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Toddlers and Angels

June 4th—the day my sister Sharon died—always makes me pause.  My mind shifts back to the dark days of 1994. Then, when the veil between here and after was thin and my mind was continually occupied by thoughts of my sister - memories, regrets, wishes - I was on high alert, ever watchful for her presence.  Desperate for a sign that she was okay was a natural response to the traumatic way she died. I wanted reassurance. I found myself looking for women that looked like her in the grocery store or on the street, just to get a glimpse of her face one more time. For months, even years later, my heart would nearly leap out of my chest when I spied a young lady with long, dark, curly hair or a face that resembled hers. Of course, I was invariably disappointed when that person wasn't Sharon, and I couldn't pretend it was all somehow just a bad dream. But there were a few times, when our daughter was a baby and toddler, when it wasn't me but Anne who seemed especially attuned...

Plenty


It's family story time again. 

Many years ago, our daughter Anne drew this picture of herself, me, and her brother James. Apparently we were on a grocery shopping trip, and this I know by the thought bubble above my head which reads, "Wow! 5% off those fish fillets!" I am not quite sure if our daughter was dragging me to frozen food section or somewhere else. And poor James, toddling behind, hoping to catch whatever it was I was carrying. After all these years, I still find this image hysterical. 

Five percent off fish fillets. 


What struck me is that this is how our daughter saw me—now permanently enshrined in artwork!

To be fair, I am by nature frugal. That comes from being raised by a mom who had to pinch pennies in a one-income, five-mouths-to-feed family. There were food stamps and government surplus cheese from time to time when she was laid off from her factory job. 

My frugality also comes from watching my grandmother bring goodies to our house from various sales and clearances. A child of immigrants, Grandma knew how to scrimp and save and find a bargain. How to mend things, stretch supplies, and make do. How to find uses for things others might toss aside. These two women, in turn, taught me these essentials. 

I don't regret being that penny-pinching mom our daughter saw. Oh, there were some lean times, and times when my early lack of good money management meant I was raiding the penny pot to make it to payday without completely blowing our household budget, or my husband's patience.

I do cherish this vision of our early family life. It reminds me that while there might have been tight times, we always, always had plenty. Plenty of love. Plenty of laughs. A roof over our heads, warm beds to sleep in, food on the table, clothes on our backs. And so much more.

Then and now, I have two kids I cherish.

And a husband I love.

Plenty.

 

Until next time...Happy Thanksgiving. 

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Comments

  1. Replies
    1. And Happy Thanksgiving (a little late) to you as well. Clearly we are related on my Mom's side - I'd love to know how we are connected. Thanks for reading!

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