Hi Readers!
Since I last posted, as you probably know, our family has been increased by one. Welcome little Emmeline Renee! Our little odd-ball (I say this lovingly. You shall see why.) arrived at 3 on 5/7/09. Her new parents are getting used to their roles and have already survived the first bump in the road: a trip back to the hospital to have the baby treated for jaundice. I understand the Pink Princess is no longer Lady Lemon-yellow, however she does a great Kenny Chesney imitation, sacked out in her tropical green sling chair "no shoes, no shirt, no problem." For those who have asked, her name is pronounced "Emma" as in the Austen heroine, and "line" as in a set of dots traveling on forever in search of a destination. If you'd like to call her "Emmie" for short, that's just dandy as well.
Katie celebrated her first Mother's Day and I was able to join in. This last weekend was another milestone in my mothering career as I celebrated Kevin's high school graduation (3 down, 2 to go) and entrance into the ranks of Eagle Scout. My mom was able to be here for the festivities. Seems every time she comes to see me lately I put her to work preparing for a big event: weddings, Jeopardy parties, graduation parties.... I'll see if I can give her a break here in the next couple of weeks. Think she'd like an all-expense paid trip to see that precious new little great-granddaughter? Stay tuned for Grandmothers On the Road.
And last but not least, in keeping with the motherhood theme (I know this is a lot for one post, but I'm catching up. Bear with me!) I wanted to share a new favorite poem with you. I could go on about how a good poem hits you in just the right place, how it helps you remember things you didn't know you forgot, and how it manages to say in a few phrases what you can't seem to put in several paragraphs.
What I Learned From My Mother
-Julia Kasdorf
I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.
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