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Trifling around.

2006-03-19 - 8:22 a.m.

It’s Sunday morning before 8:00 am and I’m eating strawberry trifle for breakfast. I firmly believe that the dollop of sherry in it is made up for by all the fresh strawberries I made sure I ladled into my bowl. (In case you’re wondering, it also has homemade sponge cake, Devon cream and whipped cream. Trifle should not have Jello, fruit cocktail, pudding, or “whipped topping” in it if it is to be considered authentic. The fruit, however, can vary and we usually make it with raspberries.)

The trifle is left over from a very pleasant day at my mother’s yesterday, where Grommet got to see her great-granny again, and meet her great-aunt and great-uncle. My mother’s boyfriend (do I call him her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend if they’re separating and he’s moving out but still there for the moment?) was just pulling out when we got there and we saw neither hide nor hair of him for the rest of the day. Apparently, as a hint, my mom had brought home a paper for him to help him continue his apartment hunt. She hadn’t seen him making much effort to that end for a couple of weeks but apparently this time she means it. In the past she’s asked him to move out but he just didn’t and inertia finally won out and so there he stayed. It had the effect of crying wolf though so I’m not surprised that this time he thinks he can successfully follow the same tactic. THIS time though, I am getting convinced that my mom really means it. She was talking to her brother and his wife about it and getting advice about taking her boyfriend’s name off her bank account, etc. But enough of this serious stuff…

My grandmother is a delight to behold around my daughter. While I never got the feeling she was terribly excited about the pregnancy, her face just lights up when she’s holding Grommet. J mentioned he’d seen her happy before, but never glowing like she has during the two visits after the birth. I have to say I agree with him. While I have to fight my instinct to rescue Granny/the baby when she starts fretting in Granny’s arms, or when I see her head flopping a bit more than I’m comfortable with, I know Granny’s held her own kids, plus her grandkids WAY more than I’ve held babies yet and no harm will come to Grom. It’s far more rewarding to reassure Granny when she worries that Grom is uncomfortable or angry or unhappy in her arms (particularly when she’s over her shoulder so Granny can’t see her face). The big smiles Grom bestowed on her were amazing.

One of the reasons I would have liked to have kids younger than I did is that I have always wanted them to get to know and really remember Granny, who is a strong, remarkable woman who seems much, much younger than she is. Granny’s 81 now and still going strong, and J and I are already talking about when and how to go about having the next one (if you’re new here you might not know we had fertility issues and Grom is a Clomid baby – check the archives in the “Older” link if you’re interested) so I may still get my wish for (hopefully) both/all my kids. My fingers are crossed for more kids, and for Granny to be around for years and years and years yet so they get a chance to delight each other for a long, long time.

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