…the words,
would escape my lips. They did. Yesterday at 6:00 pm EST.
Posted in Family
A few days ago the wee one had trouble going to sleep. By the time I did the soothing mother thing and headed downstairs, it was past my bed time. Since I wanted little Miss to fall asleep, I stayed downstairs and turned on the t.v. Not interested in the news, I surfed and came across Freaky Friday (the new one with Lindsay Lohan) on ABC Family.
Desperate for Attention - Watch ABC Family!
The movie was o.k. but the crap that passes for original programming on ABC Family is appalling. The commercials for ABC Family shows like Pretty Little Liars and Switched at Birth made me think, “This passes for family entertainment in 2011?” For instance, the four main characters on “Pretty Little Liars” look like high class call girls. All these shows and the product commercials are geared toward teenagers.
And please don’t tell me I’m am old fuddy. I call ‘em like I see ‘em. This stuff is crap.
p.s. A few years back I wrote a small rant on the worst show on t.v. Even with one of the main stars gone, it’s still dragging on.
The other day Hubby was rocking our 19 month old girl in his arms. This is remarkable because she is a bundle of energy; flitting here and there. But it was getting close to bedtime and she snuggled into his arms as he rocked and sang to her.
I sat on a chair and looked down on the two them; sharing their moment on the dining room floor. Looking at my girl, at just the right angle, I saw my husband’s face; the same face I’ve seen in childhood pictures. Everyone who knows Hubby and meets the wee one always comments on how much she looks like him.
At that particular moment, the resemblance was crystal clear and it brought a tear to my eye.
Posted in Family
Anzio Entrenchment. Credit: Life Magazine
My husband’s grandfather, Edward Corbett, was an army private for the U.S. 3rd Division. He was sent to Anzio in 1944.
A man of deep Catholic devotion, Edward learned his faith from his Boston-born mother and Irish-born father. This faith interceded saving the lives of his fellow servicemen.
One night during the Anzio campaign, Edward saw the sign of the cross in the evening fog. Seeing this gave Edward an assurance that would be unfailing. Less than a minute later, a grenade landed among his unit. Without hesitation, Edward covered the grenade with his helmet and laid his body over the helmet. The grenade exploded.
Hit with shrapnel, Edward was carried out and his time in the Army, over. The rest of his unit was unharmed.
Edward received metals for valor, went on to marry, have five children and, later in life, became a Franciscan. He was buried in his brown robe.
Edward told only one person about Anzio, his brother-in-law and a fellow WWII veteran, (Uncle) Blair. Blair related the story to Edward’s adult children after Edward’s death.
And now, I have related it to you.
Posted in Family, History, World War II
Tagged Battle of Anzio, Catholic Faith, Edward Corbett
The In-Laws (Mom, Dad, Brothers and Brother’s GF) have invaded our neck of the woods. We spent a relaxing evening on the porch talking about this and that and the other. I think our holiday evenings will be spent in the same manner.
The label has a 1930s feel.
Of course, every In-Law Invasion goes easier with a glass of wine. Of late, I’ve been sipping Pennywise Petite Sirah. Around here, it sells for $8.99.
Slainte!
New York or Bust
Since 2001 I have moved 4 times. I hate it. The packing. The throwing out. The cleaning. In two days we’re out of Leominster and this time a MOVING COMPANY is doing the packing and motoring. Wow! It’s weird to sit in my living room knowing that I’m outta here soon, yet nothing is packed. Strange.
Most of the food is gone and the household chemicals that we’re not taking are at the in-laws. We’ve picked the clothes and items that we will keep with us. The phone calls to cancel the phone/internet/electricty will be made today. Already the mail is forwarded to our P.O. Box in New York.
We haven’t bought a place in NY. We’re renting a furnished loft near Hubby’s job that gives us the breathing room to shop around. It’s easy to buy a house. It’s more difficult to find a home.
Not that I’ve been a tireless blogger but my posts will be a bit sparse in the next few months. Luckily I know where the free wifi is located and hope to post our continuing adventures.
Let me tell you about my week. On Monday, I was trapped inside the house because of the Noah-like floods engulfing the region. On Tuesday, my husband started a new job in a location he has always loved. Unfortunately the job is located in a neighboring state, three hours from home. So he sleeps in a second-rate motel, while I’m three hours away with a 12 week old, hoping the realtor calls with a bid on our condo and, in this market, that’s like hoping the Boston Bruins will win the Stanley Cup…anytime in the next 30 years. On Wednesday, well, I really don’t remember Wednesday because my precious 12 week old decided to give up her long nights of sleep for much shorter nights of sleep. You would think that nine months of pregnancy, a natural birth, interrupted sleep, and other unmentionables would make the kid a bit more grateful. (If the ubiquitous ”THEY” told you everything that could possibly happen to your body during pregnancy, childbirth and postpartum, human reproduction would end. Seriously.)
Being a new Mother at the age of 39 means I make all kinds of mistakes; not big ones like leaving the wee one in the Matrix while I’m inside Starbucks ordering a grande, soy hot chocolate, no-whip. I mean little mistakes that culminated on Thursday. For example, I’m a stay-at-home mother which is a privilege and a full-time job, all in one. (Rather like the Queen of England but without the money or the crown.) This means, my wee one sees me all the time. She WANTS to see me all the time and without the husband to take her for a while… get where this is going?
On Thursday, I’m pooped, there’s no other word for it. (Besides “pooped” is a word I’ve been using a lot since the baby was born.) It’s 5 a.m. and I’m nursing a wide awake baby. It’s still early for the neighbors to leave for work, allowing me a chance to think in silence. I had nearly forgotten that its Holy Week, a time for Christians to reflect on the centrality of their self-designated label. Holy Thursday, the beginning of the Triduum, celebrates Christ’s institution of the Eucharist; the giving of Himself in the bread and wine, to be followed on Good Friday with his bodily sacrifice.
Andrea Solario, Madonna with the Green Cushions (Maria Lactan), 1st quarter of 16th century, Oil on Wood, Musée du Louvre, Paris.
All these thoughts tumble through my head as I’m looking down on the new life which looks to me for all her needs. She needs a roof over her head, clothes on her back, a soft kiss on her cheek and food from my breast. Then two worlds collide: “Take and Eat. This is my body which is given up for you.” At this, all the crap from the week falls away and I truly enter into the meaning of Holy Week and the sacrificial meaning of motherhood.
But a grande, soy hot chocolate, no-whip would be welcome right now.
I’m slowly getting into an exercise routine, post partum. I’ve returned to St. Cecilia’s walking the perimeter. The first time I did it last week, I went very slowly. (Another thing you don’t hear much about is the hemorrhoid problem, post delivery. Very uncomfortable.) I’m gearing up to start jogging next week. Slowly…
"and I miss her everyday."
Yesterday during my perambulations I saw one of the regulars. Usually I see the same folks walking but this retired regular visits his wife’s grave. He shovels the show around the headstone in winter and plants flowers in the spring. (I wrote about him in 2008.) I’ve always nodded and said hello to him but this time he wanted to talk.
He held a shovel with a mix of snow and dog poop. As I walked by he started railing against dog walkers (which are verbotten in St. Cecilia’s.)
“It wouldn’t be so bad if they picked up but when they don’t it shows disrespect.”
From that topic, he talked about his wife who passed six years ago, “and I miss her everyday.”
The rest of the conversation was about his wife and family. He just wanted to talk and I was a willing listener.
Posted in death, Family, Leominster, Massachusetts, Uncategorized
Tagged central Massachusetts, Leominster, St. Cecilia's Cemetery, Widowers
Last night Charlotte let me sleep for nearly 5 hours. I know, I know…I won’t get used it!
There's nothing like a sleeping baby.
When one is pregnant, there’s a whole list of things you can not eat or drink. I thought some things were over the top (Women have been delivering babies since the dawn of time and I can’t eat tuna?) but I was a good expectant Mom and obeyed most of the list. One of the semi-banned substances was coffee. I switched to watered-down instant coffee at home. What a bummer…
Yesterday, that all changed.
It's not high octaine, but it's not instant either. 
