"You're just pretending," Bob says when something starts to scare him a little.
It's cute that he understands the nature of pretend now, and it's super fun that he actually does a lot of pretending himself. I'm still sometimes surprised that my baby is a kid. (Tonight he insisted that he was a "big kid;" I said, "Do you poop in a diaper?" "Yes." "Then you're not a big kid. You're a little boy." Maybe that'll sink in sometime.)
Today I was working on my 2011 slideshow dvd for the family's christmas presents and Bob was amusing himself with his Little People. I had to take a break to spy on his pretend time banter...
A couple of my favorite lines, just in case you missed them:
"How was your day, guys?"
"Are you okay up there? I am Bobby."
"And don't walk up there. It's dang-- peligroso. Peligroso."
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Wolf pup
I wish we'd get some snow before Christmas! What is going on with this climate?
It has been pretty darn cold, though.
Yesterday Bob and I played outside for a while. He chose his outerwear and "accessories" himself, minus the mittens which I forced him to wear, but he didn't mind.
Coat: Old Navy Sherpa Lined Canvas Jacket for Baby. (Bob wears it in 18-24 month.) I love this coat. It's warm and nice and long so that it doesn't ride up over buddy boy's pants. The lining so soft; Bob normally hates hoods but he loves his "sheep hood" as we call it because it's so snuggly.
Jeans: Old Navy Performance Fleece-Lined Jeans for Baby. (Bob wears 18-24 month, dark wash.) Love these, too. I think every kid deserves a pair.
Work boots: Wal-Mart, last fall. The toes scuffed up immediately, but they cost under $10 as I recall and other than the toe scuffs they're still in great condition a year later.
Wolf pup hat: Rite-Aid. Bob saw it and had to have it and since he looked so friggin cute Ben and I couldn't say no.
Sunglasses: Don't remember. Some cheesy store like Special Thoughts I think. Bought them way back when Bob was a newborn and they're still too big. He really wanted to wear them, but they didn't stay on for long.
Mittens: Koala Kids. They stayed on through the entire play session, so I give them one oversized mitten thumb up.
Our no-snow winter adventure consisted mainly of playing ice fishermen in this frozen puddle for almost an hour.
On our way in for hot cocoa Bubbs stopped and dropped to the ground...
Hot cocoa is messy business.
In case you feel like hanging out with Bob for four minutes while he drinks his cocoa...
It has been pretty darn cold, though.
Yesterday Bob and I played outside for a while. He chose his outerwear and "accessories" himself, minus the mittens which I forced him to wear, but he didn't mind.
Coat: Old Navy Sherpa Lined Canvas Jacket for Baby. (Bob wears it in 18-24 month.) I love this coat. It's warm and nice and long so that it doesn't ride up over buddy boy's pants. The lining so soft; Bob normally hates hoods but he loves his "sheep hood" as we call it because it's so snuggly.
Jeans: Old Navy Performance Fleece-Lined Jeans for Baby. (Bob wears 18-24 month, dark wash.) Love these, too. I think every kid deserves a pair.
Work boots: Wal-Mart, last fall. The toes scuffed up immediately, but they cost under $10 as I recall and other than the toe scuffs they're still in great condition a year later.
Wolf pup hat: Rite-Aid. Bob saw it and had to have it and since he looked so friggin cute Ben and I couldn't say no.
Sunglasses: Don't remember. Some cheesy store like Special Thoughts I think. Bought them way back when Bob was a newborn and they're still too big. He really wanted to wear them, but they didn't stay on for long.
Mittens: Koala Kids. They stayed on through the entire play session, so I give them one oversized mitten thumb up.
Our no-snow winter adventure consisted mainly of playing ice fishermen in this frozen puddle for almost an hour.
On our way in for hot cocoa Bubbs stopped and dropped to the ground...
Bob: "The wolf pup is laying on this pile of leaves."
Me: "Is that comfy, wolf pup?"
Bob: "No, it's not."
Yeah, I didn't think so.
In case you feel like hanging out with Bob for four minutes while he drinks his cocoa...
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Gram's funeral
It's hard to get started on this. I can't find the opening sentence that captures my feeling right now. The house is quiet; Bob is still sleeping at 10:20 am (he awoke suddenly crying this morning at 5:45 -- maybe a nightmare -- and wanted to come snuggle in my bed; he lay there quietly nuzzling into me, touching my hair and my cheek, not letting even a sliver of space come between our bodies, for twenty minutes, and then he sat up suddenly and said, "oh, shushie wushie," abandoned his blankie and sucker, and climbed down off the bed. his good mood ended abruptly, however, when he thought ben's jacket zipper was change jingling in the pocket and decided he needed more money for his piggy bank -- newly inherited from gram -- but dad wouldn't give it to him. so i settled him back into his crib, and ben left for work, and i went back to sleep. i woke with a start at 8:30 after a very disturbing vision of my boy being catapulted through the sky, and my legs just not working fast enough to get me there in time to catch him. just a dream, i told myself; but my heart pounded and ached just the same. two hours later; i now hear him waking up. must go hug his tiny body.
went into his room and the first thing he said was, "but i want to go on a treasure hunt. i really want to do that right now!" i grabbed him up but had to swoop him back down to grab his piggy, who was also to go on the hunt...
i think earlier that stream of consciousness was going somewhere... but now it's hours later; liza's gone and ben's home but outside at the moment and bob's naptime is coming to an end; and maybe i should just get to the point because if i don't now, will i ever? ...
and now it's hours later yet again -- 10 pm -- the boys are asleep and i am sitting here by the christmas tree in front of my imac with a mulled cider candle to my left. too much? yes. but i just can't stop and get to the point because... whatever, just do it.
I gave Gram's eulogy at her graveside last Thursday.
Over the years I've written down some of the things Gram has said to me. I shared three.
You're only young for a few minutes. Most of your life is old, it seems.
I tried to tell the youngsters -- and everyone who still feels the least bit young -- to cherish their youth; to take it from Gram, who lived 90 years and knew how short that time really is.
Then I told about a moose that was wandering around Richmond some years ago; he had his picture in the paper several days in a row; he seemed to be lost or something. Gram was very concerned about the moose; she cut out the articles and showed them to everyone. About the third day or so she said to me, and I never forgot,
It must be awful lonesome being the only moose around.
Gram felt for people, and for moose i suppose, who had lost their way. She knew how lonely they were. She was a fountain of sympathy and empathy for everyone. In her final years, she was very much like the moose, the only one of her peers left, lonesome and lost in a world of younger generations. But she always thought of others first.
The third quote I shared was from a day I had taken Gram to the cemeteries to plant flowers. On the drive home we were quiet, but finally Gram broke the silence with one of the most open and honest things she ever said to me:
They say time heals all, but they are wrong. It gets harder every day.
She was speaking mainly of losing Pop I think, but also I'm sure of all the others she's had to say goodbye to. In a way, that truth from Gram is hard to swallow; we want to believe that after some period of time we will "get over" our loss. But the other side of it is this: we can be happy for Gram, because finally, after seventeen years of living without him, Gram has been reunited with her life's companion and come face to face with Jesus. She will never be lonely again.
Finally I shared the following, because in hard times it's been of great inspiration to me.
You must not be frightened when a sadness arises within you of such magnitude as you have never experienced, or when a restlessness overshadows all you do, like light and the shadow of clouds gliding over your hand. You must believe that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand. It shall not let you fall.
Why should you want to exclude any anxiety, any grief, any melancholy from your life, since you do not know what it is that these conditions are accomplishing in you?
Somewhere near the end there Bob struggled free from Ben's arms and came over to me saying in his teeny voice, "Are you otay, Mom? Are you otay?" He must have asked me that twenty times or more in the days leading up to the funeral; he inherited Gram's empathy I think. Several people commented to me afterwards how touching and beautiful it was; he is a touchingly beautiful boy, I must admit.
The following quote by Stephen Grellet (a Quaker missionary) that Gram's had hanging on her living room wall forever served as the benediction and I'll let it do the same here:
I shall pass through this world but once. If, therefore, there be any kindness I can show or any good I can do, let me do it now. Let me not defer it nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.
went into his room and the first thing he said was, "but i want to go on a treasure hunt. i really want to do that right now!" i grabbed him up but had to swoop him back down to grab his piggy, who was also to go on the hunt...
i think earlier that stream of consciousness was going somewhere... but now it's hours later; liza's gone and ben's home but outside at the moment and bob's naptime is coming to an end; and maybe i should just get to the point because if i don't now, will i ever? ...
and now it's hours later yet again -- 10 pm -- the boys are asleep and i am sitting here by the christmas tree in front of my imac with a mulled cider candle to my left. too much? yes. but i just can't stop and get to the point because... whatever, just do it.
Bob had a grand time at the funeral home for the viewing hour before the graveside service. which was a little surprising because the past couple wakes we've been to he cried pretty much from the moment we walked in the door.
I gave Gram's eulogy at her graveside last Thursday.
the pallbearers
while everyone was assembling bob came this " close to falling into the grave. but he recovered and found himself the perfect front row seat.
Over the years I've written down some of the things Gram has said to me. I shared three.
You're only young for a few minutes. Most of your life is old, it seems.
I tried to tell the youngsters -- and everyone who still feels the least bit young -- to cherish their youth; to take it from Gram, who lived 90 years and knew how short that time really is.
Then I told about a moose that was wandering around Richmond some years ago; he had his picture in the paper several days in a row; he seemed to be lost or something. Gram was very concerned about the moose; she cut out the articles and showed them to everyone. About the third day or so she said to me, and I never forgot,
It must be awful lonesome being the only moose around.
Gram felt for people, and for moose i suppose, who had lost their way. She knew how lonely they were. She was a fountain of sympathy and empathy for everyone. In her final years, she was very much like the moose, the only one of her peers left, lonesome and lost in a world of younger generations. But she always thought of others first.
The third quote I shared was from a day I had taken Gram to the cemeteries to plant flowers. On the drive home we were quiet, but finally Gram broke the silence with one of the most open and honest things she ever said to me:
They say time heals all, but they are wrong. It gets harder every day.
She was speaking mainly of losing Pop I think, but also I'm sure of all the others she's had to say goodbye to. In a way, that truth from Gram is hard to swallow; we want to believe that after some period of time we will "get over" our loss. But the other side of it is this: we can be happy for Gram, because finally, after seventeen years of living without him, Gram has been reunited with her life's companion and come face to face with Jesus. She will never be lonely again.
Finally I shared the following, because in hard times it's been of great inspiration to me.
You must not be frightened when a sadness arises within you of such magnitude as you have never experienced, or when a restlessness overshadows all you do, like light and the shadow of clouds gliding over your hand. You must believe that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand. It shall not let you fall.
Why should you want to exclude any anxiety, any grief, any melancholy from your life, since you do not know what it is that these conditions are accomplishing in you?
Rainer Maria Rilke, in Letters to a Young Poet
Somewhere near the end there Bob struggled free from Ben's arms and came over to me saying in his teeny voice, "Are you otay, Mom? Are you otay?" He must have asked me that twenty times or more in the days leading up to the funeral; he inherited Gram's empathy I think. Several people commented to me afterwards how touching and beautiful it was; he is a touchingly beautiful boy, I must admit.
The following quote by Stephen Grellet (a Quaker missionary) that Gram's had hanging on her living room wall forever served as the benediction and I'll let it do the same here:
I shall pass through this world but once. If, therefore, there be any kindness I can show or any good I can do, let me do it now. Let me not defer it nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Goodbye, Gram
The feeling is strange.
One minute I'm okay, distracted by funeral to-do's and everything else in life, and then it hits me again -- she's not coming back. Not at all. Not in the least. From now on, she is a memory, not someone whose soft cheek I can kiss goodbye.
Never again will I hear her, "Well, by gully," or her singular answering machine message, "Okay, call me," or, "You'd better have something to eat," or, "Lilly!" or, "Well isn't he something?" (speaking of my boy).
Bobby most likely won't remember his "Dwam." I take a little solace in the few photos I have evidencing their special relationship.
And I know that we will always have pieces of Gram in my grandmother and my mother...
and in me, too.
Our Gram -- our matriarch and everyone's favorite family member -- is a part of who we are. She's in our genes, she's in our history, she's in our memories and in our hearts.
It's hard to imagine life without her, but then again we don't have to imagine. It's hard because I never wanted this day to come, but I'm doing my best to be happy that Gram has finally been released from her weakening body and reunited with her love.
And now I really need to get some sleep.
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