A Moment For Mom

 I was rocking a fussy Levi in the nursery at 2 in the morning in late April, thinking about the transition to parenthood.  It's a transition, no doubt.  Two people who are used to sleeping through the night, coming and going as they want, are now beholden to a newborn's schedule.  Naps are suddenly very necessary for both mom and dad.  It's possible to go out, but it's not as simple as it was.

Anyway, I was thinking about all this, and it seemed to me that there had to be an acceptance of all this eventually.  Three weeks in, it all still felt a bit surreal, as surreal as the idea of being a parent was nine months ago. There's a new member of the family in the house to care for, to love, to see grow.

Levi was slowly calming down, breathing was becoming deeper.  I was holding him to my chest, and I had a CD on that had a heartbeat over soft music and sound effects.  My mind began to wander back to the weekend before.  The three of us had gone to South Shore Terrace Beer Garden along with my brother, and something about the location seemed very familiar to my brother and me.  It seemed like we had been here as little kids.

I asked my dad about it, and he said that we had been there.  He shared a detail that I vaguely recalled.My mom had packed so many toys when we went to the beach that other kids started to drift over and ask if they could play with them. 

I don't know what it was about remembering this with the heartbeat in the background and Levi in my arms, but I started to remember THAT mom, mom before she developed multiple sclerosis, mom who took care of us before she started needing care.  I realized that when she passed away two years ago that I had never really mourned THAT mom.  I felt my mouth start to tremble. Something had been unlocked.

My mom did pack us a lot of toys when we went to the beach, just as she packed a box of stuff to do when we went on long car trips.  Her sons were not going to be bored.  We had books, games, you name it, we had it in the back seat. 

My mom really scheduled us out in the summertime.  She wanted us to get a taste for many things, so we had sports camp, journalism camp, drama, tennis team.  She fought for us too.  One time, she told me that if I passed this swim class, I could have this book that I wanted.  Last day of swim class, we had the final tests.  One of them was treading water, and I kind of thought something was kind of funky about the way the test had gone.  I mentioned it to her and she marched down to the instructor, who must have conceded that something was awry because we were re-tested and I passed the class.



Levi wriggled in my arms a bit, let out a deep breath, and went back to sleep. 



I continued to remember my mom, who from an early age passed on her love of reading.  She always had stacks of books on her nightstand, and she'd be up until the early hours of the morning working her way through another page-turner.  One night when I was a sophomore in high school, she and my dad were out, and she called home to tell me that the library was hiring.  She brought home an application, and I wound up working there for just over six years.  My first job was as a library page, mostly shelving but also working the front desk, which I really enjoyed, but my favorite role there was being in charge of the volunteers during the summer.  The volunteers helped the little kids and parents when they returned their reading logs and earned prizes or prize entries.  I felt like part of a family at the library, so incredibly fortunate.

My mom lived in assisted living for almost four years when she passed away.  I came every week (usually on Tuesday nights) to deliver groceries, her audiobooks, and to talk about life, TV, and current events.  For months after she passed away in the hospital, I had this lingering feeling that I was only remembering my mom as she was the last few years. 

As my son slept contentedly in my arms, I blinked through the tears and smiled.

Let's See Where This Goes

Wow, I see it's been over a year since I've been on here.  Long time, no blog.  The last year hasn't been a slog, but a joy.  We went and had ourselves a boy.  He's a happy, healthy lad, which makes his mom and me glad.  Always something new, whether it's smiling, cooing, or watching the mobile on his swing go round and round.  Always something to be found, like his fists, which he looks at with wonder.  What do I do with these?  He'll figure it out later.  All that is to come, all the milestones.  The smiles make up for the whines and moans.  The lack of sleep, it's not for keeps, as he's starting to nap for longer.




The days of going to the movie theater regularly are gone for us, but I don't feel a great void.  The previews leave me annoyed.  Dear oh, I'll quote Tina Turner:  we don't need another hero, and my interest in them is zero.  Superman, Batman, Spiderman, Ant Man, they all seem like blunders, but not the Woman of Wonder.  There's room in the world for her, no doubt, but with last year's best pictures I had a falling out.  Lion had me bored to tears, Arrival tried to solve interplanetary fears.  I needed a bigger screen for Moonlight's trance, La La Land did not make me dance.  Manchester was the best of the bunch, and after that, Hidden Figures seemed like a picnic lunch.


I'll break out of the rhyme soon, but TV leaves me more over the moon.  Jimmy McGill's backsliding wonderfully on Better Caul Saul.  I love that each episode doesn't solve all.  About each character slowly we learn, and sometimes it's an exceedingly slow burn.  Of Red Oaks (Amazon) we made short work, and Paul Reiser plays a wonderful jerk.  Catastrophe (Amazon) is what happens when all heck breaks loose, and I liked it, I won't be obtuse.  These last three shows never hit the skids, but I wouldn't recommend them around the kids.


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