February 13, 2009

Life's a Bowl of Cherries and Right Now I'm in the Pits

There’s a lot of stuff going on in my family right now. Most I can’t tell you about, but if you believe in a greater being you might say a prayer for my family and I.

One thing I can tell you about is that my grandmother is dying. They’ve only given her a few days to live. You may have noticed when I write I tell a lot about my grandmothers and very little about my mother. This is because Grandma raised me until I was seven when my mother got me back and my childhood went to hell.

My mother was wild and had me when she was sixteen. Yes, a little of the wild passed down to me, but enough of my grandmother’s practical ways rubbed off so I at least raised my own children in a normal home.

I didn’t get much sleep last night and am writing this quickly this morning so God only knows what you will get to read today. Sorry, but there will be very little editing.

So with everything else I have to deal with, I’m losing the person that has always been my mother. I’m a big girl I should be able to deal with this. I’ve taken care of other people since I was seven so I should be used to dealing with adult problems.

My grandmother was adopted and the only thing we know is that she is French, English and Native American. They just called her a French Indian. Far as we can tell, her daddy was English and her mother was French and Native American. When she became an adult she found some of her siblings by way of an older sister who tried to track them all down. I don’t know how her parents died, but there were nine children all together.

They were from North Carolina and some of her family is still there. They were all very tall with curly black hair, blue eyes and tan skin. One of my brothers takes after this part of the family. One of Grandma’s brothers was 6’6” or something like that. I don’t know for sure, only that he had to duck to go through doorways when he had on his cowboy hat and boots. The whole family were like giants to me. Grandma was 5’7” which is tall for a woman of her generation.

My mother is only 5’2” and always griped about my height and how I got it from her. I’m 5’6” tall. Grandma pointed out my assets while Mother pointed out my faults.

According to my mother I am too tall, my breasts aren’t large enough, my feet are too big, and because this is a G rated blog I won’t tell you what she said was wrong with another part of my anatomy. Men don’t like mousy brown hair and brown eyes. I guess I was lucky to even get a date.

When we adopted Jennifer, my mother the baby factory asked me why I didn’t have another baby instead of adopting. Of course she missed the whole point. Funny how being fertile doesn’t always give you the maternal instinct.

Sorry for the pity party. You can now go read Deanna Banana or some other upbeat happy person’s blog. Hopefully next week will be better.

Henry (the long haired boy) sure is cute.

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