Tag: family

feelings

tuesdays with maga

abby mumford

i’ve previously talked about my weekly phone calls with my mom’s mom, maga. they’re usually short and sweet and filled with the weather, updates about family, and discussions about sports.

our calls from the previous two weeks were quiet calls which mirrored the weeks we’d each had. when a third phone call threatened to be as news-less as the previous two, maga set out to have something to report. it was a day with nothing on the calendar other than living it best as her 91 year old self could, so her caregiver took her on a journey to meet a specific lady. this lady is another client of maga’s caregiver and she’s the grandmother of the rock star who wrangled me the passes to meet guster.

maga’s mind has always been younger than her physical self, but even so, it was hilarious to hear her declare the other woman as elderly, seeing as at 91, maga’s no spring chicken either. it reminded me of the way i feel much younger than my 31 years and it’s only when faced with people younger than me that i remember i’m not as young as my brain thinks i am. i’ve often described these young people as babies, which is essentially the same thing as maga describing one of her peers as elderly.

we’re 60 years and hundreds of miles apart, but we’re more similar than just in our genes.

at the end of that phone call, she apologized for not having more fun things to report. WHAT?! i said. you met someone new yesterday! you get out and about every day. you’re kicking butt and taking names. i’m the one who should apologize for not having more gossip, more stories, more interesting things to tell.

but that’s the funny thing about brains and expectations.

you perceive yourself in a particular manner (younger than you actually are) and with a weekly chat, you hope to experience something that’s big enough to make it a conversation. it doesn’t matter if you’re 91 or 31, you still want to entertain and enlighten an otherwise lonely soul.

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feelings

kids and books

abby mumford

(1) this is the way baby mac reads.

look at that posture! only someone totally absorbed by a story could strike that pose.

(2) this is the way my other niece, MMM, reads now.

(3) this is the way she began.

(4) this is the way MMM and i read together.

(5) this is the way my nephew L reads and shares and smiles.

nephew L is on the right.

(6) and this is the way i started reading. (the lack of joy on my face is, i can only presume, because i was annoyed at having my reading time interrupted.)

those straight legs! that straight back! what i wouldn’t give to be able to strike that pose now. (i can’t even touch my toes.)

how did YOU start reading? or, simply, what makes YOU smile?

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feelings

homesick

abby mumford

i have a frown on my face. my body feels heavy and my focus is fractured. i’m unable to give anything any thought longer than a minute.

except the thought i miss my family.

this quiet, this solitude i craved is too much, too big, too not what i truly want. i want to return to the chaos of my family, the lack of privacy, and time, and choice. i want my day to be structured around the babies mac and making them laugh and chalk drawings and leggos and fisher price toys and guessing when sister E will wake up and how do i get her to buy that adorable dress and walks around the neighborhood and laundry (no quarters needed!) and shopping and ways to help sister J cool down and talking and sharp bursts of misunderstanding and letting our hair down and wearing PJs until 2pm because there’s never time to shower and change when the babies mac are awake and commanding attention and emptying the dishwasher and making dinner and a too small kitchen table and when to ask dad to make us cocktails and naps and misguided tours and that pantry and bagels and ice cream and shuffling the cards for mom because her thumbs are sore from too many years of doing that exact motion and technological adventures and laughter and discussions with bro-in-law T about bird bones and moving trucks and how even he likes THE HUNGER GAMES.

i want to walk over to the sink and find it full of dishes, even though i just did them 15 minutes ago. it’s life lived messily, but loved cleanly.

i want to be where one equals one family instead of just me.

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writing

getting ready

abby mumford

brother G’s youngest turned 4 yesterday (4 on june 4 — golden birthday!) and he (G) sent out the following picture the day before:

maybe turning 4 will improve his fashion sense?

one of the most wonderful things about kids is when they reach the age where they can and do dress themselves. the combinations of shirts and pants and socks and tutus and tights and shoes they put on is awfully endearing.

it’s also how they learn (a) how to put on clothes and (b) which clothes match, or not, depending upon the intended end result.

they figure out (a) by if they’re mobile in their clothes and they understand if (b) is correct by judging their parents’/siblings’ reactions. much laughter probably means they should turn around and try a different combination of clothes from the closet.

which got me thinking about writing.

we first have to learn (a) how to write and plot and create and dream and (b) if the story, plot, characters match.

we can figure out (a) by writing and writing and writing some more and we’ll know if (b) is working based upon the reactions of our critique partners, agents, editors, beta readers, real readers (depending upon what level of publication you’ve reached).

but the most important thing i realized from my nephew’s current fashion sense is that the beginning/the learning/the figuring out of clothes/writing is messy, crazy, and silly, as it should be. the only way to learn what’s right is by doing what’s wrong. it’s also very important not to take life or your outfit or your manuscript too seriously because where’s the fun in that?

cheers to mismatched socks, plots, and birthday cakes.

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