Sunday

Lots of busy days in past couple weeks.
Just said goodbye to the little twins, who stayed with us for most of the day . Their parents are getting ready to move into their first new house and needed a couple trips to Home Depot, etc. Just fine with us. We took a long walk with them before lunch, which always helps them take a good nap and totally delights us as they view new things for the first time. They are just a little over two years old but still small for their age from being teeny preemies. We’ve been having some windy nights lately and as is often found here in Southern California, there are plenty of palm tree fronds that get blown off the trees. So it was very funny to watch this little guy, pulling a giant dried-up frond behind him, while his twin sister collected every flower she could find.

Spent last Friday with my daughter. We should really see each other more often because I think she talked for an hour and a half non-stop, filling me in about her life, friends, classes, etc. but it’s always so wonderful just to be with her. Terry had to wait for the carpet cleaning guy to finish our bedroom carpet and then he joined us. My daughter loves it when he comes along on our shopping trips because he’s far more likely to say yes to her than I am.

Been having lots of dreams about my mother lately. In my dreams, she’s always very, very nice and I keep looking at her to see if it really is her. And in every dream, I find myself telling her that she really did die awhile ago. She just laughs, as if it’s not true.
Weird. At least, I think it’s weird. My friend tells me that my mother is “visiting” me and that now without her earthly body, she’s free to be a much nicer, loving mother and wants me to know that.

I’m not so sure I’m buying that theory. I’m also not buying the thought that I “long” for a nicer mother so I dream of one. Because I feel I’ve come to terms with it all. I can see why she was the way she was and how she longed to be someone of dignity, how she carried the “stigma” of being a child of poor Italian immigrants with her throughout her life, and many other insecurities. She battled with herself and therefore, battled with all the rest of the world. I feel bad that she decided to live her life that way but I also remember that she made her choices about her life. She chose to be cruel and mean to her family, to the few friends she had. As for wanting a more loving mother, sure, it would have been nice but she wasn’t and that’s that. I think, in a lot of ways, it made me stronger, able to deal with imperfections and life not always being fair. I received many, many good things from her, even without her intentions for that.
So I try to see my childhood just as it was.

My adulthood is what I choose to make it.
Dreams or no dreams.