The Grace of Grandmas

My mother brought the box* over on Wednesday evening, it smelled of a cedar hope chest and the passage of time. It was the very baptismal outfit that I wore some 33 years ago, and was adorned with lace and ribbon, layers upon layers of frilly cuteness. The box was askew, the top not quite fitting the bottom, it had curled up a bit throughout the years but the vintage charm of the box and the label on the dress were charming and endearing, representing a time gone by, a lost era. Generations were crossing, traditions were passing on, sacraments were being made. A mother, a daughter, a granddaughter, the circle enlarging as time marches on.





Gram LaSarso is getting on in years and the past few months have been physically and emotionally challenging for her and my mother. Their roles have switched, my mother the caregiver, washing her hair, living at her house, helping her dress and getting up with her in the middle of the night. We joke about the similarities of caring for the very young and the very old. My mother, always the selfless one, always helping others, I see the toll it's taking. Working long hours, living out of a suitcase, hoping Gram doesn't fall, or worse, while she's at work, and yet she rarely complains. And her day off, her day off on Friday's is filled caring for the grandchildren, changing diapers, filling sippy cups, rehashing school days. In some way it must feel good to help, to do whatever she can so that when the time does come she knows she did all she could, something she wasn't able to do for my father, or for hers, they were gone in an instant, there was no waiting period.



Today was a gift. A gift to have Gram here to celebrate with us, to see her great-granddaugther perfectly fill out the frilly gown that she bought for me so many years ago. Ironically the sermon today was all about Thomas the apostle. Thomas. My father's name. How fitting. I teared up, holding my little girl whose smile is so bright and innocent, as the music and songs tugged at my emotions, the feeling of family and loss, love and hope surrounded me. My brother winked at me, that understanding wink. The wink that says he's hear, he knows, he sees us.

I'm looking forward to the day that I can bring the box over to Ellie's house.


*I found this photo of the box on eBay, this picture isn't of our box.

Memories

Tomorrow it will be six years since my father died. I feel like my posts about him and the void that has been left have been very downtrodden. I mean I am writing about a loss, death is not fun or beautiful or happy. But I also don't want to be such a downer all the time. I need to inject more quips about Luke or the sparkley magic that shines in Ellie's eyes. It is pure magic I tell you.

For tonight though I have memories to share. Memories that I want to make sure Ellie and Luke know about. Memories of my dad.

He carried a bible in his lunchbox. He was a devout Catholic but never pushed his faith on anyone. I didn't even know he had one in there until after he died.

He would always wrap his pinky finger around my pinky finger when we said "The Our Father" at mass. When he did, he'd always wink at me when it was over.

When he babysat Jacob he always got down on the floor and played with him, even when he was only months old and every Friday he bought him a Matchbox car after he picked him up from the sitter.

He hated tomatoes and rice. But loved spaghetti sauce and would eat rice in veggie beef soup.

He put a cape on a jumped off the roof of his house when he was in the 1st or 2nd grade, he was convinced he could fly like Superman. He broke his leg and missed so much school he was held back a year.

He went to Iceland with NATO.

He loved Cheez-Its. And maple walnut ice cream. Crackers with Skippy peanut butter were another favorite.

He was terrible at home repairs. He didn't have much patience, he just wanted it done. But he could build a bridge and a road in some underdeveloped country with the Seabees.

He carried a picture of me from my first dance recital in his wallet.

He was school board president.

City hall lowered the flag when he died.

He and Jake used to call me at work in NYC and scream "wuzzzup" into my voicemail.

He used to send me cards to cheer me up when I was homesick the first year of college.

And everyday I can feel him smiling.

Confession

I've been spending a lot of time here connecting with old friends. It's a wonderful guilty pleasure. Guilty I say because it's a time suck. John and I share the laptop so if I'm not on it he is and well then it's time for bed and Ellie needs a nightcap and holyshit where did our night go? It's pathetic. Here I am living the life I've always wanted and there I sit staring at the glow of a computer screen.

There isn't much point to this post other than embarrassment. I just had to get that out. I miss blogging, sharing future memories for our kids to cherish. Technology is awesome but sitting on the couch talking in real time to your husband, holding hands, and laughing is so much more.

Simple Moments

I'm feeling sappy today.

The simple act of buying holiday cards always leaves me with a broken heart. We can't buy Father's Day cards, or cards for our "Parents", or for "Grandma and Grandpa" only cards for Mom/Grandma. Luke, Ellie and Will, will never get to sit in their Papa's lap or hear his laugh, or see him smile with pride at their cute little faces.

It's Valentine's Day, hug your loved ones, sit your kid in the lap of their grandparent, kiss them goodbye. It's the simple moments that we remember and hang on to.

Picture Perfect

Time has been precious as of late. The moments are fleeting and the days zoom by with huried schedules topped of with lovely flashes of big Ellie smiles and random moments of Luke actually wanting to cuddle. I've had many a blog entry in my mind and too little quality time to get them out. So in place you have pictures from our weekend, hanging at home and watching the big game.

Ellie, our little Strawberry Shortcake who is someday going to pull a fast one over her father. He's mush when it comes to her. and Luke, not to be overshadowed by his sister's ladylike ways, has been battling ear infections and the stomach flu. We've seen the doctor more this winter that it seems we did his entire first year. He hangs in there like a champ though. He can puke one moment and run off smiling the next, seemingly unfazed. Until the next round of squeamishness hits.

The family that bathes together...

The nightly ritual of bathtime used to involve just one of us with Luke, but as of late we're all gathering in our tiny bathroom to enjoy the fun. There's no tv beckoning to Luke, no distractions other than soap suds and foamy stick-to-the-tub letters. It's where John and I recap our days and Luke makes us laugh with his soapy beards and use of the letter J as a phone. I can still hear the laughter of tonights shenanigans.

Working Girl

We're two weeks into the new year and almost a month since my last post. Maternity leave came and went like a whirlwind peppered with holiday fun amongst what seemed like endless doctor visits. We've made resolutions, mainly to have 2009 be pregnancy free, and scaled down to one car and one laptop (thanks to Luke and a glass of water and thankfully it wasn't my laptop). I'm back into the swing of working. A place that feels like home, with fun banter and creative wit. Our days are flying by with so much to do and so little time to do it all. We snuggle with Ellie in the morning until the last possible second which then amps us up into a hectic 90 minutes of breakfast, bottle making, Noggin, giggling with Luke, showers, making lunches, packing bags, getting kids dressed, cramming us all into the two door car and off to the sitter we go. If we're quick enough somedays we grab coffee together at the coffee shop and walk the few blocks to work hand in hand. On those days I feel like a carefree city girl again, ala Mary Tyler Moore, as I dash off to work amongst the buildings of downtown.

I know that I'm so blessed to have the best of both worlds with my homelife (major props to John who is Mr. Mom on Thursdays, and the guy not only does laundry, he also makes dinner!) and worklife, but I'm yet again craving time. More minutes, longer nights, slower mornings. I can't lie that I dream of the day we'll have enough money to hire a cleaning lady. Yeah it's a pipe dream, but a girls gotta dream. On that note, the dishes are waiting and the bed needs to be made.