Hey, my nose isn't working!

The other night when I was sitting on Grandpa's lap and he was reading me a book, I heard a funny sound:  when I breathed in, my nose whistled!  That was pretty funny.  Mommy looked in my nose and said I did not have any big boogers, though, so when Grandpa finished the story he and Mommy put me to bed.  I went right to sleep, and I woke up because I had to go potty.  I called, "Mommy, Mommy, I have to go potty!  I have to pee!  Mommeeeeeeeeee!"  She finally came, but it was too late, so she just changed me and then I slept with her in her giant bed.  But every time I put my fingers in my mouth like I always do when I get sleepy, it was hard to breathe, so I woke up a lot.  Mommy said I woke up too early, and tried to make me go back to sleep, but it wasn't working, so we got up and came upstairs to play.  Then Mommy got out a thermometer to give me a check-up, because she said I was very hot (which is silly because I felt really cold).  But she could not get the dumb thing to work, so she woke up Grandma, who came out and did my checkup in my ear, and that is when we found out I had a fever; Grandma said it was one o two point five.  Mommy was a little scared but Grandma said don't worry she will be okay.  

The whole rest of the day was pajama day for the big people, and play time for me.  Mommy and Grandma took my tempachure all the time, and had me drink drink drink.  This made me have to go potty...a lot...but that was fine with me because every time I peed on the potty, Grandma would give me M&Ms.  I love Ms...especially the black ones.  We watched movies and colored and played and had snacks like carrots and cucumbers and celery (all my snacks began with the letter C), and I took naps and cuddled and got medicine and even took a bath.  But my fever kept coming back, and my nose was really red and just not working really good, even with the medicine.  I went to bed but I could not sleep, and I woke up and cried, like "wah, wah, wah" and Grandma let me watch a dinosaur movie with her and she put smell good oils on my feet and on her hand and let me smell it.  So, my nose can smell things, but it does not let a lot of air in so I have to breathe through my mouth.  

When the movie was over, Mommy and Grandma said it was time for sleep because I needed my rest but I did not want to sleep I just wanted to play and go potty on my big girl potty and cuddle and read books and talk to Daddy and not be sick anymore and get all better like Daddy says to.  I was crying and a lot of stuff was coming out of my nose.  Mommy put me to bed in her big bed, Grandma put some oils in a little light that puts smell good mist in the air, and now, here I am, trying to sleep.  It is not easy, you know, sleeping with a nose that does not work good.   Have you ever had that happen to you?  Did your Mommy give you medicine?  Did you get better?  Did your nose start working again?  I hope my nose is working better soon, and that my fever will go away and not come back.

Because I want to go outside and go to school like a big girl.  

Leaving it all behind

What did Jesus mean when he said it was hard for the rich young man to enter heaven? That he must be willing to leave everything...family and wealth and possessions?   That it’d be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle? I mean, seriously, a camel?  Now that is a very descriptive word picture.  A camel, humps and all, fitting through a tiny, tiny slot.  Jesus really wanted to get his point ( no pun intended) across to those rascally disciples of His.  They were dumbfounded because here’s this upstanding young man who has been blessed with riches and family, so therefore, all those blessings must mean he was in good graces with God, right?  

Wrong.  Earthly possessions, good fortune, a loving family, good health—all those are wonderful.  But they are not indicative of our standing with God. Because all have sinned.  And we are all wretched and lost and ugly were it not for His Son’s holy sacrifice.  That was Jesus’ point.  And Peter’s followup question, “yeah but we left it all for you” seems a bit presumptuous at first blush, but I think Peter, good ol doubting Peter, just wanted that little bit of reassurance.  That his soul was safe.  

So, great—the disciples are in, the rich guy is out, so what does that mean to me?   In the eyes of the world I’m fairly rich—steady income, a nice home, good health, a beautiful family—does that mean my only ticket to heaven is to leave it all?  Hate my family, abandon my possessions, give away my IRA, and move to Zimbabwe to live in filth with only one set of clothes?   Not exactly.  What I’ve discovered over the past few years is the tighter I hold on to things, and the more I set my family and successes above my love for God, and the more I attribute all my good fortune to my own efforts, well, all that just puts God in the passenger seat, or even the back seat.  I love my husband.  I adore my grandchildren. And I am so thankful we are not struggling day to day.  And yes I’ve felt more than a twinge of pride when I got promoted or someone compliments my hair or my kids.  I used to hold on to those things so tightly, and felt my happiness and my very will to live were dependent on relationships and things.  God was, I’m embarrassed to say, not the source of happiness or  the center of my life.  Not even a close second.  

And inside, I was miserable.  The harder I tried to hold on to thing-centered happiness, the more I felt it slipping away.  Same for relationships.  I found myself unable to be thankful, happy, or even at peace.  I cried.  A lot.  Then, three  years ago , God broke me—emotionally, physically, and spiritually--and suddenly it was crystal clear.    As broken as I was, I was finally whole. My world was falling apart, but I was all together.  Because I finally realized my worth lay not in what I had or who loved me or how I felt.  No, my worth lay in leaning completely on Jesus.  And I “left” everything—daughters, grandkids, financial security, even mental wellbeing—for the sake of being Christ’s.  

Not a bad trade off.  

Not at all 

S is for School, P is for Potty

Right after Daddy left to go work far, far away, I started at a different school. This one is inside and there are lots of rooms with different sized kids in each one. There’s a baby room and a little kids room and a big kid room and even a playground.  My teacher is so nice and I really like this little boy; his name is Baylee, like Aunt Teppies doggie.  We sing and color and eat and play and learn things.  I like school.  I even have my own backpack and mommy put up hooks at Grandma’s house so I can hang it up when I get home.  I go to school three days a week, and even though I miss Mommy I really really really like it.  They even have a potty that is just the right size!   That’s important, you know.  Little kids need a little potty. 

And since I’m telling you about the potty at school, I should pwobly tell you ‘bout potty time at home.  All the big people are very serious about this potty thing—my little potty is in the living room and Mommy went to Walmart and bought me about 100 big girl panties, and even a kitty kat timer that rings when it’s time to sit and pee. I want to just play and play and not stop but Mommy says I need to pee so I try and push it out.  Maybe soon I’ll know when I have to go and then I won’t need the kitty timer.  The good news though is I can feel the poop coming and I make it to the potty.  I get stickers and candy and lots of clapping when I do that.  Grownups are crazy like that.  They get awfully excited about poop.   I wonder if they get happy when they poop.  Hmmm. 

Besides school and potty, I’ve learned the letter C is for crafts.  Mommy went shopping three times already for supplies—even though Grandma has lots of stuff at her house, Mommy had to get more.  I think she just really loves to shop.  But I’m glad because she bought my favorite—googlie eyes!  Anyway, we made rainbows with cereal and we made turtles and caterpillars out of egg cartons.    We made Valentine’s Day cards, too — to send to Daddy and Liz and Grandma and Grandpa and other friends.  I got to paint and eat some of the rainbow cereal and I got all messy.  Good thing I was only wearing a pull-up...and that it was bath night.  (Actually, Daddy, bath nights are just about any night now...I get dirty a lot).

So, that is my alphabet practice for the week.  There are lots more letters, I know, but Mommy is calling me and telling me it is time to go potty again...yikes!  Good night, googly eyed caterpillar!

Growing into Grand-motherhood

Lydia and Nana, January 2010

Nine years ago our first grandchild (albeit not my oldest grandchild) was born.   Lydia Anne Stock, weighing in at a petite 6lbs 4oz, entered our world, and our lives have not been the same since.   As I often tell her, she made me a Nana—and oh what a challenging growth experience that has been!  Now I have six grandchildren, and have gotten a lot better at this Nana/Grandma thing.  So if you’re about to meet your first grandchild, or if you aspire to be a Nana or Mimi or Grandma some day, this is for you in hopes I can spare you some pain and embarrassment.  So listen up.  Learn from my craziness. And for all you veteran grandparents out there, go ahead and nod knowingly...I am sure my oldest daughter is.

1.  Being a grandmother is not a competition.  While you may be your daughter's (or son's) only mother, more than likely you are NOT the only grandmother.  Each parent of this precious baby has parents, and perhaps even stepparents, and even dear, close friends, all of whom may be considered as another grandma simply because of the relationship that person held with your child growing up.  Having more than one grandma does not dilute your standing.  You do not have to prove you are a "better" grandma, or spend more money, bake better cookies, or even spend more time with your grandchild to let them know you love her.  And she will love you.  Not more, not less, just different.  

2.  Before you give advice, think twice.  And then bite your tongue, and don't give it anyway.  No passive aggressive comments, no eye rolling, heavy sighs, gasps of shock, or shaking of the head.  While you may have put your baby in a rickety crib with a drop down side, with a pillow and a blanket, and no baby monitor or video camera or white noise maker, things have changed.  Trust your daughter to take care of her precious baby.  

3.  This is not the 80s. Okay, yes, I bathed my kids in my kitchen sink until they could sit up on their own.  And I used cloth diapers with (gulp!) safety pins, and made my own baby food without sterilizing the blender, and I didn't have fancy car seats that can withstand a head-on collision at 65mph.  I put sugar in my kids' bottles, I did not cut hot dog slices in half, and I did not have the patience of installing child guards on cabinets or door knobs.  I had to make do with what was available 30 years ago, and what I could afford.  Did my kids survive?  Yes.  But the stuff moms have at their disposal now?  Amazing.  And admit it...you wish you had all this cool shit when your kids were babies!  Except the diaper genie.

4.  Discipline and rules are the parents' domain.  Respect your grandchild's parents' wishes, desires, and schedules.  Do not interfere with their rule enforcement, or criticize their parenting skills, unless you are asked for advice.  And, if that happens, see rule 2.

5.  Do not embarrass the parents.  No matter how funny the story, or how pertinent it may be to the current situation, do not share memories of your child's misbehavior, mistakes, or failures.  Period.  Build up the parents in the eyes of the grandchild.  They do not need to hear how their Mommy or Daddy almost burned the house down or wrecked the car.

6. There IS such a thing as too many sweets.  While there is no recommended daily allowance for chocolate, there should be.  And I know people equate "grandma" with "spoiling," and we grandmas have that stereotype hanging over our heads--you know, the one who is always baking and giving children cookies for breakfast and candy for lunch and letting the children run the house.  Non-grandparents expect that behavior--heck, even our children expect it.  Don't fall into this trap.  Be smart.  

7.  No strings attached.  Whether it is toys, blankets, or clothes, a gift is a gift is a gift.  You will be showering your new grandchild with toys, adorable outfits, hand-knit afghans, and giant teddy bears...but just because you absolutely love that frilly red dress with polka dots and a white pinafore does not mean her parents will feel the same.  And the solid wood play kitchen, complete with range, dishwasher, refrigerator, table and chairs, and a place setting for 8 may have spoken to you in the toy store or the catalog, but if your son lives in an 800 square foot apartment, they will not have anywhere to put it.  So, if your gifts mysteriously disappear, or show up on a Facebook yard sale site, don't fall to pieces.  

8.  Grandchildren do not assign feelings to toys, or clothes.  Just because the baby's favorite stuffed animal is from your ex-husband,  or the little Fisher Price bus from "the other grandma" is all your grandson wants to play with, does not mean they like you any less.  The frequency with which little Emma wears an outfit or hugs a dolly is not indicative of the level of love they feel for you.  See rule #1.

9.  Facebook is not the place to _______ (fill in the blank).  Yes, it is the ideal venue to stay abreast of baby's firsts, view priceless little videos of the baby drooling, crawling, cooing, etc..  And all grandmas love seeing the newest photos and posts, especially if they do not live close to their grandchild.  But, for the sake of the family, do not, I repeat, do NOT, make any snide comments about the baby's hair, or ask why she's not dressed in that Christmas sleeper you bought, or get all bent out of shape if there happens to be more photos/mentions of people other than yourself. Look at the photos, and move on.  See rule #1. Again.

And, finally,

10.  Be yourself.  Love them.  Unconditionally.  That, my friends, is what your grandchildren will remember.  

  

Daddy's Girl

I love my mommy.  I mean, she is funny and pretty and she takes such good care of me.  She plays with me and cuts the peel off my cucumbers and apples.  You kids out there would love her.  So, Mommy, I love you to the moon and to the clouds.  I love clouds.  They’re fluffy. 

But even Mommy will tell you I really love my Daddy.  She calls me Daddy’s girl and loves taking pictures of me and Daddy.  He is funny and laughs a lot and he is really really REALLY strong; he throws me and swings me and catches me and lets me hang on his leg and he never gets tired.  We play outside and inside and laugh and he teaches me Japanese and sings songs to me that his grandmother sang when he was little.  When I was a little baby he used to do animal sounds for each of the animals on my mobile over my crib.  Oh and I love when he reads to me, especially Little Blue and Fox in Socks.  

There are so so many things about Daddy that make him special, but my favorite time with him is bath time.  Mommy and my Grandmas and Teppie give me baths, but I love Daddy baths best.  He has been giving me baths ever since I was a teeny teeny tiny baby.  He washes my hair and lets me play and I get to stay in the bathtub until all the water goes away, and then he wraps me in my froggie towel and I run around till he says it’s calm down time.  Then we watch a show while he brushes my hair over and over until it’s all dry. 

Tonight we went on a Morrow family trip—me and Mommy and Daddy.  We ate at a restaurant and I had ice cream.  Daddy smiled at me but he looked a little sad.  I think it’s ‘cause he is going on a long trip soon with the Navy.  I will miss him a lot. 

But grownups always come back.  

Right, Daddy?

My Father's Daughter

Dear Dad, 

I've worn many hats in my life--daughter, student, airman, wife, mother, nana, grandma, sister, veteran, retiree, Christian, and friend, to name just a few.  Some of those I still wear, others I have put away, and still others just plain don't fit anymore...but the one I miss wearing the most, the one that hurts every time I look at it, is being your daughter.  Not that I am no longer your daughter--that will always be a part of me.  And a very important part of me at that.  You helped make me who I am today, you shaped me and formed me, and you knew me.  

But now what?  Since you died just last month, I have experienced more emotions than I knew possible.  From raw, gut-wrenching pain, to numbness to disbelief and back to heartache.  I go through my days, my weeks, and think of you and talk about you and think I am fine, and then, BAM! I am awash in such an overwhelming sense of loss I can barely think.  I miss you, so so much--and at the weirdest, most random moments.  Today I was driving back from an appointment and was about to call you about a funny sign I saw, and to have someone to talk to (and to listen to me) on the ride home.  I activated the bluetooth and was about to press your preset speed dial on the car dash, and I stopped...suddenly realizing you wouldn't answer any more with your characteristic, sarcastic tone. No more phone calls from you telling me about your day, or how bored you were, or telling me you loved me and missed me and that my call made your day.  No more rolling my eyes at your mispronounced words and you asking over and over (and over) the same questions.  No more will I get irritated because you don't seem to understand what I am saying.  And no more swelling with joy when you'd ask me "how's my favorite daughter?"  

So yes, I am still your daughter, but now that you are gone, I feel lost, and the title of daughter just seems empty and pointless.  Because the part that made me your daughter...you...are no longer here.  And that makes me sad.  Someone once told me "you don't really feel completely grown up until you lose a parent."  True.  So very true.  Up until December 6, I was your child, your daughter, a part of you, and you a part of me.  I just never realized how important a part you were, or how much you defined me.  Until you were gone.  

A wife without a husband is a widow, a student finished with school is a graduate, but a daughter without a father?  An orphan?  

I was not ready to let go of you.  I am not ready to put away that hat, to stop being your daughter.  

I am not sure I will ever be ready.

I love you, Dad.  

Barbara 

Twelve Days of Christmas

Well, the 12 days of Christmas are over, and I’ve been saving up this song for everyone.  So here goes, Sophie fans everywhere!

On the twelfth day of Christmas my grandma gave to me...

Twelve ice cream toppings

Eleven strips of bacon

Ten brand new ponies

Nine sparkly headbands

Eight princess dollies

Seven trips to Walmart

Six movies playing

FIVE GOLDFISH CRACKERS 

Four cucumbers

Three hot dogs

Two bubble baths

And a place in her heart for always