Category — family
May you be a straight shooter like your Uncle Adam, my little man.
(But maybe without the pop culture knowledge…)
That Uncle Adam, he’s really mixing up the gene pool.
Sometimes when your dad and I talk about what you’ll be like, your dad says,
You never know…I mean, you’ve got some of Adam’s genes in you…
Don’t get me wrong, your Uncle Adam’s got some great qualities–he’s quite funny, definitely fun-loving, surprisingly tender-hearted, ambitious (in the anything-to-get-rich way…a pro and con perhaps?), highly loyal (if he liked you in the first place), adventurous, and quite the charming little social butterfly when he wants to be.
But man, he gave your grandparents a run for their money.
Quite the dare devil that one was.
Maybe let’s just leave it at that. I don’t want you getting any ideas.
Come to think of it, we might have to seclude you from Uncle Adam for the teen years…it just might be too risky.
Since we’re talking about Uncle Adam, we might as well publicly wish him happy birthday.
He turned 31 yesterday.
But I think you’ll still think he’s cool.
But not too cool, ok?
Mama doesn’t want to relive those teen years.
March 20, 2013 4 Comments
So the other day I was having one of my classically morbid spells, guilting my husband into getting on top of scheduling this colonoscopy that he’s been dragging his heels on. I was being all I don’t want to raise this child alone and he was all ok, ok, I know (code for just stop nagging me. I already know I need to do it and I feel bad that I’ve put it off this long, but it’s a pain).
In the midst of my morbid moment, I told him, You know if something did happen to one of us, I’d be easier to replace than you would. Oh course he chuckled in his gracious way, just like he does when I insist (genuinely too, not for show) that he’s a better person than I am, and refuted me like always.
I was relaying this conversation to my mom for some reason the other day. Initially she was all over him about the colonoscopy…this coming from the woman who just had surgery last summer to remove a pre-cancerous growth on her colon…Oh he’s gotta do it. You tell him, he better get it done soon. Polyps grow quickly you know. You tell him I said so…
Then I move along to the second part of the conversation…So I told him, “You know, if something did happen to one of us, I would be easier to replace than you would” and she immediately jumps in, no pause even for me to relay Jerome’s sweet refute. Oh definitely. I agree with you, she says.
I chuckled to myself and tried to reframe it back to her in a playful way that would make her feel that motherly guilt for knocking her own child, like the time back in college when she told me I “had a more womanly figure now” and I reframed it to say that my own mother called me fat. That one worked. This one? Not so much.
Thanks mom, so you’re saying that I would be easy to replace? And again with the immediacy and total seriousness she responds, Oh yes. And then she starts on a little rant about how there are so few good men out there and so many of them are just selfish and there are so many nice, lovely single women but no solid men and I should be so grateful that I was lucky enough to find Jerome in college and just what a sweetheart he is and do I know how good I have it and all that jazz.
I was listening while licking my wounds and reflecting on the fact that I am certainly not my mother’s favorite. And I wasn’t even beat out by one of her other children.
Jerome, you little snake.
She’s so precious though. I just can’t hold it against her.
Besides, she’s right.
March 19, 2013 3 Comments
Dear Lil’ G,
Lil’ G…that’s your first nickname. It’s what your dad and I have called you since before you were ever conceived, the way we referenced our future children long before we were ready to actually form them.
This is my first letter to you. It feels a little funny to write to you already, you little banana of a being.
I want so many things for you. Probably too many. I’m going to be that helicopter parent that drives me crazy at school. The one forcing you to read on vacation and signing you up for every sport and enrichment activity under the sun. Your dad will temper me though. He’s the sane one. Level-headed and calm. Plus, he’s where you’ll get your brains if you’re a brainy one. All cute and nerdy with a side part and elastic-bottom pants like your dad.
When we had our first ultrasound, you had little cysts on your brain. They assured us you would most likely be fine and the odds were that the cysts would resolve on their own. But they also told us that they could be an indicator of a chromosomal disorder. I knew the odds were in our favor, but I was still a little nervous. Your dad assured me all would be clear. I said, “I know, but it’s just I really want him to be perfect.” Your dad said, “Well, I can tell you now, he won’t be perfect. But he’ll be fine.”
Welcome to the story of your life.
For your whole life, I think I’ll be wanting you to be perfect, pushing you to be perfect and your dad will patiently remind me that you’re fine, just fine how you are.
I promise I will try to relax though, try to just let you be and let you navigate the world in your own way, not mine. Dad will help me, don’t worry. He’s a better person than I am. But we both love you already.
March 4, 2013 6 Comments
Yikes! We be all growed up now.
February 8, 2013 10 Comments