An Apple Remembers Its Tree

I think about my mom every day. Every single day. I thought as time progressed, this kind of thing would fade, but it hasn't. In fact, in a lot of ways, my feelings about her have intensified. I wonder about that because it has been four and a half years since she died. It just seems like I should miss her less. 

Today, because of a phone call, my thoughts turned to another influential woman in my life. To be honest, I never got to spend a lot of time with her on a consistent basis because she usually lived in a different country. Her influence comes through my mom, on whose life she had immense influence. 

I call her Obaachan--because that's Grandma in Japanese. She was always a fun grandma. Until she moved into a nursing home a few years ago, she never forgot her grandkids' birthdays. Of course, there are only three of us, but still, she always remembered. 

I have never heard of someone else's grandma being a champion Dr. Mario player. Yup. Back in the '90s, she was the queen of the Nintendo. I recall that she wouldn't allow even her beloved grandchildren to interrupt her game. Or even have a turn.

My Obaachan's life story is fascinating. She grew up during World War II in rural Japan. When she was still a teenager, her parents arranged a marriage for her, to a man she had only seen in passing once or twice. 

As a young person, I heard she was quite the town beauty. I saw a picture of her when she was nineteen years old. Yeah--she was beautiful. She acquired a reputation for always being on the cutting edge in fashion. I also heard she was a master knitter. Actually, I know she was an exceptional knitter. She knitted gloves for me once. Gloves. As in, not mittens.

And she was so funny without meaning to be. There was a time when she would stock up on milk whenever she knew I would be visiting. If you know me, you know that I don't drink milk. No matter how many times I went to her house and didn't drink the milk, no matter how many times I told her that milk made me sick, she kept buying the milk. Because Americans drink milk.

Her kids don't remember ever seeing her cook while they were growing up. Yet somehow, I know her as a magnificent cook. I have fond memories of many meals she prepared. 

One thing I know about my Obaachan is that she always wants to eat something delicious. The problem is, nothing tastes good to her. In the decades that I have known her, the only thing that she has eaten and liked were some random watermelons along the way. Seriously. I got a kick out of eating something with her or getting a treat for her, and then waiting to see how long before she commented that it totally sucked. Maybe that's more commentary about me, but I thought it was funny. 

Grandkids have always been her favorite.

Today I got a phone call. It was my aunt. The one who lives in Japan. Since it is Thanksgiving, my first thought was that she was calling to wish me a happy T-day. But then I realized that didn't make sense, and I knew that my Obaachan was gone.

Tsuyako Yamane Watanabe, May 13, 1931 - November 28, 2014. 

I'm sure I will think about her every day.

Too Annoyed to Post Pictures

I get annoyed a lot these days, and pretty easily, too. Just ask Jake. It could be the lack of sleep caused by--yet another--non-sleeping baby. It could be the lack of exercise caused by the lack of sleep caused by the non-sleeping baby. It could also be the constant dieting going on because of the weight gain caused by the non-sleeping baby. It could be the frustration from how difficult it is to lose the weight because of lack of sleep and exercise, all caused by the non-sleeping baby.

Anyway, I get annoyed, and I got annoyed this morning when I skimmed through Facebook to find that a few of my Friends had posted or re-posted a certain pregnancy-announcement video. Seriously! What? When did that become a thing? Does anyone care about this stuff outside of the people who make them?

I don't know what kicked in at that point. Hormones? More sleep deprivation? I suddenly had a moment of clarity. This baby-to-be is being celebrated. All kids ought to be celebrated. Unfortunately, that is not the world we live in. So what kind of idiot am I to hate on the celebration of another beautiful child?

So I clicked on the video link and watched it. It was cute. I may have shed a tear remembering what it was like to be a first time parent-to-be.

To all you rookie parents-to-be out there, announce away! I'm happy for you.

Now back to being annoyed.

The Most Self-Indulgent Mother's Day Post Ever

Jake posted a photo on Facebook today. I don't love it, but at the same time, I love it. It's the kids and me taken at the park. The kids are dirty, sweaty, and disheveled--which they were. I look tired and overweight--which I am. It pretty much sums up me and my job for the past eight years. Happy Mother's Day.

As I write this, I am exhausted and only half awake. In a few short hours I will be getting up to frantically get the entire brood ready for church, where I will be playing the organ and the piano, and then teaching Sunday School to 3-year-olds. I will likely be getting up once or twice before then to feed the baby and possibly change a diaper or two. But the thing is, this is OK with me. In fact, it's more than OK. It's freaking awesome.

I graduated from law school and management school eight years ago. I gave birth to my Ellie about a week before graduation. I decided to stay home with my baby, just for the first little bit. My plan was to re-enter the workforce soon thereafter, but I realized that I didn't want to leave my daughter in someone else's care. (My mom even offered to take care of her at one point!) So I put off going back to work. And then I got pregnant with Judd. And then Lu. And then I realized that this career thing was just not going to happen. I am well aware that the longer I am out of the market, the worse my situation becomes for someday re-entering. Yet here I am. And then I had another baby. I might be crazy.

Or, maybe, deep down, I really love my job. Even though it has cost me my career. It has cost me hundreds of hours of sleep. It has cost me my fit body. As I was drying my hair this morning, I realized that it is now costing me my hair. It is definitively turning grey. Actually, that's probably just a function of age, but I'm going to go ahead and blame my kids for it. Then there's the issue of all the damaged property caused by all these little people.

Believe me, I am terrible at my job. My house is an insane mess. My kids are dirty most of the time, despite mandatory daily bathing. I don't revel in all the stuff that kids do. Reading to the kids? Let's hope they pick a book with only a few short sentences. Play with the kids on the playground? Rule Number One with this mom:  if you can't play with it by yourself, you can't play with it. Soccer games? Do I have to go? Ballet recitals? My own personal hell.

I can't verbalize exactly why I do this. Maybe someday when I'm better rested I will be able to explain this clearly, but for now this is all I can say. It has something to do with waking up in the middle of the night, maybe even a few times, for a fussing baby. I hate it, but I love it more.

Is anything better than this? I'm pretty sure there is nothing better than this.

It has something to do with driving 8 hours to the beach in a crowded minivan while the kids fight and scream most of the way, then having to throw together a birthday party for one of them. All while very pregnant. I hate it. But I love it more.

He still says that was the best day of his life.

It has something to do with spending most of the day in the kitchen, cooking, then cleaning it up, then cooking again, then cleaning it up again; and then, cleaning up after everyone else. Sometimes my kids eat what I cook. Sometimes they won't touch it. It's about 50/50. I hate that. But it makes me laugh. So I love it.

Here I am, doing things I hate, but loving it at the same time. That is what keeps me here. I guess it makes sense, then, that I keep my license to practice law in my wallet and carry it with me wherever I go, even though I have never practiced. I remain conflicted about that decision every single day. I pull the card out every so often and look at it. I think about what life would be like if I was working. More money. More car. More house. More respect. But I always put it away. Maybe later.

Happy Mother's Day.

Mother-of-the-Year advice:  to capture all of the kids at once in a photo, line them up in front of the TV. They won't budge.