"We're all just fragile threads, but what a tapestry we make." – Jerry Ellis

Archive for the ‘family’ Category

It’s National Public Works Week

This week is National Public Works Week across the country.  Yep, tucked in between Pack Rat Day on May 17th and Frog Jumping Jubilee Day on May 19th, you’ll find a whole week dedicated to the services provided by cities all over the nation.  (And yes, I looked those other two holidays up on the internet, so you KNOW they are absolutely legit.)  The week is sponsored by the American Public Works Association.  Before I worked for a municipality, like most I would never have known that Public Works were celebrated in such a way.  But working at the City of O’Fallon, we not only observe this week, we celebrate it in a big way.

PW Fair 2016

This past Wednesday, O’Fallon held the annual Public Works Fair, where they bring out all the big trucks and equipment for kids to look at up-close.  They can operate the trash truck arm, sit in the seats of equipment like the big snowplow dump trucks, paint stripers and even play Red Light Green Light with a traffic signal.  There’s a small train that’s part of the Krekel House, a local historic home owned by the city, that gives kids and adults short train rides around the parking lot.  The Water and Sewer Department has cool displays that show how the water towers operate and our Stormwater Coordinator gives educational demonstrations about keeping storm sewers clean.  Our city even gives out free hot dogs, chips, cookies and water during the fair.  It’s a pretty cool event that I’ve gotten to work the last few years, and I love how appreciative the residents and visitors are when they come through.  We see area day care centers and school kids come through year after year that seem to truly enjoy the event.

PW Fair RoscoeIn truth, before I worked for the city, I never realized all the things the city does to make life pleasant—and safe—for the residents.  I knew they plowed the streets during the snow and picked up the trash and recycling, but there are truly a lot of things that go on behind the scenes that people generally don’t think of when it comes to civic government.  I know people like to gripe about the government at all levels (guilty!) but it’s nice to know that I live and work somewhere that aims to improve residents’ experiences in our community.  It’s just one of those things that when it is seamless and not really noticeable, you realize someone must be doing a good job somewhere.

PW Fair 2016 Train

And no, before you ask, I didn’t send this post to my boss.  Enjoy where you live!

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Category:

family

A Poem 50 Years in the Making

My brother turned 50 in April, and I decided to write him a poem for part of his present.  Don’t worry—I got him some tacky 50th Birthday gifts, too, to go along with this cheesy little ditty.

 

EPSON MFP image

Kevin and I many moons ago. Judging by our faces, I’m guessing they might have startled us with a squeaky duck or something else equally ominous.

 

I know an old, old geezer

His birthdays more than mine by far

His foolish youth I still remember

And how he built me my first car

 

Now I can’t get sentimental

That just wouldn’t fly

Cuz my older brother’s

Just not that kind of guy (in public, anyway)

 

The Three Stooges still can make him laugh

As can Smoky and the Bandit

Buford T. Justice chasing that black Trans Am all around

The point?  I’ll just never understand it

 

But there are many things about him

No one really knows but me

Like when we were kids at Grandma’s

We each had claimed a maple tree

 

His grew up a little taller

Its branches higher up the trunk

While mine housed the homemade swing

Played on ‘til the sun had sunk

 

Like most older brothers

He liked to aggravate

From pulling off my Barbie’s heads

To stealing goodies off my plate

 

I never will forget the time

He wiped boogers on my wall

His made up lyrics of victory

Ensuring I would squall

 

But there were times aplenty

Partners in crime were we

Sneaking peeks at our Christmas gifts

Before they appeared under the tree

EPSON MFP image

Easter around 1974

 

Growing up I idolized this goof

Wanting to be just like him

I even tried standing up to pee

Much to my mom’s chagrin

 

The music in his teenage years

Influenced me as well

.38 Special, ELO and Billy Squier

And of course, “Highway to Hell”

 

He still likes his fancy cars

And watching Cardinals on TV

He likes drinking nasty Natural Light

And plates with roast turkey

 

I’m glad I have a brother

Who taught me to be tough

A guy who likes to share his beer

And on the outside seems quite gruff

 

But you see I know another side

As sentimental as can be

And I hope that turning 50

Is an awesome memory

Happy Birthday, Kevin!

 

EPSON MFP image

Kevin and his kids around 2001. I like this picture of him because it shows him smiling.

Category:

adulthood, aging, Birthdays, family, family history, growing up, home, humor, Music, poems, poetry, teenagers, Time

More Thoughts on Bamboo Part 2 – Forget the Panda

potted bamboo

I never thought there would be a need for Part 2 of Bamboo Quest, but here I am, almost two years later and the battle between nature and woman continues.  I wrote a post that spring about my ongoing struggle with the bamboo I had planted based on the romantic notion of “The Fern and the Bamboo”.  I learned a tough lesson—don’t plan landscaping based on cheesy, albeit meaningful, poetic stories about nature.  You can read it here.

In the year between the first attempt at getting rid of it and now, it grew back.  The stalks themselves were not thicker—in fact, they got almost skinny-asparagus-looking, but there were many more of them.  I had spent hours digging up the stalks, presumably by the roots, to eradicate the bamboo from the side of the house.  Ironically, I believe that it actually helped aerate the remaining roots, because it spread up to the side of the house even faster, rounding the corner into the front landscaping.

Last summer, busy with Tyler’s graduation, not to mention completely frustrated with my inability to wipe it out, I just lived with it, trying in vain just to keep it contained to where it already had grown.  The best (or maybe the worst) thing about that side of the house is that I don’t really ever see it like I do the side next to the garage.  It’s times when I am cutting the grass or getting out the hose that I am reminded that I need to do something about that crazy bamboo.

Lilac

Must conquer bamboo before it strangles my Lilac Bush!

Late this winter, I started to plan what I was going to do about it.  I watched You Tube videos of people telling how they managed to get rid of that invasive plant.  One video I watched with a method I wanted to try was smothering it. The guy doing the video told of how he had left a piece of plywood on the ground and when he moved it a couple of days later, the bamboo had died.  I envisioned laying down thick, black plastic and putting gravel on top.  It seemed like a very do-able method, even if it involved a lot of gravel shoveling.  My fear was that this bionic plant would manage to pop right through the plastic anyway, and it’d be even harder to get to with the plastic barrier.  Another method, told to me by a friend who is actually a plant ecologist, was to cut it back close to the ground and pour full strength, concentrated weed killer in the stalks.  That seemed like an even better plan, and although I don’t like that it will be some time before I can plant anything there again if I sterilize the soil, I liked the idea of dousing it with the weed killer and spending the summer re-spraying as needed until it doesn’t come back.

So yesterday, I tackled the bamboo full force once again.  I prepared by going to Home Depot and buying the largest container of Round Up concentrate they sold as well as a long machete.  The machete purchase worried Darrell a bit.  Mostly because I think he thought I’d lose a digit or two—he knows me pretty well.  I had this idea of going all “Ghengis Kahn” on the bamboo, like a mighty warrior defending the homestead.  Instead, it was a pathetic version of sword-wielding with me slamming the machete into the toughened stalks and nicking them a tiny bit.  I could almost hear the bamboo laughing.  I changed my game plan after about a half hour of getting nowhere, and grabbed my little hacksaw that I use for cutting thicker branches when I’m pruning trees.  I’d grab a handful of bamboo, and saw at it like it was one large branch.  It went much quicker than individually cutting stalks and pulling them out, and left me with little stubs of bamboo sticking out of the ground.  With this method, at least when I was finished it looked like there had been some progress, even if it does grow back.  Rain was forecasted for the afternoon, so I hurriedly poured straight up Round Up concentrate directly on the stalks.  “Bottoms up,” I told the stalks.  I really hoped they were in a drinking mood.

Before - Right

Before

After - Right

After

This morning when I took a look, the remaining stubs had yellowed slightly, but didn’t look completely worse for wear.  I suppose only time will tell if it actually poisoned them completely.  I vowed to myself that I would make it a point to check on it throughout this season to see if there seems to be places where it’s getting its second…make that its third…wind.  Like any problem, hoping it will just go away on its own doesn’t work.  Again, another life lesson taught to me courtesy of yard work.  I never stop seeing metaphors for life in the yard and garden.

Before - Left

Before

After - Left

After

When I was finished, I saved a few stalks of the bamboo and put them in a pot.  I want to be able to be remind myself of how a seemingly small act like allowing something as innocent and seemingly beautiful as a slender stalk of bamboo into my space can turn out to have extreme repercussions that take a lot of work to remedy.  For now, that side along the house will remain minimal and barren, until the solution has run its course and I once again can plant something shade-loving (and much less invasive) there.  There is a bright side to this journey with the bamboo, though, in addition to those free life lessons it’s provided me.  Next winter, when it’s cold and nasty outside and I start getting the plant catalogs in the mail, I have a whole side of the house to design and plan.  Maybe a variety of Hostas or some native plants like False Indigos or Blue Lobuia.  And I’ll do my research in the plant section, not the poetry section.

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Category:

Advice, bamboo, beauty, family, Favorite Things, gardening, home, humor, Midwest, nature, Personal Essay, rants

Running the Race: Erin’s First Half Marathon

Erin at me at Finish 4-2016

Erin and I after finishing the GO! Half Marathon in St. Louis

When you tell people who don’t enjoy running that you are training for and running a race, you usually get one of two reactions:  A response of total disdain for running, or someone who thinks it’s great that you do it, even if it’s not their cup of tea.   I did not start running until I was in my late thirties, so to see my daughter, Erin tackling training for a half marathon at her age brings out my Momma Pride.  Before I started running, I couldn’t imagine how people managed to trudge through that first mile, let alone three miles for a 5K.  Erin completed her first half marathon last week at the tender age of 14 at the GO! Half Marathon/Marathon in St. Louis.  She runs faster than I do, so other than being at the starting corral together, I did not get to run the 13.1 miles with her, but as I lagged behind, running those same streets in St. Louis, I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about during those miles.  Personally, besides realizing Left Knee was not happy this run, I was worried we were going to get caught in a nasty thunderstorm.

Running those long training runs, there is a special magic that happens to your body and your mind.  Scientifically, we know there are endorphins, those “feel-good” hormones, released that give us a “runner’s high” and help us cope with stress.  When I run with a friend or running group, the magic factor is boosted even more.  My running partner, who is also one of my best friends, has said we solve all the world’s problems on our long runs.  We also say that we could probably increase our speed if we’d shut up a bit, but then it wouldn’t be as much for us—such a trade-off.  Our training with Erin allowed her to always get a few more miles in than we did, as she’d run ahead at a faster pace and needed to circle back to meet up with us.  Thankfully, she has some friends to run with who challenge her to up her pace on the shorter runs.

Running this half was bittersweet.  My running partner, the one who solves all the world’s problems with me while we run together, had a family tragedy happen the week before the race that shook us all to our very core.  The event is too raw and too personal to share here on a blog, but she was not able to run with us.  We chose to run in honor of her loved one, which made this run very personal for Erin and the other runners in our group, and she was on our mind and in our hearts the entire way.

Erin and I both agreed that when you first start a long race, the excitement and the crowd gets us in the mindset that could keep up the running for hours.  Conversation flows easily, in spite of all that heavy breathing, as you check off the miles.  At The GO! Half Marathon in St. Louis, runners get to run over the bridge into Illinois, and the view of the Arch as you come back into Missouri is stunning.  Many people stop to take selfies with the Arch in the background.  I chose to just lift up my camera and shoot a picture, minus my sweaty face.  I thought it turned out great, considering I didn’t come to a stop to take it.

Scene from bridge at GO 4-2016

Normally it’s around Mile 8 that I start to ask myself, “How much longer?”  This race, it was closer to halfway through Mile 9, which is the part of the race that goes through the Anheuser-Busch brewery area.  We trudged on through past Soulard Market and onto Mile 11, where they were handing out little chocolate candies from Crown Candy Restaurant (another longstanding St. Louis landmark).  As my friend, Tina, and I approached Mile 12, I kept thinking about how the end of the race was so close, and the hills seemed especially steep.  The crowds cheering along the side of the course gave us words of encouragement about the end being “just around the corner”.  It was more like around a corner, and another and another.  Then a really long straight stretch.  In other words, the last mile kind of felt like five miles.  But the finish felt fantastic and miraculously the rain held off until we had walked back to our hotel.

Erin ice cream at Go! 4-2016

There are times when I feel like a snail running these longer races—if a snail had creaky knees—and wonder what keeps me motivated to do another one.  One look at my daughter and I am reminded of our talks during our training runs over toenails, running shoes and how good it feels after you’ve accomplished a goal you’ve set your mind to.  I see her excited about meeting up with her running pals, and her determination to improve and finish what she starts.  So I’m pretty sure I won’t be giving it up any time soon, even if I am riding in her tailwind.

Category:

family, fitness, growing up, kids growing up, parent bonding, Personal Essay, running, teenagers

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In the Great Battle of Head vs. Heart…

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad. –C.S. Lewis

Tyler in his hockey days

This past Friday, we dropped off our first born at college four hours away. I’ve been excited for him ever since we first toured the campus, seeing before him a bright future filled with so much opportunity. We shopped for dorm items, we attended all the events related to the upcoming school year—he even declared (tentatively) a major. But a few weeks back, my body betrayed me. Not my whole body, no, not that. My sly little heart. Because while my head knows that this is a normal and natural part of growing up, my heart wants to hold on to that little boy that snuggled deep inside of it and protect and nurture him forever.

Did I mention my heart is nocturnal?

In the nights just before his scheduled move, I would close my eyes and instead of falling asleep, would see a movie-quality montage of the last 18 years of my (his) life. Those sleepless but joyful nights of babyhood, him in his little soccer uniform at the first game. The time he peed on the tree in our front yard in front of God and everyone, because he was “watering it”. Climbing the steep steps of the school bus when he started kindergarten. When he learned to ride a bike without training wheels because our friend’s daughter could do it, and he didn’t want to be outdone. His hockey games. Then football games. His obsession with golf. Playing Rock Band with his sisters. Driving in his first car. Buying his first suit. Little clips of time swirling behind those closed eyes that couldn’t hold back those pesky tears.

I’ve never been on this side of life before. The letting go part. Sure, you are letting them go a little bit every single day of their life with those milestone moments—as well as the sneakier every day ones that creep in. For eighteen years he’s lived under our roof, leaving a trail of empty glasses and Pop Tart wrappers in his wake. We’ve ensured he had food in his belly and a roof over his head, went to school, kept decent hours, grew his faith and knew our unconditional love. It’s such a strange sensation, this mixture of pride because we’ve raised a young man ready to start his life as a young adult, with the realization that since we’ve done a pretty good job at that, our part is well, kind of finished. And it makes me feel nostalgic and yes, a whole lot of sad.

I am smiling through those tears this morning. Because I am proud of our son. And I know that he is going down a path towards being his most awesome self. It’s all just starting for him—this future so full of promise and opportunity. It’s exciting! My head tells me a new normal will settle in over our home, a normal where our adult child is now also a part of our inner circle of friends. While it is true that it’s the end of an era, it’s also the beginning of a new one.

And my heart likes the sound of that.

C0066-Harrelson_Tyler_120

Category:

family, kids going to college, kids growing up

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Happy Anniversary!

Wedding pic

Twenty two years ago today, Darrell and I tied the knot. We’ve had wonderful times during those years, and I hope that we have at least twice as many more years together to have even more. After being with one person for that long, it’s so easy to take one another for granted and to let the little things, that in truth do not really matter, take up a lot of precious time and energy. Here are just the first twenty-two things I thought of when I thought about what a great husband I have (there are more!).

 Happy Anniversary!

  1. You kiss me in the morning even when I have morning breath.
  2. You know how to fix just about anything.
  3. You always answer my questions about politics or history—stuff that I should know, but don’t—patiently and don’t make me feel stupid.
  4. You love dogs.
  5. You know how to build awesome decks and remodel bathrooms.
  6. You show compassion towards people that other people ignore.
  7. You try to make me happy every day.
  8. You go with the kids to shop for presents when it’s my birthday or Christmas.
  9. You never complain about my housekeeping, even when you should.
  10. You help the kids with their math homework.
  11. You always drive the kids to school, even though it inconveniences you.
  12. You don’t complain when I watch my ghost shows, even though I know you don’t really like them.
  13. You never say no to Italian food.
  14. You always bring me a cup of coffee in the morning.
  15. You work hard to provide for us.
  16. You endure going to the doctor and having wires attached to you so that you can snore less and I can sleep much better.
  17. You help me be a more loving daughter.
  18. You are an excellent role model for our kids.
  19. You are always willing to share the last beer.
  20. You make me feel beautiful, even on days when I feel dumpy and gross.
  21. You love to reminisce with me about our good old days together. Bonus: You actually remember stuff.
  22. You are my voice of reason when I need one.

Category:

Anniversary, Bride and Groom, family, family history, growing up, home, Love, Personal Essay, Time

Reset, Please!

Remember when the cure for “fixing” a computer was to re-boot by turning it off and restarting it?  It seems like my PC doesn’t do that quite as often anymore, but that’s still my go-to cure with anything that has an on/off button.  Note this does not work well with coffee makers—when the machine says to descale, it’s time to get out the vinegar and not keep unplugging it.  While my body doesn’t have a plug-in cord or an actual reset button, there are times when I mentally feel like a reset is in order.

Often it’s our circumstances that reset life for us.  It could be a move to a new school when you’re a kid, the death of a loved one or a new city when a job change occurs.  All can be daunting and attitude plays a huge role.  One thing I’ve found is that big changes don’t tend to happen in a singular fashion—it’s typically the accompanying little changes that piggy back one another that alter our life’s course.  It’s those little ones that make it hard to tell what the catalyst for inner change actually was.

Other times in our lives require that we orchestrate a reset to get out of a funk or a less than ideal situation.  For me, these can be harder to do, because they involve making a big decision to change something and following through.  It’s letting go of the comfortable and moving into unchartered territory.  Those types of difficult resets—the kind that make your whole hand shake as you press that little reset button—but can be extremely empowering.  As a person of faith, for me they involve soul searching and prayer.  Ultimately I feel when I’ve contemplated those resets with those two components I don’t make rash decisions I later regret.  However even then, very rarely does that mean they turn out how I expected.

Blame it on my Astrological sign (I’m a Gemini), but I enjoy coming up with various ways to renew life to feel refreshed.  Or maybe I have a little ADD.  Either way, as much as my kids might argue that I am stuck in my ways about some things (yes, I have to order cashew chicken with hot and sour soup every time I’m at Green China), I feel like mini resets are how to continue to grow as a person.  When life becomes too routine and comfortable, it becomes stagnant.  I try to keep that from happening, sometimes at the risk of failure.  Yeah, I tried to eat strictly Paleo—it lasted about three weeks.

Fortunately, when you’re raising a family, the natural progression of life keeps it from standing still in any one spot too long.  There’s no doubt that kids keep things fresh.  New interests, sport seasons, friends, and grade in school once a year ensure something’s just beginning or ending.  It keeps life interesting, but in truth it is their annual reset, that involve a few logistical tweaks for me.  At this point in time, our “life events”, as defined by insurance plans everywhere, usually revolve around the status of our children.  With all that craziness going on, my reset can be as simple as getting a good night’s sleep.  And sometimes that’s as close to a PC re-boot I’m going to get—this week!

Category:

balance, Change, family, growing up, reset

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Let the Next Chapter Begin

Tyler (right) and one of his good friends at the Graduation ceremony.

Tyler (right) and one of his good friends, Jeff, at the Graduation ceremony.

At the end of May, Tyler graduated from high school and we celebrated with a party a few weekends ago.  Thankfully, after a week of continuous rain, we dodged a bullet and had a dry day for it.  We needed to put down a couple of bales of straw purchased at the last minute so the backyard volleyball court didn’t turn into mud volleyball.  Other than being the typical Midwest hot and humid, it was a great day for an outside party.

This past weekend, we visited his college campus for Freshman First Day; a day to meet Academic advisors, finalize schedules and explore campus.  As we settled in at the hotel the night before, I realized that it was at Freshman Orientation at the University of Missouri that Darrell and I first met almost 26 years ago.  I tried to remember what my parents had been like back then, but honestly I couldn’t remember very much other than they came with me.  The main thing I remember from that day was the reality that I was going to have a heavy course load that first semester and I thought that blonde guy who sat next to me at the Orientation was really cute.  I had a boyfriend from high school at the time, and had no idea that cute boy would eventually become my husband. (Let me tell ya about it sometime—it’s a great story.)

I’m not sure why it came as a surprise to me when I was reminded that our firstborn is the same age that we were when we met.  With everything going on these days, I hadn’t had time to process that our little boy was on the brink of adulthood.  Yes, the kid who can’t keep track of where his car keys and shoes are most of the time is moving four hours away where he will be in charge of himself completely.  While I know that we will miss him doing Tyler-esque things like walking around the house, strumming his guitar and bugging his sisters with impromptu songs about whatever it is they’re doing, I can’t help but be excited for him as he starts this new chapter in life.  Where he has trepidation about making all the right decisions, I see nothing but a blank slate of potential.  I’m not so old that I don’t remember the uncertainty of being 18, but I wish he knew that when it’s all said and done, he’ll look back at this time and wish he’d savored it more instead of wishing it away to be an adult in the working world.

When you’re 18, your family, high school and the people you’ve been in school with over the past few years are truly your realm of experience.  For many, college is the first point in life where you step into your own.  It’s a time for learning more about yourself and how you fit into this big, wide world.  You meet people with personalities and ideas that you may have never been exposed to before.  It can be a little intimidating, but ultimately shapes you into the person you were meant to be.

I am convinced that the timing for a child’s (ahem, I mean young adult’s) departure for college correlates perfectly with his parents’ patience (aka tolerance) level for having another almost-adult present in the home.  Little things Tyler does, like leaving shoes all over the kitchen—nothing new—seem to get under my skin a little more than they used to.  I think it goes both ways, because I feel like Tyler gets annoyed with us about things, too.  In these waning days before he heads off to school across the state, I look at my son with a little more tenderness.  I overlook the empty Pop Tart wrappers he leaves around the house and grumble a little less when he forgets to put his dishes in the dishwasher.  (I said a LITTLE!)  I find myself giving in a little more often when he asks if we can do breakfast for dinner.

At the heart of it all, I’m proud of all he’s accomplished, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for him.

The happy graduate with me and his dad, that cute blonde boy from Freshman Orientation all those years ago.

The happy graduate with me and his dad, that cute blonde boy from Freshman Orientation all those years ago.

Category:

adulthood, college, family, growing up, kids growing up

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Happy Golden Anniversary

Mom and Dad cutting their wedding cake, June 5, 1965

Mom and Dad cutting their wedding cake, June 5, 1965

Today, June 5th, my parents are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.  In honor of the occasion, last Sunday we had a dinner reception for them with their friends and family.  The event truly turned out better than I could have imagined, even if we were a little concerned in the beginning because Mom was having a rough health day.  The following is some thoughts I shared at their party.

There once was a girl named Joanne.  She worked at First National Bank with a few friends who liked to go cruising when they weren’t working.  One of those friends, Diane, thought it’d be a good idea to set Joanne up with a friend of hers named Paul.  Diane and her boyfriend, Del, knew Paul from high school.

The day after Valentine’s Day, February 15, 1964, they went to the movies to see Love with the Proper Stranger.  Joanne thought Paul was tall, and later would describe him as “sweet”.  Paul knew right away he wanted to get to know her better.  Of course, they ended up having many more dates over the next several months, fell in love and decided to get married.  A June wedding was planned for the following year.

One of my favorite stories from when they first began dating sprung from tragedy.  My grandpa had a pretty serious accident at work that landed him in the hospital for several weeks.  This happened April 1st; so they’d not even been dating for two months at that time.  They’d stopped by the hospital before going out on a planned dinner date.  As they headed out, Dad, being the gentleman he is, told her, “I’m not trying to be a cheapskate, but I know your heart is back there with your Dad.”  They spent their “date” in the hospital with Grandpa.  By the way, he wasn’t Grandpa back then, it’s just hard not to think of my mother’s father as anyone but Grandpa.

I tell you this story for two reasons.  First, I love hearing stories of how couples met one another.  And second, I think it speaks to what has characterized their relationship these past fifty years—a love of, and devotion to, family.

Although I haven’t been around the entire 50 years of their marriage, I’ve learned a few things about marriage, relationships, family and life in general over the years from my parents.  Some notable things include:

  1. The first anniversary is celebrated as the paper anniversary. A toilet plunger does not make for a good anniversary present.  Even if it’s not presented as an actual gift, possibly even in jest, the offering of spending the last of the household money for the week on such a necessity that close to your wedding anniversary is sure to be a bad idea.
  2. Dogs that have middle names like “Skyrocket” can be temperamental. Scamp Skyrocket, though lovable to us, his own little pack at home, didn’t find it necessary to share the love with neighborhood children who played tag with us kids in the yard.  Or just about anybody who visited the house in the first five minutes of their visit.  Unless they had Milkbones or were Grandpa and Grandma.  So think twice before you give your dog a middle name.
  3. Hobbies are good for your soul and help keep you young. Growing up in a home where artistry was admired and encouraged made me an appreciator of many creative outlets.  Mom had her dolls, both the porcelain ones she painted and put together and the ones she crafted with cloth bodies and embroidered faces.  Dad had his model railroad trains and their layouts, complete with buildings he hand-designed and built from balsam wood.  What kid couldn’t have fun with that?  Mom would take us to ceramic studios and let us get messy with paint and art projects at home.  We also visited the book store almost every Friday night while Dad went to his Model Railroad Club meetings at Mark Twain Hobby.  I learned to love books, reading and scratch and sniff stickers at the old Bookmark Bookstore.  Mom and Dad taught me that creative people never get bored.
  4. Just because you were once athletic and a wrestler doesn’t mean your teenage son won’t be able to outrun you at some point. Although the offense has long been forgotten, the shocked look on Kevin’s face when he realized he had to kick it into high gear to outrun Dad is hard to forget.  Neither is Dad’s answer when he had to concede to losing the chase after Kevin made a hard jog to the right and was able to get just out of reach.  His words:  “He has to come home some time.”
  5. Scooch over and let your kids snuggle up with you when they get scared in the middle of the night. You may get an elbow or a foot in the face, but the security it gives them growing up knowing that you are always there for them, even during the night, outweighs the back pain you may have the next day by a landslide.  And if you don’t tell your friends or family about your thunderstorm-fearing child the next day (or at least don’t get caught by said child!), you get bonus points.
  6. Dishwashing liquid is not the same as dishwasher soap and thus are NOT interchangeable. If you put dishwashing liquid into your dishwasher, you will get more bubbles in the kitchen than one kitchen floor should be exposed to in its lifetime.  And it takes a lot of effort to get those bubbles all cleaned up.  They spew out of the dishwasher like lava from a volcano.  And though it’s soap, it’s still very messy.  Remember that for some things there are no substitutions.
  7. A good way to size up your friends is to see how they act around your parents and siblings. This I didn’t believe until I had my own kids.  Just like Mom said, I can always tell what kind of person my kids’ friends are by if they acknowledge me as a real, live human being in the house.  Sorry I ever doubted you, Mom.
  8. There’s always a place to meet in the middle. Dad is six foot three.  Mom is…not.  Before such luxuries as tilt steering wheels and power seats, drivers who had such a difference in height had to improvise, so Mom had a denim, blue-jean looking pillow she would sit on so she could see over the steering wheel and still reach the pedals of our ’75 Ford Torino.  It just goes to show that it’s not necessarily compromise that makes a situation work, sometimes it’s adaptability.
  9. After your husband’s had a long day at work, when he’s tired and hungry, is not the best time to show him all the bargains you picked up when you were shopping that day. Even if it’s the cutest thing ever and was on sale for an unbelievably low, low price.  Let him come in, sit back in the recliner and get some food in his belly.  THEN you can show him what you bought.  Note that this is also the optimum time to show him any damage to the car that may have occurred and Kevin’s report card.
  10. I’ve learned that to stay together 50 years, you need to be patient, forgiving, and learn to live with what you may see as some of your spouse’s faults. You have to realize that there are highs and lows in life, but you always have each other to lean on–just being there for that other person—sometimes as a sounding board, sometimes to tell the painful truth and sometimes just to laugh at an inside joke the two of you share.  Always remember to love, even during the times when you don’t actually like the person at the moment.  It’s okay to agree to disagree.

So, Mom and Dad, thank you for teaching me to cherish family, to nurture my faith and that it’s okay to do things my own way.  I am blessed to be your daughter.  Happy Anniversary!  I love you.

50 years later, Mom and Dad re-enacting the cake cutting at their anniversary party

50 years later, Mom and Dad re-enacting the cake cutting at their anniversary party

Our family today with a few more pounds and wrinkles. From left to right, my brother, Kevin, Dad, Mom, me and my husband, Darrell

Our family today with a few more pounds and wrinkles. From left to right, my brother, Kevin, Dad, Mom, me and my husband, Darrell

Category:

family

Wanted: Antacids and Patience Please

Last Monday, the first day of Spring Break, I took Emily to take the written part of her driving test to get her learner’s permit.  Somehow this snuck up on me.  Even though she turned fifteen a few weeks ago, has had the book to study and has talked quite often about getting her driving permit, the reality of what this actually means hadn’t hit me.  Until that afternoon.

Driving from the testing location to the license office, it occurred to me all that comes with teaching a child to drive:  trying to keep gasps quietly to myself, death grips on the handrest, and questioning my judgment on where and when to not let her drive.  Target’s parking lot is not for the faint of heart!  Then there’s all that comes with when they have their full license and are driving when you’re NOT in the car.  And here I thought I was done giving up sleep when they started sleeping through the night!

I like to think of myself as a laid back person—but I’ll be the first to admit that does not hold true when it comes to riding as a passenger in the car with the kids.  That is where I become the Control Freak from Hell.  Tyler’s been driving on his own for nearly two years now, and I still grab the handrest, even though he drives just fine.  Maybe it’s the memories of how they drove playing Mario Cart when they were little.  Or the times they ran into mailboxes, parked cars and sometimes each other on their bikes.  I know, I shouldn’t hold that against them, but those visions must lie dormant somewhere in my sub-conscious.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago that Tyler was behind the wheel for the first time.  He had two vehicles to choose from to learn on—a 6-speed manual transmission or a full-sized Ford Expedition.  Neither one were very easy to start with, but he began driving with my huge truck.  I can’t remember exactly how I learned to drive, but at least I had a small car.  It seemed like I knew the basics before I actually had a permit.  When we were kids my dad would let us sit on his lap and “drive” on the gravel roads surrounding the sand plant.  I don’t remember having to ask how to put the car in drive, or how the gas pedal worked.

I do remember taking my driver’s test.  I had the lady with the shocking red-orange hair and matching bright orange lipstick.  The one the older kids at school warned us younger ones you didn’t want to give you your test.  I had my mom’s ’86 Mercury.  The steering column had the turn signal, horn and high beams all on the same “blinker stick”.  Up and down for the blinkers, push in for the horn, and pull forward for the brights.  Before we started, I was asked to demonstrate various functions of the car.  The instructor asked me to put on the high beams.  I’d never used them before, but I saw “PULL” on the stick, so I did.  I pulled the turn signal right out of the steering wheel!  Flustered, I tried to put it back on, resulting in my honking the horn long and loud several times.  I’m surprised I didn’t fail right then, but she allowed me to drive off the lot into traffic.  About the third or fourth turn, the blinker stick fell off onto the floorboard, leaving me with a little nub about two inches long to use for the turn signal.  To this day, I think I passed only due to this woman’s pity.  I’m sure that my test made her top ten of hilarious idiot driving test stories to tell.

So now you know I really have no business judging my kids’ lack of driving knowledge.  I had some humble beginnings.  Learning to drive a manual transmission threw me a curveball.  And any passengers almost through the windshield.  My dad probably has more gray hair having taught me to drive a stick, but we survived.

So yes, I’m a hypocrite.  I still can’t help but be a little nervous giving up control of the wheel to someone who describes putting the car in drive as “putting the line on the ‘D’”.  Luckily I’m married to someone who has nerves of steel and a lot more patience as the parent Driver Instructor than I do.  I remind myself to keep a sense of humor about it all, because in the end, having another driver to run errands does come in handy.  I just hope that by the time she’s driving solo, it will be for milk, bread and eggs, not antacids.

Category:

Driver's Test, Driving, family, growing up, kids growing up, motherhood, Personal Essay, teenagers

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