The flu stayed but Mike flew...

I want my money back. I paid perfectly good US currency for a flu shot and got the flu anyway. Can't imagine why they call it "flu". Flux is more like it. And it does not fly, it drags on forever. I have been sleeping on the couch to protect my hubby from infection. I have been keeping my distance from my students. I have been resting every possible moment. Every time I feel like I am getting better, I seem to relapse. I am sick of being sick. I am sick of the flu.

Hope I didn't give it to my baby brother.

Last Sunday, my wild and crazy little brother Mikey stopped in for a whirlwind visit. He was in Huntsville for business and drove up to see us. I was so excited and so was my granddaughter Emily, who had never met Mike but was looking forward to my "baby brother" showing up. I am sure she was anticipating a playmate. The minute Mike walked in the door, Em was outraged. "NeeNee," she said with that majestic disdain only a four-year-old can manage, "THAT is not a baby brother. That is a grandpaw!"

Not strictly true. Mike is just-turned 50 and has two kids in college, but neither one of them has made him a grandpa yet. Hope I live to see that day, though, because Mike will be a hoot as a granddad. He's basically just an overgrown kid as it is- give him partners in crime, and he will be right in his element.

The visit was wonderful but frenetic and way too short. Once Emily recovered from her disappointment that Mike isn't four, she and he seemed to hit it off. They have so much in common. They are both high energy people- Mike makes hyper-kinetics nervous- they are both the center of attention wherever they are, and they are both (forgive me, bro) more than a little vain. Kindred spirits!

Mike accomplished the impossible by getting hugs from the older girls as they left for home. Maybe calling them "mugwumps" helped. Of course, being as strong as an ox and refusing to take no for an answer didn't hurt- he overwhelmed them, as Mikey does to most people. A force of nature, that kid. Even the flu abates before him.

God, I love him so.

The rules always change when it's my turn...

When I was a kid, I had two grandmothers. My maternal grandmother S. loved me unconditionally and I adored her in return. My paternal grandmother H. didn't like me and was invariably unkind to me. It was easy to be polite and respectful to my mom's mom. It was very hard showing the proper respect to my Dad's. I have never known why Grandma H. disliked me so but I can honestly say that she inflicted a lot of emotional harm with her unkindness toward and neglect of me.

And yet, like most kids of that era, I was trained from birth to display respectful behavior toward my elders and there were painful consequences for any lapse. My grandmother H. may have been a bitch (and she was: she referred to me as "the ugly one" and "the cripple", and went out of her way to belittle, embarrass and torment me) but I never entered her presence without speaking to her. I never refused to answer her questions, or engage in conversation with her, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She got the quota of hugs and kisses she was due as the mother of my father despite the fact that we did not love or like one another. She was my elder, and her age alone secured for her a high level of respectful attention.

Flash to the present, where I am the grandmother, and compare my behavior toward Grandma H. to my eldest two granddaughters behavior toward me. Focus on the age differences between us. They are pre-teens. I am pushing 60. By the rules I grew up with, I should now be getting my propers as an elder. Hey, I've waited long enough for it, and I have earned it. And even if THEY don't think I have, I believe that if I could behave respectfully to a grandmother who hated me, it should be easy for them to show the proper respect and affection to a grandmother who has always been good to them. That would be me.

But once again, the rules have changed when it's my turn. The girls are surly, rude, silent and deliberately hurtful and only part of this hateful behavior can be attributed to raging hormones. If I had treated either of my grandmothers the way I am being treated, I would have felt the back of my dad's hand across my face. Unless my mom got to me first.

Not that I am advocating slapping children, though, believe me, I have been sorely tempted here lately. I am just sorry there isn't more parental intervention and instruction on the proper care and feeding of aging grandparents who DESERVE respect and affection.

On a much happier note, Pixie and Pookie, the two youngest girls, are still happy to see me and show no signs of casting me off in the immediate future. Hopefully, when the horrible hormones hit the little ones, they will remember me rightly and give me my propers. Hope springs maternal.