The Burrow

Niece The Youngest is moving to Chicago, so Brother drove out to pick her up at O'Hare.  Drove out from Maryland (see below) and spent a lovely evening with FlapJilly and her parents and Sunday after noon with TBG and me added to the mix.  He's thoughtful and funny and dropped off a 300 pound piece of machinery to people who are moving within the next month or two.  I could not leave 3 glow-in-the-dark headbands because it would be one more thing to move,  but such is the wonderfulness of Uncle Brother that SIR was thrilled. I love these random encounters with him.  He plots his travels to buy a belt at a leather shop in Indianapolis, after visiting a fraternity brother in Southern Illinois.  He found the machinery on Angie's List in a community vaguely along the way.  He's right up there with the most interesting people I know, and his birthday post deserves a re-posting. ********* Pause a moment and wish my younger brother a Happy Birthday, wo...

One year ago today, I was here in Illinois.  Little Cuter, pregnant and nesting, took me to the garden center where her neighbor's child gave us a great deal on a pink and white hyacinth.  We planted it in a pot destined for her deck, and decided it was a lovely present with which to greet her baby. That baby arrived on July 29th, but parties in the middle of the week aren't the most convenient for working parents.  So, family  and friends   gathered on Saturday at FlapJilly's house to celebrate 52 weeks of babyhood.   It was perfect, just like the birthday girl herself. Little Cuter painted the antique high chair to match the decor.   The local grocery made wraps and croissant sandwiches and there were salads and sangria but mostly there was this  and this  and this   The personal smash cake was much too hard for her to penetrate.  Grandma had no problem using fingers as c...

Updated from 2014.  I've celebrated with you since 1971.  That's  more than forty years of hearing you complain that everyone is always driving home on your birthday.  Forty years of watching everyone else start the new year off by looking forward to new challenges, as we look back on the year just past.  Birthdays are times for reflection for us.  It's just so odd to do it when the rest of the world is focused forward. Thinking of a gift that wasn't given for Chanukah or Christmas is a perennial challenge.  I used to buy you cigars, but they don't seem to amuse you any more. The Sees Candies that greetsyou when you open your eyes and glance at your night stand this morning will be tasty, but they'll also be an echo of the two boxes Santa gifted you last week. It's always been that way.  You'd give me a list and wonder why some of it wasn't found under the tree or near the spinning dreidles, only to stop and remember that you had another oc...

I sent her furniture for the baby's room as her birthday gift. I think I forgot to get TBG to sign the card I remembered to mail. This morning, her email to me wondered what it meant that she kept forgetting that her birthday was approaching.   Is it weird?   Yes, sweetie, it's very weird.  It's not unusual, but it's weird. She's getting to the point where the individual years blur together. I remember it well.  She went to a 1980's theme party; I was bemused. I missed the 1980's; being pregnant and parenting little ones was as far as I could see. My musical tastes ran to Raffi and lullabies, my reading material centered on Margaret Wise Brown, and forget about fashion or lifestyle trends. Were I to be invited to that theme party, I'd have worn sweatpants. My birthdays came and went and I was happy to buy my own strawberry shortcake and take a long bubble bath and be done with it all.  I had decade-celebratory parties for TBG, but I wasn't ...

Happy Birthday, TBG!   I've celebrated with you since 1971.  That's  more than forty years of hearing you complain that everyone is always driving home on your birthday.  Forty years of watching everyone else start the new year off by looking forward to new challenges, as we look back on the year just past.  Birthdays are times for reflection for us.  It's just so odd to do it when the rest of the world is focused forward. Thinking of a gift that wasn't given for Chanukah or Christmas is a perennial challenge.  I used to buy you cigars, but they don't seem to amuse you any more. The Sees Candies that greetsyou when you open your eyes and glance at your night stand this morning will be tasty, but they'll also be an echo of the two boxes Big Cuter gifted you last week. It's always been that way.  You'd give me a list and wonder why some of it wasn't found under the tree or near the spinning dreidles, only to stop and remember that you had anot...

The plan was to have boys.  Only boys.  Girls and I did not get along.  I didn't understand them.   Then, I got the flu.  I also got pregnant.  I got morning sickness, congested nasal passages, and insomnia.   I also got my little girl. If there were two items of clothing which matched, up the stairs she ran to change one of them. Tender-headed, she refused to put a brush or a comb through her hair... which she also refused to cut.  Hair in her eyes made Daddy nutty, so she agreed to headbands and colorful clips. Bangs were never an option; they take too long to grow out.  I chose my battles in those days. She went happily uncombed to pre-school and I didn't care. It's not that I was all that talented in the tonsorial department, anyway. She really wasn't missing very much. She learned to accept a compliment with grace when she was three.  It was a means of protecting herself from unwanted attention to just how cute she wa...

My birthday doesn't mean that much to me any more. That may not look like a startling statement, but I assure you, denizens, it is.  I am known for celebrating my Birthday Month; what else is there to do in February in the winter in cold climes?  Lunch and music and breakfasts and hikes fit easily into the 28 days allotted to my celebration; all my friends and relatives could be accommodated with ease. The sun always shines on my birthday, just as it is now.  I could make plans without fear of weather interfering with the festivities.  The world knew that this day was different, and Mother Nature never rained on my parade.  She knew, too. I celebrated for 365 days the year I turned 50.  I had t-shirts created commemorating the wonderfulness of it all.   They were distributed to everyone with whom I shared an adventure that year. It's much more fun to distribute the love than to be the only one on the receiving end of the present train. The firs...

The evites went out on Sunday afternoon.  Within minutes, I had four responses.  My sister wasn't flying in, but the locals would be out in force.  As the day went on, my inbox was filling up with love notes from the invitees.  They were delighted to be asked, even if 3pm on Tuesday was inconvenient or impossible. When Mom asked if she had anyone to invite, I assured her that there were a lot of people who would enjoy the chance to wish her well.  Besides, I told her, we'll have cake and ice cream and champagne, and everyone needs a snack in the late afternoon. She and I had made our presence known in the Happy Ladies Club, back before I intersected with bullets.  We'd bowled, we'd lunched, we'd walked with women younger than she and older than she and we were welcomed with interest and affection.  I figured that I could ask those women to attend without the whole thing looking staged. Once I started through my contact list, I found lots of pockets...

Bunionella called this morning. We spent as much time talking about our mothers as we did about our daughters.  Our stories are different and the same, our reactions equally confused.  There's no Dr. Spock for us.  We're on our own, muddling through the best we can. She's coming to terms with making some demands of her own. Making decisions for another, making choices for another, directing the life of another takes its toll.  If we don't look out for ourselves along the way, who will be there for her when we are lying, helpless, on the couch, unable even to think about the situation let alone do something to make it better? "God help me if...."  and I finished her sentence with my own worst nightmare.  Our conversation took a turn to the bizarre, the what-would-be-worse scenarios filling my ears. Until bullets interrupted the reverie, it never occurred to me that I would be anything other than a spry 102 year old, bending and stretching and moving and ...