Author: Monica

 This past Friday night, just twenty minutes before midnight, “the Nugget” was finally born – on his due date.  I say finally not because the labor was long, because it really wasn’t and I wasn’t even there.  It’s just that both of my own babies came before their due dates so I never really had to wait for a baby to come.  So, to me, the last week of waiting seemed endless. After several days of sitting on the edge of my chair, waiting for “the” call, it finally came at 10:00 PM, our bedtime.   They were off to the hospital.

Knowing how short Maggie’s labor and delivery were the first time, I expected we would hear something within hours.  I decided to stay up for a while to wait for the big announcement.  Just before midnight I decided I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and went off to bed.  With my cell phone handily on my nightstand, I nodded off.

Not long afterwards, my phone rang.  It was Teresa, Jan’s mom, calling to say the Nugget had arrived and everyone was doing well. Within an hour or so through the miracle of modern technology, we received our first photos of the little fellow and for a brief moment text messages flew back and forth among our family.  But soon, sleep overtook me and I slept more peacefully than I had in weeks.

The next morning I was able to finally speak with my baby and was overjoyed to hear the happiness in her voice.  I also learned the long held secret name of our nugget.  He is to be called Kaspar Arwed Uecker; Kaspar after the first Farner (Caspar Pfarner) who emigrated from Germany to the US in the the 1840’s and Arwed for Jan’s father, who passed away last year.  It is a little different, for sure, but at the same time it is the perfect name for our little one, reflecting his roots in the two countries where most of his ancestors hail from.

I wish I could be more eloquent with my story writing but today, after five days of Nana duty, the lack of sleep is affecting my clarity.  I find myself heading off on a mission, becoming distracted and then not  knowing why I am in the living room, or kitchen, etc.  Thank God I know the reason for this confusion or I’d be scared!  Thank God also for the gift of new life in our little Kaspar.  Even though we are very tired, we are also very happy and basking in the glow of our blessings.

Izzie and I are currently practicing a catch and release  hunting protocol; she catches birds and brings them into the house and I carefully gather them up and set them free.  It’s not an arrangement that I fully endorse, but I am happy to do my part in getting the birds back out-of-doors where they belong.

Twice in the past week I’ve been called by that familiar cat sound we owners recognize as the “come here, I’ve brought you a present” meow.  It’s a deep and guttural sound, primarily because it is made between clenched jaws.  My latest summons was this morning when she brought me a little finch which she released in the dining room.  It made a few frantic passes to and from the living room until Izzie knocked it from the air and under the rocker.  From there I was able to contain it in my hands.  I took the poor thing outside and when I was about to put it in the shelter of a large holly, it flew off.  I never know what the life expectancy is of a little bird once it’s spent time in Izzie’s mouth, but my hope is that after recovering from the excitement of being caught by a cat and handled by a human, they are able to make a full recovery.

Although I give Izzie a piece of my mind after she brings me a gift, I never punish her.  After all, she is a cat and cats catch stuff.  I’m not sure where the instinct to bring her catch to me stems from, except maybe she wants to share her snack with me.  Sadly we have differing tastes in snacks.

I sort of feel the same way about people hunting.  Intellectually I can accept the fact that some folks enjoy tracking and killing animals.  Some of them are even quite tasty.  I can also understand the need for animal populations to be controlled.  But, just as I’m perplexed by the need for my cat to share her birds with me, I am equally confused about the necessity to have a photo shot of a person and their kill.  Mind you, I’m not taking sides about right or wrong, it’s just a concept I have a difficult time embracing.

I also believe that when they’re not breaking a law, hunters should be allowed to hunt.  That being said, I think plastering photos of yourself with dead exotic animals on the internet merely fans the flames of collective distaste for the practice.  Hunters may be actually conserving animal populations by culling older animals but very few people want to know about it let alone see the pictures.  As with many things we all argue about, a bit of mutual respect could go a long way.

For the past few weeks I haven’t spent too much time in my office.  Instead, I’ve been systematically cleaning and straightening my house in a mode I can best describe as “nesting”.  With the Nugget’s due-date at minus eleven days and counting, I am furiously working to insure that my home is ready to leave for an extended period of time at a moment’s notice so I can begin Nana duty.

I have cleaned out closets, mopped floors, washed windows and even finally painted over the color patches in the family room we left while trying to decide on a new color.  As always, housework is a never-ending battle but I’m a taking a much more active role than is my usual in an attempt to get ahead of it. Ha!

It’s funny how the same sorts of fears are creeping into my mind as I await this grandchild as when I waited through the last days before my children were born.  When Maggie was born I was alone.  Dave had left just four weeks prior on a seven month cruise and those last days were primarily solitary and quiet. I cleaned, sewed, knitted and crocheted as I prepared for her arrival.  We had such limited funds that instead of buying a lot of baby stuff, I did a lot of creative repurposing which kept my mind and hands busy.

By the time Andy came, a mere seventeen months later, we were a bit better off financially and I’d also discovered the boon of yard sales in our neighborhood on Saturday mornings.  Dave was home some of the time, although his squadron was doing “work-ups,” preparing for their next seven month cruise which meant he’d be home for a few days and then gone for a few.  As luck would have it he was home the day Andy was born.

Even though my infant experience was fairly close, I was surprised how much amnesia I had when it came to actually dealing with a newborn.  I remember the first night we had him home realizing we had to give him a bath and forgetting just how I did that with Maggie.  Eventually it all came back, but it all seemed so awkward at first.  Flashing forward thirty-two years, I’m feeling a little bit like the maid in Gone With the Wind but with my own twist; “I don’t know nothing about bathin’ no babies!”  Fortunately, I know my job isn’t to take care of Maggie’s baby, but to take care of my baby.  I will do my best to keep her supported, fed, rested and happy until she and Jan decide it’s time to kick me out!

So, until I get the call, I’d better get off my butt and get the kitchen and bathrooms wiped down again.  Maybe I’ll also vacuum the downstairs again for good measure.

For the most part the month of June has been a time of celebrating life.  It’s not something we do every year; this year is just special.

The celebration started with a reunion with college friends in Atlantic City on the 13th.  There we spent an evening folks we hadn’t seen in a long time, some for almost thirty-eight years. Back in the mid to late 70’s, we all graduated from Rutgers College (RIP) and our reunion had nothing to do with the institution which these days is more concerned about us writing the checks and adding them to our wills than it is in reuniting old friends.  What brought us together initially was Facebook.

It is truly amazing to say goodbye to someone at twenty-one and meet them again when they are sixty!  For the most part, with the exception of the addition of a few pounds and the remission of hairlines, everyone was recognizable.  The person I found the most difficult to remember was myself.  The hosts put together boards with old photos from back in the day.  I have to admit, while I easily recognized the others, I barely recognized myself!  As I looked at my young self I wondered what I was thinking and why I made some of the choices I did.  Mostly I wondered how I could have been so naive.

One apparent change I noticed about myself in this group was the instant rapport and easiness I felt.  I’m no longer the shy, insecure gal I was at 21.  I suppose at this point in life, we are all reasonably sure who we are and not in any great need to make a big impression.  My biggest fear wasn’t that I no longer weighed 110 pounds. I was worried I would be remembered as “Dave’s psycho girlfriend”.  Apparently I wasn’t as bad as I thought I was in those days because if anyone felt that way, they didn’t let me know!

Also coinciding with this college reunion celebration was Dave’s and my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.  To commemorate the event, our friends presented us with a beautiful cake with our names on it.  Thirty-five years is a long time; a lifetime.  We spent the day together, in the car driving back from New Jersey and eating leftovers when we got home.  Fancy dinners and exotic trips don’t carry you through that many years of marriage, not that they’re not fun.  In reality, it takes the ability to spend seemingly endless hours in DC traffic on a hot day and still be able to laugh with each other to carry you through the long haul.

Our next celebration was not such a happy one nor was it planned for or anticipated.  Not long after we arrived home from our New Jersey trip, my sister-in-love*, Bonnie, called to tell me that her brother Richard had passed unexpectedly the day before.

Richard, who was just a couple of months older than Dave,  seemed perfectly healthy.  He worked at the shipyard and kept a small farm where he raised geese, ducks, goats and kept a couple of dogs for company.  It was a shock to lose him so suddenly and a blatant reminder that no matter how young we may feel at sixty, we are still sixty and more of our lives have passed than will be coming along in the future.

When a family loses a member, there is nothing more reassuring than having as many of the remaining members gather together to celebrate the life of the departed.  So, without a second thought, as soon as we knew the arrangements, Dave and I made plans to drive out to Norfolk for the home-going celebration.

Richard’s service was a celebration of his life and how it touched his family, friends, co-workers and even total strangers.  Through photos we saw his grow from a skinny towhead into the man we knew.  It was a good send-off and while we were all sad to have to say goodbye, we were also thankful to have known him.

This coming Sunday, as this month of life celebrations draws to a close, we will travel to Richmond to celebrate the anticipation of new life as we shower Maggie and Jan with love and of course presents.  With only a little more than six weeks to go before the “Nugget” arrives, we are all growing eager to meet our new family member and learn what he will be called.

This June has been a month of milestone life celebrations for us.  Dave and I have revisited where we met through some of the people we shared that experience with.  We have said good-bye to a member of our extended family and been reminded that it could have just as easily been our time; that there is no time like the present to give someone a hug, a smile or tell them how much they are loved. Best of all, this month will round out with the precious reminder that although our lives will end, another will be coming along to take our place, to carry us all into the future.

* Bonnie is my grandson, Seth’s mother.  She and her husband Jim adopted him when he was born.  Through the grace of God we have forged a family unit built on love.  “My grandson’s mother” is just too long a name for her.  She is my sister-in-love.

Last week I received an ugly surprise when the results came back from my latest blood work.  My doctor  had written the dreaded words “pre-diabetic” over the section of the report that listed my triglycerides. They were beyond the acceptable limit and I was being called to task.  As my 60th birthday approaches, I am taking stock of myself.  Like packing for a trip, I am systematically checking off my bodily “to do” list in an attempt to assure I am ready for the next twenty years or so.

I’ve known I was a possible candidate for diabetes for most of my adult life.  My Grandma Farner had stage 2 diabetes and so does my dad.  Given the amount of weight I’ve managed to gain in the past twenty years and my almost insatiable sweet tooth fed by a love of ice cream and chocolate, there would be no avoiding the problem unless I took some action.

Dieting has been difficult for me.  In my mid thirties I was moderately successful with Weight Watchers but in later years I always seemed to be the one person left in the crowd supporting my friends to success while I ended up giving up in frustration.

Last year I heard about a diet on Dr. Phil (of all places) that seemed to make sense.  I ordered the book, read the beginning, gave it a half-hearted attempt and put it on the shelf.  With my new-found motivation, I decided to take the book out and give the diet a second try.

The premise of this diet is to reset the way I look at food.  Instead of looking at eating as a means to feed my empty stomach, I need to be a lot more selective and only eat foods that will nourish my body.  All of this involves almost daily trips to the grocery store and more cleaning, cutting, chopping and chewing of vegetables than I ever thought possible in any given day but after one week, I have to admit, I do feel better.  I no longer feel hungry between meals.  I don’t go on my usual mid-afternoon recon missions through the pantry to decide if I want something sweet or salty – or both.  Instead, I feel satisfied with what I eat because I’m nourishing my body.

One of the best features of this plan is that is has a mapped out plan.  I have two weeks of complete meals planned out for me.  I wiggle around some of the stuff but I like how I’m being shown the variety of choices I have.  This makes me feel only moderately restricted.  And, aside from feeling more energetic, more alert and just plain better, I’ve also been losing weight; which at this point seems more like a bonus than a goal.

As with all journeys, I’m sure there will be things along the way that I’ve forgotten to check off the list and there will be the unexpected delays and side tracks along the way.  But I am at least hopeful that I am beginning to head in the right direction and that is a good thing!