Wordless Wednesday

Past Connections

I lost my last grandparent in May.

My grandmother, Janice S. Bartels, passed away on May 19th, just a little under a month from her 90th birthday.

I have never heard anyone say that death is easy. Ever. Even when you know that it's coming at some point -- there's no other end for us humans -- the reality of it isn't pleasant. Even when you know the person is "better off" because now he/she "isn't suffering," it isn't nice. It just feels so...final.

Suddenly you think of all the wasted moments, the times, the events -- good and bad -- that you won't get to share with that person. You can't just pick up the phone and call her anymore. You can't ask questions about her past to get to know her -- or her "era" -- a bit better, not that my grandmother was into that.

My grandmother had a hard life. Some of it was caused by her own choices, but some of it by just the fact that she was born into a home where her mother was somewhat harsh and the rest of her family perhaps a bit indulging?

Raising four children by herself in the '40s and '50s -- with a deadbest ex-husband who'd remarried a woman who wanted to pretend he didn't have a previous family -- my dad once told me it wasn't easy for her. The rumors that were spoken behind her back; the stories and gossip that were spread about this young, beautiful woman with her pretty teenage daughters who had to take in boarders to help pay the mortgage......

My mom just told me the other day that my grandmother needed to get a job once the divorce was final -- since she got very little of the court-ordered child support from my grandfather.  But she had never worked before in her life. She'd graduated in 1939, had my aunt in 1940, and then had my mom in 1941. She was a daughter and then a housewife and mom. So getting a job that paid well enough to keep their house and four kids was a feat in and of itself.  Add in the fact that she had no real job skills, and it was nearly impossible.

But she did it, and my mom and aunt worked as well.

I asked my mom if my great-grandmother ever offered monetary assistance. My mom said absolutely not. My great-grandmother would have loaned my grandmother money, but she always felt my grandmother was defiant and disobedient and made bad choices. She didn't ever think it proper for my grandmother to have her own thoughts and ideas and abilities. She was just wrong, in my great-grandmother's eyes. She'd "made her bed and so must lie in it."

It suddenly struck me how hard it must have been for my grandmother. It suddenly made me miss her more....wishing I could give her one more hug to let her know how much we loved her -- and how proud we were of her.

Everyone makes bad choices -- some more than others -- but isn't that what forgiveness and mercy are all about?

Sigh.

Nice vs,. Mean

"Attention! Attention!

Nice Mommy has left the building, taking with her all nice thoughts, deeds, ideas, and hugs.

It is uncertain when -- and if -- she will return......"

Sigh.

Some days feel like that lately...today being no exception.

Sigh (again).

Stuart is away on another trip. It feels (though he assures me it isn't so) like he's been away a lot more recently. Maybe it's coming close together or something...because it seems like we've eaten a ton of mac-n-cheese as of late.

I had in my head all the things we could do this week -- all the things I need to do this week. And it all came to a screeching halt when my temper flared this morning.

Sigh (yet again).

It's not that I'm completely unjustified in my reactions to things. But I get frustrated at myself when I can't seem to stop myself from ranting and over-reacting...and, even more so, when I feel like I just want to quit.

I know from experience that motherhood is full of days like this. And I honestly don't really want to quit or change anything.

It's just in my moment of venting, I'm gathering my thoughts and getting down on my knees to ask God to help me deal with things in a more, well, in a more "nice" way.

Then I'll be able to say: "Mean Mommy has left the building, taking with her all mean thoughts, deeds, ideas, and folded arms.

It is hopeful that she won't return......ever."

Well, it's a nice thought, right?

Sigh.

Life's Driving Force

The thing about life is that it moves entirely too quickly. There's a feeling that if life moves fast, somehow I must move faster. In doing so, though, I end up missing out on the most precious and simple moments of joy.

Sigh.

I've always felt that need to slow down, and finally today (albeit, for a just brief moment) I got to do just that.

Sitting at the breakfast table, Ethan began to "drive" using his cereal bowl as a steering wheel. He made the motor sounds and even "shifted" using his spoon.

At first, Emily and I just smiled at his imagination and continued eating our breakfast.

Then he announced quite loudly and excitedly that we'd "arrived" in New York City!

At that moment, for some unknown reason, I felt myself transported with him. I joined in his fun and marvelled at the tall buildings around us. Then I pointed to a Starbucks and suggested going there next.

He laughed and began "driving" us there. He then asked what I wanted to drink and served me quite genteelly.

"Hold on to your coffee!" he said and started to "drive" again.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"To church!" he said happily.

At church, we sang a song together and then got back in our car to drive to....the Art Show!

Quickly admiring a Monet and then a Bouguereau, we then boarded the car to race onward to...Walmart.  I told him I'd get us the big bottle of GermX that I needed.

I requested that we travel to my favorite toystore FAO Schwarz back in NYC. It was a quick trip, because then we had to go "bowling."

At the bowling alley, Ethan said he got lots of balls and threw two strikes! I said that I only got a spare. But Emily, who joined in the fun, got a strike, too. Ethan high-fived her.

After all the "journeying," we headed home and the cereal bowl once again became just a cereal bowl.

We laughed at the fun of "driving around" -- at least in our imaginations -- and finished our breakfasts...but somehow it felt as if we'd just had a wonderful adventure together.

Tuesday Tidbit

Last month, we went to our borough's annual Independence Day Parade. A photographer from our local newspaper took this photo of Ethan's awe in watching the festivities. He was enraptured by all he saw. It was so precious!

Eggs-tra Special

Stuart brought me home a Galaxy Caramel Egg. Galaxy. Caramel. Egg.

For those of you who don't know British chocolate well, Galaxy makes a creamier version of Cadbury's. It's one of the Mercedes of the chocolate world.

I've had it since May.

For those of you who don't know me well, that's a LONG time for me to keep chocolate.

I'm a choco-holic. I know it. My hubby knows it. My kids know it. If there's chocolate in the house, it won't be long until it's no longer in the house. If there was some kind of support group for this addiction I'd be the "poster child" for it.

Okay. So I exaggerate...a bit.

Anyways...back to my Galaxy Caramel Egg...

Each of the family members in my house -- with the exception of Ethan and the various fur-covered ones -- has demanded implored encouraged me to eat said egg.  I'm guessing it's to remove the temptation that they feel in seeing it each day.

But I can't.

It's not because I don't want to. It's not because I won't enjoy it. It's not even because I'm not physically able to.

I just don't want to...yet.

There will come a moment, when the time is right and the coffee is perfect, that I will peel back the foil wrapper and sink my teeth into the luxurious caramel surrounded by creamy chocolate, savoring the sweet goodness with a swig of Starbucks Special Blend.

...........

Excuse me. I think I hear the kettle whistling.....