I’m searching for whom or what I can blame for my latest stupid injury, like maybe Mercury Retrograde or the 11/11 portal?
I surely don’t think I would set an intention for — nor manifest — bodily damage, so I guess I’ll have to accept 100% of the blame for this one, which I knew was going to happen seconds before it did.
Here’s the scenario: I was planning to step off the deck, about a foot or so, onto some pavers. The wind had blown a small rug onto the pavers but at the same time that I chose NOT to bend down and remove it, I had the thought that there was a real and distinct possibility that I couldn’t see where I planned to step down, so I REALLY should take the two seconds to remove the rug — but I did not, and there I was, once again on the ground because I had not only awkwardly trapped my foot between two pavers that were obscured by that damn rug, but, as I fell, the edge of one of them hit me HARD at the exact location of my previous split-open shin, I then fell on my wrist (one I had broken a few years ago) andsprained the other ankle as it folded under me, an ungraceful vision, most definitely NOT a pretty sight; not princess-like in any way.
Ouch.
Covered in dirt and leaves, I sat there for a while like I always do, assessing the damage and shaking my head at my own stupidity.
The scar from before looks pretty angry and a bit bloody. There’s already a bump and a lump and is blooming some ugly bruises, but no broken bones this time, at least I hope not. I can live with the sprained wrist/ankle; at this point we’re old friends.
When will I ever learn?
Somebody once said “a definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” It’s been wrongly attributed to Einstein, but some people think it’s from Rita Mae Brown or a 1981 Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet.
Maybe insanity is not exactly my issue, but I hope one day I learn not to be so careless and impulsive about my personal safety.
I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.
There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.
Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.
For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.
I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.
Is it ever too late to say you’re sorry, to make amends, to repair the damage? That’s actually today’s theme but you have to keep reading to figure out where this is all going.
When I see these guys skateboarding together, it hits hard. It fills my heart with joy but it’s also bittersweet to realize that so much time has passed. Tick. Tock.
OG skater dad is his hero right now. The kids had no idea their teacher dad could skate.
Being well-rounded and balanced is important, right?
When the original Angel Boy wanted a skateboard, I weighed the pros and cons (cos it could be dangerous) and decided that it was a way to balance his intense interest in books and school, not that academic success wasn’t critical for his future, but skateboarding helped him feel “cool” and more relatable with schoolmates. It was about the only time his head wasn’t buried in a book.
As far back as elementary school, his nickname had been “the professor”, which was actually, happily, prophetic, but he enjoyed skating so much that we worked hard to get a skatepark built in our city and also created an Explorer Post to be eligible for donations which eventually funded the members on a state-wide skatepark trip, which was EPIC.
There was a skate shop near school where the kids would hang out and that’s where they met some of the famous skaters from SoCal: Danny Way, Hawk (of course), Sal Masekela, and Muska. Angel Boy even named his kitty after Muska.
It was a really nice time to be a kid, before our stupid little town ruined it all by rampant overdevelopment.
Here he is, nicely executing a flip. I can’t count the probably thousands of times this move had been practiced and failed and practiced again until he was proficient. What my mom brain sees in this photo is that he’s not wearing ANY protective gear. It’s a miracle he only ended up with one concussion and a couple of broken bones. No one wore helmets or knee/arm/wrist guards back then. What were we thinking?
The original Angel Boy
During high school, at the height of his interest in skating, we built a half-pipe in the backyard and our house was the cool place to be. I was kept busy supplying the kids with cookies and smoothies. #goodtimes #smothermother
Then there were many inevitable graduations and milestones; a doctorate and post-doc; an empty nest. The skate ramp was silent and began to deteriorate as it was never used nor maintained.
An executive decision was made to have it dismantled because it was in such poor, sad, unsafe shape.
At one point, when AB came home and saw it was gone, he was NOT at all happy. He felt that he hadn’t been included nor consulted in the conversation and not only was it a surprise, but I think it represented the end of a happy chapter in his life.
Actually, over the years I had explained to him a few times that he needed to help maintain it if he still wanted to use it, and like most things I said, he either didn’t listen (or ignored me), but in hindsight I agree that I could have been more sensitive. I guess I didn’t know how much it meant to him. It was an important rite of passage.
But I did something even worse…
I got rid of his skateboard! I didn’t do it with malice, honestly!
One day I was cleaning out the garage and thought it was never again going to be an activity he was interested in so I set it out near the street. I literally had no idea that he would ever want it for any reason; to ride or for the memories of all the fun he had skating OR to share with any future children…
But I was wrong…I was such a bad mom!
During a visit home, he asked for his skateboard because he wanted to show the kids some of his cool moves and when I told him I had put it out in the driveway and someone took it, he was SO ANGRY!
I fully understand that he felt betrayed and I felt horrible about it, especially since I’m known for never throwing anything away. Why that? I have no idea, but I did, I admit it.
I’ve been trying to make amends for the last twenty years. Yup, that was all about twenty years ago.
And now I’m offered the opportunity to make it right.
His clone, AB 2.0, is now obsessed with skateboarding!! He went to a skate camp this summer and got his very first real skateboard. Like all the sports he’s tried, he has some real talent, just like his dad. Watch out, Tony Hawk!
Is there anything more adorable than seeing a little guy all decked out in a helmet and safety gear, positioning himself to drop in? I think not.
Bad pic from a video AB 2.0
In this case, it’s not too late to make amends because I was finally able to replace AB’s sk8board and that feels good.
I did it. I made amends. I bought the skateboard; I made the necessary reparations and repaired the bad mom damage.
Even better, I was able to watch those guys skate together which is such a mom/grandma moment. Heart is bursting with love!
(And hopefully, Dad WILL wear his helmet at all times, or I’ll hear about it when the kids call me to tattle on him.)
Sometimes it’s not too late. All is takes is thehonest willingness to want to make things right, even two decades later.
This afternoon I took out the trash as school was being dismissed (I live near an elementary school), and at the same time, the postman drove up to deliver the mail.
Mostly blocking my driveway was a gigantic SUV which meant the postman literally had to stop in the middle of the street which is where I met him so he wouldn’t have to leave his vehicle.
The SUV’s back gate was open, as well as all the doors, apparently because the parents decided it was a good time to clean out their gas-guzzling monstrosity.
I said to them, “Why don’t you pull up? You’re blocking my driveway and you have plenty of room in front of you.”
The mom (I guess it was the mom) said, “We’re just here to pick up our kids from school”, as if that information was at all relevant or important to me. (Which it was NOT.)
I said, “How is that my concern? You still can’t block anyone’s driveway. Move your car.” (I’m assertive like that.😀)
And so they did. You could tell they thought about arguing with me and/or defying my directive, but the postman was a witness, so they grudgingly pulled up a few feet.
But it begs the bigger question about entitlement, consideration, and basic courtesy. No wonder the kids in my town feel they can recklessly — and without regard for anyone else–ride their stupid ebikes in the middle of the street defying all traffic and safety rules when they have annoying parents like this who feel so narcissistically privileged that they’re entitled to encroach on one’s property and then don the victim cape when they’re told to move. How RUDE!
There’s lots of conversations lately about entitled people. Entitled people believe they are inherently deserving of special treatment without considering others.
For example, why should I, a complete stranger, care one iota about whether they’re picking up their kids from school as if that should somehow ameliorate or excuse the action of blocking MY driveway? Not my kids, not my problem, especially when they could have simply checked before they stopped and pulled up a few more feet. They had plenty of room.
In fact, a vehicle cannot legally park directly in front of or across someone’s driveway in California, as it is a violation of California Vehicle Code 22500. One can contact local parking enforcement or the police department to have the vehicle ticketed and towed at the owner’s expense.
I have no patience for these types of selfish people who think the world revolves around them in their egocentric illusion balloon. An egocentric illusion refers to the psychological bias where individuals perceive the world, their internal states, and their actions from a self-centered perspective.
I was more than happy to burst that balloon for them. Perhaps they’ll be more considerate in the future, wherever they park, hopefully not here. Maybe I’ll get a sign like this if it happens again.
Photo from Google. Not my house, but same situation.
Stop acting like entitled a-holes and model decent behavior to your children! Is that too much to ask?
Because both of the Angel Kids’ eyes literally roll back in their heads when I make them listen to Leon Russell music, I found a slightly obscure song called “Too Much Monkey Business”. It’s more spoken than sung, like a precursor to rap music, and was written by Chuck Berry in 1956.
I played it and the Angels started singing along, as it’s a very catchy tune. I’d call out “How much monkey business” and they’d respond, “Too much monkey business!”
This song is totally earworm-worthy because they couldn’t stop singing it to themselves. All day long, during breakfast and helping to organize their books so we could donate some, I heard them quietly repeat “too much monkey business”, or “too much for me to be involved in.”
I said, “Cool song, huh?” as I planned my final move in my neverending quest to make them love Leon as much as I do.
When we sat on the sofa together after dinner playing card games, I asked Siri to play “Too Much Monkey Business” by Leon Russell and AB said, “Wait, that was LEON? It didn’t sound like him!” I replied, “That was my little joke. You had no idea you were singing one of his songs hahahahaha!”
Too late to stop it from happening; the lyrics are firmly embedded in their brains. They changed the words to: “How much Grandma business?” and “Too much Grandma business.”
They grudgingly agreed it was GOOD but asked me to pleasepleaseplease stop dancing because I was embarrassing them. I can only imagine the many ways I’ll be an embarrassment when they’re teenagers. It’s a rite of passage. They can ask their dad for confirmation.
Those kids are uber funny but I won. They’re now listening to and appreciating the Master of Space and Time–in spite of themselves. My work here is done.
Runnin’ to and fro, hard workin’ at the mill Never failed in the mail, yet come a rotten bill Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Salesman talking to me tryin’ to run me up a creek Say, “You can buy it, go on, try it, you can pay me next week” ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Blonde-haired, good lookin’ tryin’ to get me hooked Want me to marry, get a home, settle down, write a book, ha Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Same thing every day, gettin’ up, goin’ to school No need to be complainin’, my objections overruled, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Payphone, somethin’ wrong, dime gone, will mail I ought to sue the operator for tellin’ me a tale, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
I been to Yokohama, been fightin’ in the war Army bunk, army chow, army clothes, army car, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Workin’ in the fillin’ station, too many tasks Wipe the windows, check the tires, check the oil, dollar gas, ah Too much monkey business, too much monkey business I don’t want your botheration, get away, leave me be
I remember that the original Angel Boy was about fourteen years old when he entered the final stage, taller than me. Now I have to get on my tiptoes to hug him and HE bends down to me.
In my mind, he’s still and forever #1 or #2, so it doesn’t seem right that the roles have reversed, and it won’t be long before the Angel Kids will also be taller than me, because mostly everyone else is.
I guess that’s why they call me Little Grandma.
**I found this on Pinterest, but credit goes to artist Giselle Dekel.**
These incredibly observant Angel Kids of mine are full of nonstop chat as they watch my every move with their laser focused eyes and brains, especially when they sit at the counter (their favorite spot), waiting to be served exactly like baby birds in a nest with their beaks open wide for mom to bring a freshly caught worm..
“Why are you always in the kitchen, Grandma?”“It’s like you have a force field around you and you’re stuck in there.” (He is SO funny.)
“Yeah, Grandma, you’re always in the kitchen!” Angel Girl has to offer her opinion, too. ALWAYS.
I stop chopping veggies or flipping pancakes or cutting the crust off another slice of bread (only for Angel Girl), and respond with a question,
“Why are you guys always hungry?”
Well, that made them think a bit, that’s for sure.
“Good point”, Angel Boy 2.0 sagely nods as he ponders what I meant by that, as he chews on a slice of apple.
Those kids LOVE apples as a pre-meal snack. Sometimes dipped in nut butter, but they’re perfectly satisfied with a bowl of sliced apples.
The key is to give each of them their own bowl or they’ll squabble about equal amounts. “Why does s/he have more than me?” Since I only birthed one child, I’m not used to this kind of sibling behavior. I actually find it incredibly annoying and to avoid listening to it, for me, separate bowls are the easiest solution.
They eat a lot, not junk food or snacks, but wholesome and dense nutrition. That’s what healthy kids do; eat, play, sleep. They’re exactly like puppies. Their growing bodies and brains demand it and I’m only too happy to oblige.
“Play with us, Grandma. We’ll even play Candyland just for you. Or Scrabble.” That’s quite the concession on their part, as they know those are my two favorite games.
“How about after you guys have this smoothie and ants on a log and a (lentil/oat/kale) muffin, we’ll play. How does that sound?”
Early this morning, I opened the back door and walked on the deck. Near the steps, I saw a motionless bee which I gently nudged with a stick and found him able to move ever so slightly. I brought him a small amount of water in a jar lid and watched as he thirstily inhaled a few drops. As soon as he had enough, he stumbled down the rest of the steps to a shady area on the ground.
I’m not sure if I helped him or simply prolonged the inevitable, but at least I did something to aid a living creature and that always feels good.
Later that morning, I went to the grocery store where I picked up some yummy cherries and cucumbers and avocados.
The woman in front of me had a lot of items and it looked like she was making a special dinner, maybe anniversary, or at least that was the little story I told myself as I patiently waited my turn.
I noticed that she didn’t have her own shopping bags and I watched the clerk take out a couple “store” bags and fill them with her food. After the food was paid for, the employee asked her for thirty cents to pay for the bags, which was really odd because usually they’ll ask before, so they can add it to the total. Right??? So my spidey senses were on alert as I observed the conversation.
The lady became flustered as she looked in her handbag because she didn’t have any cash or change. I could see that she was super embarrassed and I could totally relate. It didn’t seem as if she was unsheltered or didn’t have money; she was well dressed with great jewelry (I always notice stuff like that).
I said, “Let me check. I think I have thirty cents.” I usually don’t have ANY cash or coins either, but I did locate enough to pay for her store bags.
The poor woman was beside herself with gratitude, wanted to pay me back, couldn’t believe I would do that for a complete stranger, asked me my name, WAY overly intensely thankful and appreciative for a mere handful of coins.
I told her it was my pleasure to help and it wasn’t as if I offered to buy her food (haha) and she could pay it forward to someone else in the future and keep the good deed moving along.
Because her gratitude seemed oddly disproportionate, I thought it was possible that she had a bad day and my minor act of kindness gave her a bit of hope — who knows.
She did seem close to breaking down, poor dear. And all for THIRTY CENTS! I wonder if this was some sort of low rent scam so the employee could pocket the money, but that was most likely not the case. Anyway, it was a strange encounter and I was glad to help because it did seem that was the only way I was going to get out of the store, haha. (BTW, I had my own bags.)
Sometimes I’ll see someone do a kind but simply mundane gesture and I’ll just get filled with this unexplainable joy that someone did something nice for someone else with no strings attached; no ulterior motives, no agenda.
After that experience, I went to Sprouts because I was out of probiotics (I love probiotics). The woman in front of me in line (same scenario!) turned to me. She held out a couple pieces of candy wrapped in shiny gold foil and asked me if I wanted them. She said they were free and pointed to where she got them, somewhere else in the store.
I told her how much I LOVE free things (I really do) but asked why she didn’t want them. She explained that she had tasted another one and they were milk chocolate and she only likes dark chocolate. I said I like all variety of chocolate (except white) and gladly accepted her little gifts.
Two acts of kindness were immediately repaid by another; what a great (and sweet) day!
Back when the original Angel Boy began to walk and talk, my default response when the “I’m bored, I have nothing to do” complaints started, has always been, “Go read a book.”
Now I do the same thing to the grandkids, especially Angel Boy 2.0 who has become a wonderful reader.
Recently we were in a baseball card shop and he was TAKING LITERALLY FOREVER to look at cards and decide which ones he wanted to buy and figure out how much of HIS money he was willing to spend and how much he could get from me. That scenario brought up happy deja vu memories of his parsimonious dad at the same age. The thrifty apple didn’t fall too far from THAT tree, haha.
I walked outside, I walked back in, I pulled on his shirt and whined, “Are you almost done? I’M SO BORED!!”
Without skipping a beat, he said, “Hey Grandma, why don’t you go read a book!”
And then he laughed and I laughed but I got the last laugh because that proved that he had really listened to me. A total win for Grandma!
I gotta confess though, I was SO BORED in that card shop, every minute seemed like an hour. Memories.
It’s really funny, because the original AB is NEVER without a book and leveraged that love of reading into a Yale PhD, writing his own book (published by a prestigious house), and tenure at a major uni, so I guess my annoying mantra helped guide his path to success.
Grandma’s Mantra: 📚 If you’re bored, read a book! 📚 If you have a minute before school starts, read a book! 📚 If you’re waiting for a doctor’s appointment, read a book! 📚 If you can’t think of anything productive to do, read a book!
As a true Taurean, I hold on tightly. I believe, I have faith, I hope, I wish — but sometimes I have to let go, as much as it causes immense pain.
If ever anything was past the point of no return, it’s these black bananas. I held on for so long, I saved them because I figured they’d be perfect for banana bread or muffins, but then I became emotionally attached and couldn’t let go, even when they lost all signs of life.
And I still couldn’t dispose of them.
I cleaned out the refrigerator (Lion’s Gate Portal activity) and put them to one side in a sort of transitional area JUST IN CASE, because you never know when the heart will start to beat once again.
This is the way my brain works. Here’s what I wonder: If I peel them, what will I discover? Have they become toxic and inedible? Can they be resurrected or is it too late? What if I toss them out and they were still good?
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 