July 28th, 2003 was a day of pure unadulterated joy. My sweet 30 year-old daughter, with the wicked smile and cocky ‘tude had just received a package that came with no guarantee, nor warranty; worse yet no operator’s manual. The one favorable thing was: No batteries needed. July 28th stole my baby from me and threw her head first into motherhood—and what a wonderful mother she has become.
Five weeks later I found myself face to face with my “nervous nelly” daughter, my frantic and beside himself son-in-law, and this little critter who was able to bring them to tears and keep them both up all night with this teensy weeny little voice that amplified into a freight train rumble at will. I looked at the little guy and thought, way to go kiddo, way to go! When I looked at my daughter’s face I saw love, panic, joy, confusion, more love and even more confusion, desperation, and oh yes…a look that said: “Ma, you kept telling me to have pets instead of kids because they are cheaper, easier, non-judgmental and more forgiving. I didn’t listen Ma, I didn’t listen. Help. Oh please help!” My son-in-law had already transcended to a higher plane. Then I was handed this wonderful little boy and instantly fell head-over-heels in love. What a kid. Oh how cute. I went through the whole the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, therefore sweet daughter if he looks like you he must also look like me, routine. I had instantly become his slave, also known more commonly as Grandma.
The first thing I told those two babbling imbeciles that were in charge of my little precious guy was, “Why don’t the two of you go out for awhile. Go to dinner or something, whatever something is, just go, go, go! Seize the moment (sometimes I am into drama) for he will be here forever and I won’t be—go, go and enjoy some big people time.” Little did they know I had an ulterior motive…I wanted that little “Chunky Monkey” all to myself, to stare at him in awe and amazement, without them laughing at me.
Instantly that little boy and I bonded. I kinda got that feeling when I first saw him laying in his crib, looking as if he were wrapped up in a baby straight jacket (new parents, what do they know.) He turned toward me with such pleading in his little baby browns—Granny, (cool baby) please, please, please oh pleeeaaassse, tell them to loosen this stupid thing. I can’t swing out at the world if you don’t help me. Come on Gran, do your Granny Mojo. How the heck did he know about my mojo magic powers? This was too darn special; we were truly connected. Off came the blanket and poof—there was this baby of all babies free to feel life and not have the fear of remaining his birth size forever due to the blanket bondage. Also saved him from the nickname burrito, if you know what I mean.
I noticed that same dazed, glazed and confused look in his eyes when it was feeding time. Best thing to do was to sit back and watch–see why he was sending me little baby messages—kinda like with the torture chamber baby blanket incident. I watch as my sweet daughter feeds the little darling, and all seems well until my son-in-law jumps up in a panic, pulling the bottle from my daughter’s hand, ( all the while my little precious has his eyes on the prize and looks like he’s becoming mighty pissed off, for he knew something that I didn’t, and was about to find out). “Stop!” hubbs yelled in a panic. “No more! He has had two ounces. Take the bottle away, NOW! (I’m sitting there thinking, Huh?…What the heck?…Am I missing something?…You are surely jesting, right? RIGHT?…WHAT? WRONG? No jesting intended?…Are you kidding me?) And they wonder why the little wee one is up every two hours, and they are both walking around like the living dead? I made a vow to grab my son-in-law’s relaxation bottle of beer after he drank two ounces and to snatch the chips right out of his grubby paws. So! Ya like it big guy? Mister baby bottle bully. Turns out my daughter was doing the same thing—”and why?” I asked in total horror. In perfect unison, like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar and crumbs on their faces, they looked at me and said, “The nurse told us to do this, she really did, we swear.”
Not wanting to overstep my grandma boundaries, yet knowing full well that my baby angel was sending me baby angel messages that were growing stronger and stronger, I asked them if I could explain how I fed and raised six kids. YES, YES,YES! reverberated throughout the room, and so I proceeded to give them two hard and fast rules of parenthood—never, and I do mean never (unless absolutely necessary) wake a sleeping baby, and ALWAYS let them feed until they want no more. They will stop on their own and increase amounts as they grow. The way they were doing this would have killed them for sure after a few more weeks time, and certainly the babe would not be a happy camper. Needless to say they were up every two hours around the clock feeding him, and crying at the drop of a pin—my daughter and son-in-law—not the wee one. The first night of my visit I had the little doll sleeping through the night, after drinking away to his little baby heart’s content. Have to admit that this propelled me way up to a sort of ROCK STAR status, and was pampered and idolized like never before, or since I might add. Amazed myself as well. Only expected about four hours out of the little guy but he turned me into a hero. What a kid.
Unfortunately, my visit was cut short due to major health issues with another daughter, but I had managed to work my mommy mojo yet again. Sadly, I had to leave, not knowing that everything would be changing drastically within the next year.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Beginning of My Journey
I suppose you could consider 1945 as the year of my beginning my journey through life. It was during the month of May that I entered this world with a vengeance, and have gone full speed ahead ever since.
As a little girl I always oooohed and aaaaahed at all the babies being pushed around in baby carriages; dreaming of the day I would become a mom and have my own babies: Didn’t know I would need a husband until much later. At that young and impressionable age I wasn’t interested in those boring details. Anyway—my goal was to become a lawyer and to have lots of kids. Somewhere along the line I realized I needed a husband, so I met a really nice guy and we were married when I was all of seventeen. Wound up becoming a hairdresser and had lots of kids. At the tender age of twenty-one I became the proud parent of my fourth child…ahhhh the good old days when we married young and had a gaggle of little geese walking behind us.
I managed to survive all the trials and tribulations of raising a total of six precious little darlings with my sanity pretty much intact. I was learning life’s lessons through the joys of motherhood. I felt this experience was preparing me for whatever lay ahead, down the rock strewn road towards my future; after all I was like a child raising children, and a military training camp couldn’t be any harsher than this.
During the early years there were two major surgeries, as well as various and sundry mishaps. One kid gets shoved by another and ends up with a hairline fracture of the hip. One climbs out of a crib and as luck would have it, falls and breaks his collar bone. One falls from a friend’s bunk bed ladder and breaks a leg, and of course there was the usual coughs and sneezes and rashes and earaches and boo boos and splinters and bites from other darling little children, and so on and so forth. Amidst all the chaos, there was fighting over homework, who was controlling the TV, who got to stay up the latest, who got the last cookie, who left the empty ice cream container in the fridge, who stole whose clothes, and on and on and on. Pretty intense training for any life situation if you ask me. Probably could have learned the same lesson from two kids!
The teen years were like every other parent’s nightmare…you feel like you have fallen into an endless pit of despair, wondering aloud and through tears while hiding in the bathroom…where are my children? Where have my little angels gone? Then you realize that a natural phenomenon is transpiring: You find out that their brains start to dissolve at the age of thirteen and starts to take the form intended at around eighteen; hopefully. You also wonder if they ever get smarter or do they just get taller.
Everyone manages to grow up safely, and thankfully with some intelligence, and they leave to make their mark on the world. This one marries this one. That one marries that one. This one chooses this as a career. That one chooses that as a career. The phone rings and the news of the blessed arrival of a little boy or girl is greeted with laughter and tears, and boy are you going to have fun, and ya better sleep while you’re in the hospital, and all the other little pearls of wisdom that can be mustered while listening through a fog of memories and days gone by. You want to scream out: Where does the time go? Where? Did I blink one too many times, causing me to miss something? How did this happen without my seeing it coming? Yet here it is, the circle of life throttling ahead full force. So I have now entered what I thought of as phase two of my life’s journey feeling quite cocky and feisty and ready to kick some butt. Kids? Piece of cake. Need help? Piece of cake. Need advice on this or that? Piece of cake. Yeah…you let them cry a bit…won’t hurt. Yeah, you can put some cereal in the bottle with the formula…won’t hurt. Nope they won’t sleep through the night for awhile and that will hurt. Not to worry, the baby dearest won’t feel a thing.
The time had finally arrived to sit back and watch and enjoy and be able to go home. How sweet it is. Hug a baby, smell the baby fresh scent of a little one, rock them, kiss them, secretly wish it were yours then slapping your own head back to reality, feeling their gentle wispy breath against your neck…what a little angel. I now knew that I was part of a much bigger picture.
In case you are wondering why I am not going into very much detail the reason is this: I am just setting the stage for where I am now and that is what this blog is about. Everything that has led up to this point in my life was supposed to prepare me for whatever comes my way. I had to learn some form of patience considering I raised six little gems of my own. I had to have acquired some inner strength from dealing with various health issues, some of which required major surgery. I had to have developed some semblance of wisdom, seeing as how I had to resolve so many problems. One of my smartest moves was to tell my kids: When you cut something in half so it can be shared, one gets to cut in half and the other one gets to make first pick. The division could not have been done better by a surgeon. All this left me feeling a tad pompous and self-assured in my knowledge of children, or so I thought, and then my precious little grandson, affectionately known as “Chunky Monkey” was born.
As a little girl I always oooohed and aaaaahed at all the babies being pushed around in baby carriages; dreaming of the day I would become a mom and have my own babies: Didn’t know I would need a husband until much later. At that young and impressionable age I wasn’t interested in those boring details. Anyway—my goal was to become a lawyer and to have lots of kids. Somewhere along the line I realized I needed a husband, so I met a really nice guy and we were married when I was all of seventeen. Wound up becoming a hairdresser and had lots of kids. At the tender age of twenty-one I became the proud parent of my fourth child…ahhhh the good old days when we married young and had a gaggle of little geese walking behind us.
I managed to survive all the trials and tribulations of raising a total of six precious little darlings with my sanity pretty much intact. I was learning life’s lessons through the joys of motherhood. I felt this experience was preparing me for whatever lay ahead, down the rock strewn road towards my future; after all I was like a child raising children, and a military training camp couldn’t be any harsher than this.
During the early years there were two major surgeries, as well as various and sundry mishaps. One kid gets shoved by another and ends up with a hairline fracture of the hip. One climbs out of a crib and as luck would have it, falls and breaks his collar bone. One falls from a friend’s bunk bed ladder and breaks a leg, and of course there was the usual coughs and sneezes and rashes and earaches and boo boos and splinters and bites from other darling little children, and so on and so forth. Amidst all the chaos, there was fighting over homework, who was controlling the TV, who got to stay up the latest, who got the last cookie, who left the empty ice cream container in the fridge, who stole whose clothes, and on and on and on. Pretty intense training for any life situation if you ask me. Probably could have learned the same lesson from two kids!
The teen years were like every other parent’s nightmare…you feel like you have fallen into an endless pit of despair, wondering aloud and through tears while hiding in the bathroom…where are my children? Where have my little angels gone? Then you realize that a natural phenomenon is transpiring: You find out that their brains start to dissolve at the age of thirteen and starts to take the form intended at around eighteen; hopefully. You also wonder if they ever get smarter or do they just get taller.
Everyone manages to grow up safely, and thankfully with some intelligence, and they leave to make their mark on the world. This one marries this one. That one marries that one. This one chooses this as a career. That one chooses that as a career. The phone rings and the news of the blessed arrival of a little boy or girl is greeted with laughter and tears, and boy are you going to have fun, and ya better sleep while you’re in the hospital, and all the other little pearls of wisdom that can be mustered while listening through a fog of memories and days gone by. You want to scream out: Where does the time go? Where? Did I blink one too many times, causing me to miss something? How did this happen without my seeing it coming? Yet here it is, the circle of life throttling ahead full force. So I have now entered what I thought of as phase two of my life’s journey feeling quite cocky and feisty and ready to kick some butt. Kids? Piece of cake. Need help? Piece of cake. Need advice on this or that? Piece of cake. Yeah…you let them cry a bit…won’t hurt. Yeah, you can put some cereal in the bottle with the formula…won’t hurt. Nope they won’t sleep through the night for awhile and that will hurt. Not to worry, the baby dearest won’t feel a thing.
The time had finally arrived to sit back and watch and enjoy and be able to go home. How sweet it is. Hug a baby, smell the baby fresh scent of a little one, rock them, kiss them, secretly wish it were yours then slapping your own head back to reality, feeling their gentle wispy breath against your neck…what a little angel. I now knew that I was part of a much bigger picture.
In case you are wondering why I am not going into very much detail the reason is this: I am just setting the stage for where I am now and that is what this blog is about. Everything that has led up to this point in my life was supposed to prepare me for whatever comes my way. I had to learn some form of patience considering I raised six little gems of my own. I had to have acquired some inner strength from dealing with various health issues, some of which required major surgery. I had to have developed some semblance of wisdom, seeing as how I had to resolve so many problems. One of my smartest moves was to tell my kids: When you cut something in half so it can be shared, one gets to cut in half and the other one gets to make first pick. The division could not have been done better by a surgeon. All this left me feeling a tad pompous and self-assured in my knowledge of children, or so I thought, and then my precious little grandson, affectionately known as “Chunky Monkey” was born.
Dedicated to my GRAND"SUN"
This is written with love, devotion and joy towards a little boy who has changed my life forever. He has shown me what is important and what should be thrown out with the trash. At any given moment this little seven year old boy can bring me to my knees in a heartbeat…most times with laughter, and occasionally with pain… This is to share moments of pain so severe, you thought you would not be able to go on breathing; only to find yourself laughing hysterically (and on occasion maniacally) and thinking you would not change him for ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD. You realize the wondrous creature screeching and running in front of you is TRULY A GIFT.
Drake, my little “Chunky Monkey,” this is for you.
Drake, my little “Chunky Monkey,” this is for you.
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