Tag Archives: Family

Is It Ever Too Late To Make Amends?

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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 the honest willingness to want to make things right, even two decades later.

Earworm, Courtesy of Leon Russell

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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

Too much monkey business for me

Evolution of The Mom Hug

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I’m at #3 with Angel Boy, #2 with Angel Girl.

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.**

“Why are you always in the kitchen?”

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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?”

Two curly heads nod in unison.

Eat, play, sleep.

******************************************************

Featured photo by Enchanted Seashells at Crystal Cove. Vintage kitchen, not mine.

Random Kindnesses

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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!

Featured image credit to oechsli.com

A Grandma’s Mantra: “Read a book…” 📚

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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!

Try my method; it really works!

📚

Faint, Not Feint | Part Two

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Feinting is a deceptive or pretended blow, thrust, or other movement, especially in boxing or fencing.

Fainting, or syncope, is what I experienced a couple months ago. I definitely wasn’t feinting when I got dizzy, nauseous, fell, and hit the fireplace. The loss of consciousness felt really weird and not entirely unpleasant.

I thought it was simply an unexplained but strange incident, and finally told my doctor about it.

Her response to me was, “Of course you went to the ER, what did they say? I don’t see that in your notes.”

I replied, “Oh no, I didn’t go anywhere and I didn’t call the paramedics, either, because I was wearing my Hello Kitty jammies. No way was I going to let anyone see me.”

She shook her head and laughed as I explained to her that my RN mom had often drilled into my head that I should never EVER go to the doctor or a hospital unless I was well dressed and nicely groomed– and always with pretty underwear. I mean, there might be scenarios where that’s impossible, but her words are tattooed in my brain.

Of course I would have sought immediate medical help if it happened again, but so far I’ve been lucky.

My doc said her mom was exactly the same, so she understood. However, after asking me a lot of questions, she was concerned enough about my syncope episode to want to rule out any underlying and serious reasons, so she gave me an electrocardiogram and referred me to radiology for a carotid artery ultrasound.

The ECG looked OK and I’ve booked the appointment for the ultrasound to see how my four carotid arteries are performing. Most of the time I think I’m pretty smart but I didn’t know there were FOUR carotids–I thought there was only one, so I’ve learned something. Hopefully, we can rule out any underlying blockages to explain why I fainted. The worse case scenario is that a blocked artery can lead to an increased stroke risk or an aneurysm, but at least I’ll find out one way or another.

The best case scenario is that it was a singular vasovagal syncope episode with no lasting harm. Fingers crossed. Maybe I will actually have “feinted” and dodged a direct hit. That’s funny to think about, but then I’ve been accused of being easily amused…

Since then, my goal has been to mindfully dress for the emergency that might never happen; a personal version of disaster preparedness.

On A Dark Desert(ed) Highway

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Photo by Mario Cuadros on Pexels.com

This all happened quite a while ago, but I realized I hadn’t shared it, so here’s the scary story of my almost brush with death; a cautionary tale of the time I might have starred in a Dateline episode.

I had to be somewhere very early, too early to inconvenience anyone by asking for a ride, so I called a car service. I’ll be vague about which one, but it’s one of the big guys.

It was dark; I waited outside, the driver was on time. The first thing I noticed (red flag number one) is that the car stopped and he started it up again. I thought maybe he was saving gas, so didn’t really think too much about it. We had a few stop signs on the way to the freeway and the engine stalled at every one of them and had to be started back up. (red flag number two). I was a bit concerned and that’s probably when I should have told him to turn around and found another form of transportation but I didn’t.

The driver spoke no English. I mean, ZERO. I managed to learn that he was from Colombia. I could see the Google map on his phone was in Spanish. I spoke a bit of Spanish so we were able to sort of communicate.

Finally on the freeway, his car was going VERY SLOW, well under the speed limit. The engine hadn’t stalled again, though. (another red flag.)

The driver wore very thick glasses and seemed to have a difficult time seeing the road as he was slightly weaving out of his lane. It’s a good thing that it was so early with not many cars on the road. I don’t think he was drunk; I think he couldn’t SEE the road. (red flag!)

The headlights also seemed to be malfunctioning; he’d turn them off and on and the car would sort of slow down and speed up, which was reallyreally freaking me out.

I was beginning to get a little more panicky every second, and even more so when, for some reason, he took the wrong exit on the freeway. We were in a rural area that was heavily wooded- no houses, no stores; nothing.

The very worst case scenarios were running through my head at warp speed. We were on a frontage road with no lights and no people. I thought there was a good possibility that I was going to be the victim of a horrible crime, I really did.

If the worst happened, no one would find me out in the middle of nowhere on a dark, deserted highway. I was petrified, thinking of all the horror stories I had heard about getting in cars with strangers.

Loudly, I commanded, “HEY! This is the wrong exit. GET BACK ON THE FREEWAY NOW!”

I had my hand on the door and 911 ready to be called on my phone. I was ready to bolt and run. I was terrified.

For a brief moment that seemed to last for days, he hesitated, and then, thankfully, turned around. We got back on the freeway, and at which point he was completely lost. I had to direct him the rest of the way to my ultimate destination but not before his car stalled AGAIN at the final stoplight.

I leapt out of his car while it was still slightly moving and RAN into the building. It took forever for my heart rate to subside and the adrenaline to stop pouring through my body. I was as shaky as the time I got an EpiPen for a bee sting. I had to force myself to breathe and slowly regained my calm.

There were so many red flags 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 that I ignored. Never again!

Friends have asked me if I reported the driver. I thought about it, but I didn’t. Although it was scary, nothing bad actually happened. I was so grateful to be alive and unharmed that I wanted to forget all about it. However, I don’t think his vehicle was going to last much longer, so maybe he’ll figure out that driving people around isn’t the right career choice.

The lesson is to listen to your gut in all life circumstances. If something doesn’t feel right, it most likely is a warning that should be heeded.

I am 1000% grateful that the universe and all the angels once again protected me from harm.

Have you ever experienced a similar scary event?

Mother’s Day: BoyMom Edition

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All I ever wanted to be was a boymom and I got my wish with the original Angel Boy.

Happy Mother’s Day!

BEST BOYMOM QUOTE EVER: “If all the little boys in the world were lined up and I had to just pick only one, I’d choose you… every time.” (Barbra Streisand to Seth Rogan in the film Guilt Trip.)

This is a funny story and all you’ll ever need to know about my AB:

Since his life threatening medical issue and subsequent (emergency) major abdominal surgery for a ruptured Meckel’s Diverticulum a few years ago, he needs to be careful about his diet for the rest of his life, mainly never popcorn, but other foods can irritate the anastomosis repair, too, which he learned by trial and error.

He recovered better than expected from the surgery except for THAT little issue.

Recently, I suggested (not nagged) that he might benefit from regularly taking probiotics to normalize his intestinal flora and fauna, and I made sure he took them every day while we were together.

How do I do that? I chose the right time, like when he was involved in editing his new book or grading papers. That’s when I know he’s REALLY the absentminded professor and won’t pay any attention to me. I then hand him the probiotic capsules with a freshly made smoothie and he downs them without argument or question. However, it’s only a delayed reaction because fifteen minutes later, he’ll ask me what it was that I gave him but then it’s too late to refuse. HAHAHAHA. #momhack

I sent him a photo of the supplements he WILLINGLY swallowed so he could take them all the time and heard nothing about it or a couple weeks…until yesterday when he texted me and I admit it took me a second or two to figure out he was being his usual snarky, facetious self:

Apparently when it becomes HIS idea, it’s worth doing. Hmmm. Whatever works, right? After all these years, I finally figured out that he likes to think about things for a while before he makes a decision, so I sent him a photo of the type of magnesium and D3 gummies I take along with this text:

That’s my Angel Boy. Stubborn child, but no matter what, he’ll forever be my heart.

Nowadays I’m even luckier to be grandma of those two vibrant Angel Kids who started calling me “Gramps” for absolutely no reason at all, but it makes me chuckle.

When I asked them, “Why do you call me Gramps?”, they laughed hysterically, so I guess that’s who I am now.

There will never be a greater joy than being loved by those guys, that’s for sure. That’s what life is all about.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandmas from Gramps!

FYI: Great article to explain emergency surgery for Meckel’s Diverticulum https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2533303/

In Limbo

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The days between Christmas and the new year are suspended in amber; a week of feeling in limbo — at least for me.

The frenzy leading up to Christmas that started at Halloween and progressed to Thanksgiving and finally to December 25 is a mess of cooking and baking and cleaning — and now it’s over, along with the twenty-four hour Christmas music on the radio.

It’s so so quiet outside, like a day during the pandemic.

It’s a great time to shop the after holiday sales, but I have enough wrapping paper and Christmas cards and decorations to last until the next century, so I’m not all that excited about the 75% off prices…although I DO love a bargain.

But — we’re not quite done because the end of the year is only a few days away and that occasion is supposed to be memorialized by some sort of celebration, whether you choose to go to a ball or a party or stay home by the fire with a glass of champagne and try to stay awake until midnight.

And then it’s over — but not until the idiots shoot guns in the air and set off more fireworks that scare all the animals.

I’m not sure I’d call this feeling a full fledged depression, but there’s a term that describes it pretty well… Post Holiday Blues. It sounds like it should be the title of a song, right? PHB refers to the letdown we might feel after all the excitement and anticipation leading up to the holidays.

I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for and enjoy this week in limbo, waiting for 2025.