Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Rest In Peace, Sweet Angels

I will not be blogging for several days as I prepare to return to NY for the funerals of my dear friend, Alison Protulipac's daughters, Gretchen and Sarah.  Gretchen and Sarah were killed on Saturday returning from a job interview at Darien Lake.  

Sarah, the angel on the left, was 17.  Gretchen, the angel on the right, was 16.  Their sister, Rebekah (center), is left behind to mourn with their parents.

Please pray for this dear family. These children were wonderful girls.  Their parents are good, kind, giving people who give so much to their community. It is difficult to understand such things but I know that their parents' and their sister's faith will get them through this.  May God bless the entire family and help them to find some kind of peace.

Easy As Pie

Parenting a one-year old again is like riding a bike.  You think you have forgotten some things but, as soon as you get on that seat, you push off, and there you go - you're on your way.

Since Grammy has temporarily become Liam's primary caregiver (see blog below), I continue to amaze myself.  Not only does Liam get huge "attaboys" for his successes, but Grammy gives herself some "attagirls" for being in better shape than she thought.

For instance, Grammy can carry 24-pound Liam, two full bags of groceries, a gallon of milk, the mail, her purse and her keys - all in one trip to the house - and can unlock that door, usually getting in without stumbling and rolling onto the carpet or dropping the milk, causing it to explode all over the walkway (that only happened once, ok?). 

Poppy commented the other day that Grammy is getting that Popeye arm again from carrying Liam around in my left arm.  "I remember when our kids were little, you had a huge muscle on that arm."  Now if only I could learn how to carry him and everything else in the other arm for awhile.  I would be looking pretty buff. 

Grammy has mastered the art of going tinkle while scrambling to reach a toddler before he falls head first into the tub - without leaving the toilet seat - and holding him securely on her lap until she's finished.  Afterward, Grammy can shimmy her pants up with one hand, while holding a squirming baby in the other.   We then wash our hands together, to Liam's delight.

Grammy  has amazed herself at how she can brush her teeth while holding Liam, she can make dinner, do laundry, vacuum, and do a variety of other things while keeping Liam secure in her Popeye arm.   Dining experiences are second to none with Grammy who can get Liam to eat with grand questions that loudly begin with such things as, "Are you kidding me?  I had no idea you could eat like that!"  For some reason the inflections in my voice cause Liam to look around like a train is about to roar through the kitchen or some other major catastrophe is about to happen.  But he opens his mouth every time (hopefully, not in shock or fear).

Bathtime is always exciting because Liam insists that Grammy join him.  Because he has a huge fascination with boobies and Grammy is not his mother, and hence, did not nurse him, she has some modesty with this fascination and, therefore, dons her tankini before climbing into the tub with the little water boy who splashes, crawls, slips and goes underwater, at which time, Grammy grabs him, sputtering and laughing (Liam, not Grammy) and the entire bathroom resembles the aftermath of a monsoon. 

Nighttimes are still a challenge.  Bubby wakes around 3 or 3:30 for a diaper change and also requests a bottle of milk, by whining a gentle warning that it's not gonna be pretty if he doesn't get it, until a warm bottle is put into his hands.  In her stupor, Grammy feels her way in the dark (while Liam restlessly waits in his crib) and tries not to fall down the stairs, finally ambling to the kitchen to prepare his 3 am snack and then, dizzyingly, heads back upstairs. 

Sometimes, Grammy has weird experiences, like a few nights ago when she sprang up in bed emphatically stating, "I said, 'NO SOLICITORS'!"  Startled, I looked around the room, found it to be dark, glanced at the window, thinking it was the door, saw no one, sighed, laid back down and returned to sleep.  Two nights ago,  I woke up asking the wall what part of no it didn't understand. 

All in all, we are making progress.  The wall doesn't talk back and I haven't seen a solicitor in at least three days.  Obviously, I am more powerful than I thought.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Come Back to Me

David Cook, last year's American Idol winner, has a new hit out called "Come Back to Me."  I heard it for the first time while watching Idol.  David appeared on the show to promote this new single and it stuck with me for a variety of reasons.  It made me think about all of the people who have come and gone in my life; people I wonder about every so often, some of whose exit I have accepted and I know I will never see them again.  It still makes me wonder why.  Others, I know are out there.  And, because of our technology, I am able to email, call or text message some of them again.  Even those contacts are occasional, but I know that I have the ability to reach my hand out over the worldwide web or via AT&T and see a printed word from them or hear a voice at the other end of the phone line.  

Come back to me.  The words to this song ring loudly in my heart:

You say you're leavin' 
As you look away; 
I know there's really nothin' left to say. 
Just know I'm here
Whenever you need me - 
I'll wait for you

The first time I ever experienced real depression, it was bewildering to me.  I was 17 years old, a senior in high school and my high school love had walked away.  He'd written me a note and gave it to me just as we were leaving school to board our respective buses for home.   I happily sat on the bus and unraveled that note that had been folded into the shape of a "football" - the triangular folding we all did back then. Expecting some sort of plan for meeting later that day, I eagerly held Dave's note in my hands until the words began to sink in.  Just before the bus pulled away, I jumped out of my seat and ran off, walking instead the two miles to my mom's place of employment where I crumpled in her arms.  Mom was there for me and later that night, we sat on the couch and cried together.  Her heart broke for her daughter because she understood that pain and, being a mom, didn't want me to hurt in such a way.  

So I'll let you go, 
I'll set you free; 
And when you see what you need to see, 
When you find you, come back to me.

As I sat on our brick patio and leaned against the warmth of my shingled house a few weeks later, missing Dave, I soaked in the sun's rays allowing the emotional pool of blackness to ooze from me painfully.   I didn't quite understand this new feeling because it was the first time I had ever been hurt like that.  But I wanted to feel it.  It was the first time that my trust had been broken and someone I loved had walked away. And, as the words in the song say, I waited.  I waited for him to return to me because, being young and naive, I thought he would.  I waited eighteen months for him to return to me.  But it was too late.  By then, my wounds had scarred over and I had met Karl.  

But, being almost 19 at the time, that relationship also was short-lived and, Karl, like Dave, dropped me off from college classes one day, handed me a note and kissed me goodbye.  Again, being the naive person I have always been, I went into the house, eagerly opened my note and felt that pain - again.  This time it was dad who picked up my crumpled heap, poured me into his car and drove me to a Friendly's Ice Cream store and bought me a butterscotch sundae.  As the tears rolled down my cheeks and spilled into the untouched melting ice cream, dad sat quietly, slowly eating his own sundae.  Every now and then he would gently ask me a question like, "Why would he do that?"  I barely croaked an inaudible "I don't know."  For dad, I gagged down a few spoonfuls of the soupy concoction and, as the waitress gingerly placed the check on the table, glancing from me to dad sympathetically, dad said, "Boyfriends.  We hate them right now."  She exhaled a slow breath and nodded in understanding.  "Don't we all," she said and walked away shaking her head.   But that day, my father promised he would never walk away from me and I held onto that.

Take your time; I won't go anywhere. 
Picture you with the wind in your hair. 
I'll keep your things right where you left them; 
I'll be here for you.

I kept the memories of Karl around for about 15 months and then I met my husband. About six months after that, Karl returned.  It was too late. Again.  Not long afterward, I married my husband - and he has never gone away.  Except for business trips.  For whatever reason, he decided to stay.  We dated almost two years and married - with him being the only man I had ever "been with."  Maybe that's why the others left.  I don't know.  I was shy and cautious.  Some might say prudish, but I wasn't going to give my love or anything else away that freely.  I needed some guarantees.

And now I have a daughter who comes and goes from my life regularly. Sometimes it is a physical removal; mostly it is an emotional type of exit.  Since she was 15 years old, she has come and gone, deepening the scars and painfully widening the chasm between us each time.  I have dreamt about it for years - sometimes I am chasing her through a forest, twigs and briars getting caught in my hair and scratching my face to bits. Sometimes she screams for me to save her and other times she laughingly stays just a few feet ahead of me, taunting me.  The waking pain is almost unbearable at times.

My therapist says I have abandonment issues.  I am overly cautious.  But then when I let my guard down, I am easily hurt again.  I don't think I have abandonment issues.  I think those who have left me have issues. For whatever reason, they were unable to stay with me for the long haul. I try to tell myself it's their loss, not mine.  

I can't get close if you're not there. 
I can't get inside if there's no soul to bear; 
I can't fix you, I can't save you - 
It's something you have to do.

As I sit here typing, and my grandson is sleeping while his mother is institutionalized yet again, I pray for her mind to heal - not for me, but for Liam.  I have concluded that I can't fix her and I can't save her even though my husband and I have tried just as any parent who loves their children want to try to save them - sometimes to even save them from themselves.  But I have also concluded that I can take this burden.  I have taken it for a reason.  I like to think that God puts upon my shoulders, and the shoulders of others like me, burdens that some people simply can't handle.  Someone's gotta carry the load.  I also like to think that God uses me as an example to display joy even in the most difficult of trials to help others see that life is worth living and to stop your freaking complaining when things don't go your way all the time.

So I'll let you go, 
I'll set you free, 
And when you see what you need to see -
When you find you, come back to me. 
Come back to me. 
So I'll let you go, 
I'll set you free,
And when you see what you need to see, 

When you find you, come back to me.

Joyfully, Liam and I will go to the playground today and then take a walk up to the grocery store where we will mill around the produce section, picking out the freshest fruits and vegetables and choosing what Liam, Poppy and I shall have for dinner. Liam will sit in his high chair near the counter as I chop and sing crazy songs like Dana Carvey's, "She's choppin' broccoli...." and he'll laugh and I'll smooch him.  And at the end of the day after Liam is bathed and snoring happily and as I lay in my own bed, I will say a prayer for this child, for me, for Poppy, and I'll pray that his mother comes back to us - again.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Bubby and Grammy Playing on Bed

Grammy's eyes are puffy from crying because Bubby is moving out with his mama (just the next town over but I'll miss mornings and everything else with him on a daily basis).

Living Large in South Carolina or the Great Escape

Yours truly spent the last several days in beautiful Charleston, South Carolina where my friend, Laura, lives.  Unfortunately, it took me three days to relax and, two days later, I had to return home.  To a train wreck.  I walked into the house, looked around and wanted to turn and get the next flight out.  Instead, I took two deep breaths and went to my room.  After telling myself that everything is fine, it's just dishes, toys, clothes, lint and a new stain on my brand new freaking carpet,  I went upstairs to kiss my sleeping grandson several times and came back downstairs to my own room where I watched UNC kill Michigan State in the championship basketball game.  Then I went to check on my cats and found that no one had refreshed their water - for five days.  Granted, they had a little left (because being the knowing person I am, I put out an extra huge bowl of water which also was almost empty), but I was furious, especially because I have a diabetic cat.  Somehow, someone is telling me to get outta here.  Leave Michigan.  In fact, run, don't walk, to the nearest Lufthansa terminal.

To add to the drama, on my return flight home, my plane was delayed.  And delayed again.  A weeping elderly woman in a wheelchair diverted my attention from my own self-centeredness and I sat with her and talked to her until she was fine.  We boarded the plane and the pilot announced that there was a computer issue and they couldn't fly with such a problem.  I sat there,  in the very last seat on a very small plane across from a very acrid toilet thinking, again, someone is telling me not to go back.  To run, as fast as I can, to the nearest Air France terminal.   Instead, I deplaned when they announced it'd be awhile and ate a blueberry muffin.  Finally, an hour later, we reboarded and I was able to get a seat away from the toilet.  And away from the apparently very noisy engine behind the wall of that last seat.

After arriving 3 hours late and having no idea whether or not my husband would pick me up because he had a soccer game, I was delighted to find that I didn't have to hail a cab or stick a thumb out in the freezing cold to get home.  That little darling decided that his wife was more important than his soccer game.  Air France?  Lufthansa? KLM?  Instead, I gritted my teeth, smiled and got into the car as it pulled to the curb.

"Is there anything to eat at home?" I asked, already knowing the answer.  "Nope," he replied.  Instead, we drove to a Taco Bell, someplace I haven't been to in years.  Pulling up to the drive-through, a barely audible young man's voice asked, "What can I get for you tonight?"  I had no idea.  There were too many things to choose from.  I didn't even know what a chalupa was, let alone what kind I wanted.  "Uh.  Hold on," I called, leaning towards the speaker from the passenger's seat.  Defeatedly, I slumped back and gazed out the windshield.  "I have no idea."  (Loud sigh from the previously inaudible voice).  "Never mind!"  I yelped.  "Go, Druck.  Just go.  I have no idea what that stuff is.  I'll eat a can of beans.  I'm really not that hungry."  But Druck insisted we go in and I figure out what I wanted.  Not one to make a scene, I dutifully obliged, got out of the car and stood there for as long as the counter girl could stand it.  Finally, she said, "Well?"  I ordered two burritos, one for me and one to bring to my daughter, and that ended that standoff.

Later on, Druck told me he spent some of my time away fantasizing about at least two of my five cats going to Kitty Heaven while I was gone.  Before speaking, he checked my face thoroughly and then continued.  "I thought, what would I tell you if you called and one of them had croaked? 'Oh, they're fine, but I think one is dead?'" 

I commented that Kozmo, one of my eldest cats, looked awful.  "Is he still in that bed by the wall?" Druck asked. "Yes," I replied.  "Hmm.  I don't think he's moved from there since you left.  I thought maybe he was dead and worried about what kind of trouble I'd get into.  I figured I'd tell you I just thought he was sleeping the entire time."  "Oh dear God," I lamented.  "Why does everything come apart when I'm not here?"  "Because we need you," he said, waiting and watching me with a sheepish grin on his face. 

As I leaned back on our bed, resigned to my fate of being the conductor of this extremely mismatched orchestra, I leaned into the music and into my husband's waiting arms.  Pausing to gaze into those eyes again, eyes that I know belong to one who desperately needs me, I bent towards him and, as our lips parted, I inhaled his sweet breath and knew that no one else could lead this band better than I could. 

For now, the Great Escape will have to wait.  While he fantasizes about cats leaving for another realm, I'll fantasize about tuning the instruments a little better and, with my conductor's wand, I'll do what I do best.  Love them all.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Vacation Plans

I am currently in SC soaking up sun and causing a ruckus on a bewildered city who had no time to prepare for my arrival.  So with that, I am reposting a blog I wrote last summer about our vacation preparations.  I will see you next week. 

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. Now, Dad and Shirley were all for this; in fact, I think they were the ones who offered it after Shirley changed medications and thought she could handle it. 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 more 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.

So my husband is leaving tonight while I stay behind until Tuesday, when we hopefully have everything lined up for the week at home in the way of cat care, baby care, etc., 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 why they cannot use my car, why they cannot have 40 people over, or why they cannot live the lives of hedonists.  All this just to get out of town.  But it will be worth it. 

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma