Things Change. Or Not.

The empress pointed out in her comment that my children are too young for me to be a grandma.

As we know, things change, times change. K is 24, R is 27. When I was 24, I got married, and it seemed like we were doing that later than many of our friends, who had gotten married at 22, right out of college. When I was 27, married three years, I was pregnant with R. I had two friends pregnant at the same time; one of them was 32 and the other was 37.

I didn't think my time line was normal because even then, I knew there was no such thing as a normal time line. But let's see.

My sister got married (first time) right out of college, so she was 22. I believe that Eldest Nephew was born when she was 26, which seemed somehow early at the time, although looking back, I don't know why. She was 29 when the twins were born.

My mother was 23 when she got married, in 1943. But my father was overseas for years after that and then there was a stillbirth; their firstborn, the Sibs, came in 1948, when Shirl was 28. She was 32 when I was born; I was 31 when K was born.

I guess we were all pretty close after all, and our kids are not really lagging behind. Wonderful Niece is 30 and not so interested in being pregnant. Her brother is getting married in September, and we're guessing there will be a baby there within a year or two. As for eldest nephew, it would take real courage for someone to take him on as a husband and father, although he would be a fabulous father. But he's a unique experience, what can I say?

Anyway, the thing is, I understand that my children are nowhere near ready to produce offspring. I'm just saying that I'm ready to have some grandchildren. Not that it is in any remotely connected to my readiness. I'm just saying.

WATCHING THE GOLDEN GIRLS :: ENTRY #1831
SUMMER BOOK #6: Big Russ and Me by Tim Russert

The Continuing Saga

Turns out that the registration that looked current to me yesterday turned out to be a 6 instead of an 8 in the clear light of today, therefore, it was two years' ago registration and not this year's. I called somewhere to see if I could renew it even though it's not my car -- I can't -- and found out that it was renewed, the card just isn't in the car. At which point, I'm done.

I did very little today, which was fine. After the therapist, I went to the cleaners even though it isn't Saturday and had the pants I bought for the wedding pinned and left them there to be shortened. Now, sewing happens to be one of those few domestic tasks I have mastered, but not these pants; they're chiffon and lined, so it's really like four pant legs two of which will show every stitch, and I know my limits.

(Hey, maybe I'll get back to sewing when I retire. It certainly has occurred to me that I will happily make every grandchild's Halloween costume, as I made my own kids'. Not that there are grandchildren yet, or anywhere on the horizon. But hope spring eternal, you know.)

I have no other news. As annoying as the whole car thing has been, that kid has been true to her word and had either called or texted every day since she's been away. Truth be told, I would not have been so good to my mother. Oh, maybe I would have by the time I was R's age, which is 27, but for sure not at 22 or 23. I can just hear me: "Ma! I'm not a little kid! I am not calling you every day!" Of course, technology was different then. Who knows, maybe with today's cellphones, I would have called every day when I was in England and Wales at 21. Looking back at the time I was stuck on campus in a blizzard, I wish I had had a cellphone to let my parents know I was okay, because I knew how terribly worried they were, even then.

Okay, I'm giving the Sibs a quick call and then looking through my new book on digestion, which th4e nutritionist recommended and which came today. Yum.

WATCHING TWO AND A HALF MEN :: ENTRY #1830
SUMMER BOOK #5: Better Digestion by The American Dietetic Association

Visiting the Past

First on the agenda today was waiting for that phone call from my mother's best friend, which came a little before 10:30. I met her and her daughter at my parents' cemetery. We spent about 45 minutes together, some of that at the grave, some just standing in the parking lot.

It really was wonderful for me to see them, although it would have been a completely different experience for my sister. Doris is still totally hyper, remarkable for her age, which is 80 in October. She looks fabulous. (I took some pictures with her camera, which I may post once she sends them to me.) She drove here from Long Island. I did totally get the impression, though, that her daughter limits the amount of time she spends with her mother and has spent way too much with her recently. Doris is very hard to take in anything but small doses. But this was a small dose for me today, and it was great. We remembered, we talked about my parents, all kinds of things.

My appointment with the cardiologist was at 12:30, but I didn't actually see the doctor until about 2:15. Now, this is total proof that either the anti-depressants are helping me or that I have evolved, because this is the kind of thing that always pushes me over the edge. This time, not only was I accepting of it -- I didn't want to reschedule and have to go back -- but my blood pressure was even on the low side when someone finally came in and took it. When the doctor came in, he asked why I was there, and I said Uh ... your office called and said I needed an annual follow up? I certainly am having no cardiac complaints. Anyway, he took an EKG and gave me a copy, and said I should carry it with me in case I ever need to show that the abnormality in it is an old one -- okay -- and he also said that unless I want to lose weight to feel better, which I told him I did, there's no cardiac need for me to lose weight. I love when doctors tell me that! But less weight would be easier on my feet and back, not that I know if I can even lose anything.

About a half hour ago, K's college roommate dropped in, on her way driving from Maine to San Francisco. Originally, K was going to go with her from this point onto Ohio, where their third former roommate is, but the little dear is somewhat disorganized, and showed up today, and K's final in her summer course is tomorrow. Whatever, they'll see what they can work out. So the kid may be gone for the rest of the week, and R is going to Mexico tomorrow for ten days, I think. Why do they always end up doing these things at the same time?

And I have court tomorrow afternoon for my speeding ticket. I'll let you know how that goes, too.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1823
SUMMER BOOK #3: As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

TGIF

So, I just keep rolling along. Once again, it seems I got a ridiculous amount of stuff done after school today, which must makes me wonder why the living room is still a mess. More on that later.

The phone rings about 9 this morning -- at school -- and it's R, so naturally, my heart sinks because I anticipate crisis. No, she's just waiting for her train and calls to tell me that all is well, the cat let her sleep all night, and like that. So that's nice. Then the phone rings again around 10, and it's K, so my toes clench, but she's calling to tell me that she feels much better today, is going to campus and to do a few errands.

And I'm thinking. My mother used to call me every single morning at work (and five or six times a day, most days), whether because she was also co-dependent or OCD (which she was), or both, I don't know. She called with such regularity -- 8.30 every morning -- that when the phone rang at 8.30, the kids in the library would say "Mrs. Chai! It's your mother!" Ahem. Yes. Anyway, so the girls called this morning, and my first thought was, Oh, is this a regular thing now? And what did I have ... five years of my gut not tying itself into knots when the phone rang in the morning? Ah, well. Truth is, I had a sudden severe wave of missing my mother very much the other day, so I guess you gotta take the good with the bad. As annoying as her calls could be -- the phone also rang every afternoon as soon as I got home and sat down on the toilet -- there's very little I wouldn't give for one of those calls right now. So if the girls call, they call. Let's hope they always do.

The living room. We use our living room for very little, except to pass through to the rest of the house when we come in, and to let stuff sit on the chairs until we need it for something. And there are lots of chairs that we've acquired in there in recent years, so it's kind of like a doctor's waiting room that never has any patients. Anyway, I said something to the Hubs before about just moving out one chair and putting the Christmas tree in its space, not in front of the window where we usually put it, but easier than re-arranging everything. He steps into the living room, studies it for a minute, and goes back to cooking his dinner. "What?" I said. He goes back again, looks at the living room, and comes back into the kitchen. And says "Why don't we just put the tree in the middle of the room?"

Well. How gloriously ridiculous. We will only be using the room to decorate the tree and to open the presents. It won't be in anyone's way, really. No cats to knock it down anymore. It'll look pretty damn funny, but still good from outside, still viewable through the picture window. And we'll see all the ornaments, not just the ones on the "good" side. Damned if we're not going to do it. The girls will probably not be amused, but hey, when they buy a house they can put their Christmas trees wherever they want. I'll get a picture for you all, if I can.

And tomorrow night, I have some sort of party to attend with the Hubs' work people. Oh joy. This will do wonders for my social anxiety. And since I don't think jeans are in order, I'll have to go out in the morning and try to get something suitable to wear. You'd think I would have thought of this before today. And shoes. With me, it always ends up with the shoes.


WATCHING L & O :: ENTRY #1642

They're Killing Me

I'm not saying my kids and I don't have some sort of co-dependent thing going on, although I'd prefer to say that we are "close." Either way, I'm happy I have a good relationship with them, and that we are friends, and that they feel they can talk to me when they need someone to talk to.

All that aside, they're killing me.

It's been a tough week for them. K, as you know, is sick. She is sick because the kid she tutors Saturday mornings has a mother who doesn't know that she's supposed to keep him home when he's sick. Maybe his 13 year old immune system can throw it off, but K's cannot. This is the beginning of her last week of classes for the semester, and she's missed class, hasn't gotten a paper done, and so on. Her nose is so messed up inside that she cannot eat without choking for air, because she can't breathe through her nose at all when she eats, which I guess is what normal people do. Anyway, she's not the world's best patient, as we all know, so it's been trying.

As for the other one, who is, in fact, the world's best patient, her problem is not that she's sick. I think her problem is that she's stressed. She called me last Friday morning, having a meltdown over something or other, and again this morning. Her little cat, it turns out, is not a good patient, and chewed open her stitches the other night, having had her lady parts removed last Friday. So far this week, R has had to go in late to work twice and had to leave early twice, all for emergency vet appointments. And the cat is basically okay, and hopefully will not damage herself this time, but last night, they sent the cat home with new stitches and the warning "Don't let her lick them!" So of course, R was up all night making sure the cat didn't lick her stitches, and had to take her back this morning anyway to get a cone or something put on her. And I got the meltdown call.

Honestly, I don't know how people have their children later in life. I don't know how they have the stamina to put up with it. It isn't even just the toddler chasing when you're 45, it's the teenage thing when you're 60 -- how horrible that sounds -- and then whatever you've got for however long it goes on. I was thinking yesterday, if I won the lottery, I'd set K up in her own apartment before I even paid a bill or bought a car.

Okay, so, much later.

I had a very hectic afternoon, with one errand or another, out of the house, and in the house. I did have the luxury of the house to myself, up until the minute I was finishing with phone calls and was going to have some peace and quiet and then K came home early from class. Ah well, she went to class, and although she looks miserable, she must be feeling better because she's waaay less sick-y tonight. And R's evening is better -- talked to her twice, once she had a nap in her -- and the cat, hopefully, will deal with it all and let her sleep.

It is freaking cold out there. Possible rain and/or snow tomorrow, ick. I have so much less patience for winter as the years go by: don't wanna wear a coat, don't wanna drive or walk in the snow, don't wanna wear bulky layers and still be cold! I went to the ATM on my way to school this morning, but my window wouldn't open. Horrors! Electric windows not working is what killed my last car, you may recall. (Car was too old to get replacement parts for the third time.) But it worked fine after school, so I guess it was just frozen. Damn. That never happened before.

Oh, happy third night of Chanukah. We're doing very well this year; we've actually lit the candles all three nights and I've even said the prayer, which is not to say that I'm praying, just that I know, more or less, the right sounds to make when the Chanukah candles are being lit. My mother had a pamphlet with the phonetic pronunciation on it, which is how I learned it, although I think the prayer has two parts and I only know the first one. And unlike French or even Spanish, I cannot pull off a reasonable Hebrew accent, so it all sounds very un-official, if you know what I mean. But I say it anyway. On the sixth night, I also especially remember my Grandpa Sam, whose birthday was the sixth night of Chanukah. He only ever knew the real date of his birthday because once he got to America, he went to the office of a Yiddish newspaper and asked them to look up the date of the sixth night of Chanukah for the year he was born. (He knew how old he was, exactly, because he had been Bar Mitzvahed just before leaving the old country, so, 13.) It was December 16, 1892, just in case you're keeping track.

Well, I have rambled on here a bit more than I meant to, and now I'm off to change into my jammies and settle in for Ugly Betty.

WATCHING LAW AND ORDER :: ENTRY #1642

It's Always Something

Had a pretty quiet day, for the most part, all except the aggravation in the last couple of hours. It was the kids. Is it ever not kids? I mean, how old do they need to be before parents don't have to feel like they're in the middle?

Prior to that, I actually got out and took a walk this morning, but I was really ill-prepared for it; I hadn't dressed properly so I got too hot too fast, and I started off walking too fast and I felt shin splints coming on so I had to slow down and cut it short. I will probably not walk tomorrow, since I have a pedi with the Sibs at 10 and I have been managing to sleep until 7 or 8 so far since my actual vacation started, but I will later in the day, if it's cool, or on Monday. I'll wear shorts and bring water with me. Or go to the gym. *ahem*

Otherwise, I upgraded Firefox today and then everything was screwed up for awhile, but I think it's back to normal now. And then R came by. She put in laundry, got a haircut, and then the two of them went to the movies.

As long as they were both gone -- I don't get that much alone time until K starts class again -- I watched Dreamgirls, which came in the Blockbuster mail like a month ago. I really liked it a lot. The only thing I don't understand is how Jennifer Hudson got the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, because she was clearly the star of it and the story was really about her character, so she should have been the lead. But I guess it was a billing thing, and Beyonce was the bigger star going in. But Jennifer Hudson had the amazing voice and acted up a storm.

So the girls got home around 6, I confirmed that they were having sushi on their own instead of Chinese with us, and I ordered the food for the Hubs and me. But within ten minutes or so, R developed an upset stomach and said she was better off without sushi. So she finished up what she needed to, the Hubs picked up our food, and somehow, K was left here without dinner. And she wasn't in a good mood, and I couldn't blame her. Anyway, we've since resolved it, and it's not like they were having a fight or anything, but it was awkward0-feeling there for a bit, which you know, I don't care for.

Okay, and now K has gone off upstairs and I have a headache, so I need to decide whether I should find something to watch or something else to do or what.

WATCHING FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF :: ENTRY #1512

They're Back

[copied from dland]

**In 21 days I will be 50 years old**

I haven’t written for a few days, and the reason is clear: they’re back. And, as I noted once before, they suck up your life.

Younger Daughter came home by train Tuesday afternoon, after which I dashed to my therapist appointment and came home, fell asleep, and got up the next day at 5:30 to go to work. But the true adventure of the week is with Older Daughter, who, last Saturday, went ice skating at college and fell and did something or other to her arm. Her right arm, of course, where the shoulder hasn’t been good since a minor car accident four years ago. Her right arm, of course, which she had to use to take finals all week. A visit to the emergency room in Poughkeepsie last Sunday night was not much help. So here was my week:

I spent Monday morning on the phone trying to track down an orthopedist a) who would see her when she got home, and, b) that she would be willing to see, since, after her original shoulder problem wasn’t diagnosed for a few years, she does not have a high opinion of them as a group. Got one.

Tuesday was spent mostly in the car, as described. And now the fun begins.

Because Older Daughter had a final Thursday night and had to be out of her dorm Friday morning and had a useless arm, on Wednesday after work, Younger Daughter and I made the drive up into New York State, filled up the car with all her stuff, and drove it home. Where was Husband in all of this? At the mandatory Christmas party for his new job, which I only escaped because I was spending the evening as a temporary teamster. So we loaded the car, unloaded the car, drove about 65 miles each way, and, in the middle there somewhere, took both my girls and two of Older Daughter’s friends out for dinner. Okay, this was my idea. They were taking finals all week, after all.

Thursday, at work. Older gives a call and gives me her decision: her arm is too painful for her to drive home. We thought it might be, would be, but now she’s up at school with her car. So, for the second night in a row, we drive up there, this time Husband and I, after her final. She comes home in my car, he drives home in hers.

Friday. No work for me today, having called in sick. Older to the orthopedist at 9, from there to get an MRI of her shoulder. And then, an unexpected hour all for me! (I finished my Christmas shopping.)

Saturday – a good one. Older is also having a bone scan, which means she gets an injection of something or other at 10 and then we go back for the scan at 2:30. Which effectively sucks up the day.

Sunday morning. Nothing to do today but decorate the tree and go visit Jack, first stopping to pick up the jar of herring he asked for. Really.

Will I read, will I write? Will I have a moment to call my own until they go back to school? Will I ever get to sit on the couch again, or use the DVD player? All these questions and more will be answered in the upcoming weeks. Same time, same station.

ENTRY #31

They Suck Your Life Right Up

[copied from dland]

It's been a while, and here's why.

They came home from college, both of them. It was wonderful having them here, and I love them so much. Yet ...

They are so incredibly disruptive to the quiet little life we so naturally settled into about five minutes after they both left in August. For all of you out there getting edgy about sending off your youngest to college and falling into that empty nest thing, I am here to tell you that sending both -- or all, whatever -- of your kids away is the most relaxed you will have felt since you got pregnant. When they are gone:

there are no dishes in the sink.

there are clean towels in the bathroom.

there is hardly any garbage to take out.

you can watch whatever you want to on tv.

the phone almost never rings.

no one is coming and going at odd hours.

This one amuses me. Okay, we're hardly late-night-type folks, but when someone is sitting around in her pajamas at nine o'clock on a Saturday night and then leaves for a minute and comes back fully dressed, telling me she's going to a movie and someone's picking her up at 11, I've got to wonder. Their evenings BEGIN at 11:00? By 11, I've usually already slept for an hour or two and am just coming alive for my first bout of insomnia/eating-everything-in-the-kitchen for the night.

But no complaints, really. They came, they went. Aside from their bizarre random moments of sibling rivalry, they got along great, as they always do, and were most pleasant to be with. I made a point last night of telling Older Daughter (while waiting for her 11:00 pickup) that I am proud to be her mother, and that I am proud of the person she has become. Younger Daughter has grown so much while away at school, and I am proud of her too.

And I am proud of me. Thanksgiving is to our family what Christmas is to others: our ultimate coming together, the holiday that means the most to us. Nephews flew in from California, drove down from Boston. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving, all of us there. Except, of course, Shirl. Our first Thanksgiving without Grandma.

We made it.


ENTRY #21