I'm not sure how it happened, but I have the best kid in the world. He does whatever I tell him to do without EVER having to ask him twice, and he doesn't ever complain. The other day I had ten tons of crap piled up on the stairs that needed to be taken upstairs, and so I asked him to do it. He came downstairs and did it. No "MOMMMMMM, do I HAVE to?". He just came down and did it. If I ask him to unload the dishwasher, he just does it. If I ask him to fold up a load of laundry, he does it. (mind you, not very well but hey, beggars can't be choosers).
How did I get this lucky?
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Eulogy for my grandma
RIP Grandma, 2/11/1927-2/5/2012
My grandma could yodel, play the spoons and even after living “up north” for 30 years, still had a delicious residual southern accent. The highlight of our summers as children was when my brother and I would spend a week at her house. Our three cousins lived in the same town, and the 5 of us got up to much mischief together – albeit under Grandma’s watchful eye.
One summer, we five cousins were out playing in the woods behind her house, when we saw her put two piping hot, delicious pies in the kitchen window to cool. Stomachs growling, we circled outside like jackals, around and around, knowing that we would not be allowed to have pie until dessert at dinner later on. Poor impulse control coupled with even poorer judgment caused us to decide that Grandma probably wouldn’t notice if one pie just happened to go missing. Quickly, before we lost our nerve, my brother hoisted me up on my cousin’s shoulders, and I stole one pie right out off the windowsill. Running pell mell into the woods, we proceeded to eat the pie like wild animals, afterwards washing off our hands in the creek (pronounced “crick” in her accent). Later when we were called in to supper, we sat anxiously waiting for Grandma to say something about the missing pie. Much to our relief, not one word was spoken about the pie. We’d fooled her!
Grandma sewed lovely outfits for me – one year she made me a Sesame Street Cookie Monster long dress. She crocheted amazing blankets and stitched beautiful quilts. She never went anywhere without “her face on” – she took pride in looking her best no matter if we were just running to the post office or to the “dime store”. As the only girl grandchild, I got to play with her makeup, lotions, perfumes and substantial costume jewelry collection. I would put on her jewelry, wear her makeup, clomp around in her heels and pretend to be grown up while I eagerly listened to her life stories.
When I was in college, she and I took a long road trip down through southern Illinois and Kentucky were her kin folk were from, and where she was born and raised – Fredonia, Kentucky. We deeply bonded on that trip and it remains one of the highlights of my life. But it was also when the first whispers of Alzheimer’s came calling – only no one recognized them at that time. She would constantly check if the doors on the car were locked. She would constantly lose her purse. She would repeat stories and sentences verbatim to me over and over again. We all chalked it up to being quirky and normal aging at the time. But we were wrong.
Over the years, Alzheimer’s became more obvious: paranoia, anger, forgetfulness, and ultimately the inability to function independently. A move to live with my mom came first, then to an assisted living, then finally to a nursing home. Alzheimer’s slowly slithered in and stole away my Grandma. The disease took her personality, her intellect, and then finally her very essence, leaving her body bare of its soul. My mom, my aunt and Grandma’s sister have lovingly tended to her over the years, enduring the heartbreak of seeing their mother and sister slowly vanish. She has been gone in reality for a long, long time, but now her body is finally gone too. Farewell Grandma. I love you, and I know that you are finally whole again.
My grandma could yodel, play the spoons and even after living “up north” for 30 years, still had a delicious residual southern accent. The highlight of our summers as children was when my brother and I would spend a week at her house. Our three cousins lived in the same town, and the 5 of us got up to much mischief together – albeit under Grandma’s watchful eye.
One summer, we five cousins were out playing in the woods behind her house, when we saw her put two piping hot, delicious pies in the kitchen window to cool. Stomachs growling, we circled outside like jackals, around and around, knowing that we would not be allowed to have pie until dessert at dinner later on. Poor impulse control coupled with even poorer judgment caused us to decide that Grandma probably wouldn’t notice if one pie just happened to go missing. Quickly, before we lost our nerve, my brother hoisted me up on my cousin’s shoulders, and I stole one pie right out off the windowsill. Running pell mell into the woods, we proceeded to eat the pie like wild animals, afterwards washing off our hands in the creek (pronounced “crick” in her accent). Later when we were called in to supper, we sat anxiously waiting for Grandma to say something about the missing pie. Much to our relief, not one word was spoken about the pie. We’d fooled her!
Grandma sewed lovely outfits for me – one year she made me a Sesame Street Cookie Monster long dress. She crocheted amazing blankets and stitched beautiful quilts. She never went anywhere without “her face on” – she took pride in looking her best no matter if we were just running to the post office or to the “dime store”. As the only girl grandchild, I got to play with her makeup, lotions, perfumes and substantial costume jewelry collection. I would put on her jewelry, wear her makeup, clomp around in her heels and pretend to be grown up while I eagerly listened to her life stories.
When I was in college, she and I took a long road trip down through southern Illinois and Kentucky were her kin folk were from, and where she was born and raised – Fredonia, Kentucky. We deeply bonded on that trip and it remains one of the highlights of my life. But it was also when the first whispers of Alzheimer’s came calling – only no one recognized them at that time. She would constantly check if the doors on the car were locked. She would constantly lose her purse. She would repeat stories and sentences verbatim to me over and over again. We all chalked it up to being quirky and normal aging at the time. But we were wrong.
Over the years, Alzheimer’s became more obvious: paranoia, anger, forgetfulness, and ultimately the inability to function independently. A move to live with my mom came first, then to an assisted living, then finally to a nursing home. Alzheimer’s slowly slithered in and stole away my Grandma. The disease took her personality, her intellect, and then finally her very essence, leaving her body bare of its soul. My mom, my aunt and Grandma’s sister have lovingly tended to her over the years, enduring the heartbreak of seeing their mother and sister slowly vanish. She has been gone in reality for a long, long time, but now her body is finally gone too. Farewell Grandma. I love you, and I know that you are finally whole again.
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