#nonni

A life lesson…for Nonni

/ momshieb / 22 Comments

Before I start this sad, sad tale, I must tell you that I am a modern teacher lady. I am an up-to-date grandmother.

I know the buzzwords.

When I was a little child, our parents were very busy. They had a lot of us. They loved us deeply, but they didn’t make it their personal goal every second of every day to make sure that we were ecstatically happy.

If you grew up as a “Baby Boomer,” you know what I mean.

We lived our childhood lives, our parents lived theirs.

Then our generation became parents, and everything changed. Women went back to work. That meant a few things. It meant that Dads learned to vacuum.

It also meant that both Moms and Dads were buried under a gigantic avalanche of guilt. Your baby is upset because he didn’t like his broccoli? Oh, my god! That’s because I WORK! My mom didn’t work…I think we liked our broccoli…”

The truth of course is that you hated your broccoli, but your Mom just took it away and waited until the next meal, when she served you peas.

Our generation somehow got it into our heads that our children should NEVER experience the slightest difficult emotion.

As a teacher, I saw this a lot. Anxious parents, bless their well meaning hearts, asking for my help because, God forbid, the math was hard. I empathized with them. Kids cry over homework and it breaks a parent’s heart. I get it.

But I also understood, as a teacher, that if the math wasn’t hard, the child wasn’t growing.

I learned, as a mom and then as a teacher, that it is good for kids to experience all of life’s richness. Including the hard stuff, the sad stuff and the scary stuff. Otherwise how will they ever emerge as adults who are strong enough to cope with reality?

So. I know what the education gurus mean when they tell us that we need to teach children to be resilient. Or to have (cough, cough) “grit.” They need to just suck it up and deal with it when life is hard.

I was all about that idea.

Until this morning.

My beautiful, loving, funny, 20 month old granddaughter, Ellie, was helping me make a batch of meatballs. She was standing on a kitchen chair, with Nonni behind her. She helped me crack the egg, put in the bread crumbs, add the spices. She was in the process of peeling two cloves of garlic and an onion.

Suddenly both of us heard the sound of our puppy, Lennie, chomping on something deliciously plastic. Crack! Crack! Crunch!

I rushed into the living room, where I found the perp happily destroying the bulging plastic eyeball of Ellie’s absolutely favorite stuffy, Elmo. I grabbed the toy from the pup, swearing under my breath. I stepped out of the room, out of Ellie’s eyes, and looked at the damage.

Holy crow. Elmo was missing his right eye completely, with only sharp pointy pieces left. His left eye was broken, but still in place. I was immediately swept with fear.

My first thought was, “Hide him! Replace him!” I thought of a quick run to Amazon…a new, perfect Elmo could be here in 24 hours!

Then I thought about “grit” and resilience.

I slowly walked the wrecked little red guy into the kitchen, where my beautiful girl stood in her orange apron, garlic bulb in hand. I held poor Elmo out to her. I said, “Uh, Lennie chewed on Elmo…”

In a reaction that far outpaced her tender age, Ellie burst into tears and reached for her beloved friend. “Oh!” She sobbed, repeatedly kissing Elmo’s head. “Poor, Emmo, poor Emmo!”  She rocked him, she cried, she kept looking at me. “Nonni! Emmo!” I had no idea what to say to her.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. Lennie broke Elmo’s eyes…”

“Poor Emmo! Emmo!! No, no, no!” She sobbed. She sat down on the chair, clutching broken, eyeless Elmo to her chest. She rocked and cried and kissed his chewed up face.

As an experienced, professional teacher/mom/Nonni I knew how to respond.

I grabbed both Emmo and Ellie to my chest and sobbed along with her.

“New Elmo!” my brain ordered.

But then I grabbed a tissue and gulped down my sadness. Lennie was curled up on a rug, looking guilty.

I thought about Emmo and his shattered plastic eyeballs.

I went to our medicine cabinet and pulled out a roll of self-sticking injury wrap. I grabbed a roll of bright red bandage, and wrapped up Elmo’s face. I presented the bandaged toy to Ellie.

“Emmo?” she asked. “This?” She touched the bandage and looked up at me with her huge, tear filled, dark eyes.

“Yes!” I said in my cheery voice. “It’s a bandage! It’s over Elmo’s eye. So he’s…um…he’ll be better! Ah…Elmo is OK!”

Carefully, with a grace I would never expect from such a little girl, Ellie gathered Elmo into her arms. “Emmo,” she murmured into his fur. “Emmo. Poor Emmo.” She kissed his cheek.

She was not fooled.

Ellie spent the rest of the day gently rocking and kissing poor Emmo. She napped with him, carefully tucked under the covers. He came with us to the grocery store, the hair salon and the vet, where lots of adults commented on his wrapped up head.

Ellie just stared at all of them. She didn’t say a word.

But she gently, gently kissed that funny bandaged head. She whispered, “Emmo” into his neck.

I guess Ellie learned something today. Life can be hard. Forgiveness is necessary. Dogs sometimes eat plastic eyeballs.

And I learned something, too. An idea on paper or in theory is very different from an idea in real life. I am fighting the urge to order that new Elmo at this very moment. And blind Elmo is sitting here looking at me.

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So I have a missing eye, but Ellie still loves me!

Oh, my sweet Wolf King

/ momshieb / 11 Comments

The Wolf King, my sweet Tucker Pup, is the first dog I have ever had who has lasted.

My first dog, when I was four years old, was smooshed by a passing car after only two weeks with us.

My next dog, when I was nine, was way too much trouble and was given away two years after I got her.

I never had another dog until I was 34, living in the first (and only) house I’ve ever owned. My two children were young. My third was still just a distant hope in my heart.

We got a dog. She was sweet, gentle, smart, a lot of fun. She was here with us when our third child was born. We loved her!

Then we discovered that the kids were desperately allergic to pets. After our son got home from his asthma/pneumonia hospitalization, we had to let her go. She was adopted by a local family, but we never saw her again.

Then, finally, we got Tucker. The kids were all grown up, all able to manage their allergy symptoms. All on their way to their own lives, away from here.

We got Tucker. Tuckerman. Our big (much bigger than we anticipated) hound dog.

The Wolf King.

He has brought us so much joy, love, aggravation, fur and pleasure. He was Sadie’s boon companion for the last eight years of her life.

Now he is an old man. He doesn’t see well. He doesn’t always digest as efficiently as our nasal passages would like.

His back and his hips are arthritic, aching, weak.

We got him, God help us, a puppy.

Who has made him remember what it was to play. The puppy has reminded him of the joy of chewing rawhide. Its been good.

Except.

The Wolf King sometimes can’t get back up the stairs after a romp in the yard with the pup. Sometimes he needs us to give him a push. Or a lift.

How degrading.

This afternoon the two dogs were outside, romping, jumping, pretending to be ferocious fighters. Bark, bark, growl, bark, jump, twist, bark, bark, YEOWCH.

The Wolf King couldn’t get back inside. We got the pup in his crate and we urged and encouraged and finally the old guy wobbled his way, step by aching step, up onto the deck. He shivered and shook his way into the living room, where he laid down on the rug.

We gave him his gabapentin. We put on an ice pack. I massaged along his spine. He lifted his regal head and looked me in the eye. “This sucks” his deep brown eyes said to me. “It does for sure,” I said out loud.

He fell asleep. I rested my forehead on his. My tears soaked his sweet, puppy soft fur.

What will I tell Ellie when her best beloved old Tucky isn’t around anymore to comfort her when she’s sick?

I know. He isn’t done yet. He still loves his walks and his chicken liver and his romps in the snow with the pup.

He still loves us.

And he sure does love his Ellie. Yesterday’s post proves that.

So.

I’m happy for every day with this old guy. I’m happy for every time that Ellie leans down to kiss his old head.

And you know what?

I’m happy for every single time that puppy Lennie gets him to forget his aches and pains for a few minutes.

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Ouchie. Ouchie big time.

 

 

Food is love

/ momshieb / 3 Comments

The idea that food equals love is not an original one. Years ago I had a friend, a teacher colleague, who used to talk about her own nuclear family growing up. They were Italians, like my own family, and her Mom raised her, as mine did, with the idea that feeding people is a way to show that you love them.

I totally live that way.

One of my favorite hobbies now that I’m retired is going through old, old cookbooks and reading about the delicacies of the past. I’ve been collecting old cookbooks that I read the way other people read a novel.

One of my favorites was a wedding gift to my Mother, given to her in 1950. The book was first published in 1901. It has tips on things like making a roast chicken. Step one? Kill the chicken.

Anyway, I was thinking today about the whole cultural idea of food as a show of love. And I think that feeding a hungry person is absolutely an act of love.

In my 61 years on this earth, I have brought food to friends who are grieving, family who are sick, friends and family who are celebrating milestones. I have made soup for fellow grad students on a snowy night. I’ve brought muffins to school on the morning after terrible and shocking events like 9/11.

And I’ve learned, slowly, to accept tortellini soup when I was the one in need. I loved it when a friend at school gave me a gift of lasagna for Christmas when I was a working mother of three little children.

So in the past few weeks, as Ellie has had her first bad cold and ear infections, I found myself thinking about “food is love” once again.She had the chills; I made her ginger lemon tea. Not from a tea bag. With actual grated ginger and lemon and honey.

I made soup. I had frozen chicken stock, made after we had eaten our locally raised, organic, sustainable birds. I cooked down the carcasses, peeled off all the meat, froze it into small cubes. Which I then cooked with garlic (antibiotic properties), onion, carrots, the herbs I dried from last summer……

It was good. She like it. She ate it. No biggie.

Except that I felt fabulous. I felt like Nonni of the year.

Why? I didn’t make her better; she still had to take her antibiotics and her nose drops. She still had her fevers and her chills.

But I COOKED for her. I showed her how much I love her. I gained a totally false but somehow satisfying sense of control over the microbes of the universe.

It was great.

Today Ellie and I roasted a big pan of beef bones, which we then put into a stock pot with veggies and spice.

It’s simmering on the stove right now. Just waiting for the next cold or flu to hit someone I love.

Food. Is. Love.

That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

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Proof That I Am A Lucky Nonni

/ momshieb / 7 Comments

Oh, I know. You’re all thinking, ‘Here she goes again. Ellie is perfect, Ellie is genius, blah, blah, blah.’

Well, the joke’s on you.

This post is not about Ellie.

OK. Well, not directly anyway.

This post is about the fact that I know I’m the luckiest women in the whole wide world because I get to spend every single day with my granddaughter, AND: her parents are so relaxed they even make ME feel calm.

Let me set the stage.

When I was a young mother of three beautiful babies, I was neurotic. Like, really.

The first time my first child threw up, I didn’t think, “Stomach bug.” Nope. I called my sister, sobbing. “She has a brain tumor!!!”

I am not calm. I am not a laid back Momma.

Nevertheless, in spite of me, all three of my kids have grown up to be healthy and happy adults.

Now I have Ellie. My love. My perfect “do over.” My chance to be the one who stays at home and does the nurturing.

God, I love that girl…..

So far, Ellie has given me the chance to relive all of my most precious Momma memories. I have given her a bottle, rocked her to sleep, held her while she napped. I have read her books, changed her diaper, sat her on the potty.

Hell, I have fed her my meatballs and watched her smear the sauce all over her face and hair.

These are the things that I missed so intensely after my nest emptied. These are the sweet memories that had me sobbing into my pillow at 3 AM.

Ellie has let me relive all of those moments. And this time I am acutely aware of the fleeting and profoundly moving nature of those moments.

I am so grateful to her parents for trusting me.

Still. I am a nut.

Yesterday Ellie came back to me after 10 full days away from each other. I went to pick her up and she was sobbing. “Mommy! Mommy!” she was chanting. Her Dad and I were both unsure of how to make her feel better about having her Mommy go back to work after school vacation.

I sang, I acted silly, I fed her oatmeal (OK, my husband made it the way she likes it…) and then we tried to settle into our day.

Somewhere around midday, I looked at Ellie and saw the drooping eyes, the red cheeks, the sad expression. Our eyes met, and she walked over to me. She settled into the space between my knees, and laid her head on my arm.

“Nanni,” she said.

I felt the heat of her skin.

Our Ellie had a fever.

I texted her Mom, gave her some Tylenol, poured her a cup of cool water. Then I sat in my rocking chair and held her against me. She was breathing fast, the way little ones do when they have a fever. Her head was resting against my cheek. Her hot little hand was holding mine.

I hummed some old songs. The songs I used to sing to her Momma and her Uncles. We rocked. She dozed. Every now and then, she turned to me with those shiny fever eyes and said, again, “Nanni.”

My heart melted right down into my toes.

Of course, I gave her Tylenol, and she perked up in 30 minutes. But still. For that brief time, I was right back in those special, beautiful, meaning-of-life moments, when I was the only comfort for a sick baby.

Mea culpa, mea culpa!

I was sorry that she was sick, and I did what I needed to do to make her feel better.

Still. I freakin’ loved that half hour of rocking her hot little body.

And this is why I’m the luckiest woman alive.

When I confessed this horrible truth to my daughter….when I explained to her how much I loved holding her sick child….she said, “So? It’s not like you infected her on purpose.”

She is a goddess. She let’s me be the neurotic Nonni I was born to be. Her husband is right there with her.

See?

Who in the world is luckier than me?

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Happy, happy Nonni

Just five minutes

/ momshieb / 8 Comments

I remember when I was a kid, sometimes my Dad would lean his head back against the couch and say, “I’m not sleeping. I’m just resting my eyes.”

It used to infuriate me. My poor Dad! Father of six very active kids, full time businessman and do-it-yourselfer extraordinaire. He hardly ever rested.

But if we had a chance to spend time with him, we didn’t want him resting his eyes! It used to make me crazy.

Now of course, I completely understand the overwhelming need to “rest my eyes.”

I’m very, very lucky. I spend my days with my granddaughter, Ellie. At 18 months old, she still takes a good, long nap every day.

And she likes me to lie down with her.

Today was a pretty typical day, except that I was unusually tired. Last night I found myself overwhelmed with the fear of our mentally unstable President. I couldn’t get myself to relax and sleep.

I have fibromyalgia, too, and its flared up right now, so most of me hurt last night.

Anyway, I was really groggy today. I had a fun morning with Ellie in spite of my fatigue. We painted, we danced, sang and listened to our favorite band, Upstate Rubdown. We filled the birdfeeders, we played with the dogs, we swept the floor (don’t judge; she loves it.)

Finally, it was nap time.

Ellie and I put away her toys, chose a favorite stuffed animal (Floppy Puppy) and a book (Go Away, Big Green Monster!) and went into the guest room to nap.

Just like my dear old Dad, as soon as I put my head on the pillow, my eyes drifted closed. As usual, Ellie was less sleepy than her Nonni. I did what I often do.

I laid on my back, clasped my hands over my waist and let my eyelids close to the point where I could watch her, but she couldn’t see that I was awake. I thought I had outsmarted her.

Here is what I saw.

Ellie sat beside me, looking at my face. I saw her look around the room. She clasped her own hands together and I could see her lips moving as she sort of quietly mumbled to herself. Her gorgeous, silky brown curls were a halo around her head, with long pieces covering her eyes.

She raised her right hand and pushed the hair out of her eyes, then gave a deep sigh. Her head tilted to the right, and she frowned as she looked closely at my face. I didn’t move.

Ellie lifted her head, sighed again, and looked around the room. The bed has a raised bed rail, and I was lying between it and Ellie. She was sort of stuck. She plucked at her blue and white striped pants, then noticed her socks.

“Hockey!” she said loudly. That’s her version of “socks.” She looked straight at me, but I didn’t move. She deliberately pulled off one sock, still looking at my face. “Oh, Oh!” she cried.

I didn’t react. I’m good.

“More!” Ellie announced, and pulled off the other sock. She looked at me expectantly.

Nothing. I kept my eyes closed just to the point where I could still see her face.

She sighed.

She rested her chin on one hand, still looking at her unmoving Nonni. She touched my nose.

Nothing.

Suddenly, as if there was actually a lightbulb above her head, Ellie sat up straight. She wiggled a little bit closer to me, then suddenly leaned forward and planted a big smacking kiss right on my lips.

I burst out laughing, my eyes popped open, and I grabbed her around the waist.

“You win!” I said, and she giggled in victory.

Then she pushed my shoulder so that I’d lay back down. She grabbed her puppy under her right arm and rested her head on my chest. She immediately fell asleep, and so did I.

And here is what I’m thinking now, as I think back on this day.

If I had never had a single happy moment in my 60 years of life, those five minutes would have made my entire life worth it.

Ellie, you are pure joy.

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A Puppy, A Baby and a Sleepy Old Nonni

/ momshieb / 4 Comments

One of the many pleasures of being a ‘stay at home Nonni’ is that I get to nap when Ellie does.

I have always loved naps. Always.

My dad was a wonderful napper. He could close his eyes and sleep for 15 minutes and wake up completely refreshed.

I get this talent from him.

When Ellie was very small, we used to nap together in the recliner. I’d hold her in my arms and we’d both drift off.

Now she’s too big for that to be safe, so now we lie down together on my bed. She goes to sleep, and I read or write. Sometimes (OK, pretty much every day) I fall asleep , too.

Today was one of those challenging days, when you’re not sure you can make it all work. It was snowing hard when the puppy woke me up at 6. I stayed awake checking the school closings. Would Kate have to drive to school? Would she be able to go in late?

I finally realized that her school schedule was unchanged, which meant that mine was, too. I made the coffee and headed out into the icy snow/rain mix to get my granddaughter.

It was a long, slow, slog to her house and back, a round trip of about 10 miles. At least we turned into our driveway, and I gave the old Colonial America cheer, “Huzzah!”  To my joy and pleasure, Ellie yelled it right back at me.

The day was fine, but by the time I saw Ellie rubbing her eyes at about 2 o’clock, I was ready and willing to rest. I had already cooked, served and cleaned up both breakfast and lunch. I had wrestled Lennie for possession of 4 boots, 6 socks, a mitten, 43 toys and one winter coat.

I was more than ready to bring Ellie into my bedroom for a nice nap. The problem was that Lennie was NOT in nap mode.

He was running in circles around us, grabbing at the blankets, my book, the pillow…..

I tried offering a treat. “Good boy, Lennie, good dog. Lie down!”  No good.

I tried putting down a nice warm blanket. “Lennie, time to rest!”  No good at all; he tried to eat it.

Finally, I had had it. Ellie was whining, wanting a book. My back was aching. It was snowing outside and I wanted to LIE THE HELL DOWN.

So I turned to the puppy and snarled, “LIE THE HELL DOWN!”

To my shock, he did.

Ellie and I settled in, read “Good night Moon” and she fell asleep. I wrote an article for LiberalAmerica, and then I went to sleep, too.

And when I woke up, Ellie was still snoozing, her soft curly hair moving with her gentle breaths.

I looked over the side of the bed.

There was my baby Lennie, curled into the shape of a snail. And right beside him, curled up in the exact same shape, only three times larger, was my old dog, Tucker. Side by side on one doggie bed.

I lay back down, listening to the combined sounds of two sleeping dogs and one sleeping baby girl.

Life can be so unexpectedly perfect, you know?

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A Puppy, A Baby, And A Nonni On The Brink

/ momshieb / 9 Comments

Oh, sure. It all sounded so easy.

Of course I could handle a baby and puppy. Pffft.  I used to teach fifth grade! How hard could this be?

See, I pride myself on being a nurturing, loving, patient Grandmother. When I picture myself (you know, when no one is around, and the house is all clean and quiet), I see a chubby, gray haired, smiling woman in an apron. Her wrinkles all match her smiles; there’s nary a frown line to be found on her sweet face. The house smells like delicious food and the floors are immaculate.

Birds are singing, the sky is blue.

You get the picture.

I don’t think it’s asking too much to expect reality to live up to the image.

So. We got a puppy.

We got little puppy Lennie on a Saturday morning. He was sweet, cuddly, full of puppy kisses.

He also peed every 60 seconds, indoors and out. The pee was nasty and bloody.

We spent his first afternoon at the local animal hospital emergency room. Puppy Lennie had come to us with a raging urinary tract infection.

We got through Saturday night and Sunday with 79 loads of wash and 65 floor washings.

Then in was Monday and our best beloved little one year old Ellie arrived. And the sweet, smiling Nonni in the apron turned into a raging lunatic old woman in a hoodie.

See, when you have a puppy, you have train said puppy. Which means that you have to reward said puppy literally every time you say “come” or “sit” or “drop it” or “get the hell off the bed, you stupid mutt!”

Which means that you have to walk around with a pocket full of tiny doggy treats. Hence the hoodie with its handy front pocket.

The raging lunatic part happened at about noon.

Poor Ellie was cutting four molars, and her digestive system was not at its best. It had been a long morning full of, “Lennie, drop Ellie’s sock!” and “Down! Down!” and “Let go of her hair, you menace!”

Ellie was overwrought. Nonni was exhausted. Lennie was having the time of his life.

Then Ellie pooped. She pooped a lot. She pooped as only a teething baby with an uncannily omnivorous appetite can poop.

I laid her on the couch and peeled off her diaper to find a massive smear of disgusting orange human waste and a butt so raw that there were blisters. Poor baby girl!

I grabbed a handful of baby wipes, trying to get off the worst of the mess without hurting her any more as the poor little kid sobbed her heart out. I carelessly plopped the poopy diaper on the coffee table beside me. I figured I could wrap it up and throw it out in a few minutes.

Yep. You called it.

Puppy Lennie, also affectionately known as “the Poop Hunter”, grabbed the unwrapped diaper in his tiny teeth and took off through the house.

He galloped, the poop flew left, the poop flew right. In his joyous excitement, Mr. UTI peed with every step.

Ellie sobbed, and rubbed her sore bottom with her fist, thereby smearing the poop all over her hand, and right into her hair……

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Flash forward 30 minutes. Ellie was safely seated in a warm bath, Lennie was back in his crate with a rawhide.

Nonni was hurrying back and forth from the bathroom to the rest of the house, vinegar soaked mop in hand.

Eventually, after what felt like a week,  the baby, the puppy, the walls and the floors were all clean again.

Ellie fell asleep on a blanket on the couch. Lennie fell asleep on a rug on the floor.

I collapsed onto the sofa. I looked at my elderly dog, Tucker, sitting at my feet. He looked back at me. Our eyes met. Neither one of us smiled.

I’m not sure about him, but I know I still had poop under my nails. I contemplated changing my clothes, but it seemed kind of pointless.

I reached out my stinky, vinegar and poop scented hand and patted his stoic old head.

“You don’t happen to know how to make a dirty martini, do you?” I asked.

He didn’t.

But I felt better anyway.

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I was sure that the next day, I’d wear an apron and the house would smell like cinnamon and love instead of vinegar and poop.

Stay tuned.

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Who, us? What did we do?

The Beauty Of Retirement

/ momshieb / 8 Comments

Ah, what a day.

OK, so there were those moments where Ellie wanted to sit on the potty, get off the potty, wipe her own bottom, sit back on the potty, get off the potty, wipe her own bottom…..and the puppy wanted to chew the towels, sniff said bottom, chew more towels, sniff again… and the old dog was aghast at such behavior and stood in the doorway to the bathroom saying “woof!” every four seconds…..

Still. It was a lovely, lovely day.

It was pouring out. It was foggy. It was raw.

I wasn’t commuting 37.5 miles to work, as I did for 22 years. I wasn’t dealing with indoor recess. I wasn’t trying to regulate the heat in my classroom by putting wet paper towels on the register to tell it that it was cool, and that we needed it a lot warmer.

Nope.

Today I was in my house. Wearing flannel pj pants ALL day. I had some Christmas lights on, and the pellet stove roaring.

Ellie and puppy Lennie played together. We all danced to our favorite music (except for old dog Tucker, who lay on the floor monitoring our every move.)

Today I was retired.

Ellie took a long nap on my bed, and I sat beside her, reading and answering emails and writing about politics to make a little money.

We had turkey soup for lunch. It was nice and hot.

I didn’t have to scarf down a Luna bar on my way to a meeting.

Come to think of it, I haven’t even been to a meeting in a year and a half.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of retirement. I had the time and the patience to watch my granddaughter climb on and off the potty 500 times. I had time to scroll through two days of tweets from Donald Trump, Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders.

I made myself tea at 2 pm and I let the water come to a full boil.

Retirement is fabulous.

I hope you all get to try it one of these days!

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Listen to Christmas Carols on a rainy day.

Oldies and Youngsters

/ momshieb / 5 Comments

Now that little Lennie has been here for a week, I have a few observations to make.

1. Puppies Are Energetic

This is how I imagine Lennie’s internal monologue.

“Oh, boy, oh, wow, foodfoodfoodfood….where can I pee? foodfoodfoodfoodfood….A BABY! gonna jump on her!….she smells great…poop! Gonna run, gotta run, think I’ll eat this book…foodfoodfoodfoodfoooooood….I’m tired. Sleep.”

Repeat every 25 seconds.

Phew.

2. A Sleeping Puppy Is As Irresistible As A Sleeping Baby

3. Old Folks Really Benefit From Having Young Folks Around

Today both of my dogs went out the doggie door. Tucker went first, the Wolf King on a stately journey into the back yard to poop. He stepped out carefully, checking his footing on the icy deck.

Lennie went out behind him, leaping through the door in one bound. He jumped down the deck stairs, onto the snowy grass. They both did their business, Tucker with his nose lifted and his eyes closed, considering the meaning of life. Lennie squatted three feet away, grinning up at his big brother, little puffs of frosty air coming from his snout. You could just hear his thoughts.

“This is so cool! Pooping with the Wolf King! Oooh, a bird! I’m done! Now what can we do?”

Usually Tucker makes his way slowly back up the stairs and into the house after depositing his daily doodie. This time, though, I started to hear both dogs barking in the yard. I was inside with Ellie, reading a book. I noticed that the barking had a rhythm to it. One deep “woof” followed by three or four excited “yips.” Over and over again.

I picked up my granddaughter and carried to my bedroom, where we stood looking out the window. And there they were.

The Little Dude was dancing around, chasing his tail, jumping in the air, one ear folded back by the wind he generated as he raced. And the old man, the Wolf King, pretending to be annoyed, but bowing his front legs down to let Lennie nip at his neck. Growling and barking in fake anger, then running, a bit carefully and very stiffly. Chasing Lennie, who shrieked and yipped and ran away while looking over his shoulder the whole time.

The deep rumbling voice of the Wolf King, “I’m coming for you, kid. I’m gonna get you…..”

And Lennie, the baby dude, giggling back, “Nooooo! Don’t catch me!!!”

And it hit me.

It was me and Ellie, played out in the dog world.

She runs, I pretend to chase.

I remember, when I play with her, what it was to jump and twirl and race without aches or pains. I remember being young.

The Wolf King is reliving his youth in the back yard with little Lennie.

I’m reliving mine in the living room with Ellie.

Good for both of us.

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Memories of Motherhood

/ momshieb / 15 Comments

This post started out to be humorous, but it just changed. Very suddenly.

Oh, life, you funny old thing.

I spent today, as I do every Monday through Friday, with my best buddy, my heart, my love, my granddaughter Ellie. I am in love with her eyes, her grin, her crazy curly hair. I am in love with the shape of her nose and her long fingers and toes. I practically swoon with pleasure when she waddles across the room to throw herself into my arms.

I get to snuggle every day with her warm little head pressed to my cheek. I get to hear her say, “Hi” when she comes in and “night, night” as she falls asleep for her nap. I have no more work stress, no more long commute. No paperwork. My only boss is my first born child, who is definitely not bossy.

Today I thought to myself, “I don’t remember motherhood being this perfect and sweet!”

Yes. I did jinx myself.

Our Ellie is a little peanut of a girl. We try to give her high calorie foods because she’s just tiny. She eats like a starved wolf, but she doesn’t seem to put on weight. She did NOT get her Nonni’s metabolism.

However, she poops more than the average baby. Or the average horse, I’d dare to say.

So this afternoon, after having fed her breakfast, played with her, put her down for a nap, changed her poops twice and given her a bath, I found myself faced with yet another poopie diaper and a little red bum. I said to her, “You stay naked for a bit, and I’ll run downstairs real quick to get the laundry.”  I figured that the air would be good for her skin.

I left her in one of those cute onesie shirts with the snaps between her legs open and the front and back flapping along in the breeze. She stood at the gate at the top of the stairs and I ran down, pulled the clothes from the dryer and raced back up.

There she stood, bent forward at the waist. Playing with both hands in a lovely puddle of pee all over my floor. She was literally splashing it.

I burst through the gate, threw the clothes onto a chair and scooped her up. Her shirt was soaked. The floor was soaked. Her hair was….well….soaked. Back into the tub. No more empty hamper. I washed the floor as I held Ellie on one hip.

Holy exhaustion, Batman. I just remembered that motherhood is not all warm snuggles and adorable shampooed curls. Motherhood- and grandmotherhood- is back aches and endless repeated chores. And puddles of pee.

Then I logged onto Facebook so I could show nice clean Ellie the pictures of her new baby cousin.

I saw a picture posted by a young relative. A beautiful young woman in our family sent a happy birthday message to her 95 year old Great Grandmother.

And I thought, what a gift! To live long enough and well enough to celebrate with a great grandchild. Wow.

So tonight, as I sink into my hot tub with a glass of wine and get ready to clean up the dozens of toys on the floor and the mess on the table, I’ll appreciate every bit of today. I’ll hold onto the kisses and the laughter. And I’ll make myself enjoy the memory of that baby girl splashing in a puddle of her own pee on my floor.

Ya gotta love it.

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