Two Brave Souls Joined Forever

This picture of my friend as she makes sure that her sweet boy captures every last bit of love he can before he receives his Angel wings. 

No mother has more love for her child than one who will comfort her child as he slips away from constant, excruciating pain caused by the monster known as Leukodystrophy.  Leukodystrophy crushed his milestones and replaced them with pain.  Throughout his short life, he didn't question why he could no longer run and play like other boys; he only brought thousands of people together to fight this insidious monster.  There is no cure and because this is considered a rare disorder, the research goes on better known diseases. 

His mom is my hero, because in spite of her pain of watching her sweet boy die, she has reached back to help my family on our journey.  You see, this will be our fate in a short time.  The Grandlove will be the little boy in the bed receiving the last bit of love we can give him before his time on Earth is gone. 

Thank you, Tadan and Carisa for seeing beyond your pain and helping so many others.

MOM: A Slice of America's History

Some years ago, I took my mom to the movies and I was entertained by a wonderful story that wasn't delivered through the movie projector. Nonchalantly, she turned to me at the end of the movie, "You know, I tried out to play when I was young."

Fascinated, I encouraged her to share this unknown chapter of her life.

Growing up in a large family, my mom was very active. She played baseball with her brothers, cousins and sisters to pass the time. Pitching and hitting proved to be something my mom enjoyed and excelled in. When the scouts for the all girls' baseball team came around, my mom and her best friend tried out.

I can just imagine how excited my mom and Dorothy were to prove their talents to the scouts. At this point my mom and her friend had grown up in the country and their whole lives were spent very close to home. My mom's competitive nature was an asset. At the end of the try-outs, Mom had made the cut, but not her friend. Friendship loyalty was the deciding factor when Mom turned down the offer; if her friend couldn't go, then she'd stay behind.

Mom stayed best friends with Dorothy through many decades. I wonder how different her life would have been if she would have seen the world with Dorothy, while playing a sport she adored. Obviously, I wouldn't be here, probably, as I doubt that she would have married my father if she had seen the world a bit more.

My mom's story stayed silent within me, until I was walking with her and the rehab nurse after her difficult heart surgery. Mom looked so weak and frail, with that "grabber" belt around her waist, paper-thin skin stretched across her knuckles as she gripped the walker and her thin white hair. I could see the way the young nurse looked at my mom and she didn't know the warrior that was deep inside my mom. Out came the story of trying out and making the baseball team. My mom walked a little taller, smiled a little brighter and her blue eyes sparkled with the memories of that dusty summer day when she was strong and young. I was able to change the nurse's perception of Mom, with just that simple story. Hope surfaced and surrounded us in that hall and Mom began to remember the buried inner strength she needed for her recovery.

Every day, I would call on that warrior spirit within her and not let her quit. She never gave up on me and I knew that I wouldn't let her quit, either. Her strength was regained and her spirit became hopeful and determined. We had better times ahead and I know that having that story helped in so many ways.

Whenever I see "A League of Their Own" I remember that my mom was good enough to make the team, but there was another plan for her life.

Earlier Valentine Memories: Join in the journey

When I was in grade school, I remember being given red construction paper, lace doilies, glue and a shoe box. No specific instructions, except to have fun making a valentine's mailbox for my desk. Cutting that stiff red paper and shaping it around the lid and box was not as much fun as gluing on those paper, heart-shaped doilies. By the end of the activity, our class was abuzz with the excitement of the upcoming silly holiday.


Everyone would get a card and so that meant you had to sign your name over twenty times. Pacing yourself during this activity was the wise way to go. Write a few cards and nibble on a candy. By the end of the time, cards would be finished and your supply of "sharing candy" sampled for quality.

Candy message hearts tasted like hard toothpaste, but it was fun sharing them with friends. Back then, the messages were simple, not like now with technology finding its way onto those sugary messages with things like LOL, JK and BFF.

Finally, on the fourteenth, cards were distributed into the fancy shoe boxes on our desks and party food was served. Opening cards, while eating cupcakes and drinking punch always seemed to work, until someone would spill their punch and make a huge mess. It wouldn't be an elementary party without someone spilling their drink, now would it?

Going home with the card-stuffed box, was always double fun, because my mom would read each card and I would tell her about the person. I got to enjoy the holiday a little longer with the person who loved me first.

Happy Valentines' Day to everyone and all you love.


FUN FERRET FACTS: When considering a ferret for a pet, it's best to get two ferrets. They need the company. Before you settle on the gender, know that it doesn't matter if you get male or female, but make sure that they are neutered first. Leave the reproduction to the experts.

GREEN THUMBS: sometimes they just mold

I saw this cartoon and was reminded of my love/hate relationship of everything green. From my earliest days, I remember my mom and her ability to make anything she stuck in dirt develop into the best example of its kind. It didn't matter if it was a tree destined to become a beautiful display of lilac blooms or a delicate, pole-supported orchid. She could take a plant, that most people would discard and nurse it back to health. Before you knew it, that scrawny, limp-leaved, dried-out plant was on the window sill and showing off its new blooms and leaves. You could almost see the smiles on the plants that had been rescued and revived by my mom. In her latter years, I think that she took it on as a challenge. "How much is that pitiful plant? It probably will die." Securing the African Violet for a pittance, she would take it home, where she would repot it, feed it, and give it a good drink of vitamin water. Then within a short time, that plant would join its new siblings who decorated the shelves near the window, having forgotten its near death experience.

When my mom finally went to her Heavenly Garden, I gave away some of her plants and took home just a few. I don't know how the other ones did, but I am here to tell you that even though I have inherited many things from my mom, unfortunately her green thumb wasn't one of them.

More memory treasures

I remember back when I was small watching my brother spend hours with his comic book collection. Glancing over his shoulder, I queried, "How do you know which pictures you look at next?" To my young eye, there were a bunch of boxes and colorful drawings in each and I didn't understand what order I was to direct my eyes.

Being who he was, he huffed,"When you know how to read, you follow the words."

I was now determined to learn to read, so that I could enjoy his comic books. My mom assisted me in this quest, by reading to me everyday and supplying me with those precious Golden Books. One of my favorite books was "Nurse Nancy" because it came with its own small supply of band aides in the back. I also loved "Little Black Sambo", "Pokey Little Puppy" and "Cinderella."

At the time she worked in the stockroom of Woolworth. For those younger than me, let me just say that Woolworth was like a Walmart, only cooler. There was a lunch counter, anything you might need for the house and best of all a toy department that was like a little girl's dream come true.

My mom got to see all the newest toys, before they even made it downstairs. Everything from the upstairs stockroom was moved by way of the conveyor belt. I can still see those rollers and the thick, black rubber mat that slide around them. Sometimes, I even got to push the big red button to make it start moving. It would sort of jump and then the rollers moved the belt in its never ending journey.

On rare occasions I got to go with my mom to her work (now I wonder if it was a necessity or just because she wanted to take me.) I was a social kid and all the people who worked there seemed to enjoy the time I spent with them. At break time we would eat at the lunch counter and I remember the paper straws in the coke glasses and watching the lunch lady make up the toast for the sandwiches. Funny how that same meal tasted better there than at home.

I was happy hanging out with my mom and didn't fully appreciate the hard labor involved with lifting of the heavy cardboard cartons and standing all day long on the cement floor price marking the merchandise. Back then everything had its own price tag, because there wasn't such a thing as bar codes and scanners to read them.

When I was six, hula-hoops were a huge craze and the manager of the store had me demonstrate them in front of the store. I was able to keep quite a few going at one time and for years afterward, my mom would tell that story with pride in her voice. Each time she told the story throughout the years, the number of hula-hoops I spun grew but I never corrected her.

When I first started this writing it was going to be about my love for reading, but somehow it morphed into something else. I know that my love for reading is entwined with my love for my mom, because she encourage my exploring worlds through words. No wonder that I spent most of my teaching years sharing that love of the written word with my students.

I have a tee-shirt that has a funny picture on the front of a lady sitting by a huge stack of books and the words, "There is no such thing as too many books." I totally agree with that, with one caveat, when you are moving there are TOO MANY DARN BOOKS to carry.

Where is my mom when I really need her?

When I started my life I had a great teacher, my mom. Throughout my life, my mom taught me many things, sometimes without even either one of us aware of the process. She taught me what it is to be a giving, caring mother. Unfortunately, I wasn't really paying close attention to when she was a mother-in-law to my husband. Sure, I was present, but I was too busy trying to keep both of them happy to realize that my mom had been given the task of trying not to interfer, judge and sometimes strangle my husband.

I dearly love my husband, in spite of his shortcomings. The Husband store was out of the "perfect" husband and so I got what was on the shelf that day. Lucky for me, the Wife store was also out of "perfect" wives, so my husband chose me. When my mother would point out the lack of some "talent" I would take the defensive stand and tension between the two of us would set in. Don't get me wrong, my mother grew to dearly love my husband, even while she still pointed out how our life could be easier/better/nicer (pick one) if only my husband would...(you get it, right?)

Now my role has changed, my mom is gone and I am now the dreaded MOTHER-In-LAW. Being a mom wasn't all that difficult for me, actually. But when you add those last two words (In Law) it's then that I find myself on a slippery slope. My daughter has been married for a couple of years, so I thought being the MIL would get easier; boy was I wrong. Now, add a grandchild into the mix and bammo I get another role, Grandmother!

Keeping the proper distance is difficult, as I usually speak my mind and being a MIL and Grandmother causes me to bite my tongue very often. Whenever I find myself wanting to make a "suggestion for your own good" I actually think I hear my mom laughing from Heaven. I didn't realize how much control she had, because looking back on our lives, I would imagine that Mom could have really said MUCH more than she did.

Thanks, Mom for being there and not saying ALL that you could have. My failures and successes in life have both taught me so much. Being a MIL and grandmother will push the limits of my patience, love and control.

Isn't life great. I wouldn't trade my new responsibilities for all the tea in China.