Tuesday, October 23, 2012

One Year Later's here.  The anniversary we didn't want to have. 

It's been one year since you left us.  Well...maybe I should correct that.  You left us a long time ago, but your body didn't give out until a year ago.

A lot has changed in this past year.  A lot has stayed the same.  I'm still married to your son.  I still love him and he still loves me (most times) and we still fight to stay together every day.

Your grandbabies are now adults mostly.  K will be 20 this year and C will be 18.  And your great-grandbaby...sweet Butterbean, will soon be a year old.  You never got to meet her in the flesh.  You left 6 weeks before she arrived.  6 measley weeks.

You would not believe how much she is K made over.  You would be in love with her and she would be in love with you.  I wish that the anticipation of her arrival had been enough to convince you to stay. 

I wish we would have been enough...your family.  I know losing your husband six months earlier was hard.  It was unbearable for all of us.  But couldn't have fought a little harder?  Worked a little more to find a reason to live?

Butterbean has her mama's eyes.  And the exact same hair.  There are days when her Bops and I look at her and it takes our breath because she reminds us so strongly of K when she was that age.  She'll be walking in a few short weeks.  And not long after that we'll be celebrating her first birthday.

And we'll be thinking of you.  And wishing you were here.

I remember when K turned a year old and those first years as a mother.  Man, I was so insecure and so uptight about everything.  You and I definitely did not see eye to eye on a lot of things as far as she was concerned, but there was one thing I was never in doubt about.  I knew you loved her.

Probably in ways you didn't even think you could love.  I'm sure it took you by surprise.  I know you didn't want to be a grandmother at that time.  I know you were too young.

I know because I'm too young. 

But none of that mattered once the baby arrived.  All that mattered was her and making sure she was loved and spoiled in all the ways a granddaughter should be.  I'm sorry I ruined some of that for you by being so insecure and so worried about things that didn't matter.

I'm sorry I helped to make it into a competition for you.  I get it now.  I know what it's like to try to erase regret by trying to be Mimi Supreme.  I'm trying not to do that to K but it's very hard.  She doesn't have the benefit of hindsight like you and I do.  I keep trying to remember that, but I fail at it a lot.

I believe that you have finally found the peace that eluded you here on earth, because I believe in the mighty hand of our merciful and just God.  I know that you see and know now, all the things you couldn't see and know before.  And I'm glad.  I'm glad you can finally see all the love that we have had for you all these years.  I'm glad you can finally rest enough to let it in.

I just wanted to say that to you today.

And that even through all of the crap, and the what ifs, and the wishing it could have been otherwise...we still love you.

I still love you.

I wish you were here.  *sigh*

But you're not.

Anyway...happy anniversary.

Friday, October 5, 2012

And Sometimes...All You Can Do Is Grab A Bag Of Popcorn And Enjoy The Show

GEEZE-O-PETE!!! When did October get here?  What happened to September? Or July for that matter?

I suppose what I'm trying to say here is...well I don't know really what I'm trying to say.  I'm sure it was something nifty about time and Jim Croce and a bottle.  Or it could just have been about my lack of discipline and getting behind on stuff.

Something to that effect.

Anyhoo, I think when last we spoke I was tellin' y'all about my brush with the stripper pole.  Turns out, that was not to be the only time during vacay that I would almost come in contact with the exotic dance industry.  Oh no. 

After much back and forth with our friendly GPS lady and approximately 11 U-turns...we finally arrived at our destination (completely intact and only slightly worse for wear).  We were pleasantly surprised by the ocean view from our condo "balcony."  I put the word "balcony" in quotation marks because it was only about a foot wide.  Two people could fit out there, but your behind would definitely be smooshed up against the sliding glass door.

We snapped some quick pics of the kids faces as they got their first view and then we did what normal people do...we dropped our bags and hightailed it out to the beach.  Now, in order to get to the beach, we had to go down one floor to the lobby and walk past the pool and hot tub.  As we were walking I noticed some people out there that were a bit, well, out of the ordinary...but I just chalked it up to "Hey we're at Myrtle Beach" and tried to keep up with the kids as they ran pell mell to the ocean.

A while later we dragged the kids away from the ocean in order to feed them dinner.  We only accomplished this feat with promises of returning as soon as possible.  We got cleaned up and hopped back in the car (oh joy! rapture!) in search of grub. 

Now, I should remind y'all...I have never had to drive myself around Myrtle before.  I was therefore, immediately lost.  But we had our trusty GPS lady to guide us and what do you know...only 3 minor U-turns and one trip through the North Myrtle "red light" district later (see paragraph #4)  and we found a suh-weet little Mexican restaurant. 

We walked in and almost walked back out because someone had seriously doused the entire place in Pine-Sol.  It was nauseating.  We considered leaving but we were pretty much done with all the "being in the car" so we decided to stick it out.  PSA: Mexican food and "pine-fresh scent" do not go together well.

After dinner we headed back to the beach for one last dip before collapsing into our beds.  Keep in mind we had been up since 4:30 in the am.  Y'all we were tired.  Which might help you understand the whys and wherefores of what happened next.

My friend began working her "mom" magic and somehow managed to get the littles calmed down enough to drop off to sleep.  We had turned out the lights in the condo and were settling down ourselves when the people I had noticed earlier decided it was PARTY IN THE USA time.  Because spending their whole day doing shots at the pool-side Tiki bar hadn't been enough.  And lucky for us...our room was right over the pool/hot tub area.  So we got to hear every bit of slurred conversation and "friendly banter" happening between the guys and the gals.

One of whom started to get really upset.  Girlfriend and I peeked through the curtains and noticed that one of the party-goer guys was a little on the short side.  Someone had called him on it or asked him about it and I don't know what else was said but it must have been bad because next thing we know, homeboy is up out of the hot tub going "Come AT me BRO! Come AT me!"

Now y'all...Mimi is all about people of all shapes, colors and sizes.  So please don't hate me for saying this...but the sight of that little man dripping wet and hopping (I kid you not...he was hopping) and screaming...well it was somewhat humorous.  It didn't help that we were slap-happy by that time either.

After the initial chuckle or two, when things didn't seem to be calming down, this was the point when Girlfriend started getting a little mad herself.  We were TRYING TO KEEP TWO KIDS COMATOSE UNTIL AT LEAST 6AM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.  It was 11pm and the rules clearly stated (we knew because being the nerdy girls we are...we actually read them) that 11pm was quiet time.  Girlfriend wanted those peeps gone.  I just sat back (see blog title) to see what would happen.  Plus I didn't want to get in her way.  She was getting this strange twitch in her eye and mumbling something about sleep so...I just tried to survive.

Girlfriend marched to the phone...picked up the receiver and called the front desk.  Yes.  She TOLD ON THE PARTY-GOERS AND THE ANGRY LITTLE MAN.  It should be mentioned here (because my wordcount isn't NEARLY long enough and you haven't been completely bored to tears yet) that the front desk guy was all of 150 pounds soaking wet.  And his name was Richard.  Not Rick.  Not Ricky-Bobby.  Not Studly McStudmuffin.  Just Richard.

BUT...he WAS covered in tattoos so we were hoping there was enough toughness in him to get the job done.  We were especially worried that Richard might have to tangle with the ANGRY LITTLE after Girlfriend hung up we did what normal, mature, grown-up Christian ladies would do.  We peeped through the curtain to watch the show.

Home-boy Richard was brilliant.  Those people argued and whined...but Richard the Night Manager got them out.  We were high-fiving him and giving him the thumbs up and telling him (from the safety of our second floor room and behind our curtains) that we had his back.  At this point, Richard turned and LOOKED UP AT US and gave us a thumbs up.  And that's when we realized the sliding glass door was OPEN and he had heard us.

Every. Word.

Mortification.  It's a definite buzz-kill.

Tune in next time for the story about the one-legged lady and Lt. Dan.  No, I am not kidding.