Tag Archives: possibility

Inheritance Week

There was a tiny visitor in our home for a week – an adorable replica of her Dada – a little 1 1/2 year old who has her Bubbe and Grandpa utterly smitten.

As her parents traveled the southeastern states for a wonderful road-trip week of re-connection, we traversed the roads back to parenthood with a sudden immersion into the world of the toddler.

The first lesson – do not disregard nap times!  We may be the adults and we may be in charge of the schedule, but passing over the nap was such a painful experience come bedtime, oh my!  Right back to the toddler schedule we went!

One of the interesting things I observed that week is the propensity for this little one to gravitate toward little girls things.

As a mom to boys, I have a good stock of toys that boys enjoy:  cars, trucks, planes, boats, ninja turtles and the like.  We’ve stocked plenty of girl things as the years have passed, to appease the nieces who visit.

So I set out an assemblage of age appropriate things – and her little self was smitten with the baby dolls and stuffed animals, and the purse!

Not that any of this matters.  I just found it interesting, in a Bubbe sort of way.

Now that the time has passed, and work has resumed, and gardens have taken all of my home attentions, I look back on the week and smile.

That was the most amazing week of my life.

I’m glad her precious little self has her very precious Mama and Dada back within reach, and I just hope that this was the beginning of a family tradition.

 

Sober and Scribbled Pictures

I can’t really describe this funk that settled upon me since leaving the hospital.

Deflated.  Perhaps.

I relayed to My Love that I’d painted this perfect little picture of the moments I’d share with the new family and how those would feel.  But the reality is that reality happens.

Boom.

Pow.

Scribble, scribble.

Other people are living in the picture, and other needs and feelings and goings on are happening.

My picture got scribbled upon.  Oh poor, poor, pitiful me.

Yeah.  It’s like that.  I’m processing it, preparing to put the hurt aside, but I’m allowing the feelings to marinate just a bit first.  I’ll not share them, you see.  So before I tightly contain and seal them up, I need to feel them – that way they won’t fester and become some ugly wound.

We’re the family members who reside farthest, so I had it in my mind that we’d have a good portion of touch time before we parted.  But those who live close angled in for their firsts at the same time and mommy and daddy got a bit overwhelmed.  Time for everyone to go.

But those who live close will be able to resume quickly, where we’ll need to parcel out time and funds from our schedules and pocketbooks to make another run.

No blame there.  It just is what it is.  Reality.

Not what I’d had in mind, silly me.

So I’m oozing emotions today.

On the bright side of those funny little emotes, I saw the man who is my son stand tall and proud this past week.  I saw his capable hands change a diaper, saw his jaw set firm with concern for his wife’s well-being, and saw his compassion flesh out as a bright shining thing.  I saw his impatience as well, the niggling little allowance of we intruders.  He’s fully entered his own now, and that – that there – that makes this mom proud.

Painful as it may be.

 

Cultural Days: Bittersweet Pages

Today marks the cultural page turn – from 48 to 49… meaning that I’ll begin telling myself that I’m 50 now.

It’s a bittersweet change, a journey-marking and emotion-stirring sort of transition.

I love who I’ve become.  It’s been a long hard journey, but I feel it’s come full circle now – I found the girl I lost a long, long time ago.

A woman now, but with a girlish joy, a girlish energy, a girlish view of life – with a firm foundation of reality and knowledge.

Oh, I don’t know it all – hell no I don’t!

But what I do know gives me courage.

It gives me strength and fortitude.

And I can now look in the mirror and say “I love you, you beautiful bad-ass you!”

That took a long time, and I just realized today that it’s real.

Sadly, I’m now the number my grandmother reached, never to count another.

Did she ever reach a satisfaction point?

Was she ever able to look at the mirror and love those eyes looking back?

I’m only two years from the number my mother last counted.

I don’t know that she had the satisfaction of self-acceptance either.

This anchors me, holds me firmly on my feet.

I think of their end – to feel as young as I feel, yet to have lived as much as I have lived now.  To realize how precious life is – I mean, we finally really get that at this age!  Then to be done?

Finished.

No knowledge, no history to follow.

Missed opportunities, missed grand-kids, missed great grand-kids…

That rocks my world a bit.  It makes their absence seem off-balance, skewed and unreal.

I know that I’m 90% likely to exceed this year by 20 or 40 (yes, I’ll take the positive view) years.  I’m thankful for what I have and what possibilities exist…

And I’m so happy with where I am, where we are, my spouse and I – where our kids are, and what our lives are about.

More importantly, I’m so thankful to Almighty that I’ve been allowed the opportunity to see today.  We really never truly know if we’ll see tomorrow…

Sigh.

There you have it – it’s bittersweet…

But there’s more — I’ll share the “cherry on top” moment for the day:

Moving slowly this morning, just a little worn from four hours of road time yesterday, topped by a 5K mud dash for a fundraiser, I was feeling pretty good about myself.  I’d accomplished a physical feat that I had been unsure of, and I had met new people and enjoyed myself thoroughly.

lozilu profile

I took my sweet time, finally taking time to run through the edits and uploads for my niece’s bridal shower pictures.  Much later than my usual time, I was ready to eat breakfast and get outside to monitor the poor, neglected garden.

I was in such a hurry to get outside, I decided to take my yogurt/granola out with me and eat it as I walked through the garden.

There I was, granola bowl in hand, rounding the corner of the garage, noticing that there was a strange chair peeking out from behind the camper.

As I continued my approach, the accompanying bistro style table with colorful flower mosaic tile and second chair came into view!

I have to admit, the smile on my face was the biggest I’ve had, and the tears that streamed down my face were pure joy.

I slowly set my bowl down and admired his choice, feeling the sudden rush of contentment that comes from someone just knowing me so well.

Yes, I feel pretty good, pretty grounded about the number fifty.