Memoirs, Ink

Sample Chapter - August 2009

This month, on a Sunday after church you expressed curiosity about handshaking. I told you this is what people do when they meet, greet, or strike a deal. Then we did some very enthusiastic handshaking for several minutes and you walked up to me and said "nice to meet you," or "it's a deal," several times.

Later that night after teeth brushing and three stories, I put you to bed. Your current favorite book is Olivia. You like the part where she tries on all of her clothes. It is always a challenge to get you to dress for bed. You like to run away or struggle or some other shenanigan. But lately you are excited about the idea of breaking "world records." You put on your pajamas while I count to whatever at vaiable speed. Then we do lots of clapping when you break "the record." Then you climbed into bed and I kissed you goodnight. As I was leaving the room you grabbed my hand as you often do when you don't want me to go, but to my surprise you gave me a firm handshake and said, "Good night, Mom."

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Every now and then I get terrible migraines and I can't function. It happened this month on a Saturday, when we were supposed to have all day to play together. So, for your own benefit and mine, I pawned you off to a friend who was going to the park. When you came home several hours later you were saying something about Obama stinking, and I was wondering what the heck kind of information my friend or her kid was feeding you. "I thought you liked Obama?" I said. "Fickle girl." But you kept repeating yourself until I realized that you were actually saying "Stink-o-rama!" I about died laughing. I couldn't help but think of my grandmother Dorothy who used to have a laugh that sounded like she really was dying. She would have adored you.

Stink-o-rama lasted for a week and was all kinds of fun. Any time I said anything you didn't like, your response was, "stink-o-rama," and I would try very hard keep my mouth in a straight line. At the same time, I kept feeling the need to check your birth certificate and check my calendar just to make sure I was in 2009 and that you hadn't suddenly become a teenager. Nope. Ten more years. Whew.

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Photo by Don Norris