Chapter Excerpt: Oh, No, Brady's Almost 8!

Brady's favorite outing became The Model Train Store, a forty-minute drive from our house.          

“Why can’t I buy the Lionel Train?” he’d plead. “I’m old enough to work it.”                       

“Brady, on the box it says you have to be at least eight years old,” I said, to my relief.                        

“But, Mom,” he’d say, the box won’t know I’m only five!”           

We’d leave the store, with Brady yearning for his eighth birthday. I left hoping they’d change the age on the box to twelve by the time Brady turned eight.                                                

My boys were never that interested in cars or trains, so this was new to me. Even if they had been; we couldn’t afford them, which left them content to play with anything they could find in the house. 

Barely two years old, our galley kitchen was Adam’s favorite area to explore. He’d pull all the pots and pans out of my cabinet and play. One morning, while I was in the bedroom folding laundry, I heard Tracy and Adam giggling. By the time I peeked into the kitchen to see what they were laughing about, my jaw dropped when I saw Adam. He was covered in white grease! He had taken off his clothing and diaper, lifted the plastic lid off my giant can of Crisco, slathered it all over his body (even his head), and was sliding on the linoleum floor from one end of the kitchen to the other yelling, “Weeeee!” I should have bought him some toys. I can’t begin to explain how long it took me to clean him up.

NOT for Grandparents ONLY

This was sent to me by a friend and worth reading for the chuckle:

ONLY A GRANDMOTHER WOULD KNOW...

‾A Cup of Tea ‾

One day my Gramma was out, and my Grampa was in charge of me.

I was maybe 2 1/2 years old. Someone had given me a little 'tea set' as a gift, and it was one of my favorite toys.

Grampa was in the living room engrossed in the evening news when I brought him a little cup of 'tea', which was just water. After several cups of tea and lots of praise for such yummy tea, my Gramma came home.

My Grampa made her wait in the living room to watch me bring him a cup of tea, because it was 'just the cutest thing!' Gramma waited, and sure enough, here I came down the hall with a cup of tea for Grampa, and she watched him drink it up and rave about it.

Then she said, (as only a gramma would know), "Did it ever occur to you that the only place she can reach to get water is the toilet?"

Excerpt from Chapter: RAISING BRADY

This chapter could have been called “Spoiling Brady” because that’s one grandparent trait we’ve had difficulty abandoning. As much as we don’t want to spoil him, we’ve lost the battle many times, which our grown kids are only too happy to remind us.

With all Brady’s been through, we wanted to afford him as much pleasure as possible. To Brady, like many boys, that meant anything with wheels. It began at two years old with fire trucks and police cars. We spent our weekends, with Brady in tow, visiting local fire and police stations (he knew the firefighters by name) and to local fairs where fire engines and police motorcycles were on display. We couldn’t do enough for him, most likely overcompensating, because Jaime wasn’t there.

            

When Brady added autos and racecars to his repertoire on wheels, his collection totaled at least five hundred cars. He knows where every car came from and knows if one is missing.    

“When I grow up, I want to make billions and trillions of dollars!” Brady exclaimed.  “I want seven Ferrari’s and each one will be a different color for each day,” he confidently stated. “That way, if one breaks, I’ll go to the next one.”  Maybe he should raise us!  

          

Excerpt: HOPE IS ALL WE HAVE

Jaime spent two hours trying to tell us how ridiculous we were, that we were wasting her time. “The drugs belonged to my friend,” she lied.                                            

“Just take the test, Jaime,” I said through clenched teeth. “If you’re innocent, the test will prove it.”

Coaxing and coaxing, I was beside myself with exasperation.                                          

“Don’t bother with the test,” she dismally said. “I’m not clean.”                                                           

We said she needed to leave our home and figure out a way to get sober. Stu and I promised we would take care of Brady, who was a little over two years old at the time.                                    

Against our advice to go into a six-month locked rehab, which she could afford with its sliding scale fee, she chose to go back to the same sober living home she failed at twice before. She feared that going into a locked facility and not being able to work; she’d lose her clients and be limited to her visits with Brady. But that would happen, anyway, if she couldn’t get clean. At least, there, she’d have a chance at sobriety.            

Her plan was not promising. However, no one knows when someone decides to get sober. Maybe this was her time and we held onto our hope.             

EXCERPT- "We Project Great Things For Our Children"

            Neither Stu nor I could believe that we were even in this position; we didn’t smoke, drink or use drugs. This was far from our comfort zone. We spent countless hours re-hashing her life, what we should have done better, what we did wrong and what we should have done differently, all the while blaming each other. This was our child, so it had to be our fault!  

            What happened to our baby? We named her after my beloved grandmother so that unconditional love would be part of her being. She was swaddled in a pink blanket made by Stu’s mother, to add sweetness and gentility to her life and my mother gave her a huge Raggedy Ann doll for protection. Jaime was the sweetest and most Bohemian of our children. She strived for originality even in elementary school. Her fashion whims would have even impressed her idol, Cindy Lauper, as would her musical talent. We had such hope for our child. At age thirteen, at her Bat Mitzvah, Stu and I offered her advice: “Consider all that life offers and choose wisely so that you can strengthen the values which define you as an individual. We offer all our love, support and guidance to help you complete the precious collection of ideas and feelings which make you the unique and wonderful person you are.” I missed those days of innocence and hoped she would choose wisely.

GETTING IT STRAIGHT

Brady remains our touchstone. For example, a few days after entering first grade in a new school, he confronted me out of the blue, hands on his hips: “So what are you, my step mom or what?” Taken aback, I responded, “No, Brady, because a step mom wouldn’t be related to you. You have my blood running through your veins.” He looked a bit confused. “Brady,” I continued, “I’m your grandmother and because I take care of you; I’m also your mom. You have two in one!” He said, “How about Dad?” I said, “Same thing.” Then he got a very serious look on his face and said, “So, let me get this straight. In real life, if Jaime were still my mom, you’d be my grandmother. But because she couldn’t do it, you’re my mom?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “God made a good decision.”  

CHAPTER EXCERPT

Please let me know what you think with your comments. Should we read our children's diaries if we think they're in trouble? 

Jaime was understandably livid when I told her what I had done. 

“How could you do that, Mom?” she screamed. “You had no right! You intruded on my privacy!”                        

“Jaime, I’m sorry, but it’s my duty,” I desperately improvised, “my duty as your mother, to protect you. If I don’t know what’s going on, then I can’t help you. And you need help!”                        

“I hate you for this,” she screamed. “I will never trust you, again.”                                 

She slammed her bedroom door and locked it.                                                

The next morning, I was referred to a therapist who treated adolescents. Jaime was still angry, perhaps justifiably so, but reluctantly she agreed to go. After about two months of weekly visits, the therapist met with me. “Jaime has a healthy view of herself,” she said with confidence. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”            

                                                                                                                                               

Had my daughter snowed the therapist, just as I had snowed adults when I was a teenager?  Jaime got involved in wholesome high school activities, drum line and show choir, and met some very nice friends. Maybe the therapist was right. I felt encouraged and hoped this would give her the self-worth I felt she desperately needed.

Jaime seemed to live a double life. On the one hand, she was wholesome, talented and sweet. On the other, she was conniving, sneaky and trashy. In hindsight, Stu and I should have been stronger with our convictions and our parenting, but we weren’t. Her transgressions went unchecked. Because we viewed Jaime as fragile, we always gave her the benefit of the doubt. We just never thought she’d turn to drugs.