while listening over your shoulder for mewling sounds that indicate the baby is waking up.  Be ready to abandon your food and rush to the baby’s side.  You just burned more calories by not sitting down!

Smaller portion sizes are also key.  Instead of fixing a plate for myself sometimes I just finish off what the children left on their plates.  Sandwich crusts, stray grapes and a couple of cheddar puffs are a complete meal, I assure you. Occasionally I just cram in a few forkfuls of food out of the fridge when I am in the kitchen to fix the baby’s bottles.  It is working, I tell you!  Did I mention that I’ve lost five pounds so far?

There is one other thing.  Sleep.  When you bring a tiny little human into your home you will get very little sleep.  You will get so very little sleep that you do not know what day it is or whether your children have lunch money or your own name.  Sometimes you have to prioritize.  Sometimes you have to choose what you want most.  Food or sleep?  Cherry pie or sleep?  Macadamia nut cookies or sleep?

Heaven help me, I can spare the food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note:  My baby weight is at least 6-12 years old at this point.  The new baby we are caring for is my nephew.

The Nana With the Dragonfly Tattoo

Tags

Children, Dragonfly Tattoo, Lullaby, Mother, Mothers & Daughters, Nana, preemie, Shortnin' Bread, Women

The kids call her Nana.  My mother is a nurse, rider of four-wheelers, and a lady who can still show a softball who’s boss.  She has a dragonfly tattoo on her calf that she chose in her mid-fifties just because.

My sister went with her to get the ink, I found out about it after the fact.  To put it plainly, she is not your average grandma.

Mother has been staying with us since we brought Little Bit home from the hospital, just as she did when my daughter was born and years later, my son.  Taking up her nighttime post on the sofa, she tended the babies so I could sleep.  For the past week she has slept there again to tend the last of them.

I remember a song she sang to me when I was little.  My mother is not the best singer in the world but I have vivid memories of her singing this particular song, rocking and patting in time. I also sang it to my babies in my own not-the-best-singer-in-the-world voice.

“Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’, shortnin’

Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread.

Put on the skillet, put on the bread

Mama’s gonna make a little shortnin’ bread.

And that’s not all she’s gonna do.

She’s gonna make a little coffee too.

Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’, shortnin’

Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread.”

This week Mother has been here to make the bread.  Nurturing us with comforts from my childhood, she fixed Southern cornbread for supper and chocolate gravy and scratch biscuits for a Sunday breakfast treat.  She has also done the laundry, made the beds, and looked after my two children, all the while telling me I should go and rest and lamenting my lack of a clothesline on which to hang out the towels.

While the baby lay sleeping and the kids were off to school, there was plenty of coffee brewing, serious talk and at least one late-night bout of hysterical laughter between us.  One quiet afternoon we stretched out on the couch together, head to foot, reading.  When she finished her book the same day she started it, I realized we are more alike than I ever knew.  It has been a crazy, wonderful, bittersweet time for us.

The Nana with the dragonfly tattoo went home last night.

I’m not sure I can do it all without her.

I’m thinking of getting my own dragonfly tattoo for courage.

Little Bit Is Here!

Tags

Newborn, Parenting, Premature baby, Swaddling

Change Feed Burp

Swaddle Pat Swaddle Pat

Change Feed Burp

Swaddle Pat Swaddle Pat

Change Feed Burp

Swaddle Pat Swaddle Pat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat…….

For those of you who are new visitors, you can read the amazing story of my nephew’s birth here and his arrival in our home here.