For my first song on my first ever playlist on my new awesome phone it had to be Ylvis.
But to be honest it was a toss up between “The Fox” and “Someone Like Me“, equally weird and great.
Second song on gmom’s awesome playlist, Hoo’s favorite, ” Blurred Lines” uncensored. Hey hey hey….Hey hey hey…
Third song, “Hallelujah”, Jeff Buckley version, natch.
Fourth, Alter Bridge, “Watch Over You“.
What’s on your playlist????
This is gmom and Hoo.
Livin’ the dream on the Potomac.
Can Hoo get more awesome?
Three years old already.
Where does the time go.
The Chef, The Professor and Bart the biofuel guy.
3 of my children.
Now the big boys.
Yesterday they were kicking each others legos over and fighting like crazy midgets.
Now Chef is a daddy. Professor is soon to be a daddy and Bart is getting married come summer 2013.
Whew it was a long haul with those three plus the girls.
I don’t miss those years.
But being a grandma is quite precious.
I am grateful for every crayoned sticky wrinkled work of art Hoo presents and I hang it proudly on the refrigerator door.
This is gmom,
Quite easy (sort of).
Fan out the lettered tiles in front of your 2 year old.
Point out letter “A ” and repeat frantically “A A A A…”
Encourage 2-year-old to find the same letter while dangling a blue ice pop over his head.
Give lots of praise when child inadvertently gets letter correct.
Show lots of patience when 2-year-old throws tiles into the air,
puts tiles into nose and down his shirt.
Continue until child’s nap time or until you reconsider sending child to pre-pre-pre-K.
Be ready for alternate creative play preferably including feet.
By the way, I’m the Grandmom.
The mom in the picture is my daughter now in nursing school.
She turned out alright even though the raising of her was
not so much a loving mom and child but more like a hostage situation.
This is gmom.
Living the dream.
Hoo the “Merchant of Good Cheer”.
This is gmom,
Rose. Age 21. Daughter number 3, sixth child.
Fell off a moped during the final afternoon of labor day beach vacation.
Broke both right forearm bones.
” Road Rash” up and down her legs.
Drove her back to Baltimore to Union Memorial Hospital and the best upper extremity surgeons on the East Coast.
Now she has some hardware in her arm. A plate, pins and screws pulling the broken pieces all together. It’s been a long couple of weeks.
Before her surgery, she cried. I spoke softly to her and said the prayers from her childhood to comfort her.
After her surgery I slept by her. Gave her the pain medications, help her with all her needs, took her to the doctor and made repeated calls to him when she had questions.
I wiped her tears as she saw the track surgical scar run down her arm and the new shape of the back of her hand.
I handled the insurance company, her school medical leave letters and hooked her up with a decent physical therapist.
Now it’s 3 weeks post-op and the girl is back to normal.
Offended if I ask her if she wants me to cut a tag off the back of her shirt.
The cuddle-muffin who lay in my bed night after night is angry that I appeared at her PT appointment.
Miss Independent is back and I am left wondering if that momentary bond we shared when she was in pain and scared ever really happened.
Hoo started to attend a Montessori daycare program.
Can you say “Baby Yoga”?
It’s a step up from his earlier daycare to be sure.
Great facility, well run with trained staff.
Could we ask for more? Uh uh.
His late afternoon caregiver is a very serious Russian woman who takes her responsibilities very seriously.
Each day I get a “poop-report”.
How Hoo napped, what and with whom he played with and his general disposition.
Today when I picked him up she gravely intoned in her deep Russian accented voice,
“Hoo deed not eet hees lunch. Hoo only eht hees rahzohns.”
She somberly shook her head.
He only ate his raisins?
I’m not quite sure what to do with this information,
but it sounds like Hoo is off to the gulag if he doesn’t get his noon chow down.
Say something Cujo
For the second time in as many weeks a young woman showed up unannounced at my door. The first time she came she said she was returning a CD that was borrowed long ago. She lingered (in the middle of my workday) until finally I asked her if she was running away from home. Lingering? I don’t know what to do with. Running away? I can handle. She left quickly after I asked. My kids always say I’m too blunt.
Today when she showed up there was no CD to return. It was just her.
“Running away again?”
Can I just come in for a while. I just need a place to cry and have some quiet.
I sat with her for a moment while she pet ‘Cujo The Dog’.
“Do you want to talk?”
No, but can Cujo stay with me?
I showed her to the den, gave her a box of tissues and a drink. She patted the couch next to her and Cujo jumped up and settled in by her side (traitor). Furry traitor.
About 2 hours later I heard her call to me that she was leaving. She smiled as she bid her farewell to ‘Cujo The Dog’.
I don’t get it. Cujo is alright as dogs go but when I share my problems with him he lies on the floor and puts his head under the couch.
“Hey, You’re suppose to be helping me here, not hiding under the couch!”
Oh well, that’s life in the fast lane. What we can’t do for each other we can sometimes do for a stranger.
This is gmom and Cujo ( The Traitor Dog),