summers with mommy

I'd like to take this moment.. er, blog post, to reflect on a bundle of memories I have from when I'd spend summer weeks at my grandparents' home as a little girl.

"Mommy" is my late grandmother. She's was the most graceful, witty, classy, comforting, amazing woman I had the chance to know and love as a child/young woman.

During some weeks in the summer, I'd stay with my grandparents. Not always by necessity, but often just because I loved to be there.
As technology-dependent as I am presently, I love to remember that this was before the internet, cell phones, text messaging, ten million kid channels on television, video games (to the extent they've become), even pagers. It was my"good old days".

One memory that sticks out is sitting in my mommy's wooden, cushioned rocker while she sat on a stool behind me, braiding my long blond hair. Usually, the kitchen's window air conditioning unit was on full-blast (I always loved the smell of it). My Grandaddy would have the television up full-volume either on the local news station or one of the 'stories' (soap operas) he watched faithfully for the last 15 or so years, and still does today.
I'd sit up perfectly straight, all knees and elbows. I'd be the most peaceful and comforted I really felt so closely in those days.

Sometimes, mommy would half a grapefruit between the two of us, sprinkling it with salt. Big spoon in hand, I'd shovel bits of the tart and juicy fruit into my mouth, getting a spoonful here and there of all juice and salt -- savoring it's unique taste - savoring this unique moment in time.

After lunch some days, after we'd all eaten to our heart's content mommy's delicious southern meal, Grandaddy and I would take a short drive to the quickie store. Usually, this followed after mommy said with a smile "I want something sweet" followed by a look over at me for the "ooh me too!" grin of agreeance. Not too long after, Grandaddy and I took off in his sparkling blue Mercury. Our sweet tooth cure of choice would either be candy bars; a snickers bar for mommy, 3 musketeers for me, payday for Grandaddy. Or a pint of Kinnett ice cream each; butter pecan for mommy, chocolate for me, vanilla for grandaddy.

If we wanted something else to do, we played Rummy, Yahtzee, checkers. My Grandaddy has a checker set that looked sort of royal in a sense.
I'd look at my mommy's sewing box - full of objects colorful, small, smaller. I'd gaze through her thimble collection, taking in the words etched ontp the sides, twisting them around and around my small fingertips.
Grandaddy would sing to me in the swing on their front porch - the green grass grows all around all around, the green grass grows all around.

Some Sunday mornings, my Grandaddy walked up the small hill across from their house to go to church. He walked alone, bible in hand, in his button-up shirt. I'd watch him walk.

Mommy would speak of Patsy Cline -- where had the music gone to these days?

She told me of her father, what a hard-working, handsome and wonderful man he was. He held me when I was 6 weeks old and died shortly after.

Those long days of Summer never left my memory. I can almost hear the hum of the air conditioner, taste my mommy's buttered toast & sugary coffee just thinking about it.

I harbor a love that still pulses through my bloodstream, much like her strong features softened by a delicate smile.

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beginning to look a lot like..

I refuse to let another day pass without blogging. I've got to have something to say, right?

So here I sit in my cozy black recliner, laptop on.. laptop, headphones securely in ears, The Cure's homesick playing just as loud and beautiful as can be. My tater tot is staying with his grandma tonight, so hubby and I had an evening to ourselves consisting largely of strolling Target's toy aisles. Santa's shopping mission: complete.
Shew.

Christmas is so stressful.

And the obligatory family gatherings, I won't even get started on that.

Not that much can beat that, but the most frustrating factor is funding. I don't have extra cash to spend the other 364 days of the year, so for what reason would I magically have the extra cash for Christmas time? It's baffling. So we sit and plan and scrape and figure out ways to manage, to spread our money as thin as a silk thread - all in the name of December 25th.
Any other meaning is and has been, sort of lost.
Who am I to bitch, though? I've already spent over $120 on my 22-month old and November isn't over yet. But.. it's fun when they're little, I say. I love the excitement. But do I want my son associating the holidays with big ticket items, hence money? Gifts, I want-I want, presents, selfishness? Where's the life lesson in that? And how to integrate it? I worry all the time over instilling the important things in him. I want to him to grow into a compassionate, grateful, giving human being. (only to be thrown into a world that will let him down and people who will make him cry! .. ahem, sorry. inner pessimist)
I can't raise him not to look forward to Christmas for reasons like toys and candy, either. It's everywhere. What's a mom to do?
Someone special once gave me a printed quote by an unknown source which still hangs on my fridge - "There is no way to be a perfect mother, but a million ways to be a good one." So I'll do what I can and be a good one.

See how easily I can overanalyze a holiday and associate it with possible parenting gone wrong? I'm good, I tell you.

And we haven't even gotten through Thanksgiving yet. Bring on the turkey, I'm ready. Nothing I can obsess over teaching my tater tot wrong on Turkey Day, right? Cranberry sauce is good, gravy is good, stuffing is good...

All we can really do is keep the few wonderful people in our inner circles, breathe, and by God- listen to good music.

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