Today was meant to be in honor of Grandma: an amazing woman, who gave tirelessly to those around her, who taught me patience (still trying to get that one down), forgiveness (well, I’m getting there), and perseverance (A+ in this one). In a nutshell, my grandmother passed away at the age of 92, almost 93. She lived a long and wonderful life. She had a horrible type of cancer that could have been very painful and prolonged. She passed away quickly, peacefully. And for that I am grateful.
I have a hundred memories of her that demand my attention. Like the way she always made me pancakes in the shape of gingerbread men with hats. (Of course this stopped as I grew older.) Or how she would always whip out a map whenever I was talking about somewhere I was going or had been. Or how she seemed to know something about almost everything; there was always a story connected to a story connected to yet another story, which leads me to believe she had quite a bit to do with my love of stories. (Verbage: very Grandma.) Mostly, that in that house I was always loved unconditionally. Because of this, I set out today with a mind to do things that would honor my grandmother, whatever they might be.
I got up early. (Very grandma.) I was in the car, organized, packed (kids take a special kind of organization) and on our way by 9am. (On time, again, very grandma.) We were on our way to see a friend I haven’t seen since before Christmas. I was going to have big girl time for the first time in weeks. My daughter, however, wasn’t going to be having any of it.
OK. So she’s 15 months old, and to some of you that might seem harmless, but she’s smart and strong willed (Gee! Wonder where she gets THAT from!) and in trying to be a sensible parent I am trying to teach about choices. (And trust me, I am not a monster, and she does get it.)
It started with breakfast. My little terrific eater turned passive aggressive, almost sensing things weren’t all about her. Getting dressed turned downright ugly. I couldn’t get anything warm on the kid other than a pair of tights and a long sleeved shirt. She screamed for her red boots versus the warm comfy (yet not as fashionable) boots I would have picked. Not wanting to fight, I finally gave in and let her do it, knowing if we were lucky it would be zero degrees out today. And so this is how things actually went:
Once outside and walking around my daughter started screaming because she was cold. (Go figure.) We went inside to change her diaper and she let me put her warm clothes on. (Of course I took them with me! What kind of person do you think I am?) Once warm and cozy she proceeds to run amok through the department store we happened to be in. Not usually a problem, however, any time I tried to re-direct her she screamed.
Now, my daughter doesn’t have any ordinary scream. She never has. In fact, the day she was born she knew she could scream like the best actress in a horror flick about to be killed, only my daughter is by far more convincing. Long story short, a lot of people came rushing down aisles to make sure everything was ok. Some realized it as a tantrum, others saw me as a devil. I really didn’t get the chance to catch up with my friend, and once we were in the car and on our way back home the kid started giggling and babbling like it was the best thing ever. (Insert own perceptions here.)
As a result I am exhausted. Homage to Grandma hasn’t really gone very far and the most I could do for her today was light a few candles under the Virgin Mary in the Paderborn Dom for her. I am drinking wine (so not Grandma) and ignoring a pile of laundry (again, not Grandma) but considering making a cake on Sunday for the family (back to being very Grandma). The best thing I can say is this; “I love you. And I know you are with me regardless of what happens”.