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We should all be like Wilma...

I was going to title this Ode to Wilma... which made me think of Ode To a Grecian Urn by John Keats... and the words Ode and Urn reminded me of dead people and Wilma is not dead!

Wilma lives near Chicago, and if you look at her profile you will see that she is not Fred's wife. Of course, thick-headed as I am, it took me a while to figure out what she was talking about!

Every time Wilma talks about her daughter Kate (we lovingly call her Katicakes) she has a certain, je ne sais quoi, a glow about her... actually, every time she talks about little Kate she gushes. She just gushes. She adores her little girl; this little girl is truly the apple of her eye. You can hear the love and adoration in her voice... you can hear her sigh, as she fondly recollects this moment or that one. She savors every detail about her daughter, significant or not. It's just so amazing to listen to. (Much in the same manor I would savor a delectable piece of really good chocolate or a really good glass of red wine!)

Don't get me wrong. I do not mean to imply that she loves her child any more than any one of us loves our children. Nor do I mean to imply that Wilma views her daughter as perfect. She is realistic and Kate has her moments... but even in those moments that would drive a normal mother to drink, or on the brink, Wilma sits and observes and cherishes each little tantrum. Wilma is aware of just how quickly time is passing us by. She realizes that while these tantrums are infuriating and draining on both mother and child, that these too shall pass. Everything about childhood will one day be but a distant memory. Wilma is one of those people who truly takes the time to stop and smell the roses. I know that it took her a long time to conceive her child, and she had all but given up. Perhaps, I am sure, that has something to do with it. Wanting something so badly... so badly and thinking the wish will never be granted. And finally, and nothing short of miraculous, the child she yearned for so badly was conceived. (Had I waited as long as Wilma had I would be almost 50 at the time of my youngest's birth! I have no desire to compete with Joan Lunden and all those other Guiness World Record Mother-Grandmothers!)

It is true that age mellows us... I would have been so calm had I just stuck with my one child... with each child that followed the stress factor quadrupled!

I would like to proclaim this Wilma, Not Fred's Wife Day! I think we should all slow down and cherish all the little nuances, idiosyncrasies, and yes, even the tantrums. We should pause a moment, hold our breaths, inhale, exhale, and live in the moment. We should cherish the good as well as the bad, because as with everything childhood-related, this too shall pass...

Unfortunately I will have to honor the day tomorrow... I have already blown my stack too many times this morning... too numerous to count! I wish I was not so easily flustered these days!

My very own Wilma Day

DON'T get me started, OR husbands say the DUMBEST things...