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Posts Tagged ‘Grandparents!’

May the wind be at your back, and all that. I’m keeping it short today since I’m back in the Music City. We’ve got our green on and I cooked up some corned beef and cabbage for the medical duo. Our mission for today is to find this little Love Bug a high chair. Could a baked potato be in her future?

The Flapper gave me many tips for baby care when she came to visit the newborn Bride. The one I took to heart was that you should feed a baby a potato a day. I figure that one got off the boat from County Mayo with an Irish ancestor.

So top ‘o the mornin to you and yours. It seems our little Bug is settling into a pair of big Irish green eyes, and her hair is turning copper if you ask me. We’re letting her Mama finish her charts from yesterday. Waiting patiently since we’re headed to brunch with the girls.

Happy Saint Paddy’s day! Go get your green on and do a little jig!

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There is a time for FIRSTs
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And TEN toes
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To lay back in the END ZONE
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Due to UNNECESSARY CUTENESS
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Tis the season. Cookie baking is in full swing and potato pancakes are about to be fried all over the world. Usually I dread this time of year. I gave up Christmas when I married Bob and tried to make Hanukka fun, while keeping some of my tradition – latke parties, M&M dreidel games, Santa delivering a present on Christmas morning. Santa was the one childhood memory I would not do without. But when I happily brought the young Bride to her very first Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular, I gave up. Her reaction as we left the theatre, was sobbing about how there was absolutely NO mention of Hanukka anywhere! Christmas wins every time.
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But this year it’s getting better. I’ve given up the fight for a religion-neutral holiday season. I smile when strangers wish me a “Merry Christmas.” I will even say it right back at them. And I won’t be alone while Bob goes off to save lives. This year I’ll be taking care of the Love Bug while the Bride and her Groom are busy saving lives. I’ll have a comrade in arms, literally!

The Emergency Department (yes everyone, it’s a department, not a room according to Bob) Holiday party was last night, and everyone had a genuinely good time. I met a chatty cardiologist and a new NP from Alaska, jumped for joy with a fellow author/nurse who is about to be published (Bravo Pat!), patted the pregnant belly of the best mom/NICU nurse/friend, and danced my little feet off. The food was good and the wine was served in very small glasses. The only hitch came when we were playing a memory game, and Bob thought the picture of a Christmas tree ornament looked like a bomb. Well in his defense it was round, with a string.

I’ve ordered some actual paper pictures to be printed at CVS for the Ireland Christmas package, and I found this one of the Rocker and Aunt Cait, so I had to include it here. Peaceful wishes for a happy holiday season y’all! photo

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My Mother, the Flapper was also known as Grandma Gi. In order to provide for her family, she worked as a bookkeeper for many years. Widowed three times, she adored President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. In fact, his picture hung in our kitchen, right next to the Crucifix. When she traveled to the Berkshires to help me with the newborn Bride, she was a retired 70 year old. Because Gi was a radically committed, life-long smoker, and Dr Bob knew about the hazards of second-hand smoke before the Surgeon General, she was banished to the porch for her bi-hourly habit. Now Septembers can get mighty cold in MA. This is why you see her holding my baby, over 30 years ago, wearing a face mask. Gi, aka the Flapper, had contracted pneumonia and had to return to her Condo on the Lake.

Lucky for me, I never smoked and my only banishment, while visiting the new Love Bug, was to my beautifully appointed, upstairs suite for sleep. I’m recounting those first few days in Nashville, because yesterday I had lunch with friends and happily offered up the replay. How I looked into my Grand Daughter’s eyes and saw the Bride. Like a beautiful work of art, after decades of overpaint, varnish, dirt and maybe even cigarette smoke is removed by a master restorer, I could glimpse the brush strokes of the original artist. Dark, and soulful, inquisitive and beckoning, her eyes spoke to me. And looking back through the lens of time, I could feel the steely determination of my Mother, to walk again when she was told she would be in a wheelchair for life. The utter devotion of my Nana, who held me tight, saving my life when a drunk driver rammed into our car in 1949. The unequivocal righteousness of my Great Grandmother, who sheltered coal miners and marched for their rights, even though she herself could not yet vote. Little Love Bug, I am happy to report that our President is soaring ahead in the polls on the women’s vote in this battleground state.
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And it’s not just because the President knows our Constitution backwards and forwards, and wants to keep government and religion separate, thereby protecting our reproductive rights. “Women registered voters trust Obama more than they do Romney to handle the economy, 52 to 39 percent.” FDR came from a wealthy family, yet he understood that government needs to care for 100% of its citizens and he almost singlehandedly pulled our country out of the Great Depression. I’m thinking I may have to frame a picture of Obama for our kitchen. L’Shana Tovah to our Jewish friends and family too.

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There’s a very old Yiddish tale about a poor family who lived in a very small house. The couple had their 6th baby and the stress and the noise was bothering the husband. He couldn’t study the Torah let alone hear himself think. Finally his wife told him to go see the Rabbi, he’d know what to do.

The Rabbi said, “Do you own a cow?” the man said he did, and the Rabbi told him to bring the cow into the kitchen. Grumbling all the way home, the man did as he was told and led the cow into the kitchen. The next day he went back to the Rabbi and said it was only worse with his cow in the kitchen.

The Rabbi said, “Do you own some goats?” So the Rabbi told the man to bring the goats into the kitchen. This would help the cow to feel at home. The man did as he was told and the next day he went back to the Rabbi complaining that things were getting even worse. What should he do?

The Rabbi said, “Do you own any chickens?” The Rabbi promised the man that things would get better if he brought the chickens into the kitchen. What could the poor man do, he went and followed the Rabbi’s advice. Now he had his whole barnyard of animals in his kitchen and he thought to himself life couldn’t get any worse. So the next day he went back to the Rabbi.

“What have you done to me, Rabbi?” he cried. “It’s awful. I did what you told me and the animals are all over the house! Rabbi, help me!” So one by one the Rabbi told him to take the animals out of the house. First the cow, then the goats and finally the chickens…the chickens were out of the kitchen.

The next day the man came running back to the Rabbi again. “O Rabbi,” he said with a big smile on his face, “we have such a good life now. The animals are all out of the house. The house is so quiet and we’ve got room to spare! What a joy!”

This is what it’s like when you start a new family. Relatives come from near and far, friends bring frozen enchilada casseroles and cake. And then, after awhile, the chickens are out of the kitchen. The little family can breathe a big sigh of relief and get back to finding the joy in simple things…like naps, and dog walks, and bubble baths. And kissing baby toes, and eyes and ears, and…wait a minute. Is that a giraffe in my crib?

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While you were watching the GOP Convention, I was snuggling my newborn Grand Daughter. Let’s pretend that she’s sitting in a chair…I know I know, she can’t sit up yet. But we are pretending.

“What’s that you say? You thought this whole outside the womb thing was going to be a piece of cake. I know. I know. Living is hard work. You’ve got to cry to get what you want.”

“No, no I wouldn’t want that. An outstanding public school system is hard to find in this holler. Relax, private schools have everything you’ll ever need.”

“Oh sure, Montessori is great to start. I forgot, you’ve got five years to worry about school. Let’s just try sleeping through the night first. But take your time, no rush, try not to worry so much.”

“Who were they? They are your other set of Grandparents. You are a very lucky girl, you have two sets of them and a matched pair of Great Grandparents. Now here’s the trick with us, we are all pretty crazy about you. Any little thing you want…well once you can talk. Anything you want, you just have to ask.”

“No, no you can’t have five houses. What would you do with so many homes? You’d what? No,,,that’s just out of the question, it’s not practical. Think about all the cleaning staff you’d need.”

“That’s right. For now, all you need is love. And believe me, this home is filled to overflowing.”

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Here is a picture of Ms Bean this morning, waiting patiently. She is waiting for me to get up, to feed her, to let her out, to pick up her totally demolished Lambie Pie and throw it high in the air so she can jump up and catch it on the fly, thereby exhibiting her long, gorgeous GoGo Gadget legs. She is waiting for Bob to reappear at the door, for the wind to die down so she can go out and look for him. She is waiting for me to drop a little crumb of my granola breakfast since it looks like I’m not moving anytime soon. She is wondering if there is any trace of rabbit or deer in the front yard under her favorite viburnum. She is wondering what I’m looking at. Just because her collar is askew and her ears are floppy doesn’t mean she’s not very particular. She is. She is particularly good at waiting.

Ms Bean’s humans are not quite so patient. Can you guess what we’re waiting for?

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