Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Last Tango in Paris....er, in the Kitchen

One of these days, I will get a better digital camera and I will post a videotape of me and the little man dancing together in the kitchen.  I'm also thinking of starting a video dancercise class when I get the new camera. Once a week, you and I can dancercise together to whatever kind of upbeat music I feel like playing. For now, however, you will have to use your imagination.

The other night, Liam and I danced the tango together to one of Feist's latest songs, "1,2,3,4."  You can see more about this band and hear the song by clicking here.   Also, Feist will be appearing on Sesame Street on August 11 and she will be singing this particular melody with none other than Elmo! 

Meanwhile, doing the tango to any song with a four month old is a challenging dance routine.  Liam did great with the cheek to cheek thing and with clasping our hands.  He held his arm out straight as Grammy strode purposefully with him the entire length of the kitchen.  But when it came time for him to dip me, well, we decided it would be best if I continued to take the lead.  We discussed it first, however, and thought it might be better once his legs grow a little more and he could actually stand and, better yet, walk.  I told him that all of those things will be happening in no time flat.  He smiled when I told him to just enjoy the weightlessness he feels as he is being lifted and twirled, and being taught by one of the best (cough cough). 

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Crazy Friends and Paris Hilton

I have a band of crazy friends and that is a good thing for a woman who often takes trips to the edge of the universe and tends to teeter on the edge herself.  Surrounding one's self with others like her, or others who are just a tad bit more off the wall than she is, well, it truly helps a girl to feel normal.

Wayne is one of my off the wall friends.  We have known each other for almost 13 years, having met for the first time when I was managing a small environmental firm in Ann Arbor.  Wayne had been out in the field, so to speak, for a very long time, with another employee.  They were digging up underground storage tanks (USTs) that had been buried years earlier by a very bad company, and the tanks were now leaking environmentally devastating chemicals into the earth.  It was their job to remove the tanks and assess the damage. 

When the job was finally finished, Wayne returned to Ann Arbor and strolled into the office one wintry afternoon, looking weary and wearing a disgusting pair of brown Carhart overalls, work boots, and carrying an armful of equipment.  Thinking he was a disgruntled homeless man looking to take his anger out by pick axing someone to death, I approached him cautiously and said, "May I help you?"  (all the while hoping someone else in the office would come to my rescue when he raised the ax).  "I work here," he replied.  I blinked twice, maybe three times, looked around and said, "Can someone help this man?"  "He works here," called out the draftsman.  "You're kidding."  And that moment marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

When Wayne met his wife, he and I went to lunch and he spilled his guts about her.  It was obvious he had fallen hard and that he had finally met someone who could keep up with his high energy and over-the-top sense of humor.  It wasn't long before they were married and, as they say, the rest is history.

I recently had a part of my blog published in a magazine and Wayne emailed me his congratulations.  I'd like to share just a bit of the volleying that happens between two friends who like to keep a good tennis game going:

Wayne:   And to think, I knew you way back in the day when you were merely Roger C's secretary!!! ;-) [Note:  When I was hired by Mr. C, the position was for office management and handling of day to day operations.  Once I began the job, I realized it was, in reality, a glorified secretarial job.  I stayed there for less than a year].   I hope, now that you are a big celebrity, that the media stops talking about Paris and Angelina and Brittney and focuses on Maggie and Liam and Catherine.

Maggie:  Me too, Wayne, me too.  It's about time us common folk got the limelight.  Or the lemonlight.  I personally would like a grapefruitlight.  Hope you are well and enjoying this incredible weather.

Wayne:  I don't know if you heard the story, but I was in New York last year for the launch of D's new hand dryer.  Being the media manipulating machine they are, they were able to get all sorts of press to cover and attend this event, and since this product was certified by my company and I was the head honcho in charge of certifying it, they got me in front of the cameras a bit as well. 

I was actually supposed to be interviewed by CNBC about the importance of hand hygiene.  Someone was going to bring a limo to where our event was, drive me to the NBC studios, throw me on camera, and blab about how keeping your hands clean promotes good health.  Important message, right?  Well, the bozos at CNBC thought this message wasn't quite as important as Paris Hilton getting out of jail, so I was cancelled in favor of her walking out of prison.  Needless to say, I have not been on speaking terms with Paris ever since, and I've steadfastly cheered for anyone who can steal the grapefruitlight from that camera-starved hussy.  I say, if it's not me talking about washing your hands after wiping your butt, it should be you telling the world about being a grandmother!!!  The heck with Paris, I say!!!

Maggie:  I hear ya, Sister!  Paris? Who gives an Eiffel Tower!  Pul-eez.  Give us a break.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Saving Graces or Traveling Mercies

Many years ago, during a rough patch in our lives, I was backing out of the driveway, tears rolling down my face. As I stopped at the end of the drive before backing into the street, I said a small prayer that God would throw me a bone and send me a sign that everything would be OK. I continued backing out, turned the wheel, put the car in drive, and started up the road.

I had barely begun my drive when I saw a beautiful dove standing in the middle of the road. I stopped the car and opened the door swiftly, in an attempt to scare her (or him) out of the street. She didn't budge; instead, she walked right up to the edge of the car where I sat and looked directly at me, tilting her head this way and that, and blinking her black eyes every now and then.

Perplexed at this behavior, I said, "Stay there; I'll be right back." I carefully pulled the car to the side of the road, parked and got out. I walked right up to this bird and told her that I needed to take her out of the street so that she didn't get hurt. She allowed me to pick her up and I carried her home. By this time, I had a huge smile on my face.

We sat together for awhile in the driveway, me staring at her and talking to her in disbelief, asking her where she had come from; she walking around me, and up to me several times, not saying a word. After several minutes, I decided to get a box for her to rest in. "Hold on," I called from the garage. "I'll get a nice box for you."

While I was digging around, she walked to the edge of the garage, seeming to wait for me, tilting that tiny head and strutting back and forth, almost impatiently.  As I emerged with a small box, I stooped to sit beside her again, but at that moment, she took flight, wings flapping strongly, and was gone. I stood there in the driveway for a very long time, looking toward the sky and around the mammoth trees that flanked the house, but I couldn't see her. I sat down again in the driveway, feeling somewhat overwhelmed, but joyful. "Thank you," I whispered, as I rose, tears filling my eyes again, and retreated to the garage with my box.

Walking back to the car, my heart felt light and I knew that everything had changed, everything was better, everything back in order, once again.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Vacation Getaway?

Almost a year ago, my husband and I paid for this year's vacation.  It's a standing vacation that has occurred annually for over 25 years now.  We go to a secluded  place in Canada with the entire family (in-laws, outlaws, children, babies, dogs), and torture ourselves for several days by being surrounded with too many people, in too close quarters, with way too many mosquitoes.  I am the door police, by the way, always on high alert for open doors where mosquitoes and flies can enter.  "Close that door!  Stop standing there with the door open!  Are you working for the enemy?  Do you like sleeping in bug spray?  Do you like something buzzing in your ear all night? Do you enjoy having a fly's saliva on your food? What is wrong with you?  Are you a masochist?  A sadist?  Close that door before I come over there and lock you out.  In the dark.  With the mosquitoes.  I will relish it.  Why?  Because you don't listen.  Ever."  Well, you get the idea.

And then there is the agony they love to put me through when I finally relent and get into the water, get on that Godforsaken tube, and hold on for dear life, so that they can pull me around the lake, whooping and hollering like a band of cowboys who have just caught and roped the biggest cow ever.  Try as they may to knock me off that thing, I do not let go.  I don't care if every nail is broken off of each finger, or if my teeth get knocked out from the violent throbs of that mammoth piece of plastic hitting me in the face as they loop around and go back through waves.  All for the sheer pleasure of seeing me fall off, screaming for help as they circle like a swarm of vultures ready to swoop in on some bloated carrion.   Why I give in to this every year is beyond me except that I must get some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing people so entertained by my own screams of fear and misery. My tormenters are still talking about what happened last year when I slipped off the tube into water where there was a bunch of this long grassy stuff that kept touching/grabbing my legs.   I'll spare you the details of that for some other time, mostly because I don't want to recount right now.  It's too traumatizing and I won't be seeing my therapist for two weeks.

A few years ago, the family decided to have what my mother-in-law refers to as "Hell Week" at a cottage in New York where she and my father-in-law actually reside year round.  Here is a picture of my brother-in-law and I after a day on the boat, back inside, cocktails in hand, harassing Shirley. Without starting another family uproar, suffice it to say that that was the first and last "Hell Week" held at the home of Dad and Shirley. A few years later, almost one divorce, and a few medication adjustments, the family packs it all up and goes north to Canada to wreak havoc on a country other than our own. Shirley stays home.

So here it is, another year, and I am trying to get out of Dodge to be with a pack of lunatics for 7 days. It hasn't been easy this time, however, trying to work around Catherine's schedule and make sure she has rides to wherever she and Liam need to go. Catherine and our son, Chip, aren't joining us this year because of their own schedules, i.e., work, baby doctor appointments, etc. I did, however, ask Chip if he would carefully use one of our cars while we are gone and take his sister and her son wherever they needed to go. He was happy to help us out until he checked with the Secretary of State to be sure that his last ticket had been lifted from his license. Unfortunately, and because the State of Michigan does not look lightly upon those who think they are, and can, drive like Nascar drivers when they aren't, and can't, his license is suspended until he appears in Court next month and they get an opportunity to ask him what he has to say for himself.

So my husband is leaving tonight while I stay behind until Tuesday, when we hopefully have all of the rides lined up for the week and I can leave here with a clear conscience, a light heart and a happy demeanor. For now, I am lecturing both of my children on the woes of false aspirations and understanding that the chances of them becoming Nascar drivers are just as slim as the chances of me becoming the next American Idol.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Hyperactive Church Ladies

My Church is made up of many ministries and small groups. I lead a couple of ministries and one small group for women who are married to non-Christians. We meet every Thursday evening from September until June, and take the summers off due to busy schedules, but always promise to get together once or twice during that hiatus. Last Thursday was our first time together in awhile. Needless to say, we were running our mouths, mostly at the same time, nodding our heads, and everyone getting every bit of each conversation that was going on.

My friend, Karen, held the soiree at her house, where we ate together on the patio and her mom, Ernie (whose real name is Grace), also joined us. Ernie is an 80 year old spitfire from Arkansas who, one can readily see on first-glance, was a knock-out in her day. Ernie loves the Lord and has that southern style of wit and dry humor.  Because of health issues, Ernie now lives with Karen and Allen (Karen's husband).

I am not certain I can adequately convey and share the frenzied joy of the evening through this blog, but I will try:

"You look great!"

"No, YOU look great!"

"I had a wart."

"You're kidding!"

"Right here on the edge of my nose. It was so bad that I went to the dermatologist and he froze it. Then this dried up thing was just hanging there a few days later. So I went into the bathroom and cut it."

"Oh, no way! That's nasty!"

"Way! I did. It bled like a fountain pen. I had to stick pieces of cotton up my nose."

"You cut that thing yourself?"

"She's quite an operator," Ernie mused.

"Bled like a sieve."

"Please. Spare us the details."

"That thing was so big, I could've named it. Or given it it's own zip code."

**********************************

Later on, after dinner on the patio, we made our way into the house because it began to rain and the mosquitoes were becoming annoying. 

"Oh, look," Karen called out.  "My body in a box is here!"

"Good place for it," Ernie said quietly.

"No, seriously, mom.  This is guaranteed, with just 10 minutes of workout a day, I'm going to look like this...."  And Karen held up one of the videotapes with a buff beautiful woman on the outside. 

"Uh huh.  And I'm Brigitte Bardot," Ernie replied.

**************************************

Finally, we got to our prayer and study time and had a wonderful study.  We talked about stress and how to handle it through going to God in prayer and by reading His Word.  We shared scripture and each of us left there feeling renewed, refreshed and revitalized - exactly what the Bible says we need to do .... lift one another up, pray for each other and get together often.

I look forward to our next time together.  Hopefully, Karen's wart troubles will be over and she'll be just as buff as the woman on the cover of the video.  I'm thinking that even if this is true, there will be some other drama in one of our lives worthy of a blog post.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Doggone Dogs

A few days ago, I was up early, as usual. I had my cup of coffee in hand and was sitting on the couch, enjoying the fact that no one else had yet risen; the sun was just lighting the yard, and the birds were singing joyfully. This was a very rare moment for me since the day that Catherine and Liam took up residence here. Mornings have often become the most chaotic, but also the happiest, part of my day. This particular morning was cooler, so I had my robe on over my jammies, enjoying the comfort of being curled up on the couch, ready to say my morning prayers.

As I lifted my mug to my lips to drink in the warm, roasted elixir, I stopped in mid-pucker, the cup suspended only centimeters from my lips, and I froze. There, through our large picture window, I saw a lummox of a Golden Retriever galloping up my front yard. In mere nanoseconds, my mind raced, flashing thoughts and pictures through it as I realized that some of my cats were outside. They had been fed their breakfast, and were now searching for a place to lounge amidst the flora and fauna.

In those nanoseconds, that dog stopped and peered into my window where we locked eyes, and I guess I thought that if I didn't move, he wouldn't either. I narrowed my eyes and began to whisper, "Why you little....." Too late. He was off and the chase had begun. I dropped the mug onto the coffee table, leapt over it like an Olympic champion, and flung the door open wide. I saw nothing, nothing at all but the streak of gold in front of me as I ran down the street, through front yards, dodging sprinklers, leaping over hedges and stomping through mulch. But, almost as quickly as the race began, it was over, even though it felt like I had run the entire Boston Maraton.

I rounded the corner of a house, leapt over a sandbox that seemed to jump into my path, and the dog disappeared. Frantic, I was now running through back yards, calling to my cats. As I ran, looking to and fro, two of them galloped past me, tails straight up, and raced home. The other one decided to run alongside me until I tripped on a hose, frightening him, and he also passed me up. The last two of my five had remained in the kitchen, acting as cleanup crew, licking their dishes clean, savoring their own quiet time.

I slowed to a walk as I neared home, face sweaty, hair nappy and bathrobe somewhere down the street, (which I would retrieve only after counting cats). As I glanced over my shoulder, my neighbor was standing in his kitchen, at the sliding glass door, holding his own mug of morning brew, smiling and waving. Breathless, I managed a smile and a half-hearted wave and quickened my step again until we were all safely back in the kitchen.

By then, the day had begun, the house astir with the rest of the family, and, after a head count, I quietly slipped back out front, ran down the street, grabbed my robe and returned home to shower.

Copyright liamsgrandma 2008

Cleansing and Dieting

Just like so many other middle-aged grandmothers, I am one of those women who wants to keep on going strong.  I want to keep on dancing like a maniac, keep on challenging my neighbor, Greg, to a sprint down the street in bare feet on a moment's notice, keep on answering the phone, "Good evening and welcome to Bed, Bath and Far Beyond; how may I help you," when the caller ID says it's my husband on the other end of the phone, or "Good evening and welcome to the Rest Home for Hormonally Challenged Crazy Women," when it's my sister-in-law calling. 

A few weeks back, and because I sell Arbonne (and should try their new products before talking them up to others), I tried their 7-day detox/herbal cleanse.  During this detox, it is recommended that one not drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, tell jokes, wear makeup or the color pink.  I did the cleanse and will say that the herbal concoction actually tasted like a dry sherry (without the alcoholic content), so I enjoyed drinking this safe cocktail every morning, imagining I was on some cruise in a faraway land, doing whatever and drinking whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  My boss, on the other hand, thought it was awful and said she will never do that again as long as she lives.  I've signed up for the once-a-month program myself. 

Along with the cleanse, I watched what I ate and exercised like I've never exercised before (which isn't saying much).  I felt great and lost five pounds in a month, bringing me back to a pleasant 126 pounds for my 5'9" frame.      

Determined to keep up the good work, I continued on my smaller portions at meal times and only snacked during the day on fresh fruit and/or vegetables.  I didn't eat anything after dinner but, instead, would have a cup of green decaffeinated tea. 

Wednesday evening, I had a dear friend over for dinner and made fresh salmon rubbed with delicious herbs, red potatoes which I drizzled butter and rosemary over, and a fresh garden salad.  It was wonderful.  Normally, one portion would have done it for me, but with my friend there and all, I went back for seconds (large seconds, that is).  She did the same, which only helped to validate that it was ok to get more. 

Next day, on my way home from work, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up shampoo and a few other sundry items.  While in line, my eyes fell upon a beautifully wrapped package of Cadbury's Caramello chocolate bar.  I have never been one for chocolate, but the eating frenzy I began the previous night turned me into someone different.  I picked that thing up, turned it this way and that, and plopped it onto the counter with the rest of my items. 

When the cashier finished ringing everything up and began to bag, I swiftly scooped up the candy bar and unwrapped the top.  I took one little bite.  "Oh wow," I said, leaning against the counter as I handed her the cash.  "Give me just a minute here.  Oh my goodness.  That...is....so....good."

Breathless, I straightened up, took my change, and somehow made it back to the car.  When I got home, I handed the remainder of the candy bar over to my daughter, telling her I didn't know what came over me but to please not let me see that thing again.  She happily obliged.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Compliments Always Welcome

On my way to bible study this evening, I stopped to pick up a prescription for Catherine. The pharmacist has been there for awhile and I thought she knew every family member by now.

Pharmacist: May I help you?

Me: Yes, I'm here to pick up a prescription for Catherine _____________.

Pharmacist gets the prescription and begins ringing it up.

Pharmacist: She's your sister, right?

Me: I....I beg your pardon?

Pharmacist: She's your sister.

Me: Catherine? No, she's my daughter.

Pharmacist: You are kidding.

Me: No, I'm not kidding.

She shakes her head in disbelief as I stand there staring at her blankly trying to understand what's wrong with her.

Me: Are you guys getting a commission now on in-store pharmaceutical sales?

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Finding Humor in Desperation

I hadn't planned on leaving for New York until the early morning of July 4. But Catherine worked the evening of the 3rd and Liam was not cooperating for Grammy at all. Mix in there Grammy working all day trying to get her boss off on his trip, Grammy being very hormonal, the inability to console a 4 month old, a lack of food because of the inability to console the 4 month old and a 30 minute car ride trying to calm the little beast, well, it made for a volatile cocktail when Poppy came home from work.

Before Liam and I left for our car jaunt at 7:30 pm, I called Druck at work to tell him that dinner was off. There would be no dinner because I was at my wit's end with this little gassy guy and that it was every man/woman for himself/herself in his or her search for food. The only ones who got dinner were the cats because all it takes is opening a can of food, doling it on the plates and they are happy.

After the unsuccessful car ride, I walked into the house, my face swollen and contorted from crying myself. It was hot and muggy, we have no air conditioning, I was hungry and tired. I handed Liam over to Poppy and declared, "I'm leaving. NOW." Poppy followed me into the bedroom where I began throwing clothes into my suitcase. "Why don't you just wait and leave in the morning? You won't get there until 3:30 in the morning if you leave now." "That's OK," I said quietly and continued packing. "In the morning you can sit and have a cup of coffee, relax and then go." "Are you kidding me? That never happens, dear. Someone always needs something or needs to go somewhere. Mornings are the most hectic part of the day. I'm leaving now."

I loaded up the car, kissed my husband and grandson goodbye, apologized, but said I needed to get going, and I hit the road. I arrived in New York, as anticipated, at 3:30 am, but felt peaceful and happy to have a few days to myself. That evening, I called Druck and told him about my trip. I am sure that many other wives can relate to our conversations. He only hears half of what I say and so I try not to expend too much energy relaying too much information.

"My lavender is doing really well."

"Uh huh."

"The robin's eggs hatched over the door and the mother is squawking up a storm every time I go out the door."

"Uh huh."

"I didn't bring a lick of underwear with me."

"Uh huh. Wait a minute. What did you say about licking underwear?"

Sigh.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Keeping Boss in Shape

My boss is getting ready for vacation and, as always, when one works in a law firm, preparing for vacation is sheer mayhem. 

Arnie had a mediation hearing yesterday morning and was gone longer than anticipated. When he returned, he walked in, disheveled and weary, carrying his overstuffed briefcase like it was a bag of bowling balls.

"How'd it go?" I said, catching sight of the few hairs he has left, sticking up in various directions, as he dodged into his office.

"Just as suspected," he called back. "Not good."

"I'm sorry," I said, and got up to listen to the story. Arnie always likes to relay his tales of woe and victory in the court room and so, I try to accommodate and go in and listen when it seems he wants to talk. I stood beside his desk, hands clasped, nodding and interjecting when he stopped to take a breath. When he was finished, he sat down and I returned to my own office until I heard a panicked yelp from the other room.

"Oh dear God, what is this? We have a Brief due on July 16?" (Arnie had asked me to sum up all of his diaried reminders and due dates that are scheduled while he will be away and to put it on his desk).

"No, we don't have a Brief due on July 16. It's due on July 23. The reminder in the book is that we have to start it on July 16." I got up and returned to his office where he was loosening his tie.

"You almost killed me."

"I do what I can to keep you healthy, Arnie. That probably cleared every ounce of plaque out of your arteries. You should be thanking me for that adrenalin rush."

"Thanks," he said weakly as I returned once again to my office.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma