Juxtapose

This was a wonderful weekend. Finishing school on Thursday, I worked with Mrs. A and stayed up late talking on the phone and watching movies with my brothers. Friday I hung around and did not-too-much-of-anything during the day, and in the later afternoon, took Tess out for some girl time. We hit the mall and Old Navy (for her), Barnes and Noble (for me), and WalMart (for the both of us), and just got some time to hang out together. I think Tess and I really hang out the least of all my siblings. She's ever the social butterfly and often has much more fun things to do than hang with her crotchety old big sister, and her decrepid sister often is entangled in school affairs and work obligations and isn't able to always spend time with anyone. But I treasure being able to go out with her. Tess is a fighting sort. The type of girl with some vim and vigor who I know will never get stepped on. In fact, she may do some stepping-on on her way up, but she's not the type to be heartless. She's strong-willed, snarky, hilarious, and very often ruthlessly on-target with her cynicism, and sometimes she can be hard to take in a crowd. She fights for attention and has somewhat of a princess complex. She is cute as a button, from the freckles on her nose (that no one else in the family got), to her Valley-Girl-Meets-Anganes cocky smirk, and I love her s dreadfully much that when she acts up I drive myself mad trying to come up with character-building lectures to present to her. Sometimes they work, sometimes they dont, but she holds her own both ways.

Tess will probably never get stepped on by any boys. I fancy her, six years or so from now, chewing up doting men and spitting them out with detached relish. I see jewelry and camouflage and guys calling to see if she's willing to give them the time of day. I kinda like that picture. I like her spunk. We all try to keep it under control, so that spunk doesn't become rebellion, because we all love her, but theres that residual left that we will probably always want to preserve because it makes her so unique.

In any case, it's funny to have her with me. In crowds, she struggles to take control of everyone's attention. She becomes a snappy one-liner, a hard-hitter, a vigilante of Youngest/Middle Child justice at those times. Alone, with me, she's quiet, witty, bubbly, and she laughs like a kettle boiling over. I love that. I love that. That's all.

On Saturday, I worked in the morning, babysat all afternoon and night with Tess along for a few of those hours to play with one of the kids who happens to be her friend. Apparently, Lexie was crazy about my bagel pizzas I had made a month or so ago when she was at my house, so when I arrived at her house and was asking her mother about what she wanted me to make her for dinner, she replied that she had gone out specially to buy bagels, sauce, pizza cheese, and pepperoni, upon Lex's request, so that we could make bagel pizzas together. It was the hit of the night. Of course, before we made them, though, we had to watch a movie - A Cinderella Story - and, I have to tell you, I was glued to it. Who knew that Hillary Duff, teen queen and Disney Channel superstarlet, could evoke such emotion in me by means of a cheesy remake of a classic fairytale? The prince and Cinderella meet online in a chat room, text message and email with impunity, and agree to meet at the Halloween dance (how convenient). Little did they know that he was the hottest, most eligible star quarterback of the football team, and she was a waitress at her stepmother's diner, but yet - it was a match made in heaven. And when they kissed, in the end, in the rain, after a draught, well... It was good stuff. "Since when do I watch cheesy remake movies with Hillary Duff in them," you ask? Since never. But now I have. Take that as you will.

Sunday we went to see Yia in the morning. Dad summed it up well, really. There's not really a whole lot I feel like saying about that at the moment, I guess. I've grieved enough of my grief through these past years that I don't particularly feel like reliving it now. I loved her. I love her. And I miss her so very much. But of all the things in my life that have taught me to live now, to not wait to start living or experiencing life, she would be the greatest of all those. Right now, confused and garbled of speech as she is, I can't help but love talking to her anyhow. I know she doesn't understand what I'm saying and I don't understand what she's saying, but all I know is that it makes her happy to have us to talk to. For one moment in time, she's smiling and responsive, even if inappropriately. I love her smile, her crows feet, her eyes, her big nose. I love it all, and nothing can sway me in those moments of inexplicable joy and sadness mixed together. I'm sad, it hurts to see her how she is, but I feel like I've grieved to the point of no return and I've reached my threshold, or my quota, or however I can say it without sounding calloused and snotty. She is who she is, she has what she has. I've come to some sort of brick wall where I no longer want to look at her through a screen of She's Dying Every Day, because I feel like I can't enjoy whatever time I get to be with her. I want to see her laugh, to hold her hand. Whatever was of her that made her what most people would consider a "useful" human being is gone, but she still persists as my Yiayia. She was my Yiayia when she cooked me Sunday (and Monday, and Friday, and Saturday) dinners, and she is my Yiayia now, when all she can do it sit and sometimes smile. My heart has been ripped out of my chest because of it, but I still persist as her granddaughter. We still are here and able to spend some time together. I can't dwell on the obvious because it is so... obvious. I have to dwell on that one fact that reminds me of the here and now and how much I have to take advantage of what I have at the moment that's left of her. We still persist.

After Yia's, we went home and ate supper with my Mom's parents, Gram and Grandad. I was going to write a big crazy and slobbery post just about Mother's Day and how much my Mum means to me, but it seemed forced as soon as I had written it. Not because I have to force myself to think up stuff my mom has done for me, but because I am such a trite, ridiculous, self-centered and selfish individual that I couldn't possibly write down, for the sake of writing, all the things she does for me. My Mom is my best friend. I'm afraid if I write anything else I will ruin the sentiment of Mother's Day and the previous statement. She has done everything for me, and, growing up, I have done so little for her. Maybe someday I'll fully realize the monstrosity of all that and shudder more than I do now, but for now, all I can say is that my Mom beats out all others in my eyes. She is without comparison in loveliness, outside and in, and she had given her life to her children. I am spoiled beyond all measure in this regard, and there is not one day that passes that I don't see renewedly how much I have profited from everything she's done.

My Mum topped off my weekend beautifully.