One less worry?

/

Now that my girls are grown, I've found there are fewer things to worry about. One of the biggies, which struck me just this morning, is that if I were to die, I don't have to worry about the guardianship of my daughters.

The morbid thought crossed my mind as I read a news article about Elizabeth Edwards doing all she can to keep her slimy, soon-to-be-ex husband's mistress from becoming step-mother and co-guardian of her young children, ages 12 and 10, once she dies. Seems poor Elizabeth's health has taken a slight turn for the worse so she's scrambling for legal ways to protect her kids, even going so far as to consider having her 28-year-old daughter raise the younger ones.

That's a pretty heavy load to lay on the 28-year-old. I couldn't imagine doing the same to Brianna, who's basically the same age. But with my kids all consecutive ages, that was never a consideration. No, I worried about who'd take in the trio -- who I would want to take in the trio -- if tragedy took me and Jim at the same time, leaving my girlies as orphans.

We did write up legal documents naming the person several years ago. It was about 15 years ago, just before Jim and I went skydiving. Although we rode in separate planes and jumped at separate times, being an overprotective crazy mama with an overactive imagination, I wasn't willing to take any chances. So we wrote up a will, primarily addressing the guardianship of our pre-teen daughters.

It was an unbelievably difficult choice to make. Jim and I have lots of family, lots of potential guardians to choose from. But some had very different parenting techniques that we didn't want to subject the girls to, others had such limited means and overwhelming stressors already that we didn't want to add three little girls to the mix. We eventually chose, but luckily it's now a moot point. Jim and I survived to see the girls become self-sufficient. We don't need to name anyone to care for our kids upon our death.

Whew! One less thing to worry about.

But wait -- now there's Bubby. Have Megan and Preston made a final decision on who will take care of him if tragedy were to strike? I know they've talked about it, gone back and forth on it, worried about it. But are there legal documents to guarantee their wishes will be honored? That I worry about.

And what about Brianna's kids? She'll likely get married soon, likely have kids soon after that. What will she and her husband choose to do?

And what about Andrea? Yeah, she's not even dating anyone right now. And, yeah, she's flat out told me she doesn't want kids. But you never know. She probably oughta start considering such things. Just in case.

Yes, I'm a worrier. I admit it. And now that I've thought it out, written it down, I guess there really isn't less to worry about as a I get older, there are just different things to worry about. The worry about my own children has now been replaced with worrying about my grandchildren ... and my granchildren-to-be.

There is indeed one less worry, though. At least I don't have to worry that my slimy, soon-to-be-ex husband's mistress will become step-mother and co-guardian of my young children.

It's unfortunate that Elizabeth Edwards, who has so many other worries at this time, wasn't afforded that same consideration.

Today's question:

What's one thing you used to worry about that you no longer do?

Wheat, chaff and baby teeth

/

As I mentioned yesterday, Jim and I spent Saturday with three of Jim's five siblings plus a couple nieces and nephews clearing out the storage shed that held everything from the last apartment Jim's mom lived in, her last home and the place she resided when a stroke unexpectedly ripped her from her life and plopped her down in a hospital bed to wait out her days.

My mother-in-law was always a fastidious housekeeper, a truly tidy grandma. But the unexpectedness of the emergency medical situation meant she never had the chance to tie up her life belongings into beribboned bundles or to even discard such things as drawers full of hair-color conditioner tubes and expired grocery coupons. Which meant her kids had a lot of stuff to go through, a lot of work to do paring her possessions into piles to pass along to her children and grandchildren, honoring her by not pitching it all into the charity bin.

To be honest, it was a relatively quick task as Jim's mom lived a spare and simple life. And, as Granny prided herself on being ever the educator, the task indeed taught me a few lessons about getting my own things and my own life in order so my kids and grandkids have an easier time separating the wheat from the chaff once I'm gone.

Here are a few of those lessons:

Keep a notebook or journal -- placed in a prominent spot -- detailing which possessions you'd like to go to whom. There were thankfully no arguments over my mother-in-law's goods, but we all could only guess what her desire may be ... and I'm pretty sure we missed the mark on at least a few. A will may be the answer, but how many wills go so far as to say which kid gets the red afghan versus the white or the flowered teapot versus the striped?

Always label photos with the names of those in the pictures and the date. As we perused the hundreds of photos, we were at a loss again and again without Granny around to let us know which baby belonged to whom and why one wacky woman wore the getup featuring what appeared appeared to be a bikini-clad sumo wrestler.

Minimize the mementos from your children's early years. Mother's Day gifts made in preschool, unidentifiable art-class and woodshop projects and every scrap of sentimentality have their place, but it's a very limited place. Save only those that really tug at the heart strings, not every crayon-scribbled, glitter-pocked piece of paper.

Speaking of paper, get rid of (most of) it. There's no need to save every single greeting card, every single receipt, every single recipe that one may have intended to try but never did. A paper shredder -- of which we found an unused one in Granny's possession -- comes in handy for such things.

Same goes for toiletry samples and hotel freebies. As Jim and his siblings chuckled about the blue tube after blue tube of the Clairol conditioning cream that comes with the hair color but is far too much for any normal woman to use as directed on the tube, I had to fess up that I have a handful, okay a basketful, of the very same conditioning cream tubes in my own bathroom cabinet. I'll be pitching those ... soon.

Thank you for these lessons and more, Granny. I'll do my best to soon institute them in my life, my home, my piles of stuff. I'll do it in honor of you -- and to nip in the bud the giggles, grins and guffaws sure to come from my daughters if they were to one day discover the Ziploc baggie I have filled with baby teeth individually wrapped in tissues, all deftly pulled from under pillows by this grandma formerly known as the Tooth Fairy.

Today's question:

Which of the "lessons" from above are you most in need of instituting in your life?

Enunciate the love

/

Bubby has no problem showing his best bud Ro-Ro how much he loves him!I recently read "Just Let Me Lie Down: Necessary Terms For The Half-Insane Working Mom" by Kristin van Ogtrop, which I received free for participation in the SV Moms Group Book Club. (SV Moms Group is the umbrella group under which I write for the Rocky Mountain Moms Group occasionally.)

Kristin van Ogtrop is the editor of Real Simple magazine, which means she's a high-power working gal. In her book, she has lots to say about balancing work and life issues, or at least coming to terms with the fact that balance is an elusive thing for most working mothers. A lot of what she has to say is interesting, most of it's witty, tiny bits of it left me scratching my head.

One tiny bit that stood out as a head-scratcher for me is a comment van Ogtrop made about saying "I love you." The context is that it's a chapter in which she talks about the strangeness of realizing she may possibly love a coworker. Love as in motherly love, friendly love, not some sordid office romance type of love. First she confesses, "I am not a big 'I love you' person," then a few paragraphs later she says this:

"Many people who rise to leadership positions do so in part because they can control their emotions (see Emotional tourniquet, p. 63). Sometimes I think the only reason I have been hired to run a magazine is because I'm able to remember to keep a box of tissues in my office and I can usually remain dry-eyed while others around me burst into tears. I'm sure there are individuals I work with who pity my children, raised as they are by a woman who appears to have no emotions but the occasional flash of anger. To those colleagues: I assure you, I do tell my children and my husband that I love them. At least every once in a while."

It's those last couple sentences that caught my attention. I'm sure van Ogtrop isn't dead serious about the "every once in a while" part, but it made me consider how often the "I love you"s are thrown around in my family.

I come from a family where "I love you" was rarely said; my dad still says it only in third person ("Your dad loves ya"). I wanted things to be different in the family Jim and I created, and it is. We say "I love you" all the time, possibly so often that it has lost its oomph.

It started off when the girls were little that after bedtime prayers there'd be "Goodnight, I love you." Then, when they left the house it'd be "Have fun. Be safe. I love you!" Now it's the last thing we say at the end of telephone calls: "I love you. Bye!"

Even Bubby -- who, as a typical 22-month-old, still has a relatively limited word reportoire -- has learned the phrase. As we wrapped up our most recent Skyping conversation, he said "Bye!" followed by a mumbled "ahwhuhwhoo." Translation from Megan: "That's his 'I love you.'"

"Ahwhuhwhoo"s notwithstanding, most of our family phone calls are now end with what sounds much like "love-ya-bye!" as we all lead busy lives and rush to get off the phone so we can move along to the other dire matters that fill our days.

And I don't like that. Sure, the sentiment is still there, but this is an instance in which it's not just the thought that counts. It's the saying it like you mean it that counts.

So going forward (gotta love that corporate phrase left over from corporate days) I plan to enunciate, to say it like I mean it. Because I do mean it. More than anything else in my life. I love my girls, my husband, my Bubby.

And my readers.

I love you!

Bye!

Extra special bonus because I love you guys: I received two copies of "Just Let Me Lie Down" by Kristin van Ogtrop to give away. Enter to win one in the Back Room.

Today's question:

In an average day, how many times do you say "I love you"?

My answer: Probably five or six times.

Fave photo of the week

/
Related Posts with Thumbnails

Aunts galore!

Bubby and Megan with the great-aunts, aunts and Nonny-Grandma.

Today's question:

How many siblings do you have?

My answer: Above on the couch with Megan and Bubby are three of my four sisters. I also have two brothers. All seven of us are immediate siblings -- no step. (Although there are a couple step on both sides but they don't really count because we were all adults by that time and we never have contact with one another.)