Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Vacation, NOT STAYcation...

Here we are once again, to that time of year where I'm gearing myself up mentally and physically for the trek up into Canada with my husband's family--to rough it (that link back there is not a link to Canada's tourist website, by the way...it's a link to last's year's saga). 

For some of you, the definition of "roughing it" is camping out in the wilderness, in a tent, with no toilet, no shower, no running water PERIOD.  Honestly, for me, roughing it is staying at a Motel 6 or, worse, a Holiday Inn. 

I often feel bad when I look at my husband - a man who loves the outdoors as much as he loves to breathe, eat, and play soccer.  I feel sorry for him because he's married to ME.  I admit that I love the outdoors too - as long as the temperature is between 70 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit, there are no flies, no ants, no mosquitoes and NO spiders.  Occasionally, everything works in my favor and it's not too hot nor too cold out there, and there's enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay.  I don a baseball cap to keep those bastard flies from buzzing around my head and use my homemade anti-bug soap to keep my skin smelling like lemon and lavender to keep any brave mosquitoes and other insects off of me. 

I've tried over the years to pretend I like camping and have even thought that maybe if I just did it and relaxed about everything, including the sounds of things sniffing around the tent as I try to sleep at night and the mosquitoes that still buzz in my ear, even though they don't dare land, I might grow to enjoy it  But for GOD'S SAKE!! I'm 50 years old, and it's apparently just not going to happen.  A few years ago, I stopped pretending.

Thing is, this annual vacation isn't camping, per se. We rent a bunch of cottages that are located on a little peninsula on a gorgeous lake in the Province of Ontario, Canada.  Not far from Kingston, to be more precise. 

But the scenario is this:  many of the window and door screens have holes in them (mosquitoes), the door to our cottage has a gap between it and the floor (more mosquitoes and a couple of chipmunks) and opening the silverware drawer causes a flurry of activity (big black ants).  The mattress literally stinks like major BO - and fishermen.  For any fishermen out there reading this (although I have yet to meet a fisherman who has any interest in me or what I write), this is not meant to insult you, but I know you understand when I say, YOU STINK. 

Needless to say, I wash everything again before I eat off of it, lay sheet upon sheet over the bed, and spritz myself with bug spray before getting into that bed (the bug repellent soap works, but because I only take a shower every other day while there [another story altogether], the fragrance fades, replaced by the lovely scent of sweat which, apparently, mosquitoes love).  I don't swim in the lake because, well, it's murky and there are things in it that I can't see and there are long green plants that sometimes grab my feet. And, yes, even my tough-as-nails sister-in-law bathes in bug spray and there's a photo to prove it.  

Let's face it, I have huge problems.  My brother-in-law dubbed me the "Female Woody Allen" many years ago.  Again, I feel for my husband.  Quite honestly, I probably should have paired up with someone who loves to travel and stay in posh hotels, who owns a yacht where I can sunbathe all day on its deck, a yard with a built-in swimming pool and a cabana boy, and, of course, a gourmet kitchen (because I do love to cook).  I'm sure my husband's wish is, at least occasionally, for everything I'm not.  But we never go there because we do love each other and there truly are incredible things about the other that each of us swears we can't live without.  That is, of course, until I say I'm never going to that godforsaken place again and he thinks it's ok to make me wait 17 months to get a new stove and then...yes, then, we go to our imaginary worlds and imagine who the other might be. Or imagine ourselves filing those papers.

I sat on the couch this morning before Liam rose, holding my cup of coffee in my hand and staring at the wall.  Which is what I do when I'm worrying about something.  Walls are so non-intrusive.  Then I texted my sister-in-law and told her I was feeling anxious about vacation.  She reassured me.  Because she knows me.  She knows I'll be ok.  She knows I'm a flake.  She knows I'll pack that beautiful lacy skirt and high heels just in case we get to go somewhere glamorous.  Just like I do every year and, just like every year, we never do.  But I'll pack it anyway because I like to be prepared for unexpected things.  Like the unexpected knight riding in on that white horse who lifts the lid of his helmet, revealing an incredibly gorgeous, understanding, loving face, and says, "Baby, hop on, let me take you away from all of this and I promise you, you'll never cry again, you'll live in comfort for the rest of your life, people will always be pleasant, there are closets upon closets of high heels and room after room of jewelry armoires filled with all kinds of bling, the temperature is always 76 degrees, there are no bugs, there's a gourmet kitchen, and, guess what, we have a pool!  With a cabana boy who brings you pina coladas at the snap of your fingers!  And your husband can live with us for as long as you want.  I'll even go camping with him."

The reality of it all is that life is good. it is what it is and it's here to enjoy.  Perspiration, bug bites, foul odors and yucky showers included.  I always survive and, oh, by the way, they do have a swimming pool on the premises.  It's not built in, but it's chlorinated.  I'll give up my perfume for chlorine any day if it means I don't have to set foot into the lake.   And, to my family, you know that I always, at the end of our week together say, "Let's do it again next year!"  You KNOW that.  Because I'll spend time with family any day, anywhere, as long as we are together, happy and healthy.  And someone's got my back.

Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma

Photographs compliments of Robin

New York Travels

I attended my high school reunion last Saturday night for a few hours and then went and finished the evening at my neighborhood reunion down the street.  Yes, this is a photo of me singing "Wild Thing" like no one has ever heard before.  And no one, once they've heard my version, ever wants to be able to hear, think or remember ever again.  In fact, I've heard of people being institutionalized for a period after listening to my singing.  Mostly for psychotic episodes that seem to be laced with a pining to ram sharp objects into one ear and out the other.  I guess you could say my singing should come with a warning label attached - kind of like prescription drugs.  "Not recommended for pregnant or nursing mothers as there have been instances where miscarriage occurs or lactating ceases.  If you are over the age of 35, deafness may occur accompanied with a longing to harm or maim anyone blocking your path to the door.  May cause vomiting if ingested audibly for more than 15 seconds.  If diarrhea, fainting, head spinning or hair loss occur, stop listening immediately and contact your doctor."  This particular evening, I saw none of those occurrences, but I think I saw the wait staff giving inoculations at the rear of the bar just prior to my taking the stage.

It seems that life always has bizarre twists and turns to it, but the older I get, the more I believe that some of us steer into strange odysseys all on our own.  Mostly because we welcome variety and partly because, at least for me, the less I worry about what others think of me and the more I care about not suppressing who I am, the better off I am emotionally. That's not to say that in every instance I can let my hair down and be myself.  But I'm learning.

I arrived in New York Friday evening, via Canada, because it's quicker.  It's always interesting conversing with border guards.  I have gotten to a point where I like to "engage" them; especially after the time one guard ransacked my vehicle and picked through my bras, panties and socks like a chimp looking for nits.  You'd think I was built like Pamela Anderson and was hiding a bomb the size of South Africa in each cup the way he went through my lingerie.  Finally, I snatched my Victoria's Secret underwire out of his hands and said, "Enough already.  You saw the self-help book on the back seat, the Bible, and the book about herbal remedies.  Aren't you guys supposed to be trained in profiling?  My mom's sick, I'm praying, and I'm losing my mind.  That's all." He looked stunned and I felt like I was going to pass out -  because I knew that either I had crossed a line and was in big trouble, or he was merely a kindly soul, interested in women's underwear and willing to take pity on me - especially after realizing he hadn't found the Holy Grail of lacy, voluminous brassieres.  Instead, he'd gotten the booby prize (literally) in my hopeful, yet "still-commanding-a-presence," 34B's.  He decided to let me go, but not before recommending a good book to read about grief and dying. 

Just when it felt like I had been swallowed by a black hole and I'd never come out the other side to New York, I made it and was asked by that border guard whether I was bringing anything into the country valued at more than $1,000.  "Just me and my car," I said wearily.  Two days later, as I once again entered Canada on my way back to Michigan, the question was whether I was bringing anything declarable into their country.  "Just this huge pimple here," I said cheerily, pointing to the burgeoning growth between my nose and upper lip - something that began the day of my reunion and sent me into a panic.  I mean, I'm 49 years old.  I can't remember the last time I've had a pimple and now one decides to show it's ugly face on the day of my high school reunion some 32 years later?  High school memories seemingly were back with a vengeance in every way, shape and form.

When the guard continued to stare at his computer screen, never once glancing my way, I continued.  "Honestly, this one deserves a first and middle name," I chuckled and glanced up the highway.  He darted a look back, shook his head, gave me back my passport and said, "All set." 

Druck says to leave these people alone.  He says they get stand-up comedy (or drive-through actually) by thousands of people everyday.  I disagree.  Because I've had my own share of their version of stand-up comedy and so, it's the least I can do for these men and women who occasionally put me through the wringer with their idiotic questions and their own lame jokes.

Was it worth the trip?  Let me say that I vacillated as to whether to go or not up until the last minute.  Mostly because I don't do well in large groups and partly because I don't do well in small groups either.  I'm inherently shy.  If I were born a cat, I'd be feral, always watching from the edge of the woods, looking at the cats sitting in the windows inside their warm cozy homes, well-fed and loved.  I'd sit there, wishing I could summon up the courage to walk up to someone's patio door and see if they'd find me lovely and worthwhile and want to take me in.  But my feralness would take over and I'd fear the rejection more than the possibility of the door opening.  I'd rather stay outside the group and feel just a little cold and a lot lonely than to take a chance and see if someone would let me in.  Because, for me, rejection is more painful than frost-bitten nights at the edge of the woods.

32 years later, I took a chance and stepped inside the warm VFW hall where the reunion took place.  My heart pounded and I did only a little stammering. 

Unfortunately, earlier in the evening I had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up way late, uncertain as to whether it was 6:15 am the next day or 6:15 pm the night of the reunion.  Initially, I thought, "OK.  I slept through that.  No reason to cry over spilt milk."  Then when I realized it was 6:15 pm, I thought, "Too late.  Can't go.  Get some take-out and stay home."  After pacing back and forth for about 30 seconds, I decided to go, causing me to sprint around in a panic.  I was late to the reunion and, on top of that, I hadn't eaten much all day.  When someone walked up to me to say all kinds of nice things and engage me in conversation, I had a plate of food in my hand and my feralness took over.  Feeling faint, I talked for a minute and then said, "I have to sit down and eat before I pass out."  She nodded and I ran off to eat, but I discovered that I could barely swallow my food. I didn't see Margaret again that evening and I still wish I had connected with her.  I wanted to talk about so many things with that woman, and if things had gone differently (not dozing off, making sure I ate properly), I would have enjoyed her company. 

Afterward, I found myself wandering and talking to people and, as the night progressed, I felt better.  I felt calmer.  Because these were all good people.  Some told stories of things we had done together which made me realize that while I have changed over the years, many things about me haven't, and most of those things are quite comical.  

So was it worth it?  Yes.  In every way.  It reminded me that people change, people grow, we tolerate and accept more about ourselves and others.  We take each day for what it is:  a gift.  And we learn to share the gifts we have already attained with others, and learn not to fear rejection of those gifts. We also learn to accept the gifts of others graciously.

I can't wait for the next reunion.  Because next time, I'll set my alarm, will eat like a pig all day prior, and I'll look for my dear friend, Margaret.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Living in New York (at least part-time) - Part One

Leaving on a Friday evening for NY is always full of expectation and excitement (see photo above taken from edge of woods in the Spring). After driving 6 of the 7 hours, however, I feel like I'm about to lose my mind. That last hour could fall under the same category as water torture - the kind where you're hung upside down with water dripping on you and you're left there to think about how much your head hurts, how much your joints ache, and how much you wonder what you did to deserve this (not that that's ever happened to me, but I have a vivid imagination, ok?). By the seventh hour, my butt hurts, my legs are cramped and I can't get comfortable no matter what I do. My husband and I snap at each other and sigh and moan everytime we think the other has said something stupid or nonsensical. "I mean, why would you say that? It makes absolutely no sense. Are you all right to drive? You sure don't act it." And I am not one who can sleep in a car, a plane, a train, a tent, a couch or on the floor. Give me a nice bed and that'll do the trick. My idea of roughing it, by the way, is spending a night in a Holiday Inn. So, again, by the seventh hour, I am tired, cranky, and sick of listening to the NPR podcasts my husband has downloaded which we have been listening to for hours.

By the time we arrived Friday night, Druck and I were less than pleasant toward each another, one reprimanding the other for what he/she left in the car and "it's not my stuff, so you get it and bring it in." Then, of course, when my husband does do the manly thing and pulls my one-ton suitcase out of the car, he has to remark the same remark that I mouth along with him as I stand inside, leaning against the wall, removing my shoes and staring at the ceiling: "You'd think you were traveling to Europe for the summer, for crying out loud, with all the stuff you have crammed into this suitcase." I sigh, kick my shoes to the side and start turning on lights.

This particular weekend was amazing because we had really nothing planned. Usually, Druck helps his Dad most of one day, we have dinner with his Dad and Shirley, and usually see another family member while there. Needless to say, there is a great deal of driving and doing once we arrive.  This particular weekend, we had nothing on the agenda except getting together with my sister on Sunday evening to go through old pictures. 

We ate well and even treated ourselves to purchasing fresh clams which we would steam and eat in drawn butter. This is a rarity in the mid-west and something I was unaware of when we moved here. There are many things that are either unheard of in the mid-west, or are not the real McCoy as they are in their place of origin, i.e., in New York. Salt potatoes are unheard of here, white hotdogs are completely unknown, and having fresh steamed clams whenever you want to purchase at your local grocery store is practically non-existent. And forget about getting Buffalo wings the way they are really supposed to be made.

As we walked back to our car with our various groceries, including the steamed clams, I commented. "I wonder why people never make pets of clams."

"What?" my husband replied, seemingly agitated with such a statement.

"No, seriously. They're alive when you get them so why couldn't you keep them in an aquarium just like you do other fish? People get hermit crabs, you know. Clams are a little less exciting, but not by much."

"They eat small mammals."

"REALLY." I say, more as a statement as I stared at him in disbelief.

"Yeah," he says and keeps walking.

"Now what kind of small mammal could a clam eat?" I looked at the ground and continued walking toward the car when I heard a small snicker and looked up to find Druck shaking his head and smiling.

"You idiot," I stammered and, with a huff, flopped into the car, crossed my arms, acted mad for 10 seconds, and burst out laughing.

Stay tuned for Part II. I'm sure you can't wait (choke).

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

New York New York

Off to NY on Friday, sans my husband because he is babysitting.  Also, I am highlighting my hair tonight.  So, as of right now, there are two more issues requiring prayer - that husband doesn't go mad as a child care provider, and that I chose the right color for highlighting.  TO BE CONTINUED....

A Tale of Two Cities

As many of you know,  we make our permanent home here in the metro Detroit area.  But we also have our entire extended family and second home in Upstate New York where we go to relax, unwind and, as Druck puts it, I "tend" to him with delicious meals, soft words, loving looks and an agreeableness he just doesn't get here in Michigan. Evenings are spent playing doctor in front of the fire (yes, it continues to be cold enough in the evenings to build a fire), and enough time and distance settles in where I can start loving my kids again. I must say, however, that right at this very moment, I am tempted to remove that last statement because someone here is accusing me of lying, so a "raised voice" match has taken place (and I get up early in the morning to have time to myself for what reason again?). Let me end this paragraph by stating that I am not a yeller. But when someone accuses me of lying, especially one of my own children and he or she does not quit, I go a bit ballistic. This generally occurs when the accuser continues on her accusations which are totally false and have to do solely this particular morning with whether or not and which one of the cats peed on her shoe.

On a more pleasant note, this weekend was spent chasing down antiques, chasing down a two-hot Virgin Mary (the non-alcoholic counterpart of its more desirable Bloody Mary) with two glasses of water which left me with a stomach ache so bad that we had to cancel our follow-up doctor's appointment in front of the fire, and chasing down a mouse who had taken over as a squatter since the last time we were there. 

Liam remained home with his mother and Druck and I celebrated our 27th anniversary in style, or at least in the country living style of swatting away dive bombing flies in our meadow as we mowed and planted, brainstorming on how to make a humane mousetrap,  constant wiping down the countertop after our  country mouse visited (which was often), and the final creation of an intricate mousetrap which did, indeed, work as we rushed out to the kitchen at about 10 pm on Sunday evening, to find Country Mouse in the mainly City Dwellers' piece of Tupperware, moving it around on the counter as if he was driving the Pope Mobile.

After capturing the unwelcome guest, we discussed whether to drive him down the road and let him go, or whether Druck should just run him across the street. I told Druck that whatever we decided, we needed to do it quickly because he was going to run out of air.

Druck: This mouse can last two days in this container.

Me: Are you crazy? He'll be dead in five minutes. It's air TIGHT, dear. That's why they make these things - to keep air out and food fresh.

Druck: I'm serious. He'll live for two days.

Me: No he won't. And you call yourself a scientist.

While I insisted that the mouse be driven down the road, Druck, with flashlight in hand, took him to the field across the street. When he returned, he told me that the mouse had started running back towards him, onto the street and that he had to chase him back into the field. I reiterated that he should have driven our guest down the road to make a new life for himself. Men never listen. Whether it's traffic directions or rodent directions, they just never learn.

PS: My hair is finally growing back. For those of you who are new here, you can read the blog entitled, "Why Did I Cut My Hair - I Look Like a Squirrel," although it's just a rant about the temporary insanity of a middle-aged woman.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Back Home

I am back home again from NY. It was a beautiful weekend and very peaceful. Husband and I got lots done around the house, entertained Saturday night and had a fire in our wood stove Sunday night because it became very chilly. It was nice to get away together. It doesn't happen enough. Next month we will celebrate 27 years of marriage. I am very blessed.

Leaving to get out of Dodge, however, is always another story. Liam had his hernia consult and before that, I met my friend, Gail, for coffee. Gail has been valiant and faithful to God through her battle with cancer this past year. She has been undergoing tests due to some recent cancer activity in her lungs. She is a true inspiration to everyone as she battles this disease with confidence and with faith that God will not give her or her family more than they can endure. And she showed me again just why I love this dear friend so much. As we chatted, had coffee (she had hot chocolate) and laughed over silly stories, it seemed as if her battle was the furthest thing from her mind.

I got home and Catherine had apparently forgotten Liam's appointment. I walked through the door and said, "Are we ready?" "Ready for what?" I began snapping my fingers back and forth, "Hello, dear! Hernia? Circumcision? Ring a bell?" "OH!" Catherine jumped up and we were two women, flitting to and fro, prepping the little man, his bottle, his diaper bag and his passy (pacifier) in a small frenzy. I ran out to the car with Liam snapped into his car seat and opened the front passenger door. Wrong door. I opened the back door, clicked him into the base that was buckled in and ran to the driver's side. Catherine climbed in beside Liam and we were off. As we rounded the curve just near my house, the front passenger door swung open and I hit the brakes.  "Whoa, mom!  What is going on?"  "I opened the wrong door and..."  "What?"  "Never mind." I yanked the door shut and we resumed our journey. 

Catherine and I got to the appointment on time and the doctors told her what they were going to do, showing diagrams of the area where the hernia is. Liam will also be circumcised on the same day since they did not do it when he was born. He was very tiny and had some breathing issues then and they didn't want to stress him out any further.

While Catherine was scheduling the surgery, Liam laid on her lap. She touched her finger to his nose and said, "And you're getting a new pee pee too." And the nurse chimed in, "To the enjoyment and wonder of all who know him." I blurted, "Hopefully not by too many people and hopefully not until his honeymoon!" The nurse, realizing what she had said, turned fire engine red and said, "I mean..." I said, "It's ok. He's young. He doesn't even know what you said and we sure won't tell him!"

The appointment over and the surgery scheduled, we drove home where I resumed packing for NY.  I finally was ready to go and kissed Liam and Catherine and was on my way.  As I drove to the corner gas station to pick up a couple of bottled waters for my husband and I, I thought through everything...did I take care of all of the things I had to before leaving?  I nodded a firm yes. 

It wasn't until I was opening the door of the gas station and about to step in when I realized I was still wearing my pink slippers.  I stopped dead in my tracks before forcing myself forward and into the tiny area where they keep a small cooler of beverages and snacks.  "Hi, how are you?" a voice called.  In my distraction and because of my dark sunglasses, I turned to the first person I saw and said, "Great, how are you?"  "I'm great, ma'am...Over here!"  The owner was smiling and I sheepishly grabbed my waters and left to return home to get some real shoes. 

I picked up Druck at work and we were on our way.  Only received two phone calls from Catherine en route and neither were emergencies.  Received three more after we arrived just past midnight.  Druck and I fell into bed and slept soundly until morning.  We visited with family and on Sunday I baked my dad peanut butter cookies and dad, his wife, Jean, and I had cookies and tea together on their screened in porch. 

Liam survived without his grandma an entire weekend.  I wish I could say that I survived just as well without seeing him all weekend.  I couldn't wait to get back home and scoop him up.  Here we are and I have that horribly crazy hair. Liam doesn't care.   

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Stomach Crunches and NY

I have been doing those dreaded stomach crunches for the past few weeks now. I won't tell you how many I am up to yet because it's embarrassing. I'll get waaay up there before too long. Why do I do this? I don't know. Maybe because I am trying to stay healthy and stay one step ahead of old age. Maybe because when I see other women my age whose bellies protrude beyond than their bustline, I think, "No way is that happening to me." Besides, recent scientific studies have shown that men and women with big bellies are more susceptible to heart attacks at a much earlier age. But, the truth be told, I mostly want to make sure that my VS tankini still fits me this summer when we take our vacation at the lake. No spare tires for me unless I'm floating on one.

I recently saw that there is a book out called, "The Yoga Face." It allegedly "eliminates wrinkles with the ultimate facelift" (I just paused in my liturgy here and ordered a copy). No, my friends, old man Wrinkles and old lady Love Handles will have to TRY to catch me. One day, they will win, but I'll fight 'em with all I've got. And why not? Taking care of ourselves helps us live longer. And even the process of just making the attempt to take care of ourselves inside and out must be worth something. All the thought that goes into each wrinkle must be good for the brain. :0)More on calories, intake, exercise in the future.

Liam has his hernia consultation tomorrow and after he is probed and prodded by this new doctor, we will return home where I will drop the little mommy and baby off, grab my bag and hit the road. Off again to New York. Before I leave this time, I will remind Catherine to please only call 50 times in 7 minutes if it is a TRUE emergency. I will also give her the number for 911 again.

And some good news for today - Catherine got the job. Thank you, Jesus.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig!

New York was somewhat peaceful although I kinda felt like I ran around the entire time.  There were moments of definite relaxation, however.  I saw an old friend for coffee which was nice, saw my in-laws, including my sister-in-law for dinner, saw my dad and his wife and my sister. Here is a photo of our street on Sunday morning, just outside of my house.   

En route to NY, I got a call from Catherine that she couldn't take it anymore because Liam had been crying all day.  Now, granted, the little guy hadn't pooped for a day and a half, which was unusual for him, so we knew he was uncomfortable although the doctor said that it was nothing to worry about (oh yeah? then YOU try to soothe a constipated baby, Dr. Know-it-All!).  And here I was, three hours into my drive and my daughter is telling me she just can't do this anymore (I have news for you, kid - you can't take him back).

I said, in a very calm, concerned voice, "Did you check his diaper?  Is he wet? Did you burp him?"  She flung back a high-pitched, "Of COURSE I tried all of those things, MOM!  What do you think I am, retarded????"  Click.  Sighing, I turned my phone off and continued to drive.  A few minutes later, I turned the phone back on and tried to call her.  I had no service for about 15 minutes (that AT&T commercial where they sing, 'All 'round the world....' isn't fooling me unless they're talking about some other planet they service).

When I finally got through to Catherine, Liam had vomited all over and she was going to give him a bath.  I told her he probably just couldn't take in anymore until some came out the other end. I told her I'd call her back in awhile, which I did and by then, he had vomited again while she was giving him a bath and he was lethargic.  Feeling just a bit panicked, I told her to call one of our neighbors and that I was turning around.  I turned around and called Nancy and Pat and they both went over to assess things.  They called me back and everything was fine and Liam had pooped.  I turned around AGAIN and headed back to NY.  I didn't arrive until midnight and sat up for another hour, shivering on the edge of the couch, until the house warmed up and then finally went to bed.

Since I travel through Canada, I have to stop at the borders and give them all kinds of personal information, the depth of which depends on the border guard.  It was late when I got to the border to enter NY and the guard had his flashlight out, looking in my windows.  I imagined all kinds of things he hoped to find - someone bound and gagged on the backseat, or a dead body, perhaps? Who knows, but he said, "Now what brings a woman out this late at night, traveling from one state to the next?"  I said, "Well, I'll tell you..."  "Please do," he responded.  "My husband has been out of town all week and my two adult grown children have moved back home, one bringing with her a newborn baby.  I need a break."  Without a word, but with some flair in his gesture, he swooped his arm around in a circle and pointed to the open road.  "Thank you,"  I said, and was off.   

Sunday night, I spent time in the company of a little brown mouse who scampered across the living room floor.  He was too fast for me to catch to put outdoors so I called my husband to ask what I should do (like he could help from where he was). Just as I did that, I saw him wriggle under the wood box door; he was gone and I didn't see him again.  Rotten little critter.  At least I know where they are coming in and we will have to take care of that next time we are in New York.  Another photo of the view around the corner which is so much lovelier in summer and fall. 

When I arrived home last night at around 8:15, the house was a mess, dishes were in the sink, the dishwasher had clean dishes in it waiting to be escorted to their respective cupboards, and baby STUFF was everywhere.  I decided that I was NOT making dinner, that it was every man, woman and child for him/herself and I was going to spend some time with Liam and go to bed.  Which I did. 

This morning, I told Catherine that the house was out of control and that tomorrow,  my day off, will have to be considered by her to be a work day for me and that I cannot help with Liam all that much because I can't take the chaos anymore and am going to put it to rest and clean, organize and clean some more.  She said she would help.  With a very fussy baby, I am not so certain that will happen, but we will see.  Perhaps Liam will surprise us.  Until then....

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

I love New York!

Getting ready to leave for New York. Have a few errands to run this morning first, one of them being dropping Catherine off for her test (I can't wait until she gets a car). She will be studying again this morning while I meet with the neighbor ladies and we do our study together. Liam will be joining us so I don't know how much will actually be accomplished during that time.

As I sit typing this, our oldest cat, Simon, is sitting somewhere yowling his head off. He is definitely an Alzheimer's cat who screams at his water dish before he'll drink it, trumpeting to the world that he's thirsty. When it's time to eat and I lay the dishes down for his "brothers," before he goes to his dish, he has to sneak up and take a bite at at least one of the butts of his feline foes. If I haven't mentioned, we have five cats. Most were rescued and four of them despise Simon and want to kill him. So he takes up residency in our upstairs bathroom until he goes to kitty heaven. When I am home and able to watch him, however, he gets to come out and sit with me. That hasn't happened much since Liam arrived.

This morning on my way to the neighbor's house, I was rushing around, grabbing things and headed for the door. Catherine said, very matter-of-factly, "Your shirt is on inside out." I stopped, looked, and sure enough, it was. I flipped it around and headed out the door.

I got back home in time for Catherine to get to her test, but on the way, we had to turn around because she forgot her notebook with paperwork. At least her clothes were on the right way, I thought, as I turned around and rushed back. Unfortunately, this made her four minutes late. She hopped out of the car and Liam and I headed back home, at which point he decided to start some yowling of his own. I drove along, turning the steering wheel back and forth and the car became a makeshift rocker. This quieted the angry boy until we got home and I was able to change him and give him a bottle.

After Catherine's test, I will bring her home, pick up my bag and, as I said to my friends this morning, "Drive off like a bat outta hell." Am looking forward to spending time on my enclosed porch, meditating, looking at the beauty that the four acres provide, reading and taking time for prayer

I'll be back on Tuesday! A happy weekend to all.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma