I (ELC—aka Big Mama—and if I don’t quit eating DQ Mini Blizzards and Braums’ Mixes, that is literally going to be what I am—a very BIG Mama) came home three days ago from my eleven nights of HEAVEN at Little Mama’s Casa. We’d gotten into a comfy routine that I hated to leave. But My Sweet Hubby (MSH)—not to mention Teddy Buddy Boo Bear and Mortimer—needed some attention. Bless their little hearts.
Since I arrived late Friday afternoon, I’ve done eight loads of laundry, cleaned three commodes (MSH doesn’t refuse to do much at our home—he does, however, despise this job. I, on the other hand, would rather clean commodes than dust. Go figure.) and bathrooms, vacuumed, dusted, paid some bills, watched some TV (One of my newest fav shows? Junk Gypsies.), eaten some of MSH's fabulous meals and slept. For more than three hours at a time! (Sorry, Little Mama. I realize you won’t be able to say this for several months. Welcome to The Joys of Parenthood.)
Thought I’d catch y’all up on some of my recent observations. I know how much y’all wait for these. Yes, yes you do.
The Olympics. Is it just me, or do y’all feel like The BIGGEST SLUGS ON EARTH when you watch the Olympics? Not because I could ever have been a gymnast (As a child, I dreaded even having to do somersaults—YUCK), or a rower, or a swimmer or diver (How in the world does one become brave enough to dive from those platforms—twisting and turning the entire time?). Never did I even consider learning any of these sports. (I wasn’t a bad swimmer—but I was scared to death to jump off the “high” dive.) What, then, makes me feel like the laziest person ever? The Olympians' dedication. Commitment. Passion. Determination. Their fantastic attitudes. I must have been at the Sonic getting a Mini Blast when these honorable qualities were passed out. I can’t think of anything that has ever made me so dedicated and committed I would devote hours and hours, days, weeks, months and years to perfect my performance. Well, maybe laying on the couch and watching TV. Or reading. I can get pretty determined to lie on said couch indefinitely. I’m grateful I don’t have to wear a bikini-thingy like those beach/sand volleyball chicks to do this semi/quasi “sport.” Or risk breaking my neck—like the cRaZy peeps on the parallel bars. I’m begging Little Mama and Her Sweet Hubby (HSH) to pinky swear Little Leighton will only be allowed to participate in Spelling Bees and music—like piano or violin playing. These seem acceptable/safe/interesting enough to moi. Right?
Men. In becoming a temporary member of Little Mama’s household for twelve days, I re-discovered that most men watch WEIRD stuff on TV. HSH is no exception. We cracked up constantly as he found the most wacky shows imaginable with which to become enthralled. What is it that makes men so intrigued by bizarre and random entertainment (I use the word “entertainment” very loosely)? Granted, he, like MSH, is also interested in being current on national, world and sports' news and is equally (almost) content watching HGTV. Even some Food Network shows. Still. It’s a mystery.
Babies. No matter how many new-fangled items/objects creative/smart people come up with to make raising babies easier/smoother, babies still require the same amount of love, affection, attention, commitment (Hmmm, yes, exactly like the commitment of an Olympian!), and dedication as they always have. From the beginning of time.
BY THE WAY: Little Mama cannot even imagine how I coped without most of her modern baby innovations/inventions. She has the most amazing products to help her and HSH raise Little Leighton virtually effortlessly. Even the diapers inform you, now, when the baby is wet (by a strip that turns from green to blue!). She’s got a video monitor and two different items that make the noise Little Leighton heard while in Little Mama’s womb. (I kind of think that heartbeat just confuses her.) TLC’s got her iPhone to document every fabulous moment—either by picture or video. She’s got Baby 411—a great book written by several contributors that answers every conceivable question one could ever think of involving infants/babies/toddlers. She’s got blogs and Bing and magazines to refer to with her Inquiry du Jour. Or, more accurately, du Minute. She has sweet friends that can give her advice—almost immediately—through text-messaging. Yet all of these wonderful resources and conveniences can’t do away with Little Mama’s exhaustion. Or her constant worries and fears. These seem to be universal. And timeless. As they should be.
In Texas America
I must scoot…I'll be heading back to Little Mama’s in a couple of hours for several more days of Grammy’s Nanny-ing/Housekeeping/Grocery Shopping/Taxi-Driving/Errand Running Services. My new favourite jobs!
xoxxooxxxooo
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