Showing posts from June, 2014

You know you have a big family when...

…your teenager sees baby doll feet poking out from underneath a pillow and momentarily panics that there has been a serious mishap with a baby.  Some baby.  Not sure whose baby, but somebody's baby.  Because there have in the past always been lots of babies around here. * * * Poor kid.  He came upstairs half laughing, half crying in relief that he did not, in fact, stumble upon the scene of a homicide. Makes me wonder what his reaction was when his last sister was born.  I imagine something like: "Oh look, another baby.  Pass the pizza, please." * * *

A Chore Deferred

Question:  What happens to a chore deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it make a mama's head explode? * * * Answers: It does not dry up.  It will not go away.  Ever.  You will always, always have your chore to do, and there is no avoiding it or hoping that it will just go away.  That will not ever happen.   It will fester.  And then it will ooze all manner of grossness -- rotten, rank, family grossness -- all over your iPad, your plans with friends, your Instagram profile, and your brand new, shockingly ugly, overpriced soccer cleats.  The ones I will buy you when hell freezes over.  It could turn crusty.  But then, you'll inadvertently pick it like a scab and the whole nasty festering process will start over.  It could turn sweet.  If by sweet,

Best Goal Celebration So Far...

…goes to the arm-waving Columbians! Why It's Called the Beautiful Game

The World Cup is Here!

When Sam was seven years old, he colored thirty-two flags for every nation in the 2006 world cup, and thus was born a tradition. The Wall of Nations! Flags will come down as countries are eliminated. For the record, we are supporting -- of course -- the United States, as well as Croatia (my heritage) and Spain (because we love them).   For the record, we are NOT supporting Ghana or Portugal. For the record, we are psyched, ready, giddy, and not a little bit bummed that this thing called work will get in the way of lots and lots of soccer viewing. Love. To players and fans everywhere -- enjoy the next four weeks!  I know we will! * * *

When Hopscotch Goes Bad

My 7 year old daughter drew a hopscotch in front of our house a few weeks ago, with multi-colored chalk.  She drew the requisite ten boxes, and busied herself for a time hopping up and down our sidewalk. Shortly, though, ten boxes just wasn't doing it for her, so she added more.  She added and added.  I'd check on her progress every so often: twenty…thirty-two…forty-three.  She was finally content with her masterpiece when sixty-one colorful numbered boxes lined our sidewalk.  Much jumping ensued, the kind that keeps children happily playing outside into the waning light of a summer evening, hoping to stay outside forever.  It was awesome, just the kind of simple but magical thing that makes me love watching my children grow up. This is where we all smile, and sigh, and remember the sweet innocence of youth. However, it seems some mischievous neighbor, or perhaps just a passer-by, thought her artwork lacking.  Someone came along and added, in chalk, which he either pos

What's Happening to Grandma

My mother feels abandoned. She is 77 years old, and suffering from Alzheimer's disease, or at least, that's the best guess of doctors who have been trying for over two years to figure out what exactly is going on. This is not a post about who she really is, or how unfair it is that dementia has so utterly altered her.  I am positive I have words upon words to fill up posts on that topic, posts that may or may not ever get written.  Suffice to say that I cannot think about my mother without a torrent of thoughts and feelings about the difference between what she is like today and what she was like before "the troubles."  I think she would appreciate that reference, scholar as she is of all things Irish. This is a post about watching my children struggle with watching their grandmother struggle. I've read things before about the so-called Sandwich Generation, that place in a person's life when she is both dealing with aging parents and raising children.