Sunday, April 29, 2012
My, my. Blogger's got a new page for bloggees. I was not consulted. Apparently, they missed the memo about how I do not like change. Let's hope I can get this thing posted with no issues. You know what issues mean. I give up. On with the post... I have mentioned my grandmother, Ga-Ga, more than once around here. We lost her in the fall, and she would have been downright proud of all the yarns spun on her behalf. At the wake, there was tons of delicious food and drink-really great stuff. But you know what got the comeback award? Bugga dip. Ga-Ga (also known as Lady Ga-Ga by some of her great-grandchildren) was married to Bugga. He got his name from drawing little bugs on the hands of his grandchildren. And, I'll tell you, I get a little happy inside when my dad does the same for my kids. Of course, at times he gets in a bind-they start requesting fairly elaborate things for him to draw! ANYWAY. So, the legend goes that at some point, I think when my grandfather was doing some traveling sales, he would come home grumpy. Ga-Ga decided it was because his blood sugar was low. Obviously. You have NO idea how much I love this story. As a person who is able to link all sorts of moods to food, I totally love the approach. I have preached the gospel of the protein snack since Drew was a toddler and can still be heard saying, "You're so grumpy, I think you need a little protein." There is a pure generational link here! Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes, if I'm having guests over who stress me out, I make Bugga dip as a little wink to myself about being a gracious host, with the tiniest hint of an edge. It's like an inside joke between me and myself. Now, if you come to my house and I serve you Bugga dip, don't assume it's because you're stressing me out. There are lots of reasons I make it. But, sometimes, it's just to make sure everybody's blood sugar stays right there at even. If you know what I mean. I have been left a mighty fine legacy on all sides. I'm so happy humor weaves its way through almost every tale. I still miss my mom every second. The pit in my stomach remains. I saw my counselor for the first time since she died last week. He was out of tissues. It's a good thing I stopped carrying my pride in there a long time ago, because I'm sure there is nothing like watching a grown woman wipe snot all over her dress. We both tried to act like it wasn't happening. We probably should've just stopped and guffawed about it. Of course, the timing would've been a tad awkward. Rest assured I'll be bringing my own from now on. Just in case. I dread Mother's Day, and even more, I dread the Mother's Day program at our preschool. My great friend Ruth does such an AMAZING job at all of our programs, and I think my Mom was her biggest fan. I know Drew and I will both be so sad Grammy won't be there. There is potential here for what I like to call "Drew fall-out". This is when, even after being thoroughly prepped, he flips out at an inopportune time. I'll tell you right now, I cannot handle a room full of "pity eyes". Perhaps, if I load him up with Bugga dip for breakfast (fritos included) he'll be able to ride out the storm!