Thankful

Here in the Morrone camp we've been feeling very thankful today, thankful for our friend Haley. Haley is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We met in 1987 when we were in 9th grade geometry class together. She sat in front of me. I was new to the school and had no friends. Even though she was already friends with everyone, she befriended me. That's just the way she was. And still is.

Haley and I were close all through high school. We were two members of a quartet of girls whom I still call my best friends over twenty years later. Haley and I married our husbands within six months of each other and we were in each other's weddings. We were pregnant at the same time...twice. She was pregnant a third time and now we both have two boys and a girl. She lives across the country, but we still see each other every few years. We disagree on some things, but have had several long wonderful talks about them that have opened both of our minds a little wider. I'm inspired by her and her dedication to the things that are important in her life.

I bring this up because Haley has been having weird symptoms like headaches and tremors and was diagnosed with a mass above her heart. At first the doctor thought it might be a tumor, but yesterday they ruled it out and ruled out cancer. She's still not feeling great and I wish I lived closer so I could take her kids for the day or so that Marco could make her family a huge vat of tomato sauce that would last a week, or that I could just give her a giant hug and look in her face and tell her I love her.

Grandpa Celebration

We just returned from a big family trip to Cape Cod with my parents, my sister and her family, my aunts and their families, my cousins and their families. We went to celebrate the life of my grandfather who died back in November and asked that his ashes be spread on Nauset Beach and Skatet Beach where he had spread my grandmother's ashes over twenty years ago.

It was a wonderful week together and it was very special to hear everyone's memories of grandpa. Grandpa would have loved to be there cracking lobsters, shucking oysters, watching sunsets, kayaking at Baker's Pond, lifting great grandchildren on shoulders, sitting in the pews at the Federated Church of Orleans, and laughing, laughing, laughing with family. I know that as each of us mourned our loss of him in our way, we also felt that in so many different ways he was there with us. And still is.

Moments I Want to Remember: September

It is evening. The sun is setting earlier these days. All five of us are laying on our bed listening to Marco read The Lorax. The boys are cuddled up on either side of me. I refuse to believe that one day they will be taller than I am. Life on other planets is possible. But not that. I think I am enjoying the moment, but I may be too busy trying to figure out a way to bottle this feeling so I can uncork it a dozen years from now when all of my children are teenagers.

Later that night, an hour after we've tucked the kids into their beds I listen at the boy's door. They are murmuring to each other in soft voices, quoting from the book. "A shell of a great, great, great, great, grandfather snail," says Milo. "Do you have a super ax hacker?" asks Huck.

*

Milo is climbing on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Do you know why I'm climbing up here?" he asks.

"No. Why?"

"To drive you crazy," he says.

*

My grandfather is mostly deaf and hates to use the telephone. It takes adjusting for our family who communicates our every move via cell phone. "I'm just calling to let you know I'm on my way." "I'm just calling to let you know I'm halfway there." "I'm just calling to let you know I'm in the driveway."

Grandpa used to stop by our house at least once a week. He'd show up unannounced, sit down in the same chair, drink a glass of water, play with the kids and talk to us. After about 15 minutes he would always say, "Well, I've taken enough of your time." Then he'd leave. It was a special treat for the kids. Absolutely no one gives better undivided attention than Great Grandpa. And even though all three kids can talk now, so much of their communication is made up of movement, so he can often understand the kids better than he can understand anyone else.

A few weeks ago Grandpa sold his car. We're not quite sure why, especially since on our last visit to his apartment the first thing he said when we came in was, "I miss my car." I wish I could convince him that we're sorry that he can't stop by whenever he wants anymore, but that we like coming to visit him, that it's not a chore. But even if I could find the words to explain how important he is to us, he probably wouldn't be able to hear me.

When we arrive tonight Grandpa is sitting in his chair watching football and drinking a highball. His bottom teeth are on the side table next to him. The kids play for a while and then Huck walks over and picks up the teeth.

"What are these?" he asks.

Without missing a beat, Grandpa takes them from Huck's hand and puts them back in his mouth and smiles. "They're called false teeth," he says. Marco and I watch as all three kids stare at him in complete disbelief. He just laughs and laughs. And then they laugh.

Moments I Want to Remember: August

It's 6 AM and Milo is still groggy. It's one of those mornings when Huck woke him up before he was ready.

He is whining, throwing himself on the floor, and pounding his fists into the carpet.

Me: I can't understand what you're saying. If you use words and speak to me without a whiney voice, I will get you whatever you want.

Milo: (his whine disappears.) OK. I want sharp knives to play with.

*

It is an after-bath ritual. We dry off the boys and they explode out of the bathroom and run naked through the house. Their destination is usually Annabella's room where they climb on her bed and jump up and down.

Annabella: (Screaming) No naked boys on my bed!

Marco: I like that rule. Let's keep that one.

*

All of us are visiting my grandfather in the hospital. He's been having serious respiratory problems for a few weeks and his lungs keep filling up with fluids. He's a tough guy, a World War II vet, a fisherman, a widow for nearly twenty years, and an expert gardener like his own father before him.

When we arrive my grandfather is using a nebulizer, a machine that turns his medicine into mist and sends it directly into his lungs. It look like he's smoking a long plastic pipe. He sees us and smiles, then coughs. Milo asks,"Is great grandpa eating smoke?"

None of us says anything else. We listen to the machine hum and watch the mist. I look down to see Annabella staring intently at something in the corner of my grandfather's bed. I look where she is looking and see one of my grandfather's bare feet sticking out of from under the sheet. She hesitates for a moment longer and then walks over and tickles it.

Moments I Want to Remember

The three of them are crouching over something on the cement porch.

Annabella: Don't touch it.
Huck: What is it?
Annabella: A baby fly.
Milo: Is it moving?
Annabella: No
Milo: Why doesn't it fly away?
Annabella: Because it's wings are very sore.
Milo: Sissy, is that your baby fly?
Annabella: No. It's the world's baby fly.

*

Huck brings me a tiny plastic car that he's broken. "Mommy," he says. "Look what I made into pieces."

*

We are driving from California to Montana. Everyone is melting down. I start to sing "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain" and the crying gets quieter. Then I remember that I have this song on my iPod, so I connect it to the car stereo and play it. Everyone cheers up instantly.

When it's over, Huck asks, "Can we hear that again?" I turn it on again. When it's over Annabella asks, "Can we hear that again?" I turn it on again. When it's over, Milo asks, "Can we hear that again?" I turn it on again and ask Marco, "How many times are we going to play this song?"

"As many as it takes," he says.

*