Still haven't found what I'm looking for

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I'm looking for something and having one <cuss> of a time finding it. And it's making me crazy.

Comments from this post last week led me to an idea for a new post that I can't wait to share, one related to that one, one telling you of something I have done that you likely would never believe. To assuage your sure disbelief, I plan to include in the post proof of my claim. Proof of something awesome. Proof that comes by way of a certificate.

But, alas, I can't find that <cuss> certificate.

And it's making me certifiably crazy.

When you live in one place for a long time, you inevitably end up with things you'd forgotten about stashed away in spots you'd forgotten about. But Jim and I haven't lived in this house very long, and I've been pretty good about organizing where things go now that the nest is empty and all spaces are Jim's and mine for stashing.

Yet I still haven't found what I'm looking for. And, like I said, it's making me crazy. Especially because I've found everything related to our family history except that <cuss> certificate, unexpected finds such as:

• The hospital wristbands worn by each of my girls when they were newborns

• The baggie of tissue-wrapped teeth the Tooth Fairy removed from under pillows (all in one baggie so I don't know which teeth belong to which daughter)

• The Congratulations on Your Baby Girl card Jim's stepmom and now-deceased dad sent when Andie was born ... with the bicentennial silver dollar they included still taped to the card

• A collection of fingerpainted artwork created by my girls when they were toddlers, using homemade fingerpaints whipped up by yours truly

• Decades worth of handwritten letters from my dear grandma who recently passed away

• The "proof of account paid in full" documents showing we finally, after seven years, paid off Brianna's birth, having had no health insurance at the time

• Every paper related to the seemingly millions of dollars in PLUS loans taken out for the sake of providing our daughters considerable educations

• A manila envelope stuffed full of newspaper clippings and memorial booklets related to the explosion of the Challenger, postmarked 1986 and sent from the Rocky Mountain News

• The 1988, 1989, and 1990 calendars I was missing from my calendar stash

• Three Certificates of Award to my oldest brother from his high school that certify him in 1977 as: 1st place for senior that skips the most and gets away with it, 2nd place for senior class clown, and three-way tie for 2nd place for senior with the most leadership (Don't ask...)

• An undeveloped disposable camera from Megan's wedding, courtesy of Jim's brother

• The commencement program from when Jim's sister and mom graduated from the community college ... at the same time

• The "Beauty Culture/Manicurist" certificate awarded to me in 1991 upon completing the required number of beauty school hours to hold hands with strangers do manicures and apply artificial nails

• The undated Certificate of Appreciation my Girl Scout troop presented Jim for being the troop's Cookie Manager during cookie-sale season

And more. So much more.

But no certificate of the awesomeness I wish to share with you. Nowhere.

At least not yet.

It has now officially become my mission: I will find that certificate.

Then I will write a post about it.

And you will think it's awesome.

Once I find the <cuss> thing.

Once I stop considering and crying over all the memorable things I have found on my mission.

Today's question:

Fill in the blank: Something I unfortunately lost and never found again is ____________.

Itsy bitsy spider

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I have several folders in file drawers hither and yon of letters, notes, cards, and more I saved from my girls throughout the years. Things such as letters to the Easter Bunny and Santa, report cards, love notes to me for being mommy dearest, apology notes to me because of their bad grades or missed curfews.

Scraps of life with daughters, unsystematically tucked away on the spur of the moment on the off chance I'd one day look back on them and smile.

Last night as I rifled through those folders searching for something I plan to soon write about, I came across the following saved scrap. And I did more than smile. In fact, I laughed out loud and soon had tears trickling down my cheeks.

The unexpected source of amusement was this note from teen-aged Megan, explaining why she'd left a book in the middle of the family room floor when she went to bed one night. The note had been, all those years ago, attached to the out-of-place book:

To think the goofy author of this note now lives with the daily threat of scorpions and serves as chief spider-squisher when Preston is away had me chuckling the rest of the night, considering the myriad ways my babies have indeed grown up.

I can only hope, though, that this one's grown up enough to no longer use precious books as her weapon of choice when it comes to squishing spiders ... or scorpions.

Today's question:

What is your weapon of choice when it comes to creepy crawly things?

The things we do for love

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I can't swim. Legend has it that as a toddler, I was found floating face-down in the lake where relatives owned property and we spent many a summer day. I naturally don't remember that, but my sub conscience seems to. Or at least that's what I blame for the many swim lessons I've taken not sticking.

I took swim lessons as a child. Didn't stick.

I took swim lesson as an adult. Didn't stick.

Nope, I can't swim to save my life. Not even a doggy paddle.

When I learned that Bubby would be attending swim lessons during my recent visit, though, I was determined to not let being a loser non-swimmer stop me from enjoying some time in the pool with my oldest grandson.

And it didn't.

Together we splashed, dove, attempted to touch bottom, and did a few practice rounds of "chicken...star...rocket" moves he'd gleaned from the day's swim lesson.

 

 

 

At his age, Bubby has no idea Gramma can't swim. As he gets older, though, I'm pretty sure he'll figure out why Gramma won't go in the deep end.

Unless, of course, I attempt another round of swim lessons ... and this time they stick.

Photos courtesy of Megan.

Today's question:

How would you rate your swimming skills?

Now I'm a believer

/

Surprise! I do love Mac. More than I thought I would.

Despite many a grandparent telling me it would happen, that I would fall in love with the second grandchild as easily as the first, I didn't really believe it.

Despite having written a post — and recently re-publishing that post — about how my heart grew with each additional child I birthed, I didn't really believe it.

No, I didn't believe it. I love Bubby beyond words and I couldn't imagine lightning striking twice and feeling such a way for another child.

Silently worrying that I might be flawed and not have the proper grandma gene or that I may have missed out on some elite grandma training, either rendering me unable to automatically love and adore the second, I took the advice, the words of wisdom — from others and from myself — in stride. I didn't really believe it. I figured I'd just keep it hush-hush once I met Mac and confirmed that he didn't rock my world the way Bubby did.

 

But rock it he did. And after only a day or so with him, the tremors courtesy of Baby Mac become full-blown heart movers and shakers.

I didn't cry when I first set eyes on Mac, as I did with Bubby. Yet my heart did a whoop-de-doo or two upon seeing his adorable bowed lips, chubby cheeks, long legs and round little fuzz-covered head. It was upon holding him that the tremors began ... and intensified with each cuddle, each cry, each tiny grip of his fingers around mine.

Sure, Mac likes to eat. A lot. Which worked in my favor during my visit. Megan supplements nursing with bottles, so Mac's hearty appetite provided me plenty of opportunities to bond with him over bottles.  

And, yes, Mac is responsible for the very worst-ever diaper-changing episode endured by this grandma. Worst. Ever. But his relieved face with bright eyes focusing on light play on the ceiling as I changed him — three times in a row in one visit to the changing table — plus his soft coos upon finally being cleaned up led to more bonding, not cussing.

  

Then there were his grunts and groans. Not during diaper fillings but during his sleep...while I or anyone else held him. Just like this:

Hearing such baby noises was the final straw, the act that fondly and firmly cemented Mac's place in my heart. Right next to Bubby's place.

Equal to Bubby's place.

I admit it, fellow grandmas and grandpas: You were right. I can love the second grandchild just as much as the first. More importantly, I do love my second grandchild as much as the first.

Now I'm a believer!

And a real grandma after all.

Today's question:

Do you grunt, er, snore in your sleep?