Just things I want to remember - Thanksgiving 2011

Thanksgiving 2011

This morning, as I was putting a spiral ham in the oven. Shaun came in and observed the process with great interest, noting each detail as I wrapped it in aluminum foil and glazed it. I usually use my toaster oven for baking, but this dude just wouldn't fit inside it (I tried several positions with no luck), so, into the BIG oven (that I seldom use) it went. Later, Shaun came back in the kitchen to check out what was smelling so good, looked into an empty toaster oven and asked, "Mommy, where'd the big chicken go? What did you do with it?" So, if anyone asks what did we have for T-giving, I answer, with a big smile, "A spiral cut BIG CHICKEN."  

Later, I asked Shaun if he'd gotten enough to eat and he answered, "Oh yeahhhh, but the big chicken was the bestest."

Shaun has been quite curious about various types of relationships and people's ages, and well - people in general. It's as if he is trying to sort it all out in his mind somehow. After dinner, everyone was sitting around discussing this and that, catching up on time and distances. Shaun decided to contribute to the conversation, and asked, "Uncle Stanley, do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend or anything like that?" We all giggled, but not to be outdone, Uncle Stanley answered, "Yep, got two of each." Shaun stopped to look bewildered for a moment before continuing, "Where do you keep them?"

And to think, with all this live entertainment, we still pay for cable.

...

Just things I want to remember

I've always heard that kids say the darnedest things and have found that to be true, especially in the last few weeks.  Many of them seem to be from the backseat when Shree or I am driving.  For example, we were coming back from McDonald's the other night and I hear this question from the back seat, "Mommy, what are you going to be when you grow up?"  Of course, he was a bit confused when we ripped out in a fit of giggles.  But in his defense, it shows he is thinking, and that's a good thing.

The state fair is here this week, and we went this past Saturday.  It was more crowded than last year, so after a while, we decided we'd had enough of trying to get here and there around all those people and left.  We pass Arby's on the way home from the fairgrounds and Daddy decides it's as good a place as any to stop for lunch.  Fine with me, that's for sure.  As we were leaving, I noticed the ad sign on the wall for the chocolate turn-overs and remembered that I'd meant to get one.  Shree asked if I wanted him to go back and get me one for later, but I decided I'd wait until next time.  I didn't think Shaun was even paying attention.

We get Shaun loaded up in the car and pull out of the parking lot.  This is the conversation that happened next:

Shaun:  "Daddy, how 'bout we do this?"  Pause for affect.  "Let's take Mommy and pour chocolate syrup all over her.  Then we'll turn her over and that way Mommy can be a chocolate turn-over."

Muffled giggles from me and Shree as I am visualizing myself covered in chocolate syrup at the hands of my six-year-old.  Then one last comment:

Shaun: "Oh yeah, and Daddy, you can put a cherry on top if you wanted to."

So there you have it.  In my career as Shaun's "Super-Hero Moo-Moo," I am now a chocolate turn-over too.  Yumm.

And in the meantime, I will ponder on what it is that I want to be when I grow up.

Signing out, at least for now, as Super-Hero Moo-Moo Chocolate Turn-Over.

S-h-m-i-l-y

They say we learn about love from being surrounded by it. Rochester, New York journalism student Laura Allen's grandparents taught her a lesson in love that outlasted their lifetime and lives on in hers, as she shares the story. She writes:

My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.

They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar container to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us homemade pudding. "Shmily" was written in the steam on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point my grandmother unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.

There was no end to where "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled on them were found on car seats or taped to the steering wheel. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust on the mantle and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. The mysterious word was a much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.

Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle. My grandmother whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was--the man she met on a blind date--and how handsome an old man he had grown to be. Before every meal they bowed heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune and each other.

But there was a dark cloud on my grandparent's life, my grandmother had cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier, and at that time I remember that she'd painted her room yellow. With a yellow room, she explained, she would always be surrounded by sunshine even if she was too sick to go outside to enjoy it.

With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they still went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew weaker until she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.

"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.

Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew then that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.

S-h-m-i-l-y. See How Much I Love You. 

Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.