It's not every day you have chickens in your kitchen.

"It's not every day you have chickens in your kitchen."

I said this phrase to Dec and Nonie many times during the past four days.

I mean, it is almost every day that we have chicken in our kitchen.

But, it's not every day that we have chickens in our kitchen.

I can't figure out why I liked saying this so much.

And the kids, they never complained about me saying it.

Perhaps because it rhymed? (Poet didn't know it.)

So we got home from the WHIRLWIND COUSIN END OF YEAR CELEBRATION...

and Dino, Wilma, Betty, and Diamond had moved on up

"Moving on up...

To the east side (to the east side)....
To a deluxe apartment in the sky (oh yes the sky).....
They're movin on up (movin' on up)
To the east side (oh, the east side)
They finally got a piece of the pie............

Now they get to see how the other half lives.

I bet you that....

Granny will spoil them.

Because she's good at spoiling itty bitty fluffy lovey things like babies and chicks.

And I admit that I

miss them.

and

am sad to see them go because I no longer get to stroll about the house pecking out the words....

"chickens in our kitchen.."

(Though it still rolls off my tongue).

It just doesn't work anymore.

I'll Take Mine WITH Seeds. Please.

Where did seeded watermelons go?

It is now summer. Today. Finally.

Everyone knows that Summer & Watermelon go together like....

like...

Fine, I'll say it even though you were all thinking it:

Twigs & Berries.

(that was for all you brothers who DON'T read this blog).

Anyway. Why can't I find them?

Watermelons with seeds!

Seeded watermelons!

The seeds were always the best part.

If you find one, tell me.

I'm just a Stoweaway up here at GrannyCamp

but I do know a few wee ones I'd like to spit seeds with

(at).

Happy Mother's Day

There is but one and only one,
Whose love will fail you never.
One who lives from sun to sun,
With constant fond endeavor.

There is but one and only one
On earth there is no other.
In heaven a noble work was done
When God gave us a Mother.
-Irish Blessing




As a non-mother I don't know all of the feelings that a mother might have.
When you have a child, do you expect that after the years of teaching, coaching, playing, watching, helping, supporting, and cheering, the job will never be done?
And I mean never.
I know this become I am on the receiving end of these gifts.
I am the taker.
I am the one in need.
And she,
she is always the one giving.



She is calm and has the wisdom of someone,
that you can't help but turn to.
So I do.
Over and over again.



Always one to surround herself with lots of her own peeps,
she still can make you feel like you are the only one who matters.
In that moment, you are hers.
And she,
she will always be mine.

Oh yes she did....

Nearly four days home and I'm (still) coming down, down, down off vacation highs. Then there was Sanibel. Then there wasn't Sanibel.

I've never been good at transitions. Homecoming was mostly sweet with a little bitter. Finn Finn our Fabulous fish was (is) alive and skittish - thanks Emah (for the alive part, it is Nonie's big goofy grin pressed against the side of his bowl that makes him skittish). Daffodils graced our kitchen table and milk was in our fridge.

We picked up right where we left off - zooming here, there, everywhere - it makes me wonder if we really were away at all. Did I just dream that whole thing?

But then I get around to unloading my numerous pictures. One by one by one they flash before me and I can just feel the sand stuck between my toes. I can just see the Osprey circling high above the warm pool where I'm spending 2 hours giggling with Nonie and Dec. I can just picture the people scooping shells into buckets, laughing together, cycling for miles - oh wait, that's us. I can just. Sanibel was all that.


And Sanibel was even a little bit more. Oh yes it was...

But, then I get to this picture and I pause...

Is that? Did she..? Wha..?

I rub my eyes.

Oh yes, she did.

I didn't dream it.

Granny's Got Game (set and match).

Bragging Rights

When I look back on how I spent today, I realize I bragged about my mother for most of it.

To talk boastfully. Yup, that's what I did.

Do you know how great she is?

She's so great that she's gone and made a bragger out of me.

I love you Mom.

P.S. Thanks for my pillows, they have breathed new life into my tired living room.

Not At All What I Thought

* the glow in the picture = birthday candles on the cake

When I awoke this morning, I was envisioning a different kind of day. I thought it would be busy but mello, productive and relaxing. A day with ample time with both kids doing puzzles, hugging stuffed animals, and playing games like memory and war. I thought (foolishly) that I'd have ample time with my sweet sister after dinner at the gym getting rid of the spare tire and we'd chase our time spent burning calories catching up over a glass of wine at the Ancient Mariner or another, fun, local establishment.

But, as the clock quickly ticks toward 9pm, I realize my day wasn't any of those things.

Not one.

And , I think I'm most surprised by dinner.

Dec and I spent a fair amount of time prepping dinner earlier this afternoon - he peeled potatoes, I spiced and diced and experimented with sauces and veggies. When we slipped the pans into the oven, we were both tired, exhausted even... but proud and eager to eat the fruits of our labor.

But dinner wasn't really appreciated today. Or eaten at all - for that matter. At least, not the dinner we prepared.

The day unfolded into a blur of crying-teething-vomiting- 1 year old. And cranky-begging-for attention 4 year old. It was topped off by crazed Mom (that'd be me) trying to please all, do some "real" work, and keep the house. Tidy.

But all day the words that kept me going were ones that I'd heard from my own Mother in past moments of despair. My mother, a mother of SEVEN.

Never be attached to a plan. Don't ever have firm expectations about how the day will go. Be flexible.
Be flexible.

So, it was poor Dame up with Nonie as I pulled dinner out of the oven. He rocked her - and she responded by wailing harder and harder.

In the tense kitchen I looked at Dec. He'd had a day of "your sister doesn't feel well". Poor kid.

I opened the fridge to fill his glass of milk and spotted a perfectly good carrot cake (except for one piece missing - thanks T). Gran's Bday cake - with candles and all. I asked Dec to invite his Thomas the Train and Friends for a special birthday party. He quickly scooped up his favorites and started to talk in those cut-off cute sentences that he gets when he gets way excited about something.....

Suddenly, he set the table. Very very willingly.

We set out a special Thomas the Train place mat for the trains to sit on during dinner. Lit candles - Dec dimmed the lights. Even Nonie got her own train ("Molly") to sit at her at the table. About 30 seconds into the meal, I noticed no one was really eating our gourmet dinner. So, I walked to the cupboard, grabbed our huge Tupperware of Cheerios and from then on the "Cheerio Trains" delivered dinner to the 2 kids and admittedly, their 2 parents. Cheerios. Dry. That's what I ate for dinner.

When the Cheerio Trains had run out of steam, we lit the candles on the cake and sang happy birthday to Diesel, Thomas, Mighty Mack, Molly and one other that I can't remember...

Declan inhaled two pieces of carrot cake.

And, after her generous shipment of Cheerios from the Cheerio Train, "Nonie the sickie" ate a full fig newton bar and a piece of carrot cake with extra frosting.

As I sipped a glass of red wine I couldn't help but think - this is not the dinner that I planned earlier this afternoon. Not at all what I thought. But I also couldn't help but think:

I bet mom sat at many a dinner like this and enjoyed the same thought.
And I never knew.

Until now.

SAME HANDS AS GRANNY

This morning I buttoned Dec's school shirt. He looked down and exclaimed, "You have the same hands as my Granny!!!" And he was right.

I do.

I quietly thanked him for noticing.

And for making my day.

+/- 3 Hours

Last year, on the first day of school, Dec consoled the boy that no one could console. He shared a puzzle. He led the sobbing boy to the snack table and sat with him. And soon enough, they were friends. The sad boy was no longer sad. Instead, we referred to him as one of Dec's dear friends.

Admittedly, Dame and I went over the top this year with conversations about how we hoped Dec would reach out to other children and help anyone else who is sad during their first few days of school. Make sure you're on the lookout for someone who needs a friend, we said.

As it turned out, the stories that we pulled from his 4-year-old mouth indicated that all was well at school this year. Everyone was getting on just fine. Good.

But (thanks in large part to the Dad/Mom factor), crying kids on the first day of school was at the forefront of Dec's mind. Radar? On.

On this, his 5th morning of school, we were zipping along down the road for drop-off when his little voice chirped up from behind me...

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, buddy..."

"Did anyone cry on your first day of college?"

(Pause)

Then stinging in my eyes.

Hmmmm. Wasn't prepared for that one.

Still, no words. (Poor kid probably thought I was ignoring him).

If I hadn't been fighting back tears, I would have told him all about the time Granny Annie dropped me off for my first day of BC, only to return 72 hours later to console me.

And I would have told him about the card (that I still have) that Granny wrote to me during my 2nd week of school insisting that she could be with me in +/- 3 hours. If needed.

And I certainly would have told him about all the additional times I put Granny's +/-3 hour challenge to the test over the course of 4 years.

Instead, in a whispered voice I said, "Yes buddy. I cried on the first day of college".

Shock filled his simple, "why?"

"I missed my mommy."

And with that, we were in the parking lot of school.

In +/- 3 minutes, Dec squeezed my hand as we walked through the parking lot, and gave me a lingering hug by his cubbyhole.

And so this morning, on his 5th day of pre-school, Dec consoled me. Once again I was humbled by my little guy who is so so good.

He was on the lookout for someone who needed a friend today. And that someone was me.

Grand People

Dec knows that his Granny Annie always has chocolate in her car. In fact, somehow, he learned how to spell M&Ms though, he'd never had one on my watch....

Nonie is quite certain that her Grandpa Cathal will do ANYTHING for her, including walk and walk and walk and walk with a hunched back until he can't see straight. Oh the back aches!

Dec has picked up some of Granny Tess' Irish adjectives referring to toy trucks and "luvely" and talking about having a "grand time" at the carnival. And the phrase: "Himself is being a scallywag..." actually means something to Himself.

While Nonie has sat on Papa's lap and heard him tell stories about her chest cold originating with long lost relatives and has viewed his baby book to compare images of Papa & Nonie at the same age. We now know where her double chin came from.

The kids spend so much time with their Grandparents that I'm not sure why I was caught off guard when Dec probed me today about who was going to join us at the Sherwood Island beach. When I said that Nonie and Daddy would be with us he fished around for another (grander) answer.

"I mean, which of my GRAND PEOPLE are going to be with us?"

***

How lucky I feel to be raising children who think it is odd to NOT have a grandparent in tow.

This is my dream come true.

Granny Tess, Grandpa, Granny Annie and Papa are indeed:

grand people.

When the whole world is on vacation...

And I am not-

When once busy streets are sparse with cars and emails have slowed to a manageable few-

When the weathermen all refer to today as the "best of the summer". And the warm breeze and cloudless sky agree-

When the phone hardly rings and the library is so lonely that the librarians chat us up for close to an hour-

WHILE the whole world is on Martha's Vineyard (and I am not) -

I make pancakes. Giant plate-sized pancakes.

I putter in the garden deadheading my flowers which are (almost) every color of the rainbow.

I create a backyard water-slide off the swingset into the baby pool. So fun? Yes. So dangerous? probably.

I drink an icy cold Fresca out of a large summery glass and eat a 4-cheese grilled cheese sandwich. What is more vacation-y than that?

I hang the laundry up to dry and don't rush doing it.

I invite myself and my entourage over to Gran & Pops for a swim and dinner.

I eavesdrop on the stories and songs Decky sings and tells to his legos.

I crack up when Nonie (for the first time EVER) initiates a game of peek-a-boo.

I stroll the kids down to pick blackberries.

I breathe deeply.

I breathe deeply again.

And I can't help but think that "vacation" doesn't get much better than this.