Decoration Day

I talked with my Dad today. He is 82 years old and was in the Navy at the end of World War II. Here he is with his 28th and youngest grandchild, my little Mite. He was telling me how Memorial day used to be called Decoration Day. He used to go to the cemetary with Grandma Buck (his Mom; remember, he was Two Bits as a boy) to plant flowers on the family graves on Decoration Day. As a young boy he learned about the "Decoration of Independence" at school and so connected the two days together. I suppose kids have been saying cute things for as long as there have been cute kids. My little Cents has been full of them the past week or so. We were out with our strollers, Mite in the one I was pushing and "Ariel" in her little stroller, when we ran into a mom we know from down the block and her two sons. Cents told the boys she "would really appreciate if they would come and play at my house." So down the block we went together. Cents was chatting it up with the Mom along the way when I heard her answer the question about whether we walk our babies together often with, "I don't ordinarily take my baby for a walk." A few days later we visited the GR Children's Museum and spent some time together in a triangular mirror tunnel. Cents and I had fun counting how many Cents we could see. Then we began counting Moms when Cents said, "lets get out of here, this is disturbing." Honestly, this girl has a better vocabulary than I do. I'm often stuck on: "can you bring me that thingy over there on the, the, ummmm, the table." I'm certain these kids have helped themselves to whatever brains I once had - and they are using them against me! : )

Since it's Memorial Day, let me tell you a new story I learned about my Dad and his time in the Navy. He chose to graduate early so that he could enlist before being drafted. By the end of the war, they were drafting by the 18th birthday, so some schools arranged for summer school and early graduation so that they could go to war with their diploma completed. Following in his big brothers' footsteps (that would be the original Buck and Half Buck), he chose the Navy. After some time aboard a ship and some testing, the Navy sent him to U of M for training in engineering. That is where he was when Truman dropped the bombs that ended the war. He has always been thankful, as he feels this saved his life. After the war, he returned to U of M to finish a degree, and served in the Naval Reserve. It wasn't until recently that he was able to tell this story, as it was deemed classified. Basically he was sent to language school at nights as a reserve to learn Russian and codebreaking (there is probably some technical term for this, but you would need to get it from Cents). After several months, his day job needed to send him out of state for a few months, so he checked in with his superior officer and recieved permission to miss his training and take the assignment out of state, with the understanding that he would continue training when he returned. Upon his return, he simply couldn't find the class or the instructor. It appears they were called up to active duty while he was away!!! And that is how my Dad didn't become a more active part of the Cold War! This was just fascinating to me because of the "what ifs" it entailed: if he had been called up to active duty, he wouldn't have been around to meet my Mom....and then all eleven of us wouldn't have been around! Those of us raised on movies like Back to the Future can spot these turning point moments where our life could have gone elsewhere, but didn't. I could have been fading away right out of the photo to be replaced by some resonably sized family. But he met my mom, had 11 children, giving Mary 5 a Russian nickname, and being really interested when my hubby and I went to spend a year in Russia when our own little Buck was a year old. He even gave me some books to help us out. But he never told us of his time studying Russian. It was only two years ago, when he looked into his military record and found that the this informations was no longer classified, that he passed the story on to me. Memorial Day 2009

Vocabulary

Ran into a neighbor Mom of 5, Shauna, today and while the little ones played, we commiserated! Feeds my soul, those sentence finishing moments. It is always fun to see what someone else notices about your kids. Okay, it isn't always fun. I could see the lack of manners at the cottage with Cents and Mite this past Saturday. My baby walks and eats, he doesn't sit. I'm ashamed of my parenting. None of the others got away with that! And Cents was swift to avoid obeying street safety, avoid picking up toys; but she sure didn't avoid sneaking cookies. I don't think it bugged Sister Mary 1 too much, but it bugged me. My failure too. But today was different. We ran into Shauna and boys a block from home so Cents invited some little boys over by saying she would really appreciate it if they came and played with her. Then I could hear her telling Shauna that we occasionally take walks. But I don't think I would have noticed her stellar vocab if not for the Shauna noticing! We just need each other, don't we. Sometimes we can't see things without someone else providing focus. Plus she found my Cents when she went on a little walk of her own when I was pregnant. She took her in and called me. We didn't know she was missing. How does a neighbor from 2 blocks away remember my last name anyway? It took me 3 years to remember her first name. I guess that means Cents has a better vocabulary than I do. From May of 2009

I Want My Mommy

Little Mite doesn't like me to leave him. At 18 months, he may leave me, but not the other way around. Although he doesn't say it, I know quite well that his cry is saying: I want my Mommy. I know the feeling.


She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying Don't worry 'bout me

That's from an Alan Jackson song that makes me cry every time I hear it. Mom's day is still - I might cry for any reason - hard for me. Yep, chocked up during the Mom song video at church this morning. If you haven't seen this one, it really isn't a tear jerker, but it is really funny.

My Mom has been gone for 16 and a half years. Sometimes I think people think the pain should have faded. It has some. Today, just today, I look at it another way: she has been gone 20 grandchildren, including a funeral for one of them and the adoption of another....she has been gone for 4 daughters' weddings and one son's as well....she has been gone for one of their divorces (well, so there is a good side)....she has missed first houses and job changes and firings and illnesses. She isn't there to consult about a recipe, the chickenpox, marriage, teething, sulky teens. And today is the day that I allow myself to have a big old pity party about it.

Since I made my serious entry into a big family with the surprise pregnancy of little Mite the same year I turned 40, I've really felt her absence. There are just not loads of people who have 5 or more, who have children in 3 to 4 different schools, who are simply inundated with laundry loads of socks alone. I was sincerely freaked out when we realized our 5th was on the way. He was quite a shock to us. I felt just like you would expect an expectant mom of 4 when the income consists of one part time job per adult with a 3-bedroom ranch and mortgage and the big 4-0 looming. It took us 5 months 'til we told even family, and I was seriously waiting for them to take me to task. Instead my sisters, the Marys, were thrilled and excited. "Terrific?" I said, "It's terrifying!" "Because we are getting a little older?" asked Sister Mary 1, who is 10 years ahead of me. Crying by now, "Because there are so many of them." I just wanted my Mom. Suddenly I could see her face throughout my childhood and I knew what she was feeling: overwhelmed, tired, hormonal, chained to family, wondering when this season would end or get easier.

I just can't relate to the advice or experiences of the Mom of 2 very well....except as a distant memory of when I thought I had this job in hand. (In fact, all I can often do is smile indulgently and hope they fare better than I.) I need someone who knows they are in waaaaaay over their head and has thrashed their way to shore and can throw me a line. Okay, okay, I know it is our personal ocean to survive, but I would just feel good knowing that they lived to tell the tale. I sometimes think my Mom didn't live to tell the tale. She died when her baby was 21. She didn't get all those perks of watching us all really take flight in our adult lives. She didn't get to enjoy her years of rapidly increasing intelligence in her kids' eyes. And she sure did earn it. From Mothers Day 2009