Happy Thanksgiving

College Or Bust

It’s incredible…. implausible…. inconceivable that I have a daughter who will be college-aged next fall. I cannot possibly be that old. Didn’t I just turn 20 like last week? It seems as if I was a Sorority-Rushing, Biology-Cramming, Where’s-The-Party-Wondering Nursing Major in college myself a minute ago. It’s unbelievable how time flies!

Butterfly is at decision-making time in the college front. She’s been accepted into 5 universities, and wanted to visit her first preference this weekend before officially accepting. So we piled our family of five into the minivan on Friday night for our whirlwind trip to Ohio and back in 24 hours. It was cold and dark as we drove 6 hours east on the toll way, stopping for dinner in snowy Indiana. Little Squirt showed off his vast cultural literacy: “What language do they speak in Indiana? English or Spanish or Nicaragua or Penguin?”

We spent the night at a hotel in the rural Ohio college town, and, after a fortifying breakfast, drove to the campus for an interview with Admissions and a tour. I had a continuous lump in my throat at the thought of bringing my baby girl here in 8 months, where she’ll be over 300 miles from home. So I was unable to be completely objective. The whole experience made me wistful for the days when Butterfly sat on my lap and let me braid her hair.

It was a lovely campus with a very “family feel.” It has an excellent reputation for academics, a beautiful campus, a very small student/professor ratio, many opportunities for campus and community involvement, and Greek Life. We met the warm and motherly president’s wife, who was busy decorating a Christmas tree. We took a grand tour, where I walked behind the tour guide and asked stupid and inane questions, thus mortifying my daughter, as my parents did before me, and their parents before them. Butterfly will one day carry on that tradition with her own children.

In the end, I was torn. It seemed to have everything Butterfly was looking for in a college. But still, it was so far from home. And so rural in comparison to the big Chicago suburb we live in. Usually my intuition guides me in important decisions, but my internal Intuition Guide was was grieving. So Super Hubs and I decided to lean heavily on Butterfly’s discernment . “What do you think?” we asked our daughter.

I think it was the Hot Guys who sold her on it. A group of them were working out in the quad. “I believe this is where God wants me,” she said determinedly, watching the men exercise, and signed her form. God works in all sorts of ways. Now He just needs to work on getting me ready to let her go next fall.

Charlie Bit My Finger- Again!

As a mother, I have some regrets. I wish I’d held my tongue longer, made better food choices, visited more zoos. I regret listening to my mother more than my own intuition, being afraid to confront a certain kindergarten teacher, and making my daughter wear those red party shoes. In retrospect, they were hideous.

But my single biggest regret is that I did not raise my kids in the United Kingdom. Those British accents are just The Bomb, especially in Little Ones! I could listen to them all the live long day. My sister-in-law just moved to London with her husband, and I am sorely hoping they have children soon. I would love to have little nieces and nephews that “queue up,” eat “bangers and mash” and have to go to the “loo.”

Little children are so precious. I just love them! They are good medicine to my soul. Butterfly has been sharing with me her favorite You-Tube videos of kids. This one has become one of my favs, too. Have you seen it?
Enjoy and cheerio!

An Enchanting Engagement

I have to share this video. It’s just too romantic. This is a marriage proposal from a man who belongs to our church. It took place last week at our church and with a small cast of about 150 volunteers and 9 microphones. His love for her is so evident. It makes me weep every time I watch it. (Sniff.) Agree, Girls??

A few cynics have cried foul, saying he set the Romance Bar too high pre-marriage. “How will he top this? What will he do for their 1st Anniversary, or 10th? Or 25th??” Oh, please, People! (Especially you People With Testosterone.) There are many, many ideas left for him to show his love through romance in the upcoming years. So, so many possibilities!

Here’s are a handful of amorous ways to say “I love you” I was just brainstorming (being The Incurable Romantic that I am):
-A champagne helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon during sunset.
-Renting out the QE2 for a sail on over to Europe with a handful of favorite friends and relatives. (Wait. On second thought, skip the relatives.)
-A rose petal-filled bed in a beach front room on an exotic island.
-A sunrise hot-air balloon ride with a bellini toast.
-Sky write it. Then jet off to Paris.
Feel free to borrow any of the above ideas for your next Special Day.

**Note to a certain reader: If you are Super Hubs and happen across this post, I give you advance warning that our 20th Anniversary is occurring in 5 months and 4 days exactly. Consider yourself notified. Any of the above ideas would pass muster by me.**


So watch this uber-creative proposal in you are in the mood for a beautiful, feel-good moment.

Date Nights Again- How I've Missed Them!

Although we were a little lax on their frequency over the past few months, Super Hubs and I have now reinstituted our weekly Date Night. The past few Friday nights we have been visiting restaurants all over town, and trying out their bars. Not because we are Pathetic Middle-Aged Party Animal Losers, mind you, but because People Watching is one of our favorite pastimes.

There is something that feels a little scandalous about sitting at “The Bar” every week, and my inner rebel loves to brush elbows with the company of other inner rebels. Super Hubs and I observe, eavesdrop, make up stories about our Restaurant Bar Neighbors, and always have a jolly time of it. And sometimes we join in on conversations, because Restaurant Bar People are generally the social sort. And that appeals to my Outer Extrovert. It is WAY more fun than just getting a table. And I get such a kick out of watching the bartender mix the drinks.

Another reason we are doing the Restaurant Bar Tour in our town is because I am in search of the bar that makes the perfect Dirty Martini, my favorite cocktail. I like it icy-cold, straight up, with just the right amount of “dirty.” And if they serve it with the primo blue-cheese-stuffed olives, it is all the more spectacular. I order only one Dirty Martini, because one is all I need. If I have two, a throbbing hangover is in my future. So I have my Dirty Martini, and Super Hubs has his beer, and we usually order an appetizer or two to nibble on. Or a basket of fries with a side of ranch dressing.. Because ranch dressing is the ultimate fry-dipping condiment. It kicks ketchup to the curb.

And then we catch up. Last night we discussed kittens. (Do I accept a tiny black orphan kitten offered by a friend? S.H. voted for “no.”) And Christmas. (Do we spend it in Connecticut again this year, or stay home and save money? We decided to go. To heck with the budget.) So we talk, uninterrupted. And, with three kids at home, uninterrupted talk is a phenomenon.

The Weekly Date night. I highly recommend it.

Sexually Speaking

Just call me “Dr. Ruth.” As in Dr. Ruth Westheimer. I had to be a sexpert to a group of middle school girls last Sunday at my church. I am not usually an Eight Grade Girls’ Small Group Leader. I was an Imposter, if you will. I actually lead the Prayer Team that covers Student Ministries in my church. But they were missing a Small Group Leader for the day, and so I was asked to “fill in.” And God, with His wonderful, quirky sense of humor, had me “fill in" on the annual Sex Talk weekend. So I introduced myself to the 12 middle school girls, plunked a bag of jelly-bellies in the center of the table, and glanced at the curriculum.

“Well, girls,” I said, “Do you have any thoughts about the message the pastor gave?”
The blond sitting next to me offered her summary. “I had no idea that holding hands would lead to sex. ” WHAT???
I cleared my throat, deciding to tread carefully. “What was said in the message that made you think that?”
“The slide he showed.” She said.
Another girl jumped in. “No, the slide just showed the progression. You know…holding hands…..kissing…sex. And all the things in between.”
“That’s right!” I said. “His point was that you need to have good boundaries when you begin dating.”
Blank stares. “What are boundaries?” a brunette asked, in between jelly-belly bites.
Boundaries? Hmmmm. My peers and I talked about “bases” back in the day, and snickered about who got to which “base” with whom. I was a pretty innocent middle schooler, and had no idea what all the bases meant before you made it to "home." First base=kissing, second base…...Never mind.
“Boundaries,” I said. “Like fences that you put around to protect yourself.”
“Oh!” one said eagerly, “We just got a fence for our new puppy!”
So on went a discussion about dogs, and who had what kind of dogs, and who liked cats…..and cat hair….and hairstyles of the celebrities…and favorite TV shows…..

I decided to re-direct back to the topic at hand. SEX. We would get through this!
“Well, girls, let’s get back to the topic. Before we go, I just want to know if I can answer any questions for you.”
“I’ve got one!” The cutie to my right said.
Good. I breathed a sigh of relief. I really wanted to be an effective Sexpert Small Group Leader, and I had about 7 minutes left to make that happen! I wanted to leave these girls with a nugget of truth….an incredible perception…..a thought that would shine the light on God’s design for sex. One that they would remember forever…..

“What’s your question, honey?” I asked. “You can ask me anything.”
A pause. “Is it true if you mix two blueberry jelly bellies with one buttered popcorn one it’ll taste like a blueberry muffin?” Asked Cutie.
Another asked, “Did these jelly bellies come in the bag like this or did you get to pick out the flavors?”
Another piped in, “I LOVE the jelly belly factory!”

Big sigh. They didn’t want to talk about sex anymore. They wanted to discuss jelly bellies. So I let them. And I hoped beyond hope that something of that morning’s program on SEX had sunk in.

To The Veterans

It is Veteran’s Day. Around where I live, sadly, it is mostly going unnoticed. The only reason I remembered was because our neighbors have hung up their American flag, which only makes its appearance on the end of their porch a few times a year. And then I took a short walk out to our mailbox and delightedly realized that it was empty. (The mail is not my friend, being a benefactor of my Discover card bill and the odd sad report card. So I delight in its nakedness.) After I got over my glee, I was confused. Did someone steal my mail?? And then I put two and two together, and, while I’m no math whiz, recalled it was Veteran’s Day.

So I want to thank our veterans! I hold you in high esteem. Truly I do. Thank you for your dedication to our country. Thank you for all the self-sacrificing ways you have served. I have a big heart for Veterans, and whenever they walk by in the parades, I cry.

So, those who are acquainted with me know that I love a good poem. Especially one by Robert Frost. This one was spoken by the author at the Inauguration of John F. Kennedy.

The Gift Outright
The land was ours before we knew the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonies,
Possessing what we were still unpossessed by
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

Plague Prevention

Yesterday was the occurrence of our Annual Family Bonding Ritual: “The Administration of the Flu Shot.” It is a day where I corral my unsuspecting children into the car immediately after school’s dismissal, and, once we are speeding down the highway at 50mph, I announce our destination. Then my three offspring glare at me, accuse me of sadism, and generally bond over their extreme abhorrence of me. It’s a lovely, sacred ritual.

After first sitting in the waiting room with other boisterous, anxious children, we were ushered by the nurse into a room. There my kids argued over whom would be first, and queried the nurse about her injection technique. Would it hurt? Really bad or just sort of bad? One by one they sat in the chair, and with a swish of an alcohol wipe and a quick jab, they were done in 30 seconds or less. Sit-swish-jab. Sit-swish-jab. I honestly don’t know what all the fuss was about. We paraded out of the office; my kids moaning, clutching their arms and acting like arthritis-ridden octogenarians as they got into the car. They complained all the way home of how tender their arms were, and how non-tender and horrible their mother was.

My nerves and patience were completely shot. I had fantasies about the dirty martini I was going to fix for myself upon arrival home, and the myriad ways I could show my children “Non-Tender and Horrible.” Perhaps I’d cook them liver and onions for dinner. With a side of spinach. And force them give me a foot rub, while listening to my Carpenters CD.

(Big sigh.) They completely misunderstand my motivations. I love them and do not want them to suffer from influenza. Last year, I was the only idiot in the family not to partake of the flu shot. And then I consequently caught the flu, and was under-the-weather for the better part of a month. I was sickly sick. Miserably ill. The experience wasn’t anything close to a 3-day respite where I lied around watching Reality TV and sipping soup. It was Hell. I could barely drag myself out of bed to use the john. I coughed and wheezed, sucking on my inhaler like a baby on a pacifier. The only blessing, if there was one, was the throaty Demi Moore voice I maintained for 6 weeks that Super Hubs found oddly sexy and alluring.

My family of five has each received the flu vaccine. And I’ve preemptively stocked up on zicam and germ-blaster. “The best offense is a good defense.” .....Or is it, “The best defense is a good offense”?..... Or, how about a flu adage? “She was white and shaken, like a dry martini.” Hmmm. Sounds like a suggestion. I’ll be back, two olives later.

Proud To Be An American

I went to an Election Party last night at a local sports bar. My friend had been invited, and I went as her “date” since both of our husbands were supposed to be working. (Super Hubs actually ended up coming home early, so he had to watch the news with the dog in my absence. The dog was an ambivalent citizen, and fell asleep on the floor before all the returns were in.) I’m not an Activist, and I’m generally pretty private about my political opinions. But I went to the party, had a glass of wine and some potato skins, watched the returns on the bar TV, and vastly enjoyed the company.

As Obama won his 270 electoral votes, I was privileged to be sitting next to an African-American man who said to my friend and me, “I grew up in the 60s, when the nation was segregated. Now we’ll have a black man as president. I can’t believe it! I’m going to have to go sit in my car and cry for joy.” It was an honor for me to be with him as we watched history unfold together.

However you are feeling today about the results of the election, God is still God. And Obama will need your prayers for protection and divine wisdom as he forges ahead as our Commander-in-Chief.

“There are Christians who have hysterical reactions, as if the world would have slipped out of God’s hands. They act violently as if they were risking everything.
But we believe in history;
The world is not a roll of dice going toward chaos.
A new world has begun to happen since Christ has risen…..”
(Jesuit Father Luis Espinal, assassinated 3-22-80 by paramilitary forces in Bolivia.)

Halloween

Halloween was One Perfect Day; flawless in every way, from beginning to end. A meritorious ending to a hellacious month…..

It was an unseasonable balmy October day with a vibrant sun and sky. I began the day with brunch at a darling restaurant with two young, charming, and entertaining friends who make me laugh and keep me “current.” They brought my favorite candy, jelly-bellies, which we shared with a pot of coffee and scrumptious cuisine. Satiated were my body, soul and spirit.

We then hightailed it over to a salon for pedicures, where we soaked our feet in a warm sudsy bath while the shiatsu chairs massaged us from the neck down. They rolled, kneaded and vibrated our muscles, unblocking unbalanced energy from our vital organs or some such Japanese verbiage. All I know is that between the shiatsu and the pedi, I floated out of the salon a Tranquil, De-Stressed Mass Of Human Jello with fabulous-looking toes painted “Midnight in Moscow.”

I went home and relaxed a teensy bit more with a delectable book. Then I ushered my little Power Ranger and husband out the door to beg the neighbors for candy, and greeted trick-or-treaters for the better part of an hour. Exhausted from that endeavor, I collapsed into a heap on the couch, where I watched “Poltergeist” and other retro scary movies for the rest of the evening, stopping only to enjoy my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup-and-Jelly -Belly dinner. I fell into a dreamy sugar-induced coma by 10pm. Bliss.

What a yummy day. Wonderously wonderful. (And I’ve got killer toes to boot.)