The Path To Whirled Peas

A month or so ago, the 'Bean, her mother and I took a weekend trip up to Ohio to see family.  My cousin is the co-founder of Bella Baby Photography, and they'd just opened their new studio.

They needed a test subject.

So...

Butterbean generously gave of her time and expertise to throw out a few poses.

It was hard work...

But she handled it like a pro.

The drive to Ohio also afforded a chance for Butterbean's mommy and me to talk.  At issue were important things like, stocking the diaper bag with socks when Butterbean comes to visit (get it? "stocking" the diaper bag with socks? oh the dippy humor you guys are in for...) and when is the proper time to start giving her solid foods (peas and carrots anyone?), as well as a few, tiny, little insignificant things like family members who were overstepping boundaries and giving unwanted and unwarranted criticism in the form of "advice."

Ahem.

One thing I truly appreciate about my daughter is she understands my hovering.  She doesn't like it, but she understands it.

Another thing I like and admire about her is she's woman enough to stand up to it and put her foot down when necessary.  Respectfully, of course.

To understand me, you have to know that my children (I have two, my daugher and my son) are my treasures.  Money (not that I have any), houses (not that I own one), cars (ok we have a few of those)...are all nice things, but worthless in light of my kids.

So to say I'm a hoverer is a little bit of an understatement.  I am a true-blue, handwringing, nail-biting, always-wear-clean-underwear-in-case-you're-in-an-accident helicopter mom.  I accept this and I own it baby.

In my daughter's case, I wasn't really afforded the gradual letting go that lots of moms get.  I was hoping I'd have a nice four years of college followed by 3 years of graduate school to get used to the idea that my child is now in fact, an adult.

That didn't happen.

Actually, it kind of went down like this:

BOOM! Graduation
BOOM! Pregnancy
BOOM! Grandmother-hood
BOOM! Wedding
BOOM! Move out and get own life. (Her, not me.)

All of it happened at once in less than a span of 12 months.

*sigh* Jesus and chocolate were my only links to sanity.

So, I still have issues with being THAT mom...you know, the one who keeps everybody waiting in the drop-off line at school because she's good-bye-ing and advising and pep-talking just because she can't bear to watch the little shaver walk off without her?

Guilty.

(Sorry, by the way, if you were ever unfortunate enough to be behind me in line.)

So, as I said, the five-hour drive to Ohio was a good chance to clear the air.

And sneak in a spoonful or ten of whirled peas to Butterbean.

;)


(All photos courtesy of Bella Baby Photography.  These images are copyrighted and may not be used without written permission.  Thanks!)

Ferris Told Me There'd Be Days Like This...

I should have known it when I had to have my gall bladder removed at 38.

The times, they were a' changin'.

Gall bladder surgery. 

Really?

I mean, isn't that for people who already have their AARP cards?

Ferris Bueller warned me in my teens that life moved pretty fast.  I should have listened. 

Instead, I casually laughed my way through the movie, coveting Sloan's hair and cool fringe leather jacket; slurping down soda with no thought as to what copious amounts of sugar would later do to my thighs, and wishing I was Jennifer Grey's character, locking lips with the once-gorgeous, pre-tiger blood Charlie Sheen.

Who knew that John Hughes was a prophet?  Certainly not me. I was sixteen, immortal, and destined for greatness. 

And then, I blinked.

Suddenly it was my fortieth birthday, but instead of being treated to tacky over-the-hill gag gifts lovingly selected by my family and friends, I was in a hospital watching my 19-year-old daughter give birth to my grand-daughter.

Holy schnikeys.

A grandmother???  ME???

Trust me, THIS was not in the original plan. 

(Actually my whole life after high-school was not in the original plan but that's not exactly the point of this blog.)

So, I did what any self-respecting shiny-new grandmother would do in that situation.  I cried.

Then I looked at my little Butterbean as she came into the world, and lost my heart.  Irrevocably and forever.

That was six months ago.  Life, as I knew it, is over.  Joy comes to me now in unspeakable bounty, all wrapped up in pink and covered in whatever food she's been eating that day.

She is Butterbean.  I am Mimi.  Together, we're figuring out this weird, yet wonderful turn of events and allowing God to heal, restore, and renew.  This blog is our attempt to document it all.

After all, life does move pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around blog about it once in a while, you might miss it.