Grandpa Said Damn

My maternal grandfather was a quiet man with sparkling blue eyes and breath that smelled of his beloved Dunkin Donuts coffee. Large, with cream, no sugar.  Same way my mom takes it.  Same way I take it.

He grew up in poverty, in rural Texas but my memories of his voice have no trace of a Texas accent. He said years of living in Chicago, where he moved when his Yankee new bride (Grandma) couldn’t handle Texas, had caused it to fade.

As far as my siblings and I were concerned, Grandpa was a real life superhero. At 16, he lied about his age and joined the Navy during WWII, knowing it was the only way he could get out of poverty.  He could fix anything; often coming over to do odd jobs around the house and fix the things his destructive grandsons broke. Compared to our paternal grandparents and the grandparents of friends, he was extremely fit. He could flex his arms, body builder style, and we could hang from his biceps.  He was bench-pressing over 180 well into his late 70s. Despite not finishing high school, he learned and enjoyed the intricacies of the stock market, creating a secure financial future for he and Gram.

Most importantly, our Grandfather was incredibly patient. Patience I have only seen in one other person- my husband.  While my childhood memories have been reduced to glossy snapshots, I rarely recall a time when he was upset or frustrated.  The occasional “Aww Come ON!” yelled during his beloved Texas A&M football game was the closest he came to raising his voice. Perhaps he got annoyed when he had a bad round of golf or bowling match. He did give an eye roll and heavy sigh when all of his granddaughters declared themselves politically liberal. (Hilary 2016!).  My mom says this wasn’t patience earned over time. He was like this during her childhood as well.  Being gentle was just his nature.

But there was one time. One time he cracked. The events leading up to it and the events immediately after are hazy.  I’m not even sure how old I was but it was at least in high school, if not my early years of college. I was in the kitchen when I heard my grandfather cry out from the living room below.

“These damn kids just can’t take care of anything”.

He said damn.  Grandpa said damn.  We all froze and our faces fell. It’s not like we hadn’t heard the word before.  Mom occasionally throw out a “shit” when something dropped and broke. Dad was no stranger to the F-bomb.  But Grandpa was different. He simply didn’t swear because he didn’t get upset, especially at his grandkids. 

While I don’t remember specifics, I do remember a gut feeling that something wasn’t right.  And it wasn’t.  As time went out his frustrations grew and his patience receded. His hands became less nimble, keeping him from being the primary handyman. Names were forgotten.  The words on his Wall Street Journal stopped making sense.  Slowly and painfully he drifted into dementia and his amazing blue eyes stopped sparkling. We lost our beloved Gramps long before he died.

I try not to think of his final few years. I choose to remember the superhero of my childhood instead. Still, the time Grandpa swore will always haunt me, not for the word, or the sentiment behind it, but because it was our first signal something wasn’t right.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s Pretty Much World Famous Writer’s Workshop prompt “The first time you heard your parents cuss”.

                                                    http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/blog/

Thanksgiving Recap in Pictures

I feel like I've been away from the internet for YEARS.  We've spent the last 5 days in general Chicago area with my family. My parents wireless wasn't working and their computer is about a 1,000 years old. The internet could wait while I caught up with my family and friends over a glass of wine (or 4).

So much happened during our trip.  Max had a great time meeting 4738247392 new family members while Brett and I had a great time stuffing our faces with yummy food only found in the Chicago area! This was the first time my brothers, sister and I were in the same state at once since Thanksgiving of 2008!

 Here's a photo summary of our great trip!

We had to bundle Max up as he hadn't ever experienced such ridiculous weather

Regardless of clothing, he loved the Brookfield Zoo!

Actually, not so much.

Dylan and Aunt Emmy enjoyed the fake boat ride

Max was unimpressed by the gorilla. 

But the sea lions kicked ass!

Dylan roared at the tiger but it ignored him. 

Nothing says games with the grandparents like multiple glasses of red wine. 

And in this family, when you're a pill, you get put on the fridge. 

Max was ready to tree hunt in his tree hunting sweater! He also was consistently amused by Uncle Brian

Cousins!

The poor child froze during our trip to Indiana to find and cut down Christmas trees. 

Accidental overexposure looking AWESOME!

Testing to see what the angel would look like!

Brunch with Great Gram and more family.

Max got to meet a new friend while I caught up with an old one!

Thanks for the book and hat, Ingram Family!!

 The whole trip was a success!  Max was great on the plane and better behaved then some of the adults.  I was so glad to not have "that kid" on my first trip with baby!  Despite the great trip, all three of us are glad to be back home (and out of the cold!)

Now, time to break out those Christmas decorations.

Obligitory Kid at Pumpkin Patch Photos

When I finally had free time to do my Wordless Wednesday post Blogger’s photo uploader was down for maintenance. It’s hard to do a Wordless Wednesday post if you don’t have pictures!! So I present to you: Semi-Wordless Thursday!

Everyone is posting their “It’s fall so look at my cute kid at a pumpkin patch” pictures and by God I want to get in on the fun.  Except these are from a farm that happened to sell pumpkins, not a real pumpkin patch.  Apparently pumpkins don’t grow well here. Plus it felt more like summer than fall. But there was a corn maze!  And hayrides!  That’s close enough!  As you can see from the pictures, Max wasn’t arguing semantics.  He just enjoyed his surroundings.

At first he was a little scared

But quickly realized pumpkins are awesome

As are hayrides

and Nana's

Karma-Air Travel Style

I took a very deep breath as moved my courser over the “purchase” button on the United Airlines website.  I paused, took one more deep breath and clicked.

Sweet Home Chicago, here we come!

The pause was for two reasons.  One, we waited too long to get tickets and ended up shelling out a ridiculous amount of money. Two, we’ll be taking a baby on a plane finally granting karma the opportunity to bite me in the ass.

As a single, childless woman I would get easily annoyed at the screaming child on my flight. I’ve rolled my eyes at their parents and huffed and puffed like an entitled witch. I never put myself in their shoes.  I was *that* person parents complain about. If Max screams bloody murder through the whole flight it’s totally karma.  And I deserve it.

We’ve minimized potential pitfalls. We shelled out the extra dollars for a non-stop flight.  We’re flying after peak travel days/times. We picked morning flights as that’s when Max seems to be happiest. I wish we could have afforded to get him his own seat since he sleeps in his car seat like a champ, but I’d like to pay off my credit card before I die.

I’m also worried about trying to pack light.  We filled the car on our trip to Asheville. How the heck am I supposed to get everything in one checked bag and two carry-on’s? My extended family is able to provide larger items like car seats, strollers and pack n plays. Borrowed hand-me-downs are a perk of having two dozen cousins.  I also have an embarrassingly long shopping list for my mom so I don’t have to worry about formula, food and diapers.  And what about warm clothes?  It’s still 80 degrees here.  There isn’t a snowballs chance in Savannah that I’ll find a snow suit or thermal underwear. Bless you internet.

Despite the logistical nightmare, I’m excited.  Max is finally getting to meet 478392 (low ball estimate) new relatives.  My immediately family will all be in the same place for the first time in 2 years. I get to see several high school friends and their babies (I’m looking at you KTKC).  Brett gets to eat an authentic Chicago Style hot dog.  Everyone one wins.

Except the people on our flights.  They’re probably in for a long flight.

Home?

"Home is wherever I'm with you"

I've been thinking a lot about the concept home recently. Maybe it's because Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros have popping up regularly on my playlist. Or because I'm homesick for a place I haven't really lived in for 12 years. Or maybe it's because my husband and I occasionally flirt with the idea of going somewhere new. I've been up at night trying to figure out "where is my home"?

Legally, home is Savannah...er, now it's the "Savannah area". That's where all my important papers say my home is located.  Drivers license, tax forms, etc, all have my Georgia address. Savannah is where I transitioned to adulthood.  I moved here as a broke, unemployed, single college grad with a roommate and am now a married mom with a mortgage payment, good job and the start of a retirement fund.  We have wonderful friends here. The type of friends you could call at 2AM with an emergency and be assured they would pick up the phone. We both have good, stable jobs where we were never in danger of getting laid off during the darkest days of the recession. I love it here and other than a concern about the educational system, I could see us living out our days here.

But home is also Sweet Home Chicago, where I was born and raised and where most of my family still lives.  During the holidays I still say "I'm going home for Christmas!". If given the opportunity I'd move back there in a second, despite the bitterly cold winters.  It would be worth it to be surrounded by Bear's fans, Italian Beef Sandwiches and my parents.  I miss living in a real city (or even the metro area) where if my favorite band goes on tour, there's a 99% chance they'll be playing in town.  I have a 6 year old nephew I've only seen a dozen times.  My parents, grandmother and aunts and uncles wouldn't miss out on watching Max grow up.  I come from a huge family and being a mom has made me desperately miss those big family gatherings held every weekend. Max won't get that opportunity growing up in Savannah.

I haven't been to Chicago in a year and half so I might be romanticizing it a bit.  Perhaps I should visit in January and then check back with my desire to move. Brrr.

What about Ohio?  Brett grew up in Akron and his parents still live there.  Nearby Cleveland is another "real city" with professional sports teams and outdoor concert venues.  Max would get to know his grandparents better and again, I love having family close. Plus, lots of free babysitting! That area is only 5 hours from Chicago which is much better than the current 18 hour drive we'd have to endure.

 Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, in case you were wondering

Or, we could go somewhere completely new.  If Brett wants to stay in his current field, aerospace, options are limited. 

Seattle?  Kinda rainy which would be huge adjustment from perpetually sunny Savannah.

Witchita?  Uh. No.

Montreal? Too damn cold

D.C.-Ok, we could do that.

Southern California?  Not really my style.

Houston-Absolutely, but NASA isn't exactly hiring

The more I think about it, the more I can't directly place my home. Home could be so many things.  It might not even be a place. Those Magnetic Zeros might be on to something. Home is Brett.  Home is Max.  Home is wherever I'm with them.  

Where do you consider "home"?

 

Happy Birthday Brian!

My youngest of my younger brothers turns 26 today! I'd call him my little brother except at 6 foot plus, he towers over me.

Max got to meet his Uncle B for the first time a few weeks ago when he came down for Max's baptism. It was so fun to watch the two of them together. Max lit up like a Christmas tree each time his uncle picked him up. It was fun to watch my mowhawked, bad assed, Pipe Fitter brother turn into a pile of mush whenever Max smiled. It was also pretty funny to see my mowhawked, bad assed, Pipe Fitter brother in my tiny Southern, small town Catholic Church.

When the weekend was over I was sad that we live so far away from my family.

Enjoy your day Bri. Don't do anything too stupid.

Loss

My Grandma L passed away on Friday.  She was a fighter her whole life, struggling with many diseases and illnesses but smiled through them all.  She was loved by her 7 kids, 21 grandkids and 5 great grandkids, with #6 on his or her way. 

She died on her 82nd birthday. She spent half of it here with her children and half of it with my Grandfather, the love of her life, who died 2 years ago. 

A devout Catholic, she is now with God, where she always wanted to be. We all know she is happy but that doesn't mean her absence is any less painful.

Tomorrow my family gathers to say goodbye.  It kills me that I can't physically be there, but I will be with them him thoughts and prayers.

We'll all miss you Gram. 

Pity Party

Pardon me while I throw myself a little pity party.  It's been a bad day.

Max is teething. At least, we think so.  There is drool everywhere.  He is chomping on everything and he's fussy as all get out. And on top of it, he's been fighting a cold for 2 weeks (thankyouverymuch day care) and is constantly leaking snot from his nose. (yummy).  Oh and he's gassy.  Today has been hell.  He spent the day screaming as if tortured and nothing would calm him. The only thing that somewhat worked apparently, according to the internets, is horrible and turns your baby blue. The internets say I'm a terrible mom for using it.  I wish I would have looked that up before I put it on his gums. 

I felt terrible for the poor guy. He's just a baby and all he knows is that he's uncomfortable. I tried to give him extra cuddles and kisses throughout the day but after being barraged with screams my patience eventually wore thin.  In his screams I started to hear "YOU SUCK AS A PARENT!".  I was kinda hoping that sort sentiment would have waited until at least his tween years.

While dealing with screams I spent the day waiting for the Comcast tech to come out and fix our spotty internet.  He/She was supposed to be out by 11 AM. Around 1PM I gave up hope and went grocery shopping. Watch them show up tomorrow, while I'm at work. Coincidentally, 2 other people were complaining about Comcast today on Facebook.  I found some relief that Comcast screws over everyone and it wasn't a personal slight against my family.

I also spent the day trying to schedule a Termnix appointment for the earwig infestation that somehow occurred while we were out of town.  Again, more terrible customer service. It took 3 attempts just to get someone on the phone only to be told the "local branch" would need to call me back. I thought I called the mf-ing local branch?!  When I didn't get a call back by 5, I called again only to be cut off mid phone call.  God help the first person I talk to tomorrow because I have zero patience. I'll be switching providers once my contract is up.

Oh and our cat peed on our bed, including our "dry clean only" down comforter.  Anyone want a free evil cat? She's the perfect gift for that super villain in your life that needs a furry sidekick. 

Finally in a serious concern, and the catalyst for the whole gloomy mood, my Grandmother (not the one in previous posts) is dying.  In the course of the day she went from having weeks, to months, to hours.  I don't want to get too into it, but please keep my family, especially my Dad and his siblings in your thoughts.

So, that's my pity party. It's a bad night to be out of comfort juice wine.

Writer's Workshop: My Favorite Collector

My Grandma didn’t collect typical “Grandma Things”.  Sure, she has figurines, pictures and crafts her grand kids made for her and maybe even a doily or two.  However, I would never classify her as a collector…except for one thing: UPC Codes.  You know, the bar codes on every product in the grocery store?  Or the thing my brother has tattooed on his leg.

Yes, honestly, that’s his tattoo.  It’s for Easy Cheese, in case you were wondering.

When I think of her kitchen, I think of the little pile of cardboard codes, cut out from boxes of cereal, sitting next to the sink. Those things were basically the currency she used to buy us little gifts. By mailing in a few codes from a Kellogg’s product and some spare change in shipping and handling you get a little random something or other brandishing a corporate logo.

With every birthday, there were always two boxes from Grandma.  One had our “regular” gift while the other came to be known as the “Fun Box”.  You knew it was the “Fun Box” because there was always a post-it note over the wrapping paper designating it as such. The fun box was filled with an assortment of things Gram had picked up.  Freebies from local stores, little inexpensive gadgets she thought we might like and the crème de la crème of the “Fun Box”, things purchased with UPC codes. As kids, we thought they were awesome while my mom probably looked at them as more things that we would leave lying around the house.

Looking back, the variety of UPC goodies is pretty amusing.  I polled my siblings about memorial “Fun Box” items and came up with following things:

-Purple Welch’s Grape Jelly Wrist Watch
-A plastic California Raisins figurine
-A collection of Model A Matchbox Cars with the Apple Jacks, Rice Krispie and Raisin Bran logos.
-A fleet of Kellogg’s Matchbox racing cars
- A Pilsbury Doughboy button up denim shirt
-An Olympic "Dream Team" warm up suit that was made of paper. 

Now all the grandchildren are over 20 and birthday gifts are morely like to be a check. The little collection of UPC's on Gram's kitchen counter are gone.  However, I know all 7 grandchildren would smile a little if with that check, a little Tony the Tiger beach towel came with it.

Oh, and this is my bad ass Grandma.