Bitsy's Bits and Pieces: Michael, the Arch Angel, the Lil Momma & Cinderella's Slippers

I don't know how it happened.

I don't know when it happened.

But it happened.

The Lil Momma and I have come full circle. She is "mothering me". She has become my sounding board, my friend, my protector, kind of like Michael the Archangel.

I remember when I started down this path with my Mom, but it was for different reasons. My Mom (the lil Momma's Grandma Carol) passed away in my Senior Year of High School. My nurturing took on a whole different light than what I see transpiring with the Lil Momma. She had struggled for years with Cancer and the medicines and such were taking their toll on her. I'd come in from school and ask her how her day had been only to be told "To sit down and relax....that dinner was in the oven" and "How was my school day?". Of course, she believed "dinner was in the oven ", but truth be told............there was NO DINNER in the oven or anywhere. The first time it happened, I went to her and said "Mom, I don't see anything in the oven" to which a very indignent proud woman responded, "Well, somebody MUST have eaten it". After that first time, there was a second time, a third time and many many other times. It got to where I just didn't ask. I just knew I had to high tail it to the kitchen after she made the "proverbial statement" and get the dinner that was IN the OVEN, IN the OVEN. It was no big deal, and now I'd give anything to have the luxury of scurrying about covering up her decline in health to make her still feel whole and effective in her role as a "housewife and beloved mother", a role she didn't have the luxury of enjoying for the majority of our lives since she taught school and nurtured other people's children daily. What an amazing woman my mom, Carol Teresa Stevenson, was.

In recent years, I seem to have become forgetful, scattered and unfocussed. Truth be known, I may have always been that way, but as I get older and as I get more like my Mom (Of course, I don't have the excuse of having undergone chemo and radiation, at least not in the last few years). The Lil Momma does her best not to come across concerned or aggitated but I'm quite certain I get on her last nerve of the day when she tells me something and I say snippily to her "Why didn't you tell me this before?" and she has to say "Mom, I did. Don't you remember?" OR I break into a rendition of a story that I find particularly enthralling only to be told "Mom, you told me this already"! It's taken me awhile to put my "daughter shoes" back on these 55 year old feet and remember what it must feel like to her. Those shoes aren't particularly easy to wear and they sure don't just slide on like Cinderella's glass slippers. I'm sure she never dreamed she'd have to worry about, nurture, carry concern, etc. for her Mom, or hell perhaps she's always worried about me and I was just not tuned in enough to notice. All I can say is, I sure love me some "Lil Momma" and yep, some "Drew Precious". They run circles around any parenting techniques or skills that I ever exhibited. They're disciplined, organized, loving and just simply amazing in the rearing of our lil Webbman. They make it look easy, but I know it's not, and I know I add to their plate and I wish I didn't. It's just flat plain hell to get old.

NOW, the Webbman. He is just the epitomy of perfect. He is the definition of handsome. He is a walking package of cute! I don't know when this happened either, but it did. It seems like I looked up and all of a sudden, he went from precious lil baby to adorable lil man. No more sissy baby outfits for him. No more lil smocked jon jons or cutesie stuff. He's all boy and I have to say................I'm lovin' every minute of it. Not lovin' it MORE than raising the Lil Momma but lovin' it in a different way. With Easter coming up, I have some Easter basket assessments to be making.........that is "if" I remember. Funny thing is, so far, I haven't forgotten one detail about the Webbman or what he may need. Wonder why that is? All I can say is I hope my Michael, the Archangel looks like John Travolta.