I post this, as I have posted others, because one day I will be attending their high school graduations. And I will want to look back on this beautiful, glorious, independence-blossoming, confidence-bearing morning.
Here’s to my bloomers.
One of Grandma Marshmallow‘s favorite places on the planet was her family cottage on the cape. She brought her children there as a young mom, and this is where my husband learned to swim from his grandfather, Grandma Lisa’s brilliant and reportedly eccentric father.
The cottage is teeny — barely 750 square feet split between two levels. And it’s, uh, “quaint,” if that word implies run down and without amenities. If one of us remembered to call the town early in the season to turn on the power, we had power. Usually we had plumbing. The cottage has a second floor that has been stuck at the tear-out stages of a remodel since I joined the family, and the whole place has an unlived-in, musty smell, it’s heyday, when a houseful of cousins would gather here for the entire summer, long gone.
Still, Lisa’s eyes lit up when she uttered the town’s name, which became shorthand for the house.
Practically, we used it as a place to change our suits and to shower after swimming in the ocean.
To get to the ocean, we’d have to walk through an old and small cemetery. The etchings on the thin, slate or granite headstones had eroded to almost nothing, but I’m told some go as far back as the 1600s. It was eery-spooky to walk through. I amused myself by imagining the ghosts and the stories they would tell.
A year ago, the last time Grandma Lisa visited her cottage on the cape, Tessa and Reed were done swimming, done changing, and were waiting for Daddy and Grandpa to load the lawn mower onto the truck for the ride home. They busied themselves by playing with two Scottish Terriers across the lane.
There was a path to that house that was framed by railroad ties. Reed began bouncing on the railroad ties, as boys will do, not realizing that there was a wasp nest underneath.
The wasps were not happy about being jostled by this boy, and their fury was unleashed. Before any of us knew what was happening, two children were shrieking at the top of their lungs, racing for the front door of Grandma Lisa’s cottage. We adults, at the time, knew nothing of the wasp nest — we simply thought the children were playing a very intense game of some sort.
But the gravity of the situation emerged as we saw the swarm of raging wasps swirling around Reed. Tessa screamed, “BEES! DADDY SAVE ME FROM THE BEES!” She made it, insect-free, into the cottage and slammed the door behind her, locking it as protection from the “bees,” which in her mind had opposable thumbs that could turn a doorknob.
Meanwhile, Reed was at the doorstep and we were plucking angry hornets from his scalp (newly shorn in a Kojak-cut), his hands, his shoulder, his chest, his legs. The majority of the swarm returned to its railroad tie, and we worked at stamping out the offending hornets and calming down an understandably shaken Reed.
As he realized his time on earth was not over, he remembered his sister. His first words, after “GET THEM OFF ME! I’M GETTING KILLED!” were, “Is Tessa all right? Make sure my sister is OK.”
Yeah, Buddy, she’s fine. She’s safe in the cottage. Which she locked you out of.
Soon the cottage will be for sale. It’s the end of a summer ritual that has played out each summer of my husband’s entire life. The wasp story is a fitting end to the sting of the loss of Lisa.
Due to her amazing transformation (♥ ♥ ♥) my posting lately has been kinda Tessa-heavy. So I was hoping to be able to feature my sweet Reed (♥ ♥ ♥) in a perfect moment, and I wasn’t let down.
Back in the day (before kids), Roger and I were world travelers. We relished the time on the plane to escape from our busy lives– and get lost in a good book.
But once you have babies and/or little kids, travel prep and flight times become very stressful times. First, there’s packing for others — and I’m not even very fond of packing for myself. Then there’s hauling all the stuff to, through and from airports. Once we each had an extra appendage, we knew that our relatively low-stress traveling days were a thing of the past. And, in theory, a thing of the future.
Funny thing. If you keep feeding them, kids keep growing. My children have recently become capable and somewhat self-contained travelers. They pack for themselves (OK, Reed forgot to pack socks and we had to return home after a false start to retrieve Tessa’s retainer), they schlep all their own stuff, and, for the first time, they can entertain themselves on a 4-hour flight.
Did you read that? THEY ENTERTAINED THEMSELVES ON A 4-HOUR FLIGHT.
Due to the ridiculosity of “bereavement fares” (evidently an urban myth — $1100 marked down from $1800 on Untied — and no that’s not a typo) we went with discount airlines once we received news that Roger’s mom had entered the active dying process. Roger left immediately to be with her. The kids and I followed two days later, the difference in price [x3] making it possible at all. So I was traveling with 2 kiddos by myself.
Tessa played with her brother, then read and slept a bit. While she did, I noticed my delightfully intense son, who had created a Lego universe on his table tray.
It made me smile amid the stress and sadness.
Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between.
To participate in Perfect Moment Monday:
Once you make a Perfect Moment post , you may place this button on your blog.What Perfect Moment have you recently been aware of? Visit these moments of others and share your comment love.