Cinco De Mayo

Happy Cinco De Mayo!

Any occasion for a celebration, especially when it includes Mexican food. We celebrate Cinco De Mayo every year. Only 1 of our invitees is actually from Mexico, but it doesn't stop us from having fun and enjoying great food! We had:

Chicken Enchiladas

Chili Con Queso

Beans

Cerveza

Homemade Salsa & Chips

Guacamole

Lettuce & Tomato

Flan

A somewhat mild celebration. (And no, we didn't shoot off any guns in the streets.) I believe we must have all been tired, There was no Mariachi band, or Spanish music, & no dancing. (Unless you count the former cheerleader who is trying out for college cheerleading, and the pom pon girl.)

Religion

There has been a religious discussion on a board that I post. It is a place that I care deeply about the other ladies. I do not wish to offend them. We come from different places, different religions, etc. But the board is not a religious board, but a large family one. I want to maintain a place where discussions revolving around large family life is discussed and moms of many can feel comfortable with one another. But when one of the posters began asking another about their particular religion, how does one stay quiet? So I wrote an analogy as to why it is impossible to not seem contrary. Here it is: (and these friends are of the Mormon persuasion.)

Let me see if I can give you an analogy. Suppose you had a dear friend who couldn't swim. Your friend has purchased a Life Boat for the purpose of going on a rafting trip. Now you have seen this Life Boat. It is built out of raw wood, complete with a raw wood life preserver. You can see that this boat may stay afloat for awhile, but once it is water logged it is going to sink. Since your friend can't swim, she will surely drown. So you try to point out to her that her life boat is actually not going to save her, but she will sink and drown.

Your friend tells you that you just don't understand that she purchased this life boat from a legitimate source and it is indeed a life boat, complete with a life preserver stamped right on the boat. She has other non-swimming friends that begin to ask her about this boat and express their desire to go rafting on her life boat.

Now you, as her friend who cares deeply about her, would you choose not to say anything so as not to stir up strife amongst friends?

Here is another analogy. You and a friend decide to move to Hawaii. You don't need to take any belongings with you as you will be able to purchase everything once you arrive. So you make plane reservations to Hawaii. Your friend instead buys a canoe. She plans to take off from the coast of California and canoe all the way to Hawaii. What do you do? You have other friends who want the same thing. Some have also made plane reservations, others are talking about following the canoe route. Since you all enjoy being friends where you are at, and once you arrive in Hawaii are you going to bother to point out that your friend in the canoe is probably not going to make it to Hawaii? Afterall, most likely the worst that is going to happen is your friend will be in the canoe for awhile, but then go back to living in California. California is not Hawaii, but certainly not the worst place to live.

So, where am I going with this? You wonder why I seem a bit argumentative when you are explaining your religion to someone else. You believe most of us who are decent people will be in some level of heaven and only the truly evil people will land in hell. You don't like it when you think others misunderstand the road you are on to your destination, so you try politely to help them understand. But it isn't a big deal if they don't quite make it to the same destination as you as long as they are going to make it to some level of heaven.

I on the other hand don't see it as such. I am in the first analogy. I see a heaven and a hell and nothing in between. I care deeply about you, but the path I see you on does not lead you to destination of heaven that I am on. I see it leading to a place of eternal torment. So while you might see me as mean-spirited by pointing out what I see as fallacies in your leaky boat, my true desire is that you end up in eternity with the One True God. I can't not say something when I see your destination as not just a lower level of heaven, but in an eternal place of fire.

Prom Pictures

Prom Pictures

Here is my beautiful daughter Sarabeth. She went to the Prom on Friday with 3 of her girlfriends. I'm so happy that she was comfortable going without a male escort. Why miss out on all the fun, just because you lack a male companion

Sleep

I need sleep, lots of it. Am I getting old? I wonder how I managed having 5 children, and the sleep deprivation that came with it. For 13 years straight, I didn't have uninterrupted sleep. Most nights I sleep 6 or 7 hours, but that doesn't seem to be enough. I look forward to Saturday mornings when I can sleep for at least 9 hours. (If you've never experienced this, I hope some day you will. For years, I doubted it would ever happen.) Occasionally, the kids have a day off during the week, and I look forward to that as another day to sleep in. (Now if I would also quit believing I get to stay up late the night before...)

Yesterday was just such a morning. I warned Michael the night before that I was sleeping in, and since it is the only time he gets up before me, I asked him to not wake me up. Apparently, he doesn't realize what a light sleeper I am. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was more than a bit cranky. Later, I felt terribly guilty for it. Afterall, Michael had to go into the office, so that is why he spent 20 minutes opening and closing drawers, shuffling through the closet, in-and-out of the bathroom, etc.

So why is it, that some people function just fine on little sleep, even laughing themselves silly or stay up all night just for fun?

Ethan had an EEG on Thursday, a sleep deprivation one. He was allowed to sleep from midnight until 4 a.m. My daughter was not looking forward to being sleep deprived along with him. His test began at 8 a.m. Ethan watched in a mirror, as the tech used a sharpie to draw dots all over his head. (What were we thinking? Yes, later in the day he was drawing on himself with a pen.) We could hear another overtired child crying in the next room. But Ethan was all giggles.


Being so tired, I thought he might get upset at the probes and then the wrapping of his head, but does he look like he minds? I know if I was that tired, and lying in a bed, I would not be so happy.

Once he was wired, they dimmed the lights and he cozied up to sleep. Then the strob light began flashing in his eyes. He grinned the whole time.
Once the strob light stopped, Ethan fell fast asleep. He was monitored for 10 minutes. Then he had to be woken up.

The whole time, I tried to imagine how I would feel if I had to endure this type of testing. Sleep deprivation, flashing lights, finally peaceful sleep-only to be awakened after 10 minutes. Ethan was a trooper. He awoke smiling, as if he'd had a full nights sleep. He didn't even fall back asleep on the drive home. I wish I could have his happy disposition with so little sleep.

What about those who go without sleep for fun? Last night was prom. Sarabeth attended. The after prom party began at midnight. Double-decker buses drove them around to various activities, so if the kids were tired, they weren't allowed to go home early. They had to stay up until the buses arrived back at the school at 7:30 this morning. But that is another story. I'll post pics tomorrow of prom or late today after sleeping beauty wakes up.

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

The Goofy Great Grandparents

Open Letter

Open Letter To Ethan's Father

Because you're his father, I thought I'd share with you that I took care of Ethan for more than 14 hours on Saturday. He was so cute when he woke up. He came walking out of the bedroom in his Power Ranger pajamas, wearing his backpack, and carrying the new sticker book I'd bought him. I don't know if you realize it or not, but Ethan's been a bit off of late. The most likely reason is he's having more seizures. The medicine is not keeping them under control, but sometimes it's hard to tell.

Knowing it could be tricky keeping him entertained all day, I picked up 3 new items for when-all-else-fails-pull-out-a-suprise. He breezed through the new Power Ranger and sticker book. I had hoped the fancy new markers, that only worked on special paper, would last a little longer. I knew I was in trouble when he'd bitten the tips off of every one of them, & it wasn't even noon yet. We did have a long, fun, but exhausting day.

On Sunday, it was nice that you volunteered to take him to a movie. That is a pretty safe, easy activity. Two words of advice, though: Next time, could you provide snacks for the movie? Do you know you can actually purchase food at the theater? I realize you thought you were doing us a favor by taking him for a couple of hours. But how much easier would it be for you to get him something to eat before you came over? You had no one else to worry about but yourself. Secondly, it is most disturbing to watch you strap Ethan in his car seat, then walk back to the house to wait for the snacks to be made. My confidence in your ability to care for him wanes. Never leave him unattended.

When you returned 2 hours later, it was nice that you offered to watch Ethan while he drove his tractor. He was unhappy about having to come inside and really loves riding it. (The day before, he drove it until the battery died and had a meltdown when I plugged it in to recharge.) But there are a few things I don't quite understand.

Yes, we have a creek running on the back of our property, and it is running deep this time of year. I realize how fast Ethan can be and how quickly he can get to the water's edge. What I don't get is how he could have driven his tractor into the murkey water. You managed to pull him out, along with the water-logged tractor. You dragged them both all the way to the front of the house without ever saying anything.

Don't get me wrong. I am so grateful you were close enough to pull him out. I'm thankful his glasses were still intact. But afterwards, what were you doing? I looked out the kitchen window, where I was fixing dinner and saw you unchaining the dog. I thought Ethan looked dazed, before realizing he was dripping wet. I ran to the door and called to you, asking if Ethan was wet. All you said was yes and continued to fuss with the dog. As I rushed to Ethan, I didn't notice you were wet too. I questioned if he'd gone in the creek, and I again got an affirmative answer. I scooped up my confused & shivering grandson and hurried inside. I began removing his drenched clothing. I called to his grandpa for help.

Working quickly, we towel-dried him off and dressed him in warm clothes. Ethan's grandpa went to check on the tractor. I spoke with you afterwards. You didn't offer much information. I know your heart must have been pounding when the accident occurred. Like I said, I don't know how you were able to pull both him and the tractor out so quickly-or did you? You could have yelled for help. You could have straightaway brought Ethan into the house. But you didn't. Were you ashamed? Did you think I'd be angry or call you irresponsible? I did neither, but reassured you that it could have happened to any one of us. But I question your judgment in being more concerned with how you were perceived than in Ethan's well-being. That part I do not understand.

Ethan needs a father that can be trusted to look out for his best interest, who will keep him safe and protect him. The next time you come to pick him up, I will give thanks that he has just that kind of a father-thank-you Heavenly Father that you are the one I can trust to watch over Ethan.

Paper or Plastic

Packing lunches is not my favorite thing. It is my own fault. I hear other moms tell of training their children to make their own lunches before school. I've heard what kids tuck into their lunch sacks.

(Driving home from the bus stop at the end of the day)
Kid 1-I'm starving! I didn't have time to make my lunch, so I had to grab an apple.
Kid 2-Well, at least you had something. There was nothing good at my house. I only had a bag of cheetos. I wish we'd had some cupcakes left.
Kid 1-Hilary, you're lucky. Your mom makes your lunch.

I try to be accomodating. I wouldn't want to eat a turkey sandwich every day for lunch and figure my kids are the same. Thinking back, I believe Christopher ate a sandwich, a yogurt, and a gatorade every day for an entire school year. I'd tuck in a dessert, or try to switch it up, but he'd let me know he really wanted these items to eat on a daily basis. So I'd give him egg salad, turkey, chicken salad, roast beef, salami...at least a variety of sandwiches-no repeats.

It gets tricky, though, trying to remember which child likes lettuce, who doesn't like cheese, strawberries with sugar to dip, but this one's allergic to strawberries. Sometimes I accidently put the salami sandwich in the lunch of the one who was supposed to get the turkey. Or I'd put the salad with ranch dressing in the italian dressing lovers lunch box. Thankfully, my kids are pretty forgiving.

The funny part is watching them through the years & their tastes in the packaging. By 4th or 5th grade, my oldest 2 would no longer take a lunch box. It wasn't cool. A small paper sack was fine, thank-you. I've never liked this transition. Firstly, as they cram that bag into their backpack I just know their sandwich is getting squished. I go to great lengths to pack a nice sandwich. I quit using bread to try making it less compact within those sacks. I use hearty sandwich rolls, but still...

I remember the sadness with which I packed my son's last lunch. I was overcome with the thought that I would never again make him his lunch. It wasn't as if he was moving out the on his last day of school his senior year, but it was the last time I'd lovingly pack it in that paper sack.

I don't recall Christina's last lunch. I think because she was the oldest and I was in a flurry with so many lunches that I didn't notice that last lunch. Elisabeth went to a private school her senior year. She was the only one who has had senior privileges to leave campus for lunch. I only made her lunch twice a week, so I missed her "very last lunch." Elisabeth carried a lunch box until high school. The "coolness" finally set in, and I had to be more careful with the sandwiches.

Sarabeth has always enjoyed picking out her lunch box. The past 3 years, it was a shiny, gold one from Old Navy. Gold is her favorite color. But as all good lunchboxes do, it finally had enough. Black was the new color of choice. It will be interesting to see if she chooses a new one for her senior year. Or whether or not she caves in to "coolness" and sports the ugly, brown, squishy, paper sack. She is pretty much her own person, so I suspect she will go for plastic.

Hilary, a freshman in high school, went for the ultimate in coolness. She chose a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle lunch box. But sadly, this week, they have lost their cool. I noticed the signs & should have seen it coming, but it snuck up on me. She asked if she could have the dreaded brown paper bag. I tried to protest. My biggest gripe now is they are making the sacks smaller, even though my lunches have become more creative. I try twice a week to pack a hot lunch into a nice silver thermos jar. Sarabeth loves it, maybe Hilary doesn't. I can't fit them into those sacks. I tried a larger produce sack, but that "was embarrassing." I was also informed she really needed a throw-away water bottle, as she didn't like having to save her lunch sack. No problem...at least not for her.

Last Friday, try as I might, I could not jam her lunch into that little sack-even if I left her water bottle out. I snatched the Turtles off of the fridge where they'd been hanging for awhile. I explained that she was going to have to take them again, but I handed her a sack that if she just couldn't be caught with a lunch box, SHE could figure out how to make it work.

Hilary came home from school "starving." Her lunch, packed neatly in the Turtles Box was left uneaten in the car. Did I mention how much I hate "coolness" and peer pressure?

Spring

I walk across the soft, green grass in the bright sunlight.
Achoo.
Yellow daffodils & pink tulips display themselves brilliantly.
Sniffle.
Apple trees with their delicate, white blooms stand out against the bright blue sky.
Eyes itch, water, and swell.
Spring in all its splendor, is best viewed from inside.

Final Move

Yesterday was the last part of the move. Since Sunday, bits & pieces, then boxes & furniture were moved into the tiny apartment. The remaining big item was the bed. Once the bed was put into place, it meant they weren't coming coming home again.

Home has been my place for the past 5 weeks. As nice as it is, I'm sure it felt like they were living in someone else's house. They had a few items, like their clothes and a shared computer, but most of their belongings were still in Arizona.

The entry way and lobby is grand. I could hear the pianist as I entered. I looked at my watch, 11:45. Yep! Today's events mentioned a pianist at 11:30-noon. A lively rendition of Amazing Grace resounded from the keys.

We wrestled the mattress and box springs from the truck to the 3rd story-thankful for the elevator. (Not like the 3rd story move with Christopher.) After making the bed, we all looked around. It looked very much like their home back in Phoenix. Even Poncho was there to watch over their doorstep, keeping an eye on Mr. Bear.

The unpacking was nearly finished, aside from a couple of suitcases. The pictures would be hung and everything tidied up, but it was beginning to look like home.


Michael and I had lunch with them in the dining hall. It was delicious. That evening was a Wine & Candlelight dinner, complete with a strolling violinist & Prime Rib. I wanted to come back for that, but figured it would be nice for the two of them to enjoy. It would also give them a chance to get to know their neighbors. I hope they had a lovely time.

We will miss having them here every day, but it isn't like they won't be here for dinner tonight. Besides, when I turn 70, I'm moving in with them.

Just Remembering

Gotcha

Yesterday, we were enjoying a lovely Sunday afternoon. I was busy wrapping a few gifts. Christina's 26th birthday is Thursday and we were having her birthday dinner that night. I almost always wrap gifts in my bedroom, and this was no different. Elisabeth was sitting on my bed chatting and helping wrap when she received a text message.

"Mom, did you talk to Christopher?"

"No, why?"

"You mean you didn't get a text message from him?"

"Well, I don't know. I don't carry my phone from room-to-room. Do you know something that I should know?"

"He just sent me a text that reads 'Sweet! My car was just totaled."

"What?" I ran to find my phone. Sure enough. There was the same text message. I quickly sent him the same response I'd given Elisabeth: "What?"
I didn't wait even a second and sent him a second message, "Call me." Then I wondered what I was doing sending text messages. For all I knew he was standing in the middle of the road with his car in a million pieces. Was he ok? He should probably be checked out at the hospital anyway. I dialed his number.

"Hi mom, what are you doing?"

"Well, wrapping presents for your sister's birthday dinner. You know her birthday is this Thursday. So what is going on??????"

Silence.

Then laughter.

"April Fools Mom!"

I told him he really had me going and then he made me promise to not give it away since he'd sent that text message to everyone.

"Did you send it to Lauren?" (That is his girlfriend.)

"No, I really wanted to still be alive tomorrow." (Smart man.) It's a good thing he is a thousand miles away.

The funniest part was when Hilary came up the stairs asking about this mysterious message. I am NOT a good liar, so I sent her to ask her father. He had not seen the message. His first response was, "I sure hope it wasn't his fault." He went back outside to finish up the yard work. We watched from the window as his phone rang. Christopher was calling to finish up the fool's business. After a few moments we saw Michael burst into laughter with threats of getting even next year.

Ahhhh...we have a whole year to plan our revenge. Feel free to share your ideas.

Just For Fun

I was reading Heth's Blog and saw she had linked to this. Yes, Janice & Susan at 5 Minutes for Mom are giving away a Dyson Vacuum cleaner.

Confession: I already own a Dyson. Yes, I truly love it. So why do I need another one? Well, mine has not been working so great recently. I am hard on vacuums. Don't let that discourage you from entering the contest. The suction on the thing truly is unbelievable. But it is all plastic. I broke off the plastic hook that you wind the cord around. Now I need a new hose, as I suppose I put too much stress on it when stretching it all the way down the stairs. (It is a very long hose, but ok, maybe I became so accustomed to the convenience that I pulled it a bit further than I should have.)

The real test: Would I spend that huge amount of money and buy another one? You bet I would. It is by far the best vacuum I ever owned. (I've owned some great vacuums, and it was my 4 or 5th one.) So I thought I would share this good news with the rest of you.

Pillow Presents

For as long as I can remember, I've shared a bedroom. It isn't always easy having someone in your space, but what incredible richness it has brought to my life. Life skills were learned, negotiation techniques mastered & sisterly bonds formed within the confines of shared sleeping quarters.

Sometime before I entered the 5th grade, Laurie and I began this adventure. My parents had purchased a 4 bedroom home. The 3 girls no longer were grouped together. My brother and older sister now had the privilege of residing in their own rooms. This left Laurie and I very unhappy with the new arrangement.

We had our ups and downs, but when we climbed into bed at night, we became comrades. We'd lie awake discussing how we could divide the room to give each of us our own separate space. We chattered about our day, commiserated about the struggles with certain friends, or expressed our secret fondness for a really cute boy. We'd tickle each others feet to see who would be the first to flinch. We laughed and laughed. We needed that physical contact but even more, we needed to connect. It didn't matter what we might have argued about earlier in the day. At bedtime, we became best friend sisters.

I don't recall exactly when it happened. It might have been Laurie's birthday. Maybe not. But one night, I left a note on her pillow. It said something like, "In order to find your very next clue, look around the room for something blue." I'd made a scavenger hunt of sorts for her. At the end of the hunt, she was directed back to her pillow. Underneath it, I had placed a small treasure.

That was the beginning of pillow presents. It wasn't every night, although in the summer it sometimes was. One or both of us would make, create, or find a treasure for the other. I was better at it than she was. I was supposed to be. I was older. I loved making scavenger hunts and they always had to rhyme. Laurie made up a few too, and it was ok that they didn't rhyme. Laurie's favorite pillow presents to give me were tamales. No, not red hot tamales candy. We're talking honest-to-goodness tamales. My mom (usually with our help) would make 12 dozen tamales around Christmas time each year. She'd cook them up a dozen at a time for dinner. If any were left over in the 'fridge I received a tamale under my pillow that night. I still can't eat tamales without thinking of them as pillow presents.

Last week, on Hilary's birthday, I saw her walking around searching. I wondered what she was doing. She was on a scavenger hunt Elisabeth and Sarabeth had created for her very late the night before. At the end were some small gifts they'd purchased. (You can see one of them in the wordless wednesday photo.) That was when the pillow present memories came flooding back to me. What richness comes to sisters who have shared a bedroom. Makes me feel sorry for only children and those who have small families and never had to learn to "live" with one another.

P.S. (My dad was/is an only, and he always told us to have more than one. I did my best to have a houseful.)

Wordless Wednesday

Fear Of Failure

Well, would you look at this. Yes, I am actually posting, and yes, I realize it has been over a week since I've posted and over 2 weeks since I've really written anything. Sigh. I remember this feeling. It is de ja vu. (Ok, maybe not quite so serious and life-changing, but the feeling remains.)

It happened sometime during my senior year of high school. Classes began at 8 in the morning. At 10:45, after my 3 core subjects, I spent the next 6+ hours at "beauty school." (Wouldn't it be terrific, if we'd been learning to be beautiful both inside and out?) It was good old fashioned learn-to-cut-and-style hair school. I'd convinced my parents that when I finished, I'd have a good steady job to pay for college. Honestly, I'd never thought it through at all. It was just something I thought would be fun.

At 5:00 o'clock, I'd rush home, change into my busboy clothes and get to the restaurant as quick as I could. I didn't mind busing tables. It was interesting to watch the different people come through. Old men eating steak, would talk your ear off, but leave a decent tip. Couples were harder. Some were obviously there to discuss serious subjects and didn't want to be disturbed. Others welcomed any interruption as if bored to tears by their date.

By 9 p.m., I was exhausted, but not smart enough to go home to bed. I needed to unwind. I would go out with friends or to my boyfriend's home. Some nights I'd make it home by 11, but often it was 1 or 2 in the morning when I'd lay my head to rest. Getting up at 6 seemed to arrive earlier and earlier.

It was those early mornings that I felt the gnawing sensation. It ate away at my sense of well-being. It told me that my life was out-of-control. There was an emptiness, and it wasn't just my lack of completing assignments. Homework? I didn't have time for that. I didn't study, read, or write anything for school outside of class. I began falling behind.

The constant inner nagging left me feeling like a failure. I didn't know how to catch up. I told myself I'd do better. But nothing changed. One day I couldn't face going to class unprepared. I had an idea. Instead of attending class, I'd spend those 3 hours getting ahead. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Catching up turned into a couple of extra hours of sleep. It felt good for the moment, but only made things worse. I began attending class 2 or 3 times a week. I didn't graduate that year.

A few days of not blogging, and I start to feel that same gnawing inside. Ok, maybe it isn't quite that bad, but with each day that passes I feel like I am running behind. I am sure fellow bloggers can relate to the thoughts that come each and every day, the words that fight to get out. But when the words aren't written that day, the following day new words form and the earlier ones are pushed to the back. After a week or two, the unfinished thoughts feel heavy. It takes great effort to sort through. Unfinished assignments. It is hard to know where to begin. Instead of blogging, I lay my head to rest at night believing I will do better in the morning.

I must be tired. I sound way too dramatic without good reason. Perhaps tomorrow I will feel caught up. This is extra credit for my missing assignments. I won't be withdrawn for lack of participation. I will graduate to a new day. Hope to see you then.

Old Or Grumpy

Old & Grumpy



(I used to wonder where my kids got their sense of humor.)'
Happy 15th Birthday Hilary!

Happy Birthday To Me

I am so excited. Summer is almost here. I feel the warmth as I step barefooted onto the pavement. It is not cold. I sense heat radiating up through my toes. The air smells summery, like a hot breeze blowing about dusty hay. I imagine cool wet sand as I scrunch my toes inside my boots. I tilt my head back, eyes closed and I soak up the bright sunlight that makes me squint. I want to squeeze into a swimsuit, slather on tanning oil and bake in the summer sun.

What is summer for? It is a time for growth. Little seeds are buried into the soil and in a few short months are producing luscious, edible fruits. I mostly look at summer as a time to slow down. Long, hot days are intended for more hours to work, but I like to believe we are afforded a bit more leisure. Time for staying up late and going out for ice cream cones, for cool, refreshing swims and water balloon fights. Summer is a time for marathon monopoly games that last for days and watching hours of home videos. Let's not forget the soft, green grass for laying upon while trying to figure out what character the cloud formations have created.

Summer is just around the corner, and this year we will share it with my inlaws. They are going to love summer in Colorado.

Wordless Wednesday

I have so many things running through my head that I want to share. Unfortunately, I seem to have very little time to accomplish this. How can I squeeze more time into my day??? No, I will not get up any earlier. My body severly protests early mornings. If I stay up late, I will hate myself in the morning. (This makes my body even more unhappy than usual.) So I will have to settle for not being able to blog as much as I want to. (Insert a huge sigh here.)

A few weeks back, in the middle of dinner, Elisabeth noticed brownies sitting on the counter. "Are those FAIRY TALE brownies????"

I nodded, since it is not polite to speak with a mouth full of food.

"Where'd they come from?"

After swallowing I answered, "My mom sent them."

She scrunched up her face as if I'd said a very strange thing. "Your mom? Oh that sounds weird. I can't imagine ever saying 'my mom sent brownies."

I had to think about this for a second. Was it too difficult for her to imagine me buying & sending brownies to her and her some-day family? Could she not fathom anything but homemade brownies? Or was it because I'd said "my mom" when I usually referred to her as Gramma?

It turned out that it was the latter. I think it is hard to remember that "Gramma" is "my mom." One day "Gramma" for her kids will be "her mom." (ME!) Why is it so hard for us to wrap our minds around these thoughts?

I remember similar times through the years. Watching my grandma become a great-grandma I wondered what it would be like when my own mother was a great-grandma. It happened when Ethan was born and now she had 2 great-grandchildren. But my mom and dad don't seem old. I have a hard time imagining my parents having serious health problems, or being frail. They've always been...well, the parents. Parents are supposed to be the ones who do everything, take care of everything. Or are they?

Michael's parents are in the process of a huge change in their lives. They've lived the past 42 years or so in Arizona. This Thursday, they officially become Colorado residents. They are coming here to live out their remaining years. We feel so privileged and blessed, but I wonder what they might be feeling. I can't imagine such a huge life-change at this point in my life. What would it be like in another 35 years or so? They are leaving everything comfortable, all the familiar. Not only will the weather and altitude be very different, the only ones they will know is us. New friends, new doctors, new church, new home...pretty much everything about their lives will change. I wonder if Fairy Tale Brownies would welcome them to their new life? Nah, I think I'll go for homemade cookies and a cozy, warm, electric blanket for their bed to remind them of the Arizona sunshine.