So anyone that knows me, really really knows me, knows how much I HATE cleaning. I will do laundry all day long. I will take care of the children. I will drive a thousand miles. I will cook a humongous feast. But clean? I would rather have my teeth pulled.
So here I am, on hands and knees, scrubbing my kitchen floor. Mr. Clean and some hot water, a fresh sponge... and here comes my husband. Jake says, "Daddy, I need to go poop." I translate for Daddy from the floor. On my hands and knees. Scrubbing.
"Are you going to let him poop his pants?" My loving amazing wonderful husband asks me.
SERIOUSLY??? Did you miss the part where I am SCRUBBING the kitchen floor on my HANDS & KNEES??? You look so busy in your sweatpants, let me get right up and take our son to the toilet.
Ok. I am done ranting now. Thank you.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Grandma TwoTwo
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
She was a beautiful person. She loved the LORD with her whole heart and her greatest concern was that her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren know and love Him also. I remember as a little girl going to her house and she would always give us tiny bibles. The kind you might pass out on the street. I loved that.
I have few memories of her. Most are from being small. I remember sewing a small pillow with her and my cousin T when we were little girls, I was less than 5 years old, as I recall my parents were married and my grandma lived in San Diego at the time. I also remember when she moved to Arizona. Her house was this enchanted desert oasis in my eyes. I remember when it was empty, and my parents and brother and I helped them move in. I remember later, swimming in the pool, and the sign I always found so funny- We don't swim in your toilet, Don't pee in our pool! I remember my pink Lake Havasu sun hat my parents bought me when we went to visit. I remember a bajillion people gathered in her house, the homey chaos was comforting and something I now cherish in my own home. I remember her Christmas village set up in the front window, with the blazing desert sun shining in- that odd juxtaposition of a snow covered village with bundled up ice skaters on the frozen mirror pond against the window overlooking the Arizona landscape with cacti and rocks and rabbits and quail on the front lawn. I remember the oatmeal cream sandwich cookies she kept stocked on the counter. Her windbreaker jackets she seemed to have every color of. Her short grey hair. Her giant glasses. Her thin cigarettes. I remember playing poker at her dining table with mounds of pennies and dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. I remember her being the glue of the family, a solid foundation for our large tribe. There was a distinct smell of grandma's house. I haven't smelled it in many many years, but if I ever caught a whiff, I would be transported to her kitchen, sitting at the counter watching her talk and work. I like to think that my dad has her sweet demeanor. He has a lot of his father in him, but I see her in his eyes. No matter what happened in her life, she always had that sweetness about her. This unshakeable love that emanated from her.
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
I was already grieving the loss of a loved one, and I believe I was numb to the fact that she was gone. Four years ago, my grandfather joined her. This opened the wound of losing her fresh. So much time wasted. Time I could have spent getting to know her, listening to stories, learning from her. Instead I retreated into myself, shy and awkward with my father's family because of things my mother told me. I miss her everyday. I think of all the things she could have taught me, had I been willing to be open, to listen, to ASK.
She was such a beautiful woman, loving mother, doting grandmother... She was one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She would give everything she had to help someone out. She did everything she could to keep her family together, bonded. I admire her so much and am so heartbroken that she is no longer with us. I'm glad I have my memories of her, few they seem to me. They make me smile and warm my heart, to know that that woman is a part of me, in me, in my blood.
I googled her obituary. It hardly seems enough for so big a heart, so full a life. I don't know what I expected it to say. But it left me feeling empty and sad.
I love you Grandma TwoTwo.
She was a beautiful person. She loved the LORD with her whole heart and her greatest concern was that her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren know and love Him also. I remember as a little girl going to her house and she would always give us tiny bibles. The kind you might pass out on the street. I loved that.
I have few memories of her. Most are from being small. I remember sewing a small pillow with her and my cousin T when we were little girls, I was less than 5 years old, as I recall my parents were married and my grandma lived in San Diego at the time. I also remember when she moved to Arizona. Her house was this enchanted desert oasis in my eyes. I remember when it was empty, and my parents and brother and I helped them move in. I remember later, swimming in the pool, and the sign I always found so funny- We don't swim in your toilet, Don't pee in our pool! I remember my pink Lake Havasu sun hat my parents bought me when we went to visit. I remember a bajillion people gathered in her house, the homey chaos was comforting and something I now cherish in my own home. I remember her Christmas village set up in the front window, with the blazing desert sun shining in- that odd juxtaposition of a snow covered village with bundled up ice skaters on the frozen mirror pond against the window overlooking the Arizona landscape with cacti and rocks and rabbits and quail on the front lawn. I remember the oatmeal cream sandwich cookies she kept stocked on the counter. Her windbreaker jackets she seemed to have every color of. Her short grey hair. Her giant glasses. Her thin cigarettes. I remember playing poker at her dining table with mounds of pennies and dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles and friends. I remember her being the glue of the family, a solid foundation for our large tribe. There was a distinct smell of grandma's house. I haven't smelled it in many many years, but if I ever caught a whiff, I would be transported to her kitchen, sitting at the counter watching her talk and work. I like to think that my dad has her sweet demeanor. He has a lot of his father in him, but I see her in his eyes. No matter what happened in her life, she always had that sweetness about her. This unshakeable love that emanated from her.
When I was 16, my grandmother passed away.
I was already grieving the loss of a loved one, and I believe I was numb to the fact that she was gone. Four years ago, my grandfather joined her. This opened the wound of losing her fresh. So much time wasted. Time I could have spent getting to know her, listening to stories, learning from her. Instead I retreated into myself, shy and awkward with my father's family because of things my mother told me. I miss her everyday. I think of all the things she could have taught me, had I been willing to be open, to listen, to ASK.
She was such a beautiful woman, loving mother, doting grandmother... She was one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She would give everything she had to help someone out. She did everything she could to keep her family together, bonded. I admire her so much and am so heartbroken that she is no longer with us. I'm glad I have my memories of her, few they seem to me. They make me smile and warm my heart, to know that that woman is a part of me, in me, in my blood.
I googled her obituary. It hardly seems enough for so big a heart, so full a life. I don't know what I expected it to say. But it left me feeling empty and sad.
I love you Grandma TwoTwo.
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