Cruella De Mommy

Gregory is petrified of spiders, or 'piders' as he calls them. He hates them so much that the sight of one can stop him cold, and is usually followed by a piercing scream, 'Pider!' Every dust ball, piece of hair, or thread, renders a shriek, 'Pider web!' Brian dislikes all bugs, but is particularly phobic of spiders; like father like son.

Perhaps it was his high pitched screams whenever an 8 legged creature appeared. The pleas, "Honey, come get it. Come get it and kill it. NOW!" Or the fact that Mommy is known as the spider catcher/saver/terminator in our house. Whatever the clue, Gregory figured out his old man's achilles heel and clearly used this information for his own personal gain.

The first night I was away at my grandmother's memorial, Brian allowed Gregory to sleep in our bed. This is something we try to avoid at all costs in our household. Once you let a kid into your bed, they're like fleas or a bad house guest, they take up residence and are impossible to get rid of. So in our bed is where Gregory stayed for the next 3 nights until my return.

As the story goes, Brian put Gregory to bed after his usual story and song routine. Of course the boy talked to his monkey, jumped up and down in his crib, sang 'Celebration', pretty much did anything but sleep. Brian popped his head into the bedroom and said, "Hey, it's time to rest your body so lay down and go to sleep."

"Aw wight", was the response.

No sooner was Brian out the door when the, "Daddy. Daddy. Daddy? DADDY!!!!" started.

Trip number 2, Brian told Gregory that Charlie was asleep and he needed to quiet down.

The obligatory, "Okay, Daddy", and I'm sure he laid back down just to keep up appearances.

According to Brian, this went on a few more times until he threatened Gregory with shutting the door and turning out the light.

I can picture my husband snuggled back into bed and focused on his own slumber, until, "Daddy. Da-dee. DA-DEE. DAAAAA-DEEEEE." Pillow covering the ears, blanket pulled over the head, all meager defenses against the whiney voice of a 2 1/2 year old who is being ignored. And Gregory, a graduate of Grand Master Chief Charlie's toddler bootcamp, knew that in the face of adversity any good soldier went for the jugular. And so he did, "PIDER! PIDER! Daddy, there's a pider."

Brian was definitely spoiled up until my departure. I was the parent awoken when one of the kids even breathed funny. Noises loud or soft, my husband often slept right through unaware that I had been up a half dozen times. The poor man was ill prepared. Exhausted and fully manipulated by Gregory's knowledge of his own arachnophobia, Brian uttered those fatal words, "Do you want to sleep in Daddy's bed?"

Sucker.

Fast forward to Mommy's first night back home and it was pretty much an instant replay of the past 3 evenings. First the "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy?"

"Go to sleep, Gregory."

Then the, "Mommy, I need a drink of water. I need water."

Get up, trudge down the hall, "If I get you a drink of water are you going to go to sleep?"

"Yes, but I want water from the bathroom and I drink it out of the blue cup."

I get the water and before giving it to him, make him swear upon his monkey's life, "If I give this to you, you're going to lay down, right?"

"Yes."

"Here you go. Now go to sleep."

"Ok, Mommy."

Not five minutes later I hear, "I want to sleep in Mommy's bed. I want to sleep in Mommy and Daddy's bed."

Perhaps it was the jet lag or the feeling of the cold ass floor on my feet for the sixth time that caused me to snap. I marched into his room. He smiled as I glared. I said, "Gregory, if you do not go to sleep, I will get a spider from the hallway and put it into your bed. Do you understand?"

A barely audible, 'yes', escaped his lips. His poor little eyeballs almost popped out of his head. But wouldn't you know that boy laid down and went to sleep.

As I crawled back into my own bed, Brian asked what happened. When I told him he said, "You are cruel." Then promptly rolled over and fell back asleep.

I was cleaning up his mess, you would have thought he'd have been a little more grateful.

Legacy of a Life

My grandmother died this past Easter Sunday. After 94 + years on this planet, a nasty bout of pneumonia and bronchitis finally caused her body to say, 'Enough'.

I flew back east for her memorial which was a true celebration of her life. Her pastor performed an amazing service talking about my grandmother's Legacy of Life; family, education, love of nature, perseverance, charity, and a strict no BS policy. We laughed and cried as we told wonderful stories about how she instilled all of these values not only in her 4 children, but her 9 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren.

My grandmother stood maybe a hair taller than 5 foot, but had the presence, and sometimes the mouth, of a man 6 feet tall; that woman loved a good dirty joke. She was humbled and frequently embarrassed by her 8th grade education even though she received her GED at the age of 43. She loved museums, the theater, her grandchildren's concerts, anything that fell under the heading of culture. She could identify any bird by sight as well as sound. Knew exactly how and when to plant each vegetable, fruit, and flower in the garden. She could shoot, pluck and dress a game bird. The woman actually knew what squirrel tasted like.

When we went to Grammy's house for holidays, birthdays, Sunday dinners, no matter what was put on your plate, you had to try everything. "At least one bite", was her famous line. Upon entering her kitchen, the words everyone dreaded were, "Well, I decided to try out a new recipe; something a little different." 'A little different' usually meant a new type of jello mold - raspberry jello with peanuts, celery and apples - or a new way to serve squash - pureed with nuts and raisins. We were expected to eat these unappetizing concoctions or suffer the wrath of Grammy. A wrath so great, I actually waited until she was dead before committing any of this to paper.

We chose not tell Charlie right away about my grandmother's death. There was great uncertainty on how to broach the subject. We didn't want to say she died because she was old; to Charlie I am considered old and knowing how the literal brain of a 4 year old works, you can imagine where that explanation could lead us. I also didn't want to tell him she was sick; both of his grandparents were sick on their last visit here for Passover. Although at times they both acted like it could possibly be the end, as only dramatic Jewish grandparents can, the common cold does not qualify as terminal illness.

Brian and I decided to wait until I returned home for fear that Charlie might think I went away and would not come back like great Grammy. Call it paranoid or preparedness, the last thing you want is for your child to be scared or suffer from doubts or insecurities about a subject like death, that can be so dark and final.

We consulted Charlie's teacher, borrowed a few of her books from which I took pieces that were appropriate to our situation. I liked a book called 'Nana Upstairs, Nana Downstairs' quite a bit, but mostly because the great grandmother, Nana Upstairs, was 94 like my Grammy, and Tommy, the great grandson, was 4 like Charlie. At the end Tommy saw a shooting star and interpreted that as a kiss sent down from Nana Upstairs, very sweet. 'Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge', by Julie Viva, brought tears to my eyes. It's about a little boy who lives next to a nursing home and helps one of it's residents, Miss Nancy, try to get her memory back even though Wilfrid doesn't know what the word memory means. But the majority of the language we used came from a book called 'I Miss You', by Pat Thomas.

This morning I asked Charlie if he knew why I had gone to Yia Yia's (my mom) this weekend?
He said, "No, why?"
I told him that great Grammy had died.
"For real?", he asked.
Yes, for real. Do you know what that means, that she died?
"No, what?"
It means that her body stopped working. Her heart, her eyes, her brain, her arms, her legs, all stopped working and so she died.
"Like her eyes closed when she went to sleep?"
Yes, except that she will not wake up. When we go to Yia Yia's this summer, great Grammy will not be there like she usually is.
"That's okay Mommy because I have lots of cousins who will be there."
That is true, you're lucky. Great Grammy lived a very long life, you and your cousins have lots of memories to remember her by.
"Kind of like when someone dies and they raise a flag half way to remember them."
That's right.
"That's so sad. Can I have some yogurt now?"

And that was it. The conversation Brian and I had hashed out dozens of times, talked about endlessly, consulted books about, and pretty much dreaded, just ended like we were talking about the weather. There have been other questions peppered throughout the week, like asking if she died alone and then telling Brian, 'When I died, I am going to give my whole family kisses but that will be before I died.'

Charlie's amazing ability to comprehend and discuss this heavy subject as well as my Grammy's memorial service gave me some much needed perspective. A). My kid is sensitive and not completely void of sympathy. B). Not once did any of my grandmother's children mention how many times they were spanked, punished, or yelled at; and she was old school, circa 1915, with belts hanging around every corner.

I'm trying to be kind to myself and not worry that every little thing I do to my kids is going to cause them irreparable harm for which I will be blamed. Lord knows they'll punish me enough during my lifetime. My hope is that I can instill enough of the values that I live by to create my own legacy; preferably one that won't involve time outs or hysterical fits of rage.

Every night at dinner my kids have something new on their plate to try. And like in great Grammy's house, they know that they have to eat at least one bite. However, when they do take that taste, I get up from my seat and jump in the air 3 times yelling, "Jack pot! Jack pot! Jack pot!" (Don't ask). I've gotten up in restaurants, homes of friends, as well as public picnic areas because my kids will eat just about anything in order to see their Mom leap like a lunatic yelling jack pot. Charlie said just the other night, "Gregory, you should be glad it's only a bite of peas (Gregory hates peas) and not great Grammy's jello with nuts, celery and apples." The Legacy of Grammy's Life lives strong in our household.