Please welcome our guest blogger... My mom. No, I am not desperate. At a recent family gathering, Brodi asked if anyone present wanted to be a guest blogger. I immediately raised my hand and shrieked, “Pick me! Pick me!”
No one else raised their hand or their voice. Apparently Brodi didn’t notice, because she cleared her throat and asked with exaggerated enunciation, “I said, does anyone want to be a guest blogger?”
Against a backdrop of deafening silence and with absolutely no reduction in enthusiasm, my hand shot up again as I chanted with grating annoyance, “Pick me! Pick me!” thus dispelling the myth that if you ignore me, I will go away. I am the consummate irritant.
No one but her mother would have detected the barely perceptible eye roll when she acquiesced and replied, “Oh Kay-yay! You can blo-ogg!”
I won! I won! By default, yes, BUT I WON!!!
Brodi stipulated that first I had to introduce myself, preferably in simple sentences. OK! OK! I have thumbs. I can do that! Here goes.
I am Brodi’s mom.
For those of you who don’t know me, I am 5’7”, naturally blond, I am frequently mistaken for Angeline Jolie (must be the lips!) and I have an advanced degree in astrophysics from Harvard.
For those of you who DO know me, I am still in the 12-step recovery program for pathological liars.
I have always loved words. They have such power, and can convey such emotion. I especially like the newest entries included in the Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary. So in an effort to further describe myself in officially current vernacular, I am not a “cougar,” but I share my daughters’ intense admiration for Rafa Nadal. At the moment I am sporting a serious “muffin top,” my only claim to curves. I do not chirp, peep, “tweet,” or feed my Twitter. I do, however, “fist bump,” “crowdsource,” and show my “guns” upon request. Well, enough about me. I’ll be available later for questions. On to the blog.
Summer ended abruptly last week. Autumn debuted at 6:00 Monday morning in a flurry of backpacks, notebooks, peanut butter sandwiches and a whole bunch of kids with sun-bleached hair.
There’s a certain nostalgia about the first day of school. Memories and recollections flood our minds. Time is not divided into seasons, but determined by which teacher and what grade each kid is assigned. As a grandma, I want to sprint full throttle ahead and wrap a protective shield of arm flab around my little tribe so nothing can harm them. Grandmas are hard-wired to run interference for their team. It is not an easy task to allow fledglings to try their wings without saturating the earth with feathers.
Especially kid C. You’d think that after a broken clavicle and his grandpa stitching multiple facial cuts, I would be hardened to childhood wounds. Not so. I am still jarred by the flow of blood or protruding bones. DNA is a pretty powerful binding agent.
This past Saturday, Dennis and I became soccer nomads, attending 4 out of 5 scheduled games of our grandkids. Each child seems genuinely happy when we exceed the prescribed neighborhood decibel level with unrestrained cheering, since we do not own vuvuzelas.
Every one of our posse made us proud, especially kid C. In spite of a broken elbow held together with pins and a bright Runnin’ Utes red cast on his arm, he played his scheduled game. Brodi had bound him in bubble wrap to buffer any blunt force trauma to the injury site, so much so that we could have FedEx’ed him anywhere in the world. But there is always risk of freak accidents. I tried not to worry. I failed. Although I do think total body bubble wrap may just be the answer to Grandma angst. What a little warrior.
After the game, we attempted a high five, but due to the location and immobility of his cast, we settled for fist bumps. We’re nothing if not adaptable. It was a nice moment.
We love Brodi’s blog and her gift for creative expression. She looks at things, but she also sees through things.There are times we think her muse is on steroids. But we particularly enjoy the many and varied comments that complete her thoughts. We feel like we know everyone personally, and we’ve learned so much from you. Sometimes life is like a hurricane – an organized storm around a well-defined eye. Hurricanes happen. To everyone. You have supported us, encouraged us, and allowed us to feel your love with words of comfort and joy. This has helped calm the storms that rage. We were advised to surround ourselves with people who believe we can do hard things. You are part of that. I guess it is true we are all connected. This is a good thing.
I appreciate the opportunity to sit in Brodi’s chair, share some thoughts and express our appreciation. Of course, she tells it like it is. I tell it like it ought to be. So the next time she asks if anyone wants to be a guest blogger, there will be a thunderous “Pick me!” heard round the world! I’ll be back!
