The Mama Comes to Visit

The whirlwind keeps spinning - next up is a visit from my Mom!

Nothing like a pile of kids to distract one from life's gravity. And that is what will surely go on here - lovin' and distractin' to the core.

This is a shot from my quick Washington visit. After all the funeral occasions were attended, we disappeared to Lake Jehu ( behind Mom's house) for a few hours.

It was so relaxing to sit in the midst of family and just enjoy being. Being... alive. Being... healthy. Being... connected. Effortless, really. To sink into a comatose, gazing state brought on by grief and exhaustion. And blink into awareness in time to savor the small moment of quiet beauty. A grandmother and her boy. The cycle keeps spinning, and though we see it, we do not always savor it.

This photo goes out to the savoring part. Cherish the mother. Smother her with that pile of kids and their lovin'!

Thank you so much for your sweet words, cards and emails over the past weeks. Being connected isn't effortless, but it's worth it... ;-)

Back in Black!

Sorta. I mean, I do like to wear black. Mostly I'm just *back!* from *Cleveland!* I almost told you all I was going, but then I got randomly freaky about these here internets, and I deleted that part. So, hey! - we went to Cleveland to catch up with The Lear Famille. And then a best bud of mine said I had been missing in action, and in light of the recent posting, I thought Hey! I could've slipped into depression! I need to let The People know I was only in Cleveland!

So here I am and the only black today is the mood that Todzilla put me into. He was all like "Scree!Argggh!I'm SO TWO!!!" and I was all like, is there a toddler military camp handy? Tasmanian devil.

Then he fell asleep and was so dear that my eyes got teary and I forgot how awful he had been. And that is why mothers are given such short memories. The end.

I am about to spread bedtime wishes and kisses to more Learlings, but I wanted to check in before Things Begin to Happen again tomorrow. Here are the kids and some cousins from Ohio, and me with Rick's niece Marie. Are we not so totally patriotic? My SIL Mary got us all shirts, and I was part of the family, and I found it fine. Fun. Plus, me with some hollywood eyebrows going on? I love this shot. I'll be black *in* blue next time. Wearing blue, that is. I don't know why. I just like the sound of that.

Preceding Independence

Good morning, on this fine day just before we celebrate our independence!

I've been mulling over the events of the last few weeks, thinking I had to sum up or bring the grandmother topic to a close.

I decided not to. I have more good tales to tell, and she has more posts to star in, and there you have it.

But I will bring a tad of closure, by wishing her well off in the ether, well-situated on that lily pad in the sky, and well-accompanied by her loved ones gone before. Lily pad in the sky you say? You will see. She had a penchant for froggies - and it turned into a mass collection of hilarious proportions. Frog statuary, frog mug, frog lamp, stuffed frogs, singing frogs, dancing stripper frogs - oh my holy frog, that's a lot of frogs!

So when I stepped into the church for the funeral service, and saw the door hanger proclaiming "Welcome to my pad..." dangling from the casket... out came a giggly burst. A short-lived breath of lightness on a heavy day.

Cole & I stayed in Washington just 24 hours, and I have scenes of gathering from the day. (Will post later - technical difficulties have ensued.) My brothers and I slept under the same roof for the first time in many years, at the old house. (There's a story lurking there, and I'm your girl.)

Enjoy this sweet song, courtesy of Rick. He heard it in the car, while driving through Tennessee, and it reminded him of my memories of Gig...

Guest Blog: what I've been doing, part 2,358

Whenever my Mommy is distracted I find a minute to fill you all in. On my life. She has many tales to tell - and I have one.
I have pulled off a couple winners today, and have done my best to go down in the record books.
See, it all came to me when I found Mommy showering. So I got in there with her, in all my clothes. Then, when she got out, I didn't. Wouldn't. I listened to my voice echo, and I splashed around, and then I tried to poop. Only, I ratted myself out by saying: "Mommmm! 'Ont poopoo in da show'r!" That really got her moving.
Then when she put my diaper on, I ran over to the kid's bathroom, since Mommmm was busy dressing.
You won't believe what I tried to flush. Even Mommm doesn't know - all she sees is that there is no water in dat potty, and I am not telling. The other thing she caught sight of in there was my masterpiece. If you dip a bathing suit in da potty, and then swing it around, water goes everywhere! Yahoo! I left it in there to float, 'cause it was Jadey's suit and she laughs at me.
The kids ratted me out that one, and then I got to spend some time alone in my crib.
Hangin' in my crib.
Just another day in my crib.
I got a good plan for when I get out. It involves juice and spit.

To say farewell

Joan Delores Harrell Nicholls
December 23, 1933 - June 16, 2010

She has come to peace now. The labor of breathing and lungs that failed her in the end have stopped their struggle. It doesn't matter that it was expected. There is still a hole in the family that is a mile wide. Our gathering place, our rallying point, our matriarch is gone. We are anchorless. Who will carry the memories and tell us where we have all come from? Who will unswaddle the new babies and tell us who they resemble? Small, weighty details worry my sleep and wear at my calm. I am at once relieved for her and longing for her.

I woke in the night from dreaming of the Holy Land. She once told me she had always wanted to go there. It was a singular moment of surprise for me - I could imagine no more peculiar utterance from her lips. She held her beliefs close - so close you would not realize they existed but for small remarks like this. I can appreciate that.

I will go to say farewell, though we said our goodbyes on the phone days ago. We will celebrate her and all that she has brought to us. I will call to her and wait quietly to feel her near. I will stand at her dresser and look at all of the baubles and jewels one last time.

And I will wear her ring all the way home.

(I'll be passing through Charlotte Friday night, riding to Wash. with Isaiah. A quick 3 day trip alone.)

Adventures with Harry Librarian

I have not been a fan of our local library. We've lived in this suburb of Atlanta for almost 7 years, and for each of those years I have moaned about our shabby library. It is old and small and not well-appointed. The staff for these last years have been the usual library fare - older women with little humor. Some are grumpy, some are kindly, most are humorless. Add to that the signs hanging everywhere that tell children to be quiet - or they will be eaten... well. No fun that place.

But this year something spectacular happened. Someone hit a curve into the staffing department and hired a young male librarian. Harry Librarian, I call him. He is tall and bespectacled and like a grown-up Harry Potter. Hum along with me now - One of these things is not like the other... - and you will have Harry Librarian.

He is charming and bookish and helps me with all of my extensive library needs. His enthusiasm and kindness and c-u-t-e-n-e-s-s don't hurt a bit. Harry won my heart when he tossed an unexpected book recommendation my way, and it was a good read. (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon - check it.)


So I have had this enjoyable library experience for several months now, and it has even progressed to the point where I stopped going there *after*the gym. Yeah. All because of Harry Librarian. A reader's gotta have a fresh shirt and some lip gloss on to go liberrying these days. I look forward to my library stops with a certain skip in my step these days.

Which catches you up to the current state of affairs. Cole reads nightly, and has been hassling me to get him some more books. Since he goes to bed willingly when he has fresh reading material, this became a pressing request - for both of us. Only, things have been rushed and busy and a library visit hadn't happened. Until now. But I could only fit it in after my dental visit.... in which I had my left jaw shot to h3ll with novocaine that took half a day to wear off.


I could not avoid a stop at the library, and believe me, I tried. Oh, the horror! Oh the absolute dangling of my numb jaw! I checked my face for signs of palsy, and then I quickly snuck in and chose a bagful of books for Cole. From behind the stacks, I scoped out the checkout situation. Harry Librarian was busy, and Old Lady Usual was free. I was in! Cue the Mission Impossible tune. I strode over to the desk just as Old Lady Usual suddenly walked to the back room, and Harry scooted over to my line. Oh. No. No-no-no. Not today. Not like this, Harry.

He greeted me with his usual grin, all set to discuss book referrals and anything current. I was only set to drool uncontrollably and smile with one half of my face. I held my jug-size jaw still and maintained a pleasant face for as long as I could. Which was until one of his remarks needed an answer. My hands flew up to cover the inevitable escape of drool and I stammered "I've just been to the dentist and I can't talk! See ya!" I gave him my best eye-twinkle from behind both hands.


Harry Librarian grinned in a surprised manner and said "No problem!" as I bolted for the door.

All my library fantasies were over. Harry Librarian had seen me on novocaine, and things would never be the same.

I may as well stroll in there with the whole brood and a sweaty tank top now.

And the world, it keeps on turning

Greetings from the infinitely calmer side of B.
Calmer, in that I am channeling my zen, and knowing that all things happen in their season. And no matter what is going on that I *want* to focus on, that world of four chilluns just keeps on turning, and I keep on needing to be a part of it.
On the grandmother front, my grandmother's caregiver did a very sweet thing last Thursday. I had called when Gig was incoherent and not at all lucid. This is a new thing, a side effect of the pain medication, and her worsening condition. I think it must be very difficult for the family and friends that stop in to visit - only to find she does not recognize them. So, we did not speak, and I was... well, you know how I was last week. Then, twenty minutes later - the caregiver called me back unexpectedly to say that Gig was awake and aware. Her voice is rusty and unused, and she is not herself. But it was something. This time, when I told her Phoenix was being a Tasmanian devil, she found that interesting. I mull over these topics that spark her interest, as though they hold some key. Most likely they are only reflections of motherhood, and her interest in her grandbabies, but I hold them tightly. Tiny sparks of connection.
I told her stories of the day, and that when it was time to hang up she needed to say goodbye. I told her I could not just hang up without a goodbye, that it was tearing me up. Like an obedient child, she croaked "bye" when prompted. I am figuring out how to handle these phone calls, slowly but surely.

And on we turned, spinning through a weekend and a few days, and on into today which seems to be The Day the Wild Rumpus Began. And here comes the head Wild Thing right now. If I told you he is chasing the kids with a (soft) baseball bat, would you be surprised? Phoenix is Two with a vengeance. He is all wild and sweet and monstrous and soft. All the ironies of a two year old boy. He is honesty and denial rolled into heartbreaking cuteness. Summer is being good to him. His playmates are home, to be tortured and entertained in equal measure. His mama is there to save them from his wild love. Wild bat-wielding love.

I have been meaning to catch you up on a few stories, and I am committing to that today. I owe you a few, because I have recently decided to include non-family adventure stories. I use the word adventure loosely, as many may not consider a trip to the library an "adventure." Oh, it can be. Oh, yes. And so can the YMCA. As you will see, if you care to stick around this week. First up will be Harry Librarian. Coming soon...

Pouring and waiting: A grandmother III

Hello friends.
I pour out this continuing saga to you, so that the weight of it will not pull me right down to the ground. I don't want to abuse your listening ears and yet... you are a help and a relief.
It hasn't escaped me that the early grieving for my grandmother is becoming tangled up in my little heart with losing my Dad.
I clearly see that before that time, I didn't know grieving and how it worked.
I clearly see now that I wish none of us ever had to learn.
As a dear friend told me back then, you wade through it - and the wading has begun. Wading and waiting.

I spoke with my grandmother last week. Spoke to her, would be more accurate. Her hands are now curled with disuse, and the phone was propped beside her ear. I talked, she listened. I think. I cried, she listened. A spark came from her over two things I said: I told her about Cole's almost-dirty joke last week, and she uttered a gravelly chuckle and said "Oh yeah..." like normal. She always loved a colorful joke. Then, towards the end of that painful (for me) phone call, I spoke to her about the memories I have been posting here. She was interested briefly, and then slipped away again. My brother visited her over the weekend, and said she looks peaceful. That is a comfort.
And in the spirit of food being all things comforting, I think of her again.

I am 12, and we are riding through the middle of nowhere, eastern Carolina style. Rural NC does "nowhere" unbelievably well. I have been given the exciting treat of a day spent alone with my grandparents, and we are driving out to Engelhard, NC for the Engelhard Seafood Festival. Anything that can be pulled out of the Sound, marshes or ocean will be on display for tasting. I am timid of strange foods, and laugh at my grandmother's mantra that she will eat anything that doesn't get her first. True. She samples her way down the country fest, from fried frog legs to the tasty popcorn shrimp. Fried. Most all of it, fried. Until we come to the shark samples. Definitely not fried. The chunks of meat with the silver-gray skin flipped around the steel bowl, as the vendor showed his wares. Gig reached for a chunk. I curled my lip. She teased and taunted me, and I relented to take a tiny bit. Just so I could say I did. But I drew the line at gator.
We meander our way down the street, watching the people and listening to the sounds. Hyde County people have a peculiar accent. (Said the girl from 40 miles away... :)) Truly, it is like a Cockney-Brit come to the South. With a little brine water thrown in for character. I listen to the strange voices as my grandparents visit with cousins and family friends. I browse through some tee shirt racks, and my grandmother joins me. She chooses a festival shirt in palest pink for me. I smile and do not tell her that I do not often wear pink. We enjoy the day and then relax in the van as the evening rolls in. We head home. I, in my freshly-donned pink shirt, stretch out on the floor behind the captain's chairs in the front. I sing softly as I listen to them chat. They grow quiet and I sing louder. I am suddenly singing for them, a church song that is my favorite. I do not sing for people, I do not wear pink, and I do not eat shark. This day is otherworldly in my shy eyes.
I finish my sudden opus and it grows quiet in the dark van. We hear night sounds through the open windows.
"That was real nice, Beth-honey," she says quietly.

What is cuter...

...than a boy falling asleep after lunch?















The verdict is in, and it should come as no surprise to you, friends. We have called him Mr. Big, Trouble, Todzilla - and many other things for two years. We should have called a spade a spade.
Mama's Boy, is his name.
He is my shadow, he is my lover boy, he is always looking for mama. "Where Mama doe?"
"Oh, hi Mama," he says, after we have been parted for 2 minutes. He runs to me like a little wild thing, takes my hand in his left, and pops his little thumb in his mouth. He only sucks his thumb when he is holding a hand. Preferably, my hand. But after a small amount of convincing, Daddy's hand will do fine too. He runs to me throughout the day, stands close and takes a quick suck of his thumb, and a squeeze of mine. Like refilling his tank.
"Are you mama's boy?" I ask. He gazes up at me and just blinks, as if there is no need to answer. He is right.
Now he has the words for his possession. "That's MY Mama! Doe 'way!" And the bigger ones giggle: "Heehee, he thinks you are HIS." He giggles back, thinking they agree.
"Come hold my hand," I say, "this one is yours."

Let your plague flag fly

Does this seem like deja vu? Summertime sickness?
It is here, but only (only!) two have been stricken. I am certain of one thing - Todzilla has no plans for nursing as a career. He has tortured the two sickies by jumping on them (Stop! Their tummies are sick! Nooooooooo!), hitting them with toys, playing loud musical books right by their ears, and - worst of all - standing right by their sensitive noses with a load in his pants. The horror!
We are surviving, and C & J show signs of improvement today.

Thank you for your sweet comments and emails about my grandmother. I hope to share more favorite memories, as we pass through this time. As she would say, this getting old stuff is for the birds.

In the meantime, we find temporary relief in notable quotables from my crew. Today's quote comes from Cole, and it went something like this:

Cole, trotting downstairs with a friend this week: There once was a genie with a 6 foot weenie, and he took it to the girl next door...
Me: Cole! That's inappropriate!
Cole: Whaaat?!!
Me: Stop kidding. You know why, and I don't want the little kids repeating that.
Cole: What?! Whaddya mean??
Me, leveling a look at him: You know what I mean.
Cole: Mom, it doesn't mean what you might be thinking, if you are thinking private parts. It's about a hot dog kind of weenie. And if it makes it any better, he can take it to the boy next door. It doesn't have to be a girl.
Me, giggling uncontrollably now: No, no, never mind, the girl part is fine. So... tell me, how does the rhyme end? (I HAD to ask!)
Cole: Oh, it goes like this - There once was a genie with a 6 foot weenie, and he took it to the girl next door. She thought it was a snake, so she hit it with a rake, and now it's one foot four...

You're welcome. You and your inner child. There's a place in France...