Seven years ago

I forgot what today's date was until I was driving to work this morning. They were getting ready to observe the moment of silence marking when the first plane hit the WTC. I remember seven years ago today like it was yesterday. I found out about the World Trade Center when the alarm on my clock radio went off. It was set so the radio came on instead of the buzzer. I think I had hit the snooze the first time, because the first thing I remember hearing was the DJ saying this couldn't be an accident. Two planes couldn't hit the same building only minutes apart.

I ran into the next room and turned on the TV, then picked up the phone and attempted to call my best friend, Jen. She was living in Manhattan at the time. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have been in the building, but I just needed to be sure. She was inbetween jobs at the time, and sometimes she went to the half-price ticket booth on the ground floor for Broadway tickets or to go to the bank. The only time I was ever in the twin tower was with her to buy tickets to a Broadway show.

Of course, I couldn't get through to her. Getting calls through to Manhattan that day was nearly impossible. Not knowing what else to do, I went to work and listened to the radio coverage as events unfolded -- the plane hitting the Pentagon, all planes being grounded, the plane crashing in the field in Pennsylvania. What was going to happen next?

Jen e-mailed me that afternoon to let me know that she and her boyfriend Jonathan were safe. They had watched the towers fall from the roof of their apartment building on the upper west side. I sat at my desk and cried when I read the e-mail.

That night and the days to follow I watched the TV coverage for hours. I knew we would never be the same. Everything had changed one Tuesday morning in September.

Things my grandma taught me...

My grandmother isn't doing very well lately. My mom and my uncle moved from assisted living into the nursing home last week. I sounds like she may not be with us much longer. She sleeps all the time, and only eats a few bites at each meal. Scott asked me if I wanted to go see her, but I've decided not to. It's a 6-hour drive, and it sounds like she wouldn't really know that we are there. Besides, I think I'd rather remember her the way she was. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I don't want my last memory to be of her lying in a bed at the nursing home.

Needless to say, I've been thinking about my grandma a lot lately. I've started putting together a list in my head of things my grandma taught me when I was growing up.

My grandma taught me ...

• How to pluck a chicken, gut it, and cut it up to fry
• That it is okay to reach at the table as long as you keep one foot on the floor (farm hand manners 101)
• How to make three meals out of one (never waste the left-overs)
  

Mean Mommy

My mother-in-law thinks I'm a mean mommy. We decided it was time to move Jack out of his crib this weekend and into his new "big boy" bed. We have been trying for weeks to convince him that he is a big boy, and that big boys sleep in "big boy beds." His response -- "Mama, I'm a baby. I sleep in there" (as he points to his crib).

So on Sunday, while he was busy playing, I had Scott take the mattress out his crib and hide it in the basement. When it was time for bed that night, I told Jack he had to sleep in the new big boy bed because his old bed was broke. He, of course, didn't believe me and ran into the nursery to check out the crib. He wanted in the crib, so I picked him up and set him in on the bare springs, and said, "See it's broken. You can't sleep in there or you'll fall through."

Jack didn't like that one bit. He began to wail. He was absolutely heartbroken. He kept sobbing, "My bed broken." I felt terrible. He calmed down after a few minutes, and was resigned to sleep in his new bed. So, he grabbed a few of his favorite bed-time toys from his old room, and went into his new room. We tucked him in, and he slept all night.

The second night was must easier. He went into his old room to see if his bed was fixed, but just shrugged and said, "my bed still broken," and climbed into his new bed. He is, however, convinced that a monster lives in his new room. He doesn't seem too afraid of it, but he tells me each night when I turn out the light that there's a monster over there (as he points to the corner). I told him that when he see the monster, just to tell it to go away. He seems okay with that for the moment.

Needless to say, my mother-in-law thought it was terrible that we tricked Jack into sleeping in his new room. Guess I'm just not as patient as she is. Jack's so stubborn he'd probably have slept in his crib until his legs hung out the ends.