Come Back, Nana!

Nana must be gone because Clementine (still wearing her glow-in-the-dark, skeleton jammies) is watching a second episode of Sesame Street, and her English muffin with mostly-licked-off cream cheese sits beside me, on the couch, where I eat barbequed potato chips for breakfast and type words into a little, white box.

I know my mom--having returned to East Tennessee a little earlier than planned--will surprise and encourage a friend today.  I imagine she will catch up with my dad and brother, also attend to the necessary evils of paperwork, housework.  In terms of measurable results, she will probably accomplish more, today, than I will accomplish all week.  In all fairness, I will likely find myself even less productive than usual because--after trying (to some degree) to keep up with Mom for six days--I'm tired: funny, because I know Mom tried really hard to give me rest. 

In a few important ways, Mom did give me rest.  For the better part of a week, she shared in the baby loving.  She took care of all three children while Jim and I went out, alone, for the first time in almost seven months.  (We had the best time talking over sandwiches and picking out books, for the kids, from dollar bins.)  And--from a bedspread too small for our bed--she crafted beautiful, heavy drapes that keep sunlight from Jim's and my bedroom.

I stayed busier than usual while Mom visited, and I'm tired, but I wish she were still here.  I have so much to learn from her, as--nearly thirty-seven years into our relationship--her deep wells of energy and patience remain a marvel and mystery to me.  I fear I may never understand but know I blossom into her kind of love and cling to hope that, someday, the rest will fall in place.  If not, I will forgive myself; it took two parents to make me, and the other is amazing in his own right.  Also, some personality traits skip a generation, and that holds some promise.  On the phone just now, Mom said: "You reminded me a lot of your grandma [Blickenstaff, Mom's mom] last week."

I perked up, expecting references to my letter-writing and morning-hating.  "Oh, really?"  I asked.  "How so?"

"Well," she said, "You've probably only seen me go out without make-up, like, five times in my life, right?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Your grandma never really cared about make-up.  Oh, and I saw you eating something really cold and gross for breakfast one morning, and that reminded me of your grandma.  She would eat leftover hotdogs right out of the refrigerator, sometimes!  And," Mom laughed, "you're just so...relaxed."

Come back soon, Nana!
(The applesauce-raisin cake is all gone, and we love you lots and lots!)