Random thoughts …
That is what happens when I can’t think of one solid reason for blogging on any given week.
Thoughts of what I would do … if I didn’t do … what I do.
That’s right. What would you be doing at this very moment if you weren’t reading this? What would I do if I didn’t have this to come to each week?
What would I do if I could no longer write?
Random thoughts-Two …
Wonder of wonders … my baby girl is having a baby girl … the continuation of a legacy that has spanned continents and generations since my great-great-grandmothers in Italy.
I am named for both my grandmothers. My daughter is named for my childhood crush on Jennifer Jones. I informed my husband and family that I was having a baby girl with dark hair and blue eyes.
And they laughed.
You’re a dark Italian girl, what’s with the blue eyes?
Her maternal great-grandfather and both her paternal and maternal grandfathers had blue eyes.
And those wide blue eyes sought me out the first moment as she wriggled into my life.
It is said that a son is a son until he takes a wife. When he is grown, he throws over his first love and reserves those secret moments for another.
It is so true that a daughter is a daughter all your life. When we give birth to a girl child, we give birth to our best friend.
Soon I’ll be getting on a jet plane headed for New York … soon … Oh, please come soon … I will hold another piece of our family history.
The month she was born I heard a song by Stevie Wonder and it has been her song since.
She has been all of that and more. Not willing to take a back seat to her older brother, she has gleefully contributed to my crop of gray hairs, given me sleepless nights, and touched my funny bone and my heart.
I miss that little pest. You know the one? The one who manages to miss the entire movie and barges into the room as the murderer is about to be revealed? The skinny kid who was always the smallest Smurf … she was Smurfette … tiny and petite and the biggest mouth in the school yard.
She fights me tooth and gums on every issue, she pushes when she could remain still, and is stubborn when she could relent.
She sang before she talked.
And when she started talking, she let out a stream of consciousness that could be heard all over Washington Heights and up into the Indwood Hills.
A teenager of the eighties with dock martins, black jeans and a streak of purple in that lovely dark hair, she kept me honest, challenging my every edict.
I love the woman she has become and I am happy for her that she will finally have her own little girl. She waited fifteen years and as the big day closes in on both of us … I wonder …
Will she have one like her?
Will her lovely dark hair turn to silver or her resolve melt in the face of a teenager’s rebellion?
We don’t know what is coming around the next bend of the road and all I can do is wish for her a smooth journey with lots of laughter and a minimum of tears.
As my baby is about to become a mother, I think about my mother and how much I miss her. I think about all the things I should have told her, but had no wisdom to know.
Mary, Mary …Mom was indeed … quite contrary. She was a tough nut to crack, a task-master who might easily give you a smack as a kiss. Whack, on the back of the legs with the wooden spoon, bam with the back of her hand on my head, Mom was the disciplinarian of the two.
Think of your mother this Sunday. Give her a call if you are lucky enough to still have her in your life. If she is gone, remember only the good about her.
Be grateful and kind.
You were probably no picnic to raise.
Tell me, do you remember?
Which color carnation should you wear this Sunday?
Happy Mother’s Day, people. Raising a human is no turkey trot.