Our genes make us immortal. ~ The Secret of Life, PBS

So far I've spent my morning doing my grocery shopping a little after 6.  Then doing some little chores that I never seem to find the time for during the week.  Like taking a broom and zeroing in on a bothersome cricket who's been chirp chirp chirping in the grass near my neighbor Donna's fence.  How can a cricket chirp 24 hours a day?  I 'swept the grass'  --  gently  --  and it stopped.  Then I stood there and listened for a few moments and all was quiet.  I've been waking up in the middle of the nite and, even with the fan in the bedroom going and the hum of the AC unit outside, little Mr./Ms. Cricket has been cranking away.  Dear Hubby thought it was the fan beginning to make noise but I told him no...it's the cricket.

My daughter-in-law is coming by around 11 am and the two of us are going over to my daughter's apartment to spend the afternoon helping her get settled.  We all pitched in last weekend and actually got her moved but with working full time she hasn't had much time to get organized yet.  I spent some time filling up the back of my pick up truck this morning with the boxes and bins that didn't fit into the U-Haul truck last week.  I can not believe someone who hasn't been out on her own for years can have so much STUFF.  But she does.  And she purged 23 big garbage bags and numerous boxes of books before we moved here from Portland.  I'm bringing along a box of big garbage bags today, too.  Maybe we can help her purge some more.  Her apartment has two bedrooms and a nice storage area off the kitchen...but even with that we're going to be hard-pressed to find room for everything that she has. 

Am I suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome?  Not at all.  The first couple of days she was gone felt kind of strange, but mostly I'm thrilled for her to be able to be on her own.  She'd had one disastrous experience moving in with a friend several years ago.  Came back home to get herself squared away.  Then couldn't afford to rent an apartment in Portland on her own.  She's lived with us ever since.  But here in Michigan she's found her apartment for $635 per month and with the income tax here several percentage points lower than the income tax in Oregon, she should be able to make it just fine.  It's been 35 years since Dear Hubby and I have had our house to ourselves.  It feels good. 

It feels wonderful.

It's good to know both of our children are on their own and I can finally let the apron strings go completely.  As I told her, I never have been one to hold on to those strings tightly anyway.  When my son got married I told my daughter-in-law, "He's yours now".  And I meant it.  And now our daughter's on her own.  We'll be here for them if they need us, but Dear Hubby and I are more than ready for whatever time we have left to be just the two of us. 

Alone.

We're captive on the carousel of time; we can't return we can only look behind. ~ Joni Mitchell

Last week I was on vacation and one of the things I did, besides the mundane chores of painting the front porch steps and sorting/donating a bunch of stuff cluttering the basement, I spent a day with my younger brother. He took me out to lunch at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Vancouver and on the way back to his home we decided to take a drive thru our old neighborhood. To our surprise, 'our' house was up for sale, with an information box with flyers inside tacked on to the "For Sale" post. If anyone was home they'd had no idea who we were so I jumped out of my brother's Aston Martin -- a waaaaaaaaaaaaay cool car, by the way -- to grab a flyer. Since the time period we both lived there, in the late 1960s-1970s, a whole lot of remodeling has gone on and even tho the basic floor plan is the same it doesn't look anything like it did when we were teens. It's gorgeous. The windows to the right of the front door belong to what used to be my bedroom. It's since been converted to a home office with beautiful French doors. The upstairs, which used to be an unfinished attic, is now a huge master bedroom suite with a sitting area in the front gable. The kitchen is to die for. Sigh......if only my parents had been blessed with the money to update it! When they bought it in 1968 they paid something like $11,900 for it. Today it is selling for $239,900. Whoa. One thing it has going for it is it's located in a neighborhood near downtown that is being revitalized, with lots of old bungalow and tudor and Craftsmen homes that have been purchased and revamped. As beautiful as it is I wouldn't want to live there again. Too many bad memories. I suppose you can go home again, but it isn't always a wise choice to do so.

You haven't experienced real life until you've volunteered in a preschool with 15 rambunctious, energetic, inquisitive, precocious, adorable 4-year-olds. What a hoot! Cooper and I spent the morning yesterday with Dylan and his classmates and I can't remember the last time 3 hours have passed so quickly. We played out on the playground, danced/wiggled/jiggled to music, played "What's Your Name" as we tossed a beanbag around the circle, had snack time, craft time, play time, story time. I took blocks and built a huge roadway for the little boys to drive their cars and trucks on. I played doll house with Ava. Ezra and Sumalee followed me around like shadows. I helped several go potty. I didn't have time to feel like the 'odd man out' being the only Grandma there amongst 3 younger mothers...I was too busy! Tho I did have a nice conversation during story time with one of the mothers as she and I swept up the sand around the sand table. I told her what a wonderful experience it is for both Dylan and Cooper to have this exposure to other kids because with being a stay-at-home Grandma I don't really have a network of friends with little ones to spend time with. She told me that she doesn't, either, and with her little boy James heading off for kindergarten next year she was becoming very concerned about him being too isolated. So many mothers work now. Besides James she also has a little one who is Cooper's age...so maybe on one of their 'off' days from school I'll invite her over so the four of them can play together.



Each little phase of the grandboys' childhood is so bittersweet. I didn't have the time or take the time when I was a young parent to realize that, for most of us, one time around the parenthood circuit is the only one we get. We're too tired, too stressed, too young ourselves to know how much we should savor each moment as we're living it. But, oh, how time and age gives us such a different perspective! This time I know it's the last time for me. I don't necessarily want to stop time and keep them little forever, but there are days I wish it would slow down a little bit! But, no...Time waits for no one.

Privacy: the state of being free from intrusion or disturbance in one's private life or affairs: the right to privacy.

When I was a teenager there wasn't anything I valued more and protected more than my privacy. And I was blessed to have a mother and father who respected not only mine but the privacy of my three brothers as well.

When do we parents overstep those bounds? When does 'concern' become 'invasion'? I had friends...my daughter had friends...whose mothers felt it was their right to snoop thru drawers and closets, between the mattress and box springs, under beds, in pockets and purses. My mother never did that to me and I never did that to my daughter -- or my son. Some aspects of our lives really do belong to us as individuals, even when we're 10 or 15 or 18. How do we teach them to trust when we don't respect their privacy?

I was not and still am not a perfect parent. My two children are both in their early 30's now. I've made mistakes and I've admitted to them and apologized for them. But I don't think either one of them will tell you that I've ever pried in to their personal business. As teenagers, when their bedrooms became impossibly messy, I always asked and was given permission to go in and straighten things up. I never looked at anything. Seriously. My mission was to clean and that's what I did. I practiced the same respect for privacy when I cleaned people's houses, too. You shuffle papers together in a neat stack, keep your eyes averted, and set them down when you're done. Whatever is private is private. When my son got married I had a talk with my daughter-in-law and told her I would never pry, that he was hers now and I was 'handing him over'. And I meant it. And I have. He is my son but he is her husband.

I reap what I've sown, too. Do they come and talk to me, seek my advice at times? Yes. Do they sometimes confide? Yes.

I guess what I'm trying to say to some of you younger mothers who are in the middle of mothering preteens and teens is: How you treat them now is going to be the foundation your adult relationship with them is based upon. They do grow up. And if you're really blessed and lucky, they evolve into some very special friends in your life, not just your kids. You have to trust them; they need to know they can trust you.

Turn around and they're one, turn around and they're 4...

I stumbled across this gem today, sticking out cockeyed from a bookshelf Dear Hubby and I have in the bedroom. As I went by and began giving it a push back in alignment with the other books I stopped when I realized what it was: an autobiography written by my son when he was 9 years old. As well as that, there was also a biography in it he wrote about me:

"When my mom was little she had a dog. My mom has 3 brothers. There names are K, T, and E. K is the oldest of her brothers. My mom ran away one day and when her dad found her and her friend he took them to have ice cream. One day at school she was caught reding a book when she should be working. Then her teacher took the book and burned it up. She married a man named D. She loved D. He looks nice. She had my sister in 1977. She had me when she was 22. Her favorite foods are apples, popcorn, and elk meat. My mom is very pretty. She has brown hair, beautiful eyes. She loves me very, very much and I love her! She likes writing and reading and a hole lot of stuff. She likes watching baseball games if there exciting. She is a busy mom. She is very alergic to cotton wood trees."

It was my Mother's Day gift that year. Taped inside is a paper tulip he'd made and given me, too.

I write about my grandboys a lot. But when I read thru this little journal this morning, this book written by my son who is their father, it transported me back 22 years ago as if it was yesterday. And I remembered the darling little boy with the flyaway hair, the skinny little butt that needed suspenders to keep his pants up, and cowboy boots splattering thru every mud puddle they could find. And I marvelled and was appalled at how fast those years have gone by. Did I treasure them enough, him enough? And as I searched my heart I knew that I had. But if I'd only known then what I know now I would've treasured them more.

Life Lessons

A blog entry Donna wrote the other day brought back memories of two children whose lives have crossed my path. I feel deeply blessed to have known them. I wrote this a few years ago on my original blog:

I worked as a lunch lady in a middle school for several years and I met thousands of kids during my ‘illustrious’ career. Many of them touched my heart but none of them touched it like Andrew and Ashley. I think by the time I'm done telling you about them, they'll have touched your hearts, too.

Andrew was a student the first year I worked at this particular school. He had so many disabilities his aide didn't know where to begin to list them all. He was in a wheelchair. His teeth were all disfigured. He had cerebral palsy. He'd had countless surgeries and shunts installed in his brain. He was a feisty little red-haired Scotsman who couldn't speak but he wasn't shy about letting anyone know if he was unhappy! He wouldn't focus or make eye contact with anyone but that didn't stop me from loving him and talking to him every day as his aide would bring him into the cafeteria. I'd hunker down by his wheelchair and take hold of his hand and talk to him like he was any other kid in the school. One day his aide brought him into the kitchen for a snack and asked if we had any yogurt. I told her sure, we had strawberry and blueberry...which kind did she think Andrew might like? She shrugged and said, "Oh, I don't know. Strawberry, I guess." I looked over at Andrew and I said, "How about if I ask Andrew what he'd like?" She looked at me like I was crazy because he never talked and she said rather flippantly, rolling her eyes, "Sure, go ahead and ask him." I did. I went over and crouched down in front of him and I MADE him look at me by sheer will power. As our eyes connected I asked, "Andrew, we have strawberry and blueberry yogurt. What kind would you like, sweetheart?" It took him a few moments but he spoke out: "Bloooooooooooooberry!!" I patted him on the knee and said, "Blueberry it is, buster," and stood up. Well, my co-worker and the aide were standing there staring at me open-mouthed from shock. I just smiled and said, "Has anyone ever asked Andrew what HE wanted before?" and I went and got his yogurt.

From that day on, Andrew was all mine, heart and soul. I taught him a simple song, an old ball-bouncing song I used to sing when I was a kid called "One, Two, Three, O'Leary". When I'd see him I'd call out, "There's my baby Andrew!” and he would smile from ear-to-ear and call out "Baby Krissy!" If I'd crouch down by his chair to talk to him, he'd reach out with his wobbly hand and pat me on the cheek. He'd tell me "I love you."

The last year I worked there, Andrew became critically ill. He spent most of that year in a children's hospital here in the city. He had a leg amputated, the foot on the other leg taken off, too. His mother cleared it for me to have security access to the ICU camera to Andrew’s room and nursing reports so I could check up on him online when I got home from work. I shed a lot of tears. I sent him cards and photos. I sent up a lot of prayers. And then at the end of that school year I lost my job. I lost contact with Andrew. And it grieved my heart.

I remember the first day I laid eyes on Ashley. It was the first day of school and I was busy putting money on the kids' lunch accounts. I looked up to take money from the next student in line and I froze for a moment...then forced myself to smile and keep on talking. Ashley was the most horribly disfigured child I'd ever laid eyes on. She literally looked like a monster. I had seen a lot of things, working in schools, but nothing had ever prepared me for my first glimpse of Ashley. But she was so happy-go-lucky, so confident, so full of grit...I fell in love with her. We formed an instant bond.

She had been burned over the majority of her body as an infant when she was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace and a spark landed on her sleeper and set her on fire. Only the top of her head and her back up around the shoulder area hadn't been scarred. She hadn't been expected to live. But Ashley overcame the odds...what a fighter! Most kids would reel away in shock when they'd see her for the first time but that didn't stop her...she'd just march right up to anyone and talk their ear off.

She missed a lot of school in the 3 years I knew her. She had one surgery where some kind of synthetic hump was inserted under the skin on her back to stretch it out for more skin grafts. She looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The medication she took made her drool and slur and stagger around. But any day she could be at school she'd make a bee line for the kitchen and holler out "Krissy!" and come flying into my arms for a big hug and a smooch. And then I’d go off into the cooler to cry a bit and regain my composure.

Last days of school each year were always bittersweet. On Ashley’s last day as an 8th grader, all the 'graduates' were getting ready to head out to a nearby amusement park for a picnic and to spend the day on rides. Parents had volunteered to drive several of the Special Ed kids in their cars. I was standing with my co-worker in the doorway looking outside, enjoying the sunshine and the excitement of the kids. My co-worker spotted Ashley sitting in the back seat of one of the cars, craning her head toward us and waving frantically. Rhonda said, "Krissy, here she comes!" and Ashley popped out of that car and came racing across the parking lot and into my arms for the last time. I hugged that darling little girl with all my might. As she looked up at me and rested her chin on my chest, gazing into my eyes, I cupped that beautiful little face in my hands and kissed her on the forehead. I said, "I love you, Ashley." She said, "I know you do, Krissy, and I love you, too. I will never forget you!" One more hug, then she went dashing back to the car, whooping and laughing and ready to fly off into her future. I didn’t have a single doubt the world would ever be able to ignore that little spitfire.