On The Open Road

Apparently my youngest offspring, Little Squirt, has (what he believes is) a covert runaway plan scheduled for early tomorrow morning. He has sought the assistance of his drivers-age older sister. He told her they would leave at 12:15 a.m. and head to his friend, Nicky’s house where he would live for the remainder of his days.
My crime: I would not let him play in the basement with Rock Star and his girlfriend.
My defense: I was respecting Rock Star’s right to entertain without his little brother being a blatant nuisance.

My very character has been called into question, and I am accused of being “mean and unkind” and “not matching the family" because of my "yellow hair.” (Ouch!)

I saw him pack a grocery bag filled with essential items necessary for a quality life from here on out:
-His favorite stuffed friends: Tonfini, Buttermilk and Peter Parker
-3 pairs of underwear
-A Batman suit
-A wallet of pennies
-A few odd jelly-bellies

Even after an ice cream sandwich this evening, Little Squirt has not changed his tune. He still truly believes his sister will drive him to his friend’s house at the midnight hour, where he will live out his childhood not being related to me. As if.

Overdue Fines Are Worth It

God knew what He was doing when he did not make me a Pioneer Wife. Birthing me in the later part of the 20th Century was clearly brilliant. I would have, quite frankly, sucked at Frontier Living. I just don’t have the kind of tough constitution it what it would have taken to survive. A pedicure without a shiatsu chair massage is “roughing it” for me. And prairie chicken for dinner every night for months on end without sesame beef or lasagna thrown in for variety?? I’d starve! And please don’t get me started on the lack of jelly-bellies. Or indoor plumbing. Or flat iron to tame my naturally wavy tresses. Or Internet shopping. See?? I’d suck.

But here’s what would be the biggest challenge of all for me: The deficiency of books. Prairie Folk apparently only had one or two at the most. I don’t remember seeing Ma and Pa Ingalls taking their young’uns to the public library. I’m certain they had very little time to read, what with all the timber they had to chop and stuff.

So I am heartily grateful to those hardy, rugged pioneer ancestors who paved the way into the west so that we could have vacations in Disneyland. But I also feel dearly sorry for them for the lack of escapist reading. I could not have done it. I need my books like I need air. God surely knew what He was doing.

On Slowing

It frequently happens……when I am in a hurry (which is often )….…I get in line at the checkout with the slowest cashier. It said “Tina” on her name tag. She was loquacious; commenting on almost every item in my cart. “Aren’t these the most delicious peaches? I’ve never tried this shampoo before. Oooh, it looks like you’re going to have a BBQ.” She took her time, smiling her way through her work. She seemed to take pleasure in handling each item I was buying, concentrated carefully on the scanning, and then packed them into the bags with great care. She chatted with me about the weather (which was “delightful”) and told me about her Chihuahua (who was ill but had "the most wonderful veterinarian"). She complemented me on what a fine young boy Little Squirt was and how handsome! Then she rang up the total, handed me my receipt, and wished me a “blessed day.”

And you know what? She blessed my day! Her sweetness, her enthusiasm, her zest for the ordinary was entirely contagious. I left feeling an enveloping cheeriness. And wondering how often I hasten through life, and miss being a blessing to others.

Happy Birthday, Butterfly!

I cannot describe how thrilling it was to become a mother. From the first moment I held you, I was enchanted. Your big brown eyes….head full of hair I could already enjoy stylin’…..your joyful presence. You seemed to be at home in my arms. I was ecstatic that you were a girl and I envisioned pink, pink and pink all the time.

I remember cradling you, and wondering who you would become. Would you be sweet, cautious, feisty, daring? Would you be artistic and creative, sporty and athletic, serious and intellectual? Or a Combination Platter? You were a gift that kept on giving as more and more qualities of you developed. I likened you to a baby sunflower unfolding.

My Butterfly, I love every bit of the energy you bring to our family! You are a gifted visual artist, a lover of people, a kind and caring friend, a young woman with a bucketful of strength, The Life of the Party. You dive into the business of living with an adventurous attitude, always reaching for the fun. “Got Social??” I have seen you grow in maturity, take beauty from ashes, and come out of difficult experiences more loving. Which is what it’s all about.

Keep growing, keep modeling godly character for the brothers you lead, and keep smiling. You are God’s special princess. I’m proud to call you mine.
Happy 17th birthday! How the years have flown.

My New Career

I have no idea how to be A Football Mom, or what that title is actually going to involve. Now that Rock Star has joined his high school Freshman football team, I am hearing little bits of news bites (from my Senior daughter) about what my role will be. According to Butterfly, I will have to show up at all the games wearing yellow and green Mardi Gras beads, join The Booster Club, and cook up pounds of spaghetti for starving athletes Pasta Nights. I must work various fund raisers, become BFFs with the other Football Moms and pretend that I know the ins and outs of the game. Which I don’t. That’s actually a laughable thought. I don’t know a full back from a half back from a back scratcher (which I could use right now…..got an itch…..down to the right a little…..). I’ll clearly be an embarrassment to my son.

But here’s what I do know. I’ve been A Football Mom for one whole week now, and it’s practically a full time job. I have been doing loads extra laundry a day, trying to keep Rock Star in clean running shorts, football t-shirts and socks. I have to sign my name to a boatload of checks for camp and equipment and special athletic shoes. I must make him a 2-egg Swiss cheese omelet and peach smoothie after every practice, and keep our fridge stocked with water bottles and lemon Propel. I need to ice down his achy muscles, feed him ibuprofen, and remind him to go to sleep at a decent hour. And pray. Especially pray. I must pray for his protection. Good Lord, I have shuddered at the size of some of his team mates!

But he is my boy. So if being A Football Mom requires me to buy a new wardrobe in green and yellow sportswear and memorize play books and watch the Super Bowl, I will gladly do this. I will be Football Mom to make him proud! I might even actually figure out the game.

On Becoming a Wuss

I’m getting to be way too tender-hearted in my old age, disconcertingly so. Lately, I get weepy at the drop of a hat. I just don’t understand it because I never used to be like this. I am becoming the kind of Emotional Wimpy Woman that used to irritate the heck out of me when I was in my 20s. Back then, I felt annoyed when I’d see people cry at movies. “Grow up!” I’d think. “You’re not a two-year-old!!” And now I am One Of Them. Having Sob Fests over love stories.

As I was getting my nails done this morning, I watched "The View" at the salon, where they showed a U-Tube video of a reunion between a lion and its former owners. And perhaps I could connect emotionally with it because of the animals I have known and loved (or more likely I have some major psych issues that need addressing). So I found my eyes tearing up. And then I was mortified that I was quietly weepy and my nose was running and I had no way of blowing it because my hands were being worked upon by the male tech………well, I just need to stop this!! Promptly. It’s embarrassing, for Pity's sake..... crying over a lion??……But it was such a sweet and tender moment between man and animal…..a love that has no boundaries……(Sniff.) There I go again.

Row Row Row Your Boat

Tonight we had close friends over for dinner. As we sat on our back deck sharing bruschetta, they told us about their purchase of a new kayak. Married for over 20 years, they recently realized they wanted to try a new hobby together, something that would be a fun form of recreation as a couple. So they bought the kayak, and now spend weekends merrily paddling along various local lakes and rivers.

Our conversation got me a’thinking. Super Hubs and I don’t share any hobbies. He loves model railroads, writing game reviews for publication, reading history books and watching The Discovery Channel. I love acting with my Drama Team, writing stories, cooking exotic dishes, and martini nights with my girlfriends. Got the picture? He’s left-brained and I am right. We have different styles of enjoyment.

And do we recreate together? Not unless you consider Dining Out a sport. Or trimming the bushes side by side a playful pastime. We do go out to see the occasional movie or theatrical performance. We do sit on the beach together and read books. But is that enough for a healthy marriage? Oh, dear God, now I’m worried! We’ve been married for 19 years and do not have a passion for any kind of shared recreating!! (Other than Rick Steves’ European tours, but we don’t have the budget for that on a regular basis.)

So now I’m frantically trying to brainstorm possibilities for an appropriate pastime for Super Hubs and I. Scuba diving? (Expensive and scary. Not to mention we live in the Midwest.) Golf? (Boooooring. I’m way too ADHD.) Camping? (Sounds dirty. And hot. And I hate insects.) Tandem dirt bike riding? (Now I’m just being silly.) Motorcycling? (Hellooo…..my Horrid Humid Hair!!)

See?? There’s nothing. Nothing whatsoever for us to do together. Not a thing. I guess we’ll have to stick with Dining Out. Or maybe we should borrow our friends’ kayak and try paddling off into the sunset. Unless you have any suggestions for us?

Uh Oh

The Dog Days of summer are upon us in Chicagoland. The temperature is hovering in the 90s and I have my Horrid Humid Hair. As much as I love the sunshine, I have taken to lounging in the shade this week, in hopes that it is a tad less roasting.

Little Squirt has jumped into a T-ball League. Where he lacks in skill and size he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and personality. The heat doesn’t seem to bother his energy level a bit. Which is why I was surprised, tonight at dinner, when he prayed before the meal: “Dear God, please let it snow. I miss the snow so much, and I want to play in it tomorrow. Amen.”

So now, remembering the miserable frigid winter months, I am trying to “cancel” out his prayer. “Really, God, I’m sorry I complained today about being hot. It’s ok, really! I don’t mind the heat a bit. Not one little bit. BTW- Can you just possibly disregard Little Squirt’s prayer for snow?? I’d prefer not to have to drag the snow blower up from the basement. Thanks in advance. Amen.”

So we’ll see. Little Squirt seems to be a special one of God’s; his prayers hastily answered. So if you wake up tomorrow morning to see some white precipitation on your lawn, I apologize in advance, on behalf of my son.

Eleven Bags of Garbage Later

Thankfully, Rock Star loved his Extreme Bedroom Makeover! He came home from camp at 9pm last night, and we waited with tense, baited breath as he climbed the stairs and opened his bedroom door. “I like it!” he said simply, then picked up one of his four guitars and began strumming randomly, while I buzzed about the room, giving him the Grand Tour: “Here’s the drawer for your football clothes; here’s a bin where your sister organized all your guitar gear; your contact lens stuff is in this bag; see I hung up all your t-shirts in rainbow color order.” Then Butterfly and I recapped the weekend of decluttering. We exclaimed over the 11 bags of garbage we removed from his room, and described in specific detail the motive for putting his skateboarding magazines in racks; the logic behind a particular drawer for his baseball caps. I shoved a Pottery Barn Teen catalogue in his face, showing him some wall decals and guitar sheets I was interested in purchasing, then discussed potential wall colors for when we paint next week.

A glance at his face told me that Rock Star had checked out long ago. He was exhausted after his 4 days at camp and 5 hour bus ride home, and just needed some space. And so we left him alone to bond with his "pimped out" crib in privacy.

And today I am realizing that, while he is appreciating the order we’ve created from chaos in a way that he was unable to do by himself, and the respect we’ve shown for his personal treasures, Rock Star is a teen of simple tastes. He doesn’t care if we paint the walls “Anthem Red” or “Southampton Blue,” or hang up a Graffiti Skater wall mural or place a shaggy Riptide rug at his feet. He doesn’t place a high value on aesthetics. He is at peace when he is surrounded by the comforts of the things he loves most of all. Just give him a guitar to make his music and a phone to connect with his friendships and a safe haven for his beloved hamster. And provide him with a thoughtful plate of pizza rolls on occasion. That is all his heart desires.

Corraling the Chaos

When I mentioned on Friday that I was going to attempt to declutter Rock Star’s bedroom while he is at camp, I had no idea of the vastness of the undertaking! Butterfly assisted me for two hours on Friday night, and then Super Hubs worked beside me yesterday for 6 hours. This morning we finished up in another hour and a half, bringing the grand total of "Project R. S.Bedroom Declutter" up to 19 hours. I kid you not. It took 19 hours of (Wo)Man Labor to put his bedroom in appropriate Non Health Department Code Violation Order.

Here are a few stray items we discovered in the cesspool that was his closet:
1.) 14 socks
2.) 5 dirty plates/5 dirty forks with encrusted Lord-knows-what
3.) a garbage bag of used hamster litter
4.) 2 of Butterfly’s long lost DVDs

It was nasty. I’m thinking of running over to the Immediate Care for a tetanus shot tonight.

But after many, many hours this weekend of avoiding the summer sunshine, pulling my hair out in frustration and stabbing myself in the leg with a random broken guitar string, his bedroom is finally sparkling clean and neatly organized. And in a mad rush of adrenaline, we tackled Little Squirt’s bedroom as well, even swapping the boys’ beds, which involved disassembling and then reassembling Rock Star’s bunk bed in Little Squirt’s room. And then we decorated!

Ahhhhh. (Big sigh.) So now when Rock Star comes home from camp tomorrow night, he will be surprised to find his bedroom completely transformed! It is wonderfully organized and newly decorated in Edgy Teen Boy style. It looks like a whole new room. I keep running in there, sitting on his bed and excitedly admiring the fruit of our labor. And then Butterfly was inspired to work on her bedroom. So, for the moment, this brief moment in time, I have three children with completely clean bedrooms. My Good Lord- it’s a dream come true!!

But I have two questions about Rock Star that I keep mulling over nervously:
1.) Will he actually like what we did?
2.) How long will his bedroom stay clean??

Fabulous Friday

Rock Star went off to summer camp today with his church youth group, highly annoyed that I wouldn't allow him bring his iPod. But the instructions specifically stated, "No electronics." (Or firearms, but he was fine with that.) "What am I supposed to do on the bus for 5 hours without my iPod?!" he asked furiously. "Ummmmmm.....talk to your friends??" was my suggestion. (Just a thought.) And then he texted me from the bus, saying that he was the only one without an iPod. Oh, well. Call me an unsympathetic mother and let's move on.

Super Hubs headed off to a Nascar race in Joliet with a friend. So Butterfly and I decided to take Little Squirt out to go shopping. We headed to a super mall where I treated Little Squirt to his first Build-A-Bear. He chose a panda which he promptly named "Peter Parker" and stuck a Spiderman suit on. He took the making and cleaning of his panda extremely seriously, then struck Spidey poses with him all over the mall.

The three of us went to the Rain Forest Cafe for lunch where Little Squirt delighted in the alligator and fish, but was a little uncertain about the ginormous gorilla who hovered over our table.

Then it was off to Ikea. I swear I cannot ever leave that store without massive purchases of home products I had no idea I needed! It's all such a good deal!! And one must always make a purchase if it's a bargain, should they not?? That's just good common shopping sense. I went to get ideas for redecorating Rock Star's bedroom, and ended up buying a new tea kettle, humongous amounts of wooden hangers, and two vases in coordinating shades of pink for Butterfly.

We ended the afternoon with Free Slurpees from 7-11. Because today is 7-11, don'tcha know??

All in all a great day....so far. Tonight Butterfly will help me declutter Rock Star's room in his absence. And you haven't met clutter until you've entered Rock Star's domain. I am seriously scared. Oi.

Ding-Dong

It’s the dreaded season again…….when the door-to-door sales people come calling. I dread them because I.Can.Not.Say.No. Not ever. Let me try. “No.” Ooooohhh…..there I go feeling guilty again!! See??

I have purchased many a useless product over the years that I had no business spending money on. Like 5 gallons of a cleaning solution that gave me a rash the first time I used it, so I pitched the rest. Or magazines that I had no time or interest in reading but kept coming month after month…..all because I wanted desperately to help the college student with her education. Or the 20# of meat I purchased from a company that sold food from a truck…..because I felt obligated after they gave me a free gallon of ice cream. But, having very little freezer space, I ended up giving most of the beef away to my neighbors.

I am a sucker. And I’m certain companies that sell door-to-door know this about me and have highlighted my address in red ink and 10 asterisks. A poster-sized picture of me is probably on their walls as “Best Customer and Biggest Sucker.” If they are a good salesperson, I believe without question in their honesty and the integrity of their product and that I could not live another minute without buying it. Because salespeople never lie, right? And if they are a bad salesperson…..then I just feel so sorry for them and worry that they are rejected everywhere they go when they are only trying their darndest to make an honest living to support their 14 starving children…..so then I buy extra. Otherwise their sad little eyes will haunt me for days. See?? I’m just a neurotic mess!!

After one too many exorbitant credit-card bill, Super Hubs has forbidden me to buy anything else from them. So now I don’t answer the door. And this afternoon, when the doorbell rang, and I peeked out the living room window to see a man with a briefcase and clipboard, I had to tackle Little Squirt just as he was about to turn the doorknob. I shook my head silently and put a finger to my lips. Then we army-crawled through the downstairs until we reached the windowless bathroom, where we quietly hid out of sight until the unsuspecting salesperson left our premises. So then I couldn’t go outside for the rest of the day, for fear he’d come back.

(Big sigh.) Does anyone know if there is a Codependents Anonymous chapter anywhere near my home??

Hunting For Fish

I don’t squash bugs. Or swat flies. Or run over worms. It’s not that I’m squeamish. Insects don’t bother me (except for spiders). And it’s not because I believe in Reincarnation. I don’t. I’m certain I won’t come back to life as a hideous-looking Eyed Click Beetle; punishment for all the fines from over-due library books accumulated and never paid over my lifetime as “Kelly, The Homeschool Mom.”

The reason I don’t squash bugs is because I don’t want to hurt their little bug feelings. Or injure their little bug legs. Or cause their little bug mommies to weep because their little baby bugs were killed by a rogue Miu Miu heel. I have a strange and often inappropriate sense of empathy for all living creatures.

So when Little Squirt asked me if I would take him fishing, I cringed. And I hesitated. But I finely relented when he batted his huge brown eyes at me, and I walked him over to the pond by our house. But I dreaded the event: I’d watch harmless little fish get impaled, then lie injured and in agony on the dock, waiting to suffocate to death; their little hearts beating fast as their lives flashed before them. I figured I’d need to schedule a session with my therapist after this fishing expedition.

I needn’t have worried. “Fishing” simply involved Little Squirt and some “I Love Lucy”-type antics. My Little Angler stuck a piece of cheese on the hook, and when the cheese fell off, he ate it. Then he cast the cheese-less rod (after nearly impaling my left eye) into the water. After 20 seconds, he declared that area of the pond “no good” and moved over 3 feet. He held his fishing pole in one hand, and an apple in the other and chomped on it loudly. When the apple fell into the water, he spent 4 minutes trying to recover it with his fishing pole. Getting bored with that endeavor, he grabbed his crab net and dunked it into the pond, and expressed frustration when no fish immediately jumped into the net. Throwing his net on the ground, he moved down the dock to “make nice” with some fisherman, then oohed and aahed over a snapping turtle on the way back. Finally, Little Squirt announced he was tired from all the fishing, and wanted to go home and eat ice cream. The entire outing took about 17 minutes.

So we had chocolate sundaes, and I secretly celebrated that no living creatures lost their lives during the amusing venture.

A Fantastic 4th

A Phenomenal 4th

A Fabulous 4th

Happy 4th of July!

In the "The Book About Me" that I received as a very little girl, and filled out in shaky printing, I said that my favorite song was the patriotic classic, "America the Beautiful."

Oh beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown they good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

I still get weepy when I hear it.
Happy Birthday, America!

Faze-Book

In a move based on sheer ignorance, I started a Facebook while on vacation. I did this after a pensive afternoon of gazing at the ocean. I had rosy-tinged visions of reconnecting with some of my relationships of old. I imagined hosting reunions down the road with my sorority sisters or playground friends. We’d sip wine on my back deck, arms entwined, laughing about our past heartbreaks, and celebrating each others’ good fortunes. They’d all complement me on my youthful complexion, and I’d pass out party favors of Preparation H tubes. Then I’d post pictures on my Facebook photo album of the sentimental and tender gathering. It’d all be so lovely.

But now, what I am realizing, is that I have no business whatsoever being on Facebook because:
1.) I am too old.
2.) I don’t know what the H*** I am doing. (Because of #1.)

As I have tried to build my “friend” base, which is embarrassingly low, I am realizing that married forty-somethings of my acquaintance aren’t running rampant all over this Social Network. I know this because I have searched for them . They’re not there. Any of them. Not hardly a one. I have dipped into the pool of “friends from college,” “friends from high school,” and “friends from childhood.” Nothing. Then I looked for “friends from my current church” and “friends from my former church,” and “friends from Girl Scout camp in the 70s.” Zip. And then, scraping the bottom of the barrel, I searched for “former co-workers from my first job at Burger King” and “my Mary Kay lady from 14 years ago.” Also, “my grandmother’s former housekeeper.” Still nothing. It’s very depressing and I feel like a loser.

But all is not lost as having a Facebook makes me appear hip with my teenagers. I know what a Flair is and buy myself many. And I can Superpoke with the best of them…….. Only not appropriately……..I accidentally sent a “bitchslap” to a person I don’t know very well. I have no idea how it happened and I was mortified and apologized profusely. And then, in an attempt to make amends, I sent myself a “hug.” Myself!! By mistake. How pathetic! Clearly I need a Facebook tutorial!!

The point of my post is this: Would you be opposed to “friending” me?? Out of pity, of course. But I’ll send you Flair. And no “bitchslaps.” I promise.