I Never Called Her Grandma

My 60-something year old grandma is my life-line.

 I never have called her grandma though. We had a few years stint where she was "Granny" and "Gran" but somehow along the way it morphed into "Nanny" then just Nan. We are so much alike that sometimes our conversations lead to tears of laughter or exasperated eye rolls at how ridiculous we think the other is being. We both know how to laugh when we really just want to cry, we like to discuss in-depth our life philosophy every day (both of us just as passionate as the day before) and we know how to survive with a bag of flour, milk, and an egg (which by the way Nan..this is what is going to save Reed and I through grad school).

It doesn't matter what my ramblings are about, I know that no matter what Nan will listen to whatever end-of-the-world debacle I am ranting about and always have advice that inevitably ends with "now that's the truth".

I spent quite a spell of my childhood living with my Nan and Pawie in little yellow house about the size of the tiny apartment I live in now. That is why I just smile  and pat Reed on the face when he worries about if I am really OK with how little space we have. Less to clean, is what Nan always said. But it was in that little yellow house that I learned about living. Sometimes bills come and money doesn't. Sometimes things break that can't be fixed.Sometimes you have to wear hand-me-down clothes that belonged to your brother. And sometimes, you have to eat potato soup for a week with or without the band-aid that Pawie occasionally had to put on so his fingernail wouldn't fall off.

So maybe we were poor, but I sure did have fun living there.

Nan worked the late shift at a factory in my home-town, so she was pretty delirious by quitting time at midnight so it was always fun to talk her into doing things. So one Friday night I convinced her we needed to make something together. So we went to the store and searched around the craft section until we found a little ceramic house that looked a lot like the house we lived in. Of course, it was important that we painted that little house as soon as we got home.

To describe the end result in one word: Horrendous.

We painted the house yellow with red (yes red) trim. The branches of the trees that clung to the side of the house were green with random splotches of red and yellow due to one little girl putting too much paint on her brush and one old woman fogged by exhaustion. We still like to laugh about that ugly house we painted. We decided unanimously that was not our calling in life.

But, it wasn't always fun and games with Nan. I remember once a friend and I were determined to not go to Sunday school. So, we rolled around in mud and made sure to get it in between our toes and matted on our hair. We walked into Nan's house triumphantly. Surely we were too much of a mess to go to church. Two swats and a bottle of Suave shampoo later, we were sitting in the first pew singing How Great Thou Art.

As I've grown up our relationship has changed.  She stopped taking care of me as much and started providing me with the tools to take care of myself. I know the exact moment my Nan stopped seeing me as a child. It was when I was about 16 and Nan, realizing that at certain points in a girl's life certain things start to happen she said, "Sex and cussing are habits. Once you start it is hard to stop." Ahh Nan. You were right.

I guess the thing I love about my Nan the most is that no matter what outlandish idea of the week I come up with..she believes I can do it. She thinks everything I write is brilliant. She thinks I'm a good mother. She also thinks I am the most hilarious person in the world. But, the truth is, who I am now is due much to her. Because of her I could probably survive a natural disaster and then come up with some witty joke about it.

And, I'm also positive that nobody else on this earth could watch Steel Magnolias with me 3 times in a row and seriously consider a 4th.

Rainy Days

I wrote this poem on a rainy day when I was working at the courthouse. Today reminds me of that day.

Roses own their beauty

 But I would rather have a seed

 Not to plant or give away

 But to dream of what it could be

 Perhaps a yellow daisy

 Whose petals are complete

 With perfect size and perfect petals

 Like an old friend

 Familiar eyes could greet

 Or maybe a purple lily

 That floats in the breeze

 That could tell a story like a ship

 That has sailed many seas

 Or maybe just a rose

 A simple rose indeed

 Beauty, expected beauty

 I would plant another seed

I never imagined....

Ya know, looking back on my 22.87 years, I never though I would be where I am now.

Ok--so maybe that was a little dramatic, I mean in the big scheme of life 22 years is whatever, but right now...this is probably a big deal.

So ok, I didn't think I would have a kid so young. Wasn't sure if I would ever  be a mother.  Didn't think I would marry so young. Wasn't sure if I ever wanted to be a wife. But....the beard hair on the sink and the action figure I found in the crisper seem to indicate that I am both.

Sometimes I can't help but laugh at who I once was. I remember caring so much about what I wore and how I looked. Now, if I can make it through a day without little cookie crumb hand prints on my back it is a victory. I remember being so embarrassed by forgetting my locker combination and being so late for class that I walked into the wrong room and it took 15 minutes before I realized it. Now, when Keygen runs so fast in the store that his diaper falls down his leg and he proceeds to try to stuff it on a shelf..I just sigh and store it away to tell his girlfriends about. I remember being so impatient with everything. Long lines, sitting on benches,  now that means I have a few precious moments away from potty cheering and folding clothes. Yes, waiting is good. EXCEPT, when we wait on Reed to get out of class and Keygen runs up to any man (and one girl that looked questionable) and says "Pappa? Are you my Pappa?" Most people breezed on by, but one guy looked worried. Probably the best birth control he has come across in a long time. I guess the biggest change is time. I vaguely remember sleeping in, staying up, and being on youtube for hours. Now, my time is not my own. I am accompanied to every bathroom break, I have to stumble over little feet as I try to cook dinner, and I have my own personal alarm clock that seems to go off as soon as his little eyes catch a the smallest hint of daylight. Now, my time is those 20 minutes showers that Reed doesn't understand because, as he boasts, it only takes him 8. Ahh, but even in those precious minutes there is the inevitable little knock at the door. "Mamma gotta poop."

But you know, even though sometimes I miss my old self, there is something about finger painting Keygen's bedroom decor, knowing every word to Toy Story 3 by heart, and dancing around with Keygen and Reed to MC Hammer's Too Legit, that reminds me that it just doesn't get any better than that. And besides, someone has to teach Reed some moves.........Keygen is a very patient teacher.