All I've Got To Give

Both of my grandfathers served in our nation's armed forces, one in Korea and the other in WWII.  The Hubbs' grandfather served in the USAF.

A lifetime ago, on all counts.

The little sassy girl I babysat had an Army sergeant for a mom.  That same little sassy girl is now a chopper pilot for the USAF.

A boy I knew from track in high school, who had spent many an hour perfecting the pole vault alongside Hambone, lost his life overseas last year.

The guy who decided that my grandpa's nickname for me - Daisy - was a good fit, and called me solely by this new monaker from eighth grade through graduation...he's served in the Marines.

Quite a few others who have passed through my life, mostly schoolmates from decades past, have served or are currently serving our country.

***

To those named above, and to all of the others whom I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting: thank you.

Some may think this holiday has gone in precisely the wrong direction, just another reason for blowout sales, sleeping late, and holiday pay.  But I can assure you that there are enough of us out there who appreciate your service, who strive to remember and honor you, on this day as well as all the others in the year.

None of us would be where we are today, if it wasn't for your bravery, your selflessness, your iron will.

Thank you doesn't seem enough, but it's all I've got to give.  Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

Day Five

You may recall my post from earlier in the week, which talked about The Princess's potty training.  At that point in time, she had had two good days in a row.  This was a landmark occasion, well worth the effort to put into writing.

Welcome to Day Five.

Seems like she's finally ready.  This little girl never ceases to amaze me.

Just Can't Help But Smile

There can be no other occupation like gardening in which, if you were to creep up behind someone at their work, you would find them smiling. ~Mirabel Osler

The other day, as I was digging up day lilies at my momma’s house in the sweltering heat, I chuckled, leaned on my pitchfork, and asked her, “Who ever would have thought I’d be enjoying this?”

“I did,” was her reply.

It was near ninety degrees outside, and my silly little self had decided it was high time to grab those tiger lilies and day lilies we’d been talking about. As I wrestled with the pitchfork and gingerly removed each chute with great care, I found that the heat wasn’t really bothering me. I even caught myself smiling.

My Grandma Irene – Momma’s momma – was a world-class gardener. She had a house on the lake with a gigantic, sloping lawn, over half of which was teeming with beauty. The hill under the garage, which could be seen by all who pass by on the channel, will always be my ideal garden. I find myself thinking, “I like that…it’s pretty…but it’s not as great as Grandma’s,” fairly often.

Grandma spent all the time she could in her garden, wearing – I kid you not – faded salmon-colored satin pumps. She grew up in a time where that’s what women wore, and it’s what she was most comfortable in. Besides, her garden got all dressed up for her; why shouldn’t she return the favor?

During our visits every week, there came a time when – no matter what else we were doing – Grandma and Momma dropped everything and went outside. I, of course, tagged along many times, and I couldn’t be happier with the decision; this was not something I’d have wanted to miss. Twilight: that’s the time for the Garden Walk. Grandma would take us through the garden behind the garage, and to her other islands in the yard, and I’ve never seen anything more magical. Momma and I giggled this past week when we realized that we’d started doing the Garden Walk at our own houses, at exactly the same time of day when we used to go with Grandma.

She traded plants with over fifty people, and that’s just the trades of which Momma was aware. I’m sure there were more. Most of my mom’s plants originated at Grandma’s house and travelled home with us either in the boat or the truck at some point in time.

My garden is a baby, in all senses of the word. I’m just starting, and there’s a long way to go. My lilies – the tiger lilies from Grandma’s, in fact – will fill in over time, and more layers will be added until the entire east side of my house is a secret garden oasis, complete with a path leading through an archway back to a patio where we’ll put a bistro set for summer meals.

It’s hard work. My muscles remind me of that when I wake each and every morning. No matter how much intense physical labor it takes, I always feel more connected while I’m doing it. Connected with nature, connected with other gardeners, and – most of all – connected with my grandmother. While sweat is pouring down my face and I’m covered in mud from head to toe, I know she’d be proud of me…and I just can’t help but smile.

Verge of a Breakthrough

I have three or four things I've been planning to write about, but I'm just not feelin' it today.  See?  This is why I should write posts when I think of them, instead of hanging onto the ideas for later.  The vibe ain't always the same...

So...what to talk about?  I know: potty training.  If you know our family in real life, then you know The Princess has been rockin' Pull-Ups for goin' on two years now.  There have been some days along the way where the potty training seems to be working, but they have been maddeningly few and far between.  In the spirit of never giving up, as well as the hopes that someday this would all start to make sense to her, we've vigilantly continued buying bag after bag (after bag after bag) of Pull-Ups and trying not to cringe when we realize exactly how many we go through each and every single day.

This past week, however, she has started removing her wet or dirty Pull-Up and going bare-butt.  Sometimes, she even drops trou and pees on the floor...trying to do the right thing, but without unlimited access to the potty.  You see, if we left the bathroom door open, we'd go through about eighty-seven outfits a day; she loves to climb into the bath tub and play with the water.  Until and unless this habit subsides, the potty shall remain a supervised zone.

The past two days have been good days.  That's two in a row; this has never happened before.  On Monday, she sported the same Pull-Up for seven to eight hours before bed, and she peed nearly every time I put her on the pot.  One time, I asked - while she was engrossed in some toy or another - if she had to go potty.  Grumma was laughing at me, saying there was no way she'd want to get up.  The Princess, however, whipped her head around to look at me, grinned, and got up to come with me.  She went right away.  She even grabbed my hand once to take me to the bathroom.  Now, that is impressive.  Yesterday was very similar.  I was gone for much of the day doing other things, but The Hubbs sat her on the pot every half-hour or so, and she went every single time.

Not only does she go when we sit her down, but she gets visibly happy - no, more like proud as hell of herself - every time.  To see those eyes light up and that grin spread across her beautiful little face, followed by the wordless happy sound...well, I'd be hard pressed to find anything cooler at this moment in time.

I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough, but I don't want to say it out loud for fear she'll hear me and think that's a bad thing.

Road Trip!

Sunday morning, The Hubbs and I awoke early to the sun streaming through the slit between the curtains in our room.  It was a gorgeous morning, and within minutes we had decided to pack up the family and head a couple hours north to the zoo.

This is shaping up to be an annual Hubbo Family outing, this trip being our third year in a row.  When we arrived at the zoo, we slathered ourselves with sunscreen and set off to find the potties.  After that, we purchased the cutest little baseball cap - brown and pink...my favorite! - for The Princess.  I'm sad to say she managed to lose it somewhere along the way, but we do have some photographic evidence of its existence...however short it may have been.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I don't know any better way to describe our day at the zoo than with a video.



It may not have lasted long, but it was definitely worth the hours spent in the car and the meltdowns that ensued in the sweltering heat.  Who knows?  We may even do it again before the summer is over.

Meet My New Babies

Notice anything different?  Look to the left of the house, by the new fence...

No, look a little closer...

Do you see them?

Aren't they beautiful?

They're called Easy Elegance Sunrise/Sunset roses.

The blooms are amazing.

That peachy color in the center is what sold me...and the white on the outside.  Oh, who am I trying to kid?  I'm a sucker for hot pink.  The other colors are just a little bonus...

...and the almost-fluorescent shades of green and yellow in these new hosta make them stand out even more.

The best part?  They're right below my bedroom window.  If the breeze is just right, I can smell them in bed.

Anybody out there ever heard of landscape therapy?  'Cause if not, I think I may have just found my cash cow.  ;)

Big Day

Happy 33rd wedding anniversary to my folks, AKA "The Grumps."

To Sookie: Happy fourth anniversary of becoming a member of The Hubbo Family.

Happy last day of school to my little princess.

To my friends who should have already arrived in Hawaii: happy wedding weekend.  I know tomorrow will be something special that you will never forget.

I love you all.

You Should See My Heart

Every day, I am amazed by my little girl.  Never once in her life has a second gone by when I didn't learn something new about her...or myself.  Here's a short list of recent moments, which, when added together, remind me why it's so great to be a momma.

***

It's late at night; she went to bed hours ago.  From my cozy seat on the couch in front of the TV, I hear a thunk, followed by a plaintive cry.  I jettison myself off of the couch and barge into her room, only to find a buck-naked three-year-old standing in a puddle.

(What, you may ask, is so great about this?  She was wearing feetie jammies, which were obviously too hot, so she removed the offending garment.  She had to go tinkle, and, though the potty was out of reach across the hall and past two closed doors, she pulled down her pants and went.  Her Pull-Up - which had been launched across the room - is dry.  Some part of the potty-training is getting through...we've just got to work on the location...)

***

It's early in the morning; she's groggy, and she doesn't want anything to do with anyone but her trusty blanket, who we've dubbed Dirt Pink.  She reluctantly takes a few sips from her cup and a handful of trail mix for breakfast, and then brings me her shoes, sitting down and presenting her foot.

***

She's now completely dressed, shoes and all.  She grabs her jacket and presents it to me or The Hubbs, whoever is closest.  She jams her arms through the sleeves.

***

Donning a full outfit, complete with jacket, she grabs her backpack and drags us to the door.  It's time to go.

***

While we're taking our family stroll around the driveway, the bus comes into view.  She smiles and flaps a little.  We smooch her cheeks and tell her to have a great day.  The bus pulls up to the end of the driveway, and the doors swoosh open.  On this one particular day, she lets go of my hand and runs to the open door, going up the steps all by herself.

***

We meet her at the end of the driveway after school.  I board the bus, grab her backpack and her hand, and we're off.  She spots The Hubbs by the gate and lets go of my hand, running full-speed-ahead to her daddy, who whisks her away on a wagon ride, followed by some quality time with her tire swing.

***

One night, she shuffles around with Dirt Pink, obviously ready for bed.  We take her to her room and lay her down, singing our bedtime song.  Just like every other night, we back out of the room saying, "Ni-night."  Miracle of miracles, she looks back at us, smiles, and says, "Nuh-nuh," before rolling over on her side.

***

Before The Princess came along, I never would have thought I could take care of a special needs kiddo...I'd have told you there was no way I could handle it.  Now, I wonder how I ever got by without her, and I am thankful each and every day for the blessing of being her momma.  She teaches me so very much, and these are lessons that could never have been taught by anyone else.

Reflecting upon the sheer awesomeness of being her momma brings to mind one of my favorite sayings that I found some time ago on an autism awareness site: "If you think my hands are full, you should see my heart."

Sure, she's a handful much of the time, but it's so very worth the effort.  Really, honestly, you should see my heart.  It's bursting with love, pride, happiness, awe, and - most of all - her.

Super Saturday: Part Two

When I should have collapsed from exhaustion after Nana, Grampy, and K left early Saturday evening, I got my second (third?  seventh?) wind. 

I headed outside and planted my new rhododendrons...

...sectioned off my vegetable garden area...

...seeded the mud pit in the front yard, in the hopes of someday having actual grass there...

..and came inside to watch a movie with The Hubbs.  We chilled out for a little while before J and A arrived from the wedding to stay the night at The Hubbo Family Bed and Breakfast.

Super Saturday: Part One

Saturday was one of those days...you know, the ones that start early and seem to go on forever?  I awoke around eight o'clock, feeling as though I'd been grazed by a steam-roller.  Digging post holes will do that to a gal.  About five minutes after peeling my eyes open, I realized The Princess was at my parents' place.  Doesn't it figure?  She's over there so we can sleep in, and The Hubbs and I were both up by eight anyway.  We figured we'd make the most of it, so we got ready and headed out for the morning.

After breakfast at our favorite joint right over the state line, we headed on down to the library to return some materials and pick up some new stuff.  I checked out a couple of gardening books that I'm pretty excited about...I love this time of year!

Then it was over to The Grumps' house to pick up The Princess, who grinned and ran to me, nearly taking a flying leap into my arms.  God, I love it when she does that...this little kiddo can make me feel like the most important person in the world sometimes.

Home again, home again...jiggety jig.

Nana and Grampy were going to be stopping by in the afternoon with our sweet little niece, K, so we spent a little bit of time straightening up.  K and her parents drove in from out of state because J (K's momma) and A (K's daddy) were in a friend's wedding in the area.  Nana and Grampy had brought K to the church to meet some people, and headed over here afterward.

Every time I see K, I can't believe the strides she's making.  She's about a year and a half younger than The Princess, and I always have a hard time believing the age difference.  Some things I learned on this particular day: I'm now Auntie Mamy...she says my name sooo adorably.  I think I'll keep it.  K waves hello and good-bye, can identify her mommy and daddy in pictures, and mimics people like nobody's business.  "Nonono" is one word, and she means it.  Oh, and she officially weighs more than The Princess, which cracks me the hell up.

K and The Princessclimbed in the tire swing together and had a fairly good time...if you don't count the fact that K didn't really seem to like it at all and The Princess was pissed that she wasn't going higher, faster,more, more, more!  Nana had her camera out, and she was kind enough to send me an adorable shot.

After some most excellent Chinese food, Nana, Grampy, and K had to be on their way.  You'd think I'd have collapsed right then and there, but if I did that...well, I just wouldn't be me, now, would I?

Hidden Talent

For anyone who's interested, I got 70/70 points on my final paper in my comp class.  Not too shabby, eh?  To celebrate, my momma and I headed over to Home Depot with the truck...never a good idea!  Wait, I take that back...always good, never cheap.

We walked into the store with the intention of purchasing the materials to put up a seventeen-foot length of fence between the back corner of the house and the existing chain-link at the property line.  Why?  To keep the poochies out of the front yard so I can landscape...yay!

We walked out of the store with all of the intended materials, plus a new light fixture to go next to the front door, two rhododendrons (I love rhododendrons...love them), grass seed for my icky old mud pit of a front yard, and a couple other odds and ends that are escaping me right now.

The first order of business was to install the new light...

...which was followed by three or so hours of hard freakin' labor, digging post holes and erecting the new fence.  I'm proud to say that I'm one hell of a post hole digger, a talent of which I was not previously aware.  And...I finally got the white picket fence I've always wanted.  Eventually, there will be a rain barrel where you see the patio chair...but that's a project for another day.

After busting our butts on Friday night, The Princess went home with my folks for a sleepover, and I fell facedown into bed...where I remained for a very, very long time.

This Little Baby Milestone

In some ways, it seems like forever.  In others, I feel as though I just started yesterday.  At any rate, my first semester of college will officially end today.

My final class meets this afternoon, and I've already turned in my final paper...dropped it off yesterday afternoon, in fact.  Today's not required, seeing as how final grades will be turned in before our class even meets.  I'm going, though, so I can retrieve my folder, to which I have an unhealthy attachment.  It cost me twenty-seven cents, don'tchaknow...and this gal is not one to throw money down the toilet!  As an added bonus, I'll get my final paper back as well.  I have this almost obsessive need to see what the instructor writes on my work...without that paper in hand, I wouldn't feel as though the class had really been completed.

Did you happen to notice the number of times I said "final" in that last paragraph?  Four.  An oddity, considering there's really nothing final about any of this, and that I'm not even taking a final in the class.  Final, final, final, final, not really final at all; just the beginning, really.  The end of the beginning?  Perhaps...I'm no philosophy major.

To celebrate this little baby milestone, I think I'll have my momma come over.  I could use her truck for a trip to The Cheapo, and I may even let her help me install the new fence and gate to close off the front yard from the doggies.  Ooh, and she can totally help me build flower boxes for the windows on the front of the house.  Landscaping, here we come!

Finally.

Can't Talk Now...

...I'm too busy cleaning up after the storm and making sure my flowers are all okay.  I'm glad to report that the bicycle is still standing, and all of the impatiens and calibrachoa seem to have made it through.  Everything else had been brought in for the night.  We had a couple of downed branches this morning, but no major damage.

When I'm done with this, it's time to keep cleaning the house.  Today, we meet our new Heather.  Well, her name's really Dorene, but she's going to be our new service coordinator for the 3-21 program through Options & Advocacy.  She's got some mighty big shoes to fill, let me tell you.

And I need to finish the final draft of my last paper for this semester.  Turns out it's due hours before class even meets tomorrow due to a scheduling snafu...the instructor needs to turn in our final grades at noon, and class meets at one o'clock.  At least I'll get to see what she says about my paper without having to track her down over the summer.

These are just the highlights, and I'm sure there will be a million other things that need to be done.  For now, I think it's safe to assume iTunes will be blaring for the next couple of hours at least to keep me going on my chores.

Shoot, I just remembered...somewhere in there I should probably shower and get dressed.  Probably before Dorene gets here...

And I really need to find the band of hoodlums who trashed my house...damn, that's right...it was just one three-year-old.

So, you see, I really don't have time to talk.

Let's Hear It For the Boy

Reading back through my recent posts, I'm seeing an awful lot of myself: me, mine, my, I, and so on.  There's an awful lot about the princess too...well, how could there not be, really?  But I tend to shorten the bits about The Hubbs.  He's a humble guy, and he doesn't appreciate his business being broadcast to the world.

Okay, I can respect that.

But sometimes a gal just needs to play cheerleader for a minute (just grin and bear it, Swa...I won't subject you to this humiliation again for at least a few months).

So, despite the possibility that his ears may be turning bright red at this very moment, let's hear it for the boy...

The boy who made me so nervous the first time I met him that I had to hide in the bathroom at Joey T's for an hour and a half, with my friend delivering drinks every so often to boost my courage before I could face him.  We have a great "meet cute," but I like to save it for parties and such...you understand.  But anyway, you get to see a sliver of it here.  ;)

The boy who makes my heart flutter as if I'm sixteen again every time I see him.

The boy who walks silently, with a smile pasted on his face, through every garden center in town with me, though I know he'd rather be somewhere else...anywhere else.

The boy who always knows just what to say.

The boy who has the uncanny ability to see - and fill - the need for a hug at just the right time.

The boy who was the most perfect boyfriend a gal could have asked for.

The boy who tricked me into a weekend trip to help "move furniture for friends" from Michigan, which was really code for "get engaged on the beautiful private beach at 7:00 in the morning.  Barefoot."  Absolutely perfect.

The boy who is a better husband than I ever could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

The boy who lets me play with his new electronic toys even though I can tell he's dying to hunker down and go into geek mode for hours.

The boy who understands "friends," and participates in my silliness happily.  Seriously, though...they're real.  They have feelings, too.

The boy who still opens doors for me after six years together.

The boy who dares to enter a craft store with me.

The boy who happily sits in front of Wheel of Fortune with me every week night.

The boy who somehow deals with my uber-girly tendencies when it comes to entertainment.

The boy who dove with me, head first, into this craziness we call parenting.

The boy who knows all of The Princess's, um, interesting points. Mine too, for that matter.

The boy who carries the bright pink backpack in public, without so much as the hint of a complaint.

Let's hear it for the boy who stands beside me, hand in hand, ready to take on the world.  We make a pretty good team, mister...you and me.  I love you so very much.

See?  Nothin' to turn red about...the post ended up being largely about me anyway.  ;)

One Mom's Mother's Day Present

I.  Love.  This.  Plant stand.  I've loved it for a long time.  I've had the perfect spot in mind, and have been debating the purchase for well over a year now.  I believe I actually fell in love with it before I even knew how to plant anything.  And now (mwa-ha-ha), it's mine.  All mine!!!  (Lightning and thunder, and the lab goes dim.)

Okay, enough of the bike already!  Here is one of my hanging baskets, on which I scored a fabulous deal.  Calibrachoa are some of my favorite flowers, and I have three matching baskets like this to hang on each front corner of the house and garage.  I'm not sure how well the magenta/red comes across...but, trust me, it's there with the purple.

Last, but not least, here are my "lipstick" impatiens, which will find a permanent home in the cedar pots that line our driveway:

Between these, the cosmos, sweet peas, moonflowers, morning glories, and veggies that I've started from seeds, and the vinca that I'll be transplanting to my wheelbarrow planters, I'm hoping for a very colorful summer.  ;)

A Little Bit of Anticipatory Whining...

Mother's Day is over (insert booing and hissing here).  This does not, however, mean that we need to stop having fun and doing things for ourselves.

On my agenda for today?  Heading over to the farm to procure some most excellent annuals to adorn my freshly-mown lawn.  And I'll be getting my big Momma's Day present today, too...pictures to come, I promise.

Now, if only my mom would drag her butt out of bed so we can gooo!

To All The Mommas

Well, here we are.  It's the Friday before Mother's Day...time sure flies when you're havin' fun, eh?  Seems like we just packed up all of the Christmas decorations around here, and now we're getting ready for summer.  My spring classes are wrapping up, and everywhere I go people are talking about where they're going on vacation.

In some ways, it feels as though I've just begun school; in others, it seems like forever since the semester started in January.  Last night, I took my finals for my bio class and lab.  That means that I don't have anywhere to be as of 5:00 on Tuesday or Thursday of next week.  Whatever will I do with myself?  After May fourteenth, I'm off for a month before my summer classes pick up.

Perhaps if I was nineteen and living with my parents with no responsibilities, like many of my classmates, I'd be planning a crazy trip.  My month, however, will be much better spent.  I plan to milk every day for all it's worth and spend as many minutes as possible with The Princess when she's not in school herself.

Just over three years ago, my priorities changed forever.  Being a momma sure ain't for the faint of heart, is it?  I've been fortunate enough to know many mothers in my life, and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you...for mothers not only teach their children; they also teach passersby, other people's children, and other mothers.

***

Grandma Irene, my mom's mom, taught me more than I could ever possibly hope to convey.  But that's okay...I know the lessons I kept from her.  They include humility, comeraderie, love, devotion, humor, zest for life, how to get a dachshund to follow a flapping fish from the sea wall to the deck, and how to light a fire using nothing but a damp old box of matches and freshly cut grass clippings, among many others.  One of the most important things Grandma ever taught me was that you'll never know if you don't try.

***

Grandma Dorothy, who grew up on a farm in Kansas (I kid you not) was my dad's mom.  She taught me to play dominos, inspired me to sing in the church choir, and showed me that little old ladies can be cool as hell.  She taught me (indirectly) to always look under the top layer, and always ask what's in the dish before eating it.  She taught me that pretzel crusts on a cheesecake, while they may sound tempting, are the epitomy of disgusting...especially when the salt is left on.  She taught me 1001 uses for peanuts, 1000 of which should never have been invented in the first place.  From her, I learned to properly set a table, as well as how to make the best damned taco salad in the history of the world.  Best of all, she taught me that there's no reason to click my heels...I can go home whenever I want to.

***

The Hubbs' mom is one of the kindest people I've ever met, and I'm not just saying that because she reads this blog religiously.  Never before have I come into contact with anyone more willing to help anyone - everyone - else in any way possible.  Nana, you've shown me what it is like to marry into the right family.  You are kind, sweet, caring, and more than I ever could have asked for in a mother-in-law.  I'm perfectly well aware of the fact that most gals never get this lucky, and I'm thankful every day.  One of my favorite lessons taken from you is that it's okay to laugh at myself.

***

The Hubbs' maternal grandma is a one-of-a-kind, super-special lady.  After a lifetime together, she and Grandpa are still madly in love, and it's beyond adorable.  I can only hope that The Hubbs and I are lucky enough to be in the same position in forty years.  She and her entire family have opened their homes and their hearts to me, and I could not be more grateful.

***

Though I didn't have the honor of knowing her for very long, The Hubbs' paternal grandma was one of the sweetest people I've ever met.  She taught me that it's all about family, and that doesn't mean just blood.

***

Jello...my sweet, wonderful, perfect sister (in-law).  K-Bear's momma, who is expecting a second little bundle of joy in August.  Who'da ever thought we'd be where we are today, lady?  Things have changed a lot in the six or so years we've known each other.  You've taught me one of the most important lessons I'll ever learn: sisters are there for each other.  It was totally worth the wait to find that out later in life, especially since it meant we didn't have to go through the hair-pulling emotional rollercoaster of adolescence together.  You've also shown me that good things really do come to those who wait.  Just look at you with your Hank and your K-Bear and your little Belly Baby...I'm so happy for you, doll.  Really.  If I was given the choice of anyone in the world to be my sister, you'd win by a landslide.

***

Aunt Cheri, oh, where do I start?  We haven't seen each other in eons, but when we reconnected on FB it seemed as though we were picking up right where we left off.  I have such fond memories of spending the night at your house when I was a kid...for some reason, everything was so much more fun there!  You guys had the first Nintendo in the family, and I'd be surprised if we didn't wear that thing out.  The "Dry Night Fairy"...remember that?  The mere fact that you introduced me to conditioner and detangler makes you a saint.  I remember thinking your bath tub was way better than ours, and for some reason I always wanted to slide down the slopey part.  Coloring on your kitchen table, you taught me that it was okay to peel back the paper from the crayon when it started getting worn down...seriously, up until that point, the idea had never occurred to me.  We made candles from leftover crayon wax, and did so many other wonderful things.  Nothing in the world could make me happier than the knowledge that you were finally able to become a momma.  The whole world knew you were made for it...it was simply meant to be.  And I want you to know that - to this day - I can't help but smile when I hear a Southern accent.  It always makes me think of you.

***

Momma, what can I say?  Everything I do is your fault...if you never would have had me, I never would have done any of it.  And for that, I thank you.  So your sense of time isn't all that great...but you taught me patience.  Your bullshit meter is among the best in the world...with this, you taught me that I'm nowhere near as good a liar as I thought I was.  You've put up with all of my shenanigans over the years, always welcoming me back after each colossal screw-up.  Somehow, you've managed not to hold those screw-ups over my head as a constant reminder.  You've taught me that it's okay to mess up, and that - when I do - it's okay to take some time to come to that conclusion on my own.  You've shown me that it's okay to go to Florida for a haircut every once in a while...as long as purple highlights are involved.  You've helped me play hookie from school, including that time in eighth grade that you and Aunt Cheri busted me out on a lark.  That was one of the best days.  You've helped me to see that I don't always have to follow the rules...most, if not all, of them have at least a little bend to work with.  Do you know that, to this day, I've never worked on my birthday?  Or The Hubbs' birthday...or The Princess's.  That's one of my very favorite things about growing up, something that will stick with me forever.  You've taught me to be tough;  you've taught me to be sensitive; you've taught me to be sane; you've taught me to be crazy; you've taught me to be selfless.  You've taught me it's okay to cry.  You've helped me see that saying, "I'm sorry" is not a sign of weakness.  You, more than anyone else in the whole wide world...you have taught me to be a mom.

***

To all the moms in my life - those who are mentioned here, as well as those who are not - I thank you.  I've learned so much from all of you, and I love you dearly.  While you're out to brunch with your family this Sunday, or planting your flats of flowers, I'll be thinking of you.

And if you're looking for something to do, I'd suggest taking just a few minutes to think about the mommas who have touched your life.  It's amazing when you really get into it, and a little freaky to think about where we'd be without all of our mommy mentors.  It's a rather humbling exercise, in a good way.   Makes me feel more connected, and - these days - I'll take all of that I can get.

Three Guesses

I'll give you three guesses what she did after riding Twister this week...

She marched into the old chicken coop to play with Miss Cyndi as though no time had passed since her last session.  She sat and helped me remove her shoes, visited the squishy bin and ended up in the chair at the little table - without being asked. 

She completed all four activities Miss Cyndi had put out for her within ten minutes...the planned time was half an hour.

She then proceeded to the marker bin with a question in her eyes.  Well, who can resist that little face?  Not me.  Not Miss Cyndi, either.

For the next twenty minutes, she worked on a masterpiece, displaying an attention span the likes of which we've never seen before.  And when the paper got to be too predictable, she got creative with the pink marker:

The word is out, people...pink moustaches are "in."

The Ones We Love The Most

Sometimes, the hardest part of this journey can be the rude awakenings...the ones I never saw coming, the ones that sock me in the solar plexus, relieving my lungs of all oxygen.  As I gasp desperately for air, I'd love to believe that life is peachy, and that people can be bothered to take two seconds to put themselves in my shoes as I try to do with everyone else.  It's common courtesy; once I started seeing what other parents had gone through before me, I began to understand that everyone's problems - whether or not I think they affect me - are real.  I began to understand that the world did not, in fact, revolve around me.  I vowed to become more empathetic by giving others - complete strangers, mind you - the benefit of the doubt. 

Apparently, not everyone has experienced this same epiphany.  Some don't bother to engage their brains before spouting off at the mouth.  Or the keyboard.  Same difference.

And when they don't...when it's all about them and what horrible people The Hubbs and I are because we put our child first, it hurts.  It's asinine.  It's insensitive as hell.  I know I have no control over what others may say or do.  It's beyond selfish on their parts.  I can see that.

But, damn it, it hurts.

What's that old saying?  Something like, "we hurt the ones we love the most..."  Well, if this is love, baby, you can keep it.

Da

After a long day of shopping and riding around in the car, she looked at The Hubbs and smiled; said, "Da," and gave him a hug. All initiated by her...so wonderfully out of the blue.

This is the first time she's ever said his name.

By Any Other Name

I grew up in a small neighborhood...a place where time stands still.  I go back there to visit my parents at least once a week, and it looks exactly the same as I remember from my childhood.  It's one thing in my life that has always been a constant, a lighthouse showing me the way when I falter.  And, boy, have I faltered...we all do, really; it's just that not everyone is fortunate enough to have such a solid connection to their past.

In this small neighborhood, there are multi-million-dollar lakefront mansions.  There are snobs and other such rich folk.  Look past the grandeur, and you'll see the horse farm, and - further down - the street that turns to the right, away from the lake, where the real bonds are made. 

Turn down that street, look immediately to your left, and you'll see where one of my childhood best friends and I spent hours upon hours playing - and repeatedly beating - Super Mario Brothers 3 on the old-school Nintendo.  In that same house, we baked the most excellent cookies with her mom while singing "Saturday In The Park" at the top of our lungs.  Avid readers of the "Babysitter's Club" series, we started our very own odd jobs club in her bedroom, and distributed fliers to the neighborhood.  When we didn't get any bites with that, we started "The Talking Moose," our neighborhood paper.  Things weren't cool or nifty with us: they were "plaid."

Now, continue a little further...start up the first small hill.  The next house on the left is where another best friend lived when I was young.  She had an older sister and a younger brother, and they had a Slip-N-Slide.  We must have asked her younger brother a thousand times what color it was, and he unfailingly answered, "Lellow."

Same house: next family.  Two girls and one boy.  I babysat them in exchange for piano lessons from their Army sergeant mother.  She had beautiful fingernails, and she was one tough broad.  She ran a tight ship and made the most disgusting fried zucchini you could possibly imagine.  So many stories about this family...like the two-and-a-half-year-old little boy squatting in the street because he "had to go poopie."

Two of the most extraordinary people I've ever met live two houses down on the same side of the road. They both survived Nazi Germany.  He was used as a stud to continue the Aryan race.  I've seen the tattoos on his forearms that branded him as such in the concentration camp.  He was kind enough to tell me his story for a school project when I was younger, and for that I will be forever grateful.  The older I get, the more I begin to see how hard that must have been for him.  On Halloween last year, his wife was cooking the most delicious-smelling soup when we came to her door begging for candy to put in The Princess's basket.  We were invited in for supper.

Now, go kitty-corner across the street, halfway up the hill, to the house with the "Old Hunter Crossing" sign tacked to the tree in the middle of the circular drive; stand there for a moment; take it in.  Here, two of the most wonderful people in the world spent many, many happy years together.  They raised children and witnessed miracle after miracle with their grandchildren.  They saw their son grow up and realize his dreams of becoming a big-time Hollywood director.  The year he received six Oscars for Forrest Gump, there was a huge party in our neighborhood.  The tables were set with film reels and other such memorabilia...it was Tinseltown all the way.  Al and Rose beamed and teared up as their son walked that red carpet and proved to the world that he belonged there in Hollywood.  He had done it, and they were so proud.

Al passed on a few years back, but Rose wasn't ready to go just yet.  Did I ever tell you about Aunt Rose the Candy Lady?  Growing up, every kid in the neighborhood knew Aunt Rose.  Every Saturday morning, up until noon, you could walk up and ring her doorbell in exchange for a piece of candy.  She just loved handing it out and seeing the smiles on our faces.  But she was no fool...though many of us tried, no one ever got two in one day.

The last time I saw Rose was on Halloween.  She had oxygen tubes in her nose, and she seemed frail, but that wasn't enough to stop her.  Decked out in her queen garb, complete with tiara and magic wand, Rose held court in her living room.  A miniature "haunted house" was set up for the kids to enjoy (The Princess loved the jar of fake eyeballs that lit up and moved around, making sloshy noises, when she pushed a button on top), but there was no candy.  This year, Rose gave out dollars.  But only if the kiddo did a dance or told her a joke.  The deal was one dollar for one smile.

Last week, Rose passed away.  She's with Al now, grinning down at us and still - I'm sure of it - wagging her finger at me and SuperBro for picking those tulips for Mom (bulbs and all).  I never saw her once without a smile upon that gorgeous face of hers.  And I know I'm not the only one.  The funeral home was absolutely jam-packed for her wake on Sunday.

I'm skipping other parts of the neighborhood, but three doors further down the street, on the same side as Rose and Al's place, is where I grew up.  Three doors down from the Zemeckis family.  Yes, that Zemeckis family.  But the thing is, until I was probably twelve or so, I didn't know that Aunt Rose wasn't my real aunt. 

And her deal on Halloween...a dollar for a smile?  Well, if that's the case, she earned at least a cool million from me over the years.

We love you, Aunt Rose.  Give Uncle Al a big hug for us, and please tell him we're sorry about his prized tulip bulbs.