Maybe This Will Be the Day

My daughter and son-in-law are expecting their first child, my almost born grand-daughter, and my third grandchild in total. The first two grands were born to my son and daughter-in-law (although she feels much more like a daughter than that previous word), a grandson and a granddaughter and oh! they are the sweetest and so much fun. I was thrilled and excited waiting for each birth and know the joyful sound of that first little cry that quickly turns into a loud roar. It is a dear and precious moment with many more lying ahead.

With my daughter, I guess, I am even more eager. She and I are very close - perfect friends as well as mother and daughter - and we have a deep love for each other. I know she is no longer my little girl as that ended some years ago, but she will always be my little girl. And I must admit that it is a little odd to see her married and expecting a baby. Where did the time go? I was watching and paying attention all of the time, or so I thought, but in a flash she is a woman and an about-to-be mom. Mom/Grandma could not be prouder.

And so maybe this will be the day. I don't know why I have expected my granddaughter to come early, sitting eagerly and patiently by the phone for a couple of weeks now. My daughter was 8 days late and her brothers were a few days late as well. The baby has a few more days until her due date, but I still hang on the idea that she might just make her appearance ahead of schedule. Knowing that she is full-term and developed permits me to hope for her arrival just a bit early, just for me. But babies, as everyone knows, have their own plans and so we wait.

My daughter is strong and independent, resourceful and determined. She runs and works out; she thinks on her own and is never afraid to appropriately voice her opinion and/or opposition as well as offering thanks and praise. She knows how to delegate, relegate, and get things done. No project is too big or too small for her dedicated focus and unwavering effort. You can count on her from the start of a project to the finish. With all of these wonderful characteristics brimming from her being, how could or would I expect anything less from this new child? That may be the reason why she hesitates and waits for a birth that will come precisely when she is good and ready. "Like mother/like daughter," some might say, and those who know us both would probably add, "Like grandmother/like daughter/like grand-daughter." We may just possibly have some mighty traits in common.

And so, maybe this will be the day that "Boo" appears. While the kids have named her, they are holding it secret until the moment of her birth. I'd like to know, I want to know, and yet I am pretty darn enthused as I look forward to the surprise. Will she have blue eyes or brown (both colors run on both sides of the family)? Will she have brown hair or will it be black or brown (again colors run on both sides)? Will her hair be straight, wavy, or with just a bit of curl? Most likely she will have the first type as we are families of the straightest hair imaginable. Will she like sports? Games? Cheese pizza? Chocolate? Only time will reveal the answers and so I continue to wait, and wait, and think, "Maybe this will be the day!"


Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Gini_Cunningham/146831

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Very Curly Hair

I have curly hair.

When I was a child, my hair was a nuisance. It tangled easily and I hated it when my mother made me sit still for what seemed like hours so she could comb it out. The comb would catch a knot and pull at my scalp, bringing tears to my eyes and howls of protests. Even worse, strangers we met on the street wanted to run their fingers through my hair. I still detest my kindergarten teacher because she would comb my curls with her fingers every morning when I arrived for class. I became very good at hiding behind other children when we entered the door, in an attempt to elude her keen eyes.

As a teenager, my curly hair was the bane of my existence. I desperately wanted silky long straight hair like my friends. They wore shoulder-length bobs that seemed to float in the wind, silky strands of (mostly) blond beauty that I coveted with all my being. Or they pulled their hair back in smooth pony tails that bounced gracefully with each step they took.

My hair was a mess of thick ringlets, each coil doing what it wanted to do - bouncing off in a direction that I had no control over. At one point, I grew a pony tail, pulling it back as straight as I could, holding my breath and clenching my teeth against the pain as I pulled the strands back as hard as I could. I wanted bangs like my friends so I would smooth globs of hair product on my bangs, tape them down across my forehead and paste them in place with the hair drier. When I removed the tape, the bangs stayed where they were, thick strands of dark brown spaghetti plastered across my forehead.

But alas! In an hour the first hairs would begin to escape the ponytail, falling in curly whorls across my cheeks. By mid-morning, more curls would join them, some choosing to head up, down or across. About the time I sat down for lunch, the glue on my bangs would give way and they would bounce upwards to join the rest of my curly mop. When I finally cut off the ponytail and went back to curly bob, my friends sighed in relief and told me how much better I looked.

As a young adult, I not only came to terms with my curly hair but learned to enjoy it for the easy care it provided me. I kept it short and called it "wash and wear" hair. I even began to enjoy the compliments I would get from other women on my easy care hair. Then I gave birth to a daughter who was born with red curls. When the nurse brought her to me, she had tied a blue ribbon around some of the top curls and she was, without doubt, the most beautiful child in the nursery. I forgot about my early fight with my curls and was unprepared when she reached her teens and began the same odyssey that I had endured.

Like me, she fought her curls and worked even harder than I had at trying to tame her hair and force it into the long straight styles of her classmates. And like me, she was a young adult before she realized how beautiful her strawberry blonde ringlets were and began to allow the curls to cascade to her shoulders in a natural way that, to this day, elicits words of admiration from friends, family and strangers.

And now she has a daughter, our granddaughter, who turned eight last week. And yes, she has curly hair and yes, she hates it. However, our granddaughter ("S") is part African-American so her curls are tighter than her mother's and her grandmother's and her hair has a different texture. It tangles very easily and is difficult to comb out. And, you guessed it, she desperately wants long, smooth shoulder- length hair!

My daughter has brought "S" to the beauty shop several times in an attempt to get her hair combed out but the experience has ended up with "S" in tears and her hair still in tangles. Finally my daughter brought her to a beauty shop that specializes in styling African-American women's hair and for her birthday, she had an appointment at the shop. And I was invited along.

First, the stylist had to get the knots out. This was a long, arduous process that involved taking a small clump of hair one at a time, spraying it with water and lotion and carefully working out the tangles. It took an hour and there were moments when we wondered if she'd be able to finish but by the end, she proved to be a trouper, sitting in the chair with a look of determination on her face. Then the stylist combed a conditioner through her hair and had her sit under the dryer for thirty minutes. The next step was a shampoo. Finally, the stylist blow-dried her hair, then used a hot iron to smooth it, one small bunch at a time. By this time, we had been in the shop for three hours!

But the result was amazing. "S" slipped off the chair and looked at herself in the mirror. She had silky straight almost shoulder-length hair. When she twisted her head, the hair swung with her. It was the hair that she, her mother and her grandmother had always dreamed of having. She couldn't stop looking at her new hairdo in the mirror and I didn't blame her. "Who are you and what have you done with my granddaughter? I asked her.

Of course it won't last. The first bath, the first shampoo and the curls will be back. She will be disappointed and eventually will have to decide if she can come to terms with the curls or if she will learn how to use the hot iron and be willing to spend the time to keep her hair straight. However, I think she's beautiful no matter how she wears her hair. But I also know that she has to figure this out for herself.

One big thing that I learned during my afternoon at the beauty shop was how many hours African-American women must spend to wear their hair in a straight style. I watched several other women who were in the shop with us (and were still there when we left) go through processes like my granddaughter to straighten their hair. And I realize they will be back to repeat the process in two weeks or a month. I have a new appreciation when I see African- American women with straight hair and I wonder what I would do if my hair were that curly. I also wonder about women - all of us - and our battles with our hair! And for that, I have no answers. I only know I love my daughter and my granddaughter and no hairstyle can change that!


Please visit my blog: http://www.stayingyounginflorida.com

Email: jean@steigers.us

Watch for my book: "Moving Into Murder

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Jean_Steiger/1959829

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Improving Your Relationship With Your Granchildren - 10 Tips For Grandparents

The joy that a grandchild brings to the lives of grandparents is immense. However, there is a need to balance out the love and responsibility that comes with it.

Here are a few tips that will make bring you closer to your grandchildren. You do not have to change yourself; it involves only slight adjustments and a bit of space to bring things back on track.
Although it is a virtue of the wise to guide, the youngsters, however, remember to give them the space to rise in a friendly environment. It will help garner a trust in you and your judgments.

Maintaining a friendly association with the grandchildren is a good effort, however, try to avoid acting as friends with them. Every generation finds it easy with the people of their age.

Do not demand respect or crib, but live with your head held high and command respect. Never compromise self-respect. Rest will follow in time.

Spend quality time with them. Gifts will not stay for long, but your time matters. Share their passions and dreams.

One should not try to replace their parents. Children never accept such ideas. These actions turn them off and though verbally they may not express but your presence will make them cringe.

While you teach them, do not force your opinions instead use indirect ways such as sharing events and memories from the past. Force makes people repulsive so never impose your thoughts.

In case, you are in a long distance relationship remembering to keep in touch more often. Technology has made things easier try the way through the internet (you can definitely do it) or sending colorful snail mails that make them inquisitive and eager about your next mail. In the case, you make a call never stretch your calls; moderation keeps things light and hearty.

Do not scold your children or talk in raised voices in front of your grandchildren for they may use you as a bait to get even with parents. When they see you giving freedom to your children the grandchildren will automatically find a wavelength with you.

Do not change but accept changes that bring progress thus making things easy for all generations. Keep yourself engaged so you do not seem a dependent being but an individual with tastes and hobbies.

If you raise your children with values that transfer automatically to next-generation your relationship with them will be a fruitful, happy, and worthy one.

Love and respect yourself. Relationships do not work if either side dominates or constantly bends instead it works best when we take a balanced approach towards life.


Like my articles here. Do visit my blog for more on life and relationships. http://pushpsr.blogspot.com/

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Ruchira_Tickoo/1335077

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The Magic House

Every time my husband and I visit our daughter and her family, we walk to the shopping area which is less than a mile away. On the way, we pass three attached houses that have a street running on both sides. The houses on both ends are in beautiful shape; fresh paint jobs, solid roofs, manicured yards and inviting entrances. The house in the middle is an entirely different story.

This visit, I stop and give it a really good look. The grey shingled roof is in surprisingly good shape as is the red brick exterior. However the windows, garage door and front door are encased in a solid wall of dirty grey concrete. Much of the house is shrouded by overgrown trees, shrubs and vines that trail over brick surfaces. Weeds are winning the fight for dominance and the brick steps that lead to street level and the area beneath them are covered with trash. Several large stones are barely visible on the overgrown lawn and once prominent plants peek through, looking in vain for a space to grow as warm weather approaches.

My granddaughter, S, stops with me. "Look at that house," I say to her. "Every time we visit, I wonder what happened to the owners and why all the windows, the garage door and the front door are cemented shut."

Her eyes grow large and I realize she is seeing the house for the first time even though she walks past it frequently. "Let's take a look at the front door," I say. I start up the front steps, watching for loose bricks. S follows me, an expression of both fear and anticipation on her eight year old face. I am having a great time, engaging her imagination.

We walk to the front door and look around, my husband shouting warnings to be careful behind us. S takes my hand and we examine the front door: definitely no way in. The cement is solid. So we turn and make our way down the steps, my husband offering a hand because there is no railing.

"Maybe the people had to leave in a hurry," S says. "Maybe someone was sick or they didn't have any money." She is hopping from one foot to the other, animated and engaged in this game we are playing. All the way to the shopping area, we talk about the house and wonder why the people left. Maybe they had to leave in a hurry and couldn't come back or there was a fire in the house. Or maybe they are still in there and have a secret opening to get food and water.

On the way back, I open the mailbox and take out the one piece of mail, a card covered with dirt and cobwebs. It has been here for a while. S and I look at it: it is dated October 2015 and it is a notice to appear in court for creating a nuisance. Of course! What else could it be.

That evening, we go to S's other grandma's home for dinner. At the end of the evening, the subject of "the house" comes up for discussion. S tells the story, her voice raised and her face animated. I love watching her.

We all wonder if we could find any information on the house. One guest suggest that we look at the public records. She thinks it would be hard to sell because whoever bought the property would have to pay off the creditors. Also, there might be lots of liens against the property. Someone else explains that the foreclosure process is initiated by creditors and a foreclosure sale would pay off any liens and not encumber the property for new owners. But we are all curious to find out what happened to the house and the owners. Our circle of detectives has broadened.

We talk about what might be inside. Someone suggests there could be rats floating in a flooded house; the floor boards might be giving way so the door had to be cemented for safety reasons; it most probably had been abandoned and become a pot house. Everything seems plausible.

The next day we take another walk to the shopping area. This time S takes her camera (a Hanukah present) and I take my iPhone. At the house, S and I begin snapping away, even taking photos of the mailbox. When we are home, we send our photos to each other. Then S motions to me to follow her to her room. We sit on the bed and get comfortable.

"I know what's in the house," she confides.

"What?" I ask.

"It's a magic house."

"Magic?" I ask.

"Yes," she says. "You have to know the magic word to get in the house and only the special people know it. And when you are in, you can float in the air and order food and eat it while you are floating." She giggles "Then you might get nauseous!"

We both laugh. "I think you are absolutely right," I say. "The house is magic."

Mystery solved.


Please visit my blog: http://www.stayingyounginflorida.com

E mail: jean@steigers.us

Watch for my new book: "Moving Into Murder"

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Jean_Steiger/1959829

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Quico asegura que Florinda Meza quería ser más que “amiga”

Carlos Villagrán, mejor conocido como “Kiko”, reveló que Florinda Meza buscó ser más que su “amiga” cuando ambos participaban en el programa “El Chavo del 8”.

“Hubo un tiempo que anduvimos como amigos, amigos íntimos, sin pasar a mayores”, relató al programa colombiano “La Red”.

Recordó que en alguna ocasión la acompañó a recoger un automóvil que tenía en un taller y de ahí fueron a beber. “Estuvo muy fuerte el hecho de que de amigos quería pasar a otra cosa y yo no soportaba ese tipo de cosas… bueno surgió una cosa un poquito más íntima que ser amigos, pero no pasó a mayores, no me gustaba a mí”, relató el comediante, quien en esa época se encontraba ya casado.

Villagrán se acercó a Roberto Gómez Bolaños “Chespirito” para que lo aconsejara. “Le llegué a pedir ayuda, ‘mira hermano esta cosa está así’, y él me dijo ‘dale un cortón tremendo, absoluto'”, comentó.

Tiempo después Meza y Gómez Bolaños comenzaron un romance que duró hasta la muerte de “Chespirito”, el año pasado.

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Muere ex campeón de Boxeo “La Maravilla Ortiz”

Santo Domingo. Tras una larga batalla con una enfermedad, murió el Ex campeón de boxeo, Rafael Antonio Luna, la Maravilla Ortiz.

Con mucho llanto pero en la intimidad de su familia llegó a su última morada la Maravilla Ortiz.

A pesar de que fue famoso y tuvo tiempos de gloria, ninguno de los amigos que cosechó en esa época le acompaño en la desgracia.

El pujilista batallo junto a sus hijas contra la enfermedad que lo consumio, ahora él se va para siempre dejando a las jóvenes sumidas en el dolor.

Sus hijas ahora no saben cómo saldrán adelante, pues su padre no pudo dejarle ni un techo donde vivir.

Luego de ver un reportaje en Noticias de la difícil situación del Ex campeón de boxeo Rafael la Fuerza Aerea Dominicana le había brindado ayuda

La Maravilla Ortiz tuvo una carrera de éxito, que lo llevó a ocupar importantes cuadriláteros del mundo del boxeo.
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Sepultaràn hoy restos de Carmelo Castillo

Este martes serán sepultados en su ciudad natal , San Francisco de Macorís, los restos de Carmelo Castillo quien falleció la madrugada del lunes debido a problemas del corazón, informó el ex lanzador Mario Soto a ESPNdeportes.com.

Tenía 57 años de edad.

“Es una noticia muy lamentable. Carmelo había estado muy enfermo desde que se sometió a un trasplante de riñón hace algunos años”, dijo Soto, quien es el presidente de la Federación Dominicana de Peloteros Profesionales.

Castillo jugó por 10 años en Grandes Ligas, entre 1982 y 1991, con Indios de Cleveland yMellizos de Minnesota. Bateó .252 con 55 jonrones y 197 carreras impulsadas, actuando mayormente como bateador emergente y jardinero sustituto.

En la pelota invernal de República Dominicana jugó con Leones del Escogido, Tigres del Licey y Aguilas Cibaeñas. Fue coach de bateo de los Tigres hasta hace un par de años.

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