Memories

My grandmother lived in a nursing complex. I remember, back when I was still in middle school, we used to visit her a couple times a month. To get to her room, we had to pass through a maze of hallways and past numerous rooms and each time a certain resident - I think her name was Dorothy - would be sitting in the hall in a wheelchair. Periodically, she would yell for someone to answer the phone, or tell her daughter to turn down the heat, or ask where Pookie is, to no one in particular. Assuming her thoughts had been scrambled by old age, we typically walked by and said “hello” politely but avoided eye contact.

Ten years ago, my grandmother passed away. We walked that same long hallway to collect a few of her personal items. On the way, there sat Dorothy. Just as the “hello” came out of my mouth, Dorothy grabbed my hand very softly, as a mother would to a child, and whispered to me “We hope she has a safe trip.” Startled, I merely said “Thank you” and pulled my hand away, continuing down the hallway. As we rounded the corner, I wondered if perhaps, for that fleeting moment, she was completely aware and was offering her strange condolences…

Last Tuesday was a milestone for another grandmother of mine. She turned 90 glorious years old, and we celebrated with her on Sunday in the wine cellar of a delicious Italian restaurant. There we were at this long candle-lit table, surrounded by many of her friends who were sharing stories and memories and laughing like a bunch of teenagers. Suddenly, that nursing home memory came flooding back, and I felt very sorry for poor Dorothy.

I hope, when I turn 90 (and notice I said “when” and not “if”, because in 60 years from now I imagine health science will be one of bionic limbs and robotic hearts and all these sorts of Sci-Fi gadgets), that I am able to remember these days right now. I want to be able to remember my daughter as a baby, remember my wedding day, remember riding around in the car when I was in high school because that was the only “cool” thing to do in our town. And when the time comes, instead of being lost in a wheelchair somewhere, I want to be able to think back on it all and say “What a great life that was.”

It Pays to Work

Today was my first day back at work after a 9-week hiatus. Notice I didn't use the word *vacation*, as my husband keeps referring to it. I can hardly compare a mountain of laundry, a fountain of spit up, and the toxic fumes that are Lainey's diapers to sunbathing in the Bahamas. However, as I realized today, working cannot hold a candle to these chores I have become to know and love...

First of all, I work in a place where your salary is based on commission. No sales = no money. And guess what? Thanks to my hourly babysitter, I actually PAID to work today. But my head wasn't in the game, either. I really missed those chubby cheeks - spit up and all. Dropping her off this morning was hard, even if that distressed look she gave me as I walked out was really just gas. I didn't cry though, I maintained. That doesn't get her totally off the hook though either. I'd like to think that little Lainey is wiser than she looks, and may have been purposely sabotaging my first day back as a working mom. 3 am rolls around and finds her fussing - not awake enough to nurse, not tired enough to sleep - and there we stayed until almost 6 am. So of course, even if I WAS all gung-ho for work, I didn't have nearly the mental capacity to hold a conversation much more complicated than "Where is the coffee?"

I can't say that it was all bad, though. I firmly believe that every mom needs a day off sometimes just as if she were punching a time clock. Adult interaction is drastically underestimated. A sliver of me enjoyed being able to talk without turning everything into a rhyme ("Look at this table-wable!") and without the word "poop" coming up. Ok ok, there may have been ONE poop joke....but I digress...

All in all, we both survived this milestone. Hopefully in time I will re-adjust back into my career and loosen the strings on my baby girl, knowing that she is in good hands. After all, she will always be my Lainey-Bainey-Boo-Boo - at least until she is old enough to be embarrassed by that.

Where Art Thou?

Where have I been, you ask? Well, somewhere between Christmas and having a 9-pound child surgically removed from my womb, I must have lost track of time. Believe it or not, blogging has not been a top priority for me in the past few months. Truth be told, I forgot I even created this website. So much for my high ambitions. But alas, I am back and ready to post - during naptime, of course. Oh, and for the curious, here is the child of which I spoke earlier: