Category Archives: Treasures from the Archives

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Nanny Died

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Peacefully, I’m told, late last night.  I’m glad she wasn’t in pain when it happened, and that she’s not suffering anymore.  The funeral is on Sunday afternoon, and the rabbi who’s officiating sent me (and the other grandchildren) a list of questions – typical questions, I guess, about who she was and how she lived her life.

But I don’t think I can answer them – at least not in the traditional way.  I’ve written in this blog about my memories of her, and those are what I’m thinking about now.  What kind of grandmother was she?  Well, she was our Nanny.  She was Miss Neat.  She was the garbage can at dinner time. She spoiled us rotten when we came to visit and fattened us up by feeding us the junk that our parents would never let us eat.  She was happy if we were happy.  She was adored by her family and her friends.  
She hated change.  She had the same books sitting on the shelves in her den in Florida for the 30 years she lived there.  She had the same lucite candy box, lucite phone holder in the kitchen and lucite tissue box in the bathroom for the 30 years she lived there (and that’s just a sampling).  The same patio furniture and fake plants. The same towels and sheets and blankets (with a few exceptions).  The same broken table lamp in the den that was a hazard to all who had the misfortune of butting up against it.  The paint on the walls in the apartment was original to the place (other than a couple of small paint jobs in the kitchen and bathrooms).  The carpet was the same carpet that came with the apartment.  She finally caved in and got a microwave a couple of years ago – well into the 21st century – and a cell phone.
She hated change, but she loved her family more than anything, and always took particular pride in her grandchildren and more recently, great grandchildren.  She loved to see us, loved to hear from us and regaled in the exploits of the youngest generation – Chloe, Sophie, Hannah and Naomi.  The one thing that did change regularly in her apartment was the quantity of photos.   The same old photos hung on the walls, but every spare space on her dresser, on the dining room buffet, on the lucite wall unit in the den was covered in photos – many of them recent additions as her grandchildren started to have children of their own.  
I like to think that those photos gave her strength as she was starting to weaken.  That even when she was alone, she wasn’t lonely – that she knew in her heart how much we all loved her and kept her in our thoughts, even though we were so very far away.  
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Sophie Empowered

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My Empowering Sophie experiment on Tuesday worked!  About an hour after leaving her room, I went upstairs and she had turned off her light and fallen asleep.

So I tried it again last night, and it worked.  No crying, no Sophie coming downstairs to complain.  Have I found the magic potion?  Probably not – if I’m being honest, I don’t give this miracle more than another day or two.  It’s been way too easy.
The progress made on the going to bed front, didn’t translate, however, into progress on the let’s sleep through the night front.  She woke up again in the middle of the night – twice.  Oh well.  It’s time for more tough love – we need to start ignoring her – let her scream and wake up the neighborhood.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Empowering Sophie

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I’m conducting an experiment tonight.  For the past couple of weeks, she’s been using her feminine toddler wiles to avoid going to sleep at night.   Tears, and cries of “I’m thirsty” and “I’m hungry,” are just a few examples of the ways in which she tries to delay the inevitable.
Maxime is out late tonight, so being the drill sergeant that I am, I got the girls ready at 7:30 pm for their 8 pm appointment with the sandman.   I read Sophie 4 books (a 2-book bonus!) and then I made a deal with the devil:  
In exchange for her good behavior, I promised hugs and kisses from Papa when he gets home (and she’ll never know whether he gave them to her, because she’ll be sleeping – I know, I’m a bad, bad mommy), and I allowed her to leave her lamp on and read books in her bed by herself like her big sister, Chloe.  
If she doesn’t behave, no Papa visit, no lamp and no books.  
It’s been a very quiet 15 minutes since I gave her a kiss goodnight.  Could it be working?  I’ll let you know.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

More Memories

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Nanny is still alive.  After yesterday, I thought for sure that I’d be taking a plane this morning for the funeral.  I hope that when I’m old, I don’t have to go through what she’s going through right now.  This prolonged death watch is just awful. 

Memories continue to come flooding in:
Watching Nanny make Bubby’s sugar cookies (I never did get the recipe out of her). Accompanying her to the bakery to buy seven-layer cake.  Her bottle of Nina Ricci’s L’Air du Temps perfume.  Giving her a list of the foods she should buy for one of our visits – never mind that the list was always the same.  The crumbsweeper she always had at the ready to tidy up the table after a meal.  
The collection of Beatrix Potter figurines that Nanny gave to me when I was a kid.  Taking her to see “42nd Street” on Broadway.  Her inevitable “I can’t eat anymore!” at the end of the meal, followed by the inevitable “I can’t let that go to waste!” as she sampled the food on everyone else’s plates.  The spotless stainless steel kitchen sink – the only thing in her apartment that still looks new after 30 years.  
The list goes on…and on and on…
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Nanny and Her Pacemaker

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Against all odds, Nanny is still alive.  Hanging on by a thread.  We all thought she be gone by now, but her will to keep fighting is perhaps stronger than any of us imagined.  She’s mostly unconscious now, and I don’t think she’s aware of her surroundings, but she’s still breathing.

It’s got to be the pacemaker.  It’s a cruel irony that a piece of technology meant to bring life to people when they most need it, delays death when it’s time for life to end.  My aunt and uncle have been by Nanny’s bedside for a couple of weeks now.  My cousin has been with them for the past week, and my mother is going down tomorrow.  
The death watch.  Not wanting her to die, but not wanting her to suffer.  Not wanting to see her in this state.  Nanny is in this crazy kind of purgatory – neither here nor there.  But I suppose she may still feel the presence of her family in the hospice, and perhaps she’s resisting death’s call because the presence of her family is providing her comfort.  
I wonder what that’s like – to know that you’re dying – waiting for it to happen.  Nanny was lucid enough a few days ago to give my aunt some final instructions to follow after her death. But here she is – still resisting.  What’s happening inside her brain?  Is she thinking of her dead relatives or those she’s leaving behind?  Is she not thinking of anything anymore?  Is she just existing in a primitive state of being?
Every time I think of her lying in her hospice bed, I change the scene – to happier memories, spanning my life of almost 40 years:
To our September visit with Sophie.  To my tortuous car trips with Nanny and Poppy from Florida to New York (Poppy never drove more than 50 mph on the highway, and as an adolescent, the constant stream of cars passing us by was no small cause of embarrassment).  To her collection of small paper shopping bags from fancy department stores that she would use to hold hairspray or an umbrella or a sweater.  To the envelope full of small bills that she would carry in her purse, fastened with a rubber band (I never understood why she didn’t keep the money in her wallet).  
To the plastic coverings on all of the furniture in their old Brooklyn apartment.  To her glee when we gave her a used computer so that she could connect to the Internet.  To her happiness at seeing her grandchildren get married, and meeting her great-grandchildren for the very first time.  To her “Miss Neat” obsession with an orderly and clean home (which fixation she reluctantly and apologetically gave up as her health declined).  To her chicken soup.  To her hairstyle, which basically stayed the same for as long as I can remember, thanks to the cancer-inducing, industrial strength hairspray she used.   To her falling asleep and snoring at almost every movie we saw together, and then denying she had been sleeping.  To the Andes mints, miniature Hershey bars and chocolate espresso beans she always had at the ready when we came for a visit.  
These are some of the memories of her that I will cherish – forever – because they fill me with love, and they make me smile and laugh through my tears.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

This Rock is Big!

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Sophie loves to climb on rocks.  She was especially excited about the rock in the photo, because it was a big rock, the biggest rock of the bunch.

I love the perpetual state of discovery that characterizes the daily activities of young children.  Sophie enchants herself with new findings all the time.  
The cause of such wonder might be as banal as a rock, or a ladybug, or a flower.  Or the music of a squeaking bed as she jumps up and down on it.  Or a new favorite book.  
Chloe, who is almost eight years old, is less inclined to find pleasure in the little things.  She’s getting to that age where she’s blase about her surroundings.  She shrugs her shoulders a lot. Or laughs at Sophie when her little sister’s excited reactions to the mundane occurrences of everyday life strike her as over the top.
Anyway, I’m enjoying Sophie’s enthusiasm for everything she encounters – because I know it won’t last forever.  
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Getting Bigger

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We bought the skirt Chloe is wearing in the photo about 18-24 months ago, I think.  At the time, it dragged on the floor.  She wore it anyway, even though it didn’t fit her properly, because she LOVED it.

She rediscovered the skirt the other day – she hadn’t worn it in quite a long time – and was thrilled when she realized that she must have grown several inches, because the skirt fell just below her calves.
She came running to show me – “Mommy, look – look at my skirt! I’m so much taller now!” she cried.  Her happiness didn’t last long, however.  
When we arrived at the local zoo, her mood suddenly changed.  No longer jubilant over her growth spurt, she started to moan and groan because she was cold, and her jean jacket didn’t have pockets.  Reminding her that she was lucky to have a jacket at all because she forgot to take one from the house after we had asked her to, she became predictably even more annoyed.
Until her loving father decided to sacrifice his own comfort for the sake of his daughter. With the magical jacket, several sizes too large, her arms suddenly sprouted like a gorilla’s and she was smiling again.