Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Every Day I Write The Book

I am going to go take care of my boys again today. I wonder what sort of day it will be. Will Owen try to peel me with the vegetable peeler the way he did his mama yesterday? Will he remove all the books from his book shelves in an orderly and serious fashion the way he did the other day? Will he tell me he loves me, invite me to hide with him from wild animals under a sheet, ask me to get him a cheeseburger?

The little man had a cheeseburger from some fastfood joint a few days ago and now that is his dream food.
I can relate.
Lily says he asks for one every day. And no, they haven't gotten him another. They are holding that one for the ultimate bribe or reward, I think. Of course, by the time they decide to implement it, he will have passed through the cheeseburger stage and be on to the pizza stage. Or something. The Jr. Mint stage. The filet mignon stage.

And Gibson- will he have grown a foot or two? It seems like he grows visibly every day. In that picture I put up last night he looks so long and lean when in actuality, his legs are chubby little things. Why doesn't the camera do that to me? I love to change his diaper. He kicks those legs and grins and waves his arms and I tell him I'm going to get his little bottom and he grins and kicks and waves some more.

Well. Something will happen that makes me laugh. Something will happen that makes me glad I'm a grandmother. It always does.

It's just so unbelievable to me that I have grandchildren. Time passes way too quickly. No. Really. It does. I've not yet adjusted to being in my forties and here I am, almost through with all the pages of the book that is the story of my fifties. The way my body is, the way my soul is, the way my hair and eyebrows and joints are- every day I am shocked anew at the changes in all of them. I can't keep up with the changes. It's worse than trying to keep up with the changes in a three-month-old. I swear.

Is it supposed to be like this or am I hypersensitive?

I remember distinctly once when I was about thirteen, thinking, "Some day,  a boy will ask me out and I will get dressed up and we will go to a nightclub!"
Don't even ask me why that sounded good but I'll tell you this- I did go to a nightclub with a boy (it was Mr. Moon and we were in Mexico) and it was FABULOUS! I danced and danced and danced.

Some things are worth waiting for. Nightclubs. Cheeseburgers.

Some things are not worth thinking about.  They're going to happen whether you anticipate them or not.

I have no point here today. I need to scarf down a bowl of cereal and get my ass to town.

I'll report in later. I am Brenda Starr, Star Reporter Of My Life.

And if you, like me, remember Brenda Starr, you too may be a grandparent.


  1. I'm glad you got your nightclub.

    You know what's strange - I don't remember my first kiss. I can guess who it was with, but the actual event - nothing.

  2. oh yeah. I look in the mirror and wonder how that happened so fast, the wrinkled old lady face.

  3. i'm thinking these thoughts today, too.

    but grandchildren make aging worth it, right? they are just amazing and wonderful, your boys.

  4. Catching up with you. I remember going to a disco with a lovely girl in college. And we danced the night away. Time flies.

  5. I am right behind you, and every day I look in the mirror and think, Who is this and would Harvey recognize me?

    I am a lot blonder and a lot sadder these days. I thought that blondes were supposed to have more fun, but instead they have more heartache.

    Instead of lemon juice and sunshine, next time I'm really going to do it. I'm going red. Woody Woodpecker red.

  6. Rachel- I sure remember mine. Oh yes I do!

    Ellen Abbott- It is shocking, isn't it?
    Why are we so shocked?

    Angella- I look at it this way- it's going to happen and grandchildren are the prizes in the bonus round.

    Syd- Nice memory!

    Pamela- I was a redhead for awhile. It was...well...still me.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.