The Apple Doesn't Fall Far.....

Butterfly has been chosen for a high honor this week, and I’m mighty impressed!
No, she’s not been named Valedictorian of her class. Nor is she receiving a Heisman Trophy. No Emmy nomination, or Key To The City for her. She’s not getting a Phi Beta Kappa Invitation, or being named Ambassador to Botswana.

Nooo. It’s a WAY better than all those lil honors put together......And here it is. (Drumroll please.) My Butterfly was asked by the Principal of her High School to be in charge of her class’ Senior Prank this year.

My baby girl. Commander in Chief of School Punking. Mommy couldn’t be prouder!!

Baby Birds

I shall christen this time forevermore as The Season of Transitions.......

Butterfly will be graduating from High School, Rock Star will be taking Driver’s Ed, and Little Squirt will be heading into first grade in the fall, the first year in 9 with all my children in school full time.

Which event fills my heart with the most angst? I believe it’s the thought of Rock Star navigating 4,000 pounds of metal at 55 miles per hour. And being responsible for our fairly new Toyota. The boy loses his housekey on a daily basis! I can only imagine. Blehhhh! (That was a shudder. I truly shuddered as I wrote this, and then tried to sound it out, much like Little Squirt does with his phonetic spelling.)

But I’m proud of the three of them. My offspring. I wish I could snuggle them under my protective wing and keep them safe and secure in my nest forever. However does the little Mommy Bird do it, giving her fledglings the boot as soon as their wings are ready? How did she get ready??

On Friendship

In Chicagoland, you basically have just two types of people: Cubs Fans and Sox Fans. And they are nemesis’ with a passion. A Republican-Democrat legislative spat is a white-gloved Ladies High Tea in comparison to the umbrage between Cubs and Sox fans. It ain’t pretty, and we are a family divided. I grew up in a Cubs family, attending many a game. Super Hubs, a former New Yorker, became a Sox fan when he worked on the south side of Chicago. Thus we grew little offspring who have straddled on both sides of the fence and now staunchly defend their pick. The boys have become Sox fans like their daddy, while Butterfly has chosen to cheer on the Cubs with me, bless her sweet lil heart.

But over the weekend I took off my Cubs t-shirt to wave the White Sox banner with Super Hubs when we were invited to a game with our friends, Peggy and Butch. (Not literally. It would have been too chilly.) And we had a blast. We tailgated in the parking lot under the warm Chicago sun, then watched the Sox win. It was a magical day. Peggy and Butch and Super Hubs teased me about being a stealth Cubs Fan, and Butch bought me a Sox cap, which I proudly wore. It was pink, my favorite color.

Candidly, the subject of this post is not Sports. It’s Friendship. The topic has been on my mind as of late. I’ve been hearing about it and reading about it wherever I go. It’s been a theme lately.

God, in His amazing, all-providing way, gave us friends who are “family.” Such as Peggy and Butch. After a disappointing week when an extended family member broke a promise to us, Peggy and Butch came onto the scene. They invited us to the Sox game, drove us, and cooked for us. We felt so cared for. They have served us over and over again historically, and been “grandparents” to my children at a time when my children need healthy grandparents in their lives. Little Squirt truly believes they are his, and they have helped fill that void. I will always be greatful. They are a gift from God.

Some friends have only been in my life for a short season, as if God picked them out by hand for little ol’ me, created an intersection where our lives would overlap for a short but meaningful distance, and I would learn something from them. Then we’d part ways, with relief or regret. Sometimes those friendships were painful, but I’d always be richer for them. I consider them “Friends of The Road.”

Then there are “Friends of the Heart.” Those are friends that I am hoping beyond hope will be there for the long haul, like Peggy and Butch. They’ve been divinely appointed, Spiritual Family, and one of the most obvious ways that I recognize God’s goodness in my life. In their own unique form, they are Jesus in the flesh to me.

Kerry is my longest friend, not in height but in years known. We met in kindergarten, when I’d just moved from Rhode Island and needed a friend. We bonded over a shared apple, and a life-time affinity was forged. We lived two houses down from one another for many years of my childhood, sharing teachers, sleepovers, and Barbies. We’d prank-call each others’ crushes and spy on her older siblings. We used to sneak inside our neighbors’ house whenever they weren’t home, and watch tv and eat their cheese. (I believe that is considered a crime.) Kerry moved to CA when I was 19 (a trauma that I still haven’t recovered from), and even though we only talk about once a year, we can always pick up right where we left off. She’s been in my life for over 40 years, and probably knows all my secrets. She is the Godmother of lucky Rock Star.

Lauree became my first close church friend, over a decade ago, when I badly needed a close church friend. She has probably been the most consistently encouraging voice in my life, and is one of the most mature and godly women I know. She is the sister I never had. Little Squirt is blessed to call her Godmother.

Kellye, my talented artistc friend, is a riot to hang out with. She’s probably my friend who is the most similar to me. We are sympatico. We have shared the stage many times in drama. She will drop everything to meet me for a drink if I need her. She is one of my best listeners; understanding my need for verbal processing without judgment or fixing. We never cease to be amazed at how quickly time passes when we talk. Kellye really gets me. That’s rare.

Bonnie feeds me, body and soul. She and her husband, Joe, are warmly hospitable people. Their dinner invitations have filled those sad places in my heart that tend to shadow me during the holidays when I fantasize about other families gathering together, Norman Rockwell-style. And on one dark night last spring, I had a crisis of the monumental sort, and Super Hubs was out of town. I sat sobbing on a bench in a place of deep fear. I was without a car, and wondering whom to call. Bonnie came to mind, and she dropped what she was doing to come get me from where I was and bring me to where I needed to go. No questions asked. That’s Friendship.

Valerie prays for my children; an invaluable gift. We connect weekly, either in person over over the phone. She has been there for me through the valleys and the mountaintops of parenting. She encourages me weeky with scripture verses. I quite honestly would not be half the woman that I am without her intercession. I would throw myself in front of a bus for her.

Tara and Chris, my dear friends who are roommates, can make me laugh until I cry, and will willingly bake 75 cupcakes for my surprise party. They mentor me in the ways of gourmet food, and they’ll eat whatever I cook for them and tell me they love it. Tara was used by God to affirm my gifts at a time in my life when I was feeling beaten up by a certain church leader. She brought me pizza when my very roof was falling down around me, and is endlessly a wise, discerning counselor. Is it possible she is almost 20 years younger than I? Chris is one of the warmest people I know, going out of her way to make me feel welcome in her home. She has often been the voice of God in my life, saying the exact thing I need to hear at the exact moment I need to hear it. Not only are these roommates so much fun, they have also been there for me through some of the darkest days of this past year. They love on my children, which I will forever love them for.

Lisa is one of my newest friends, and we are just getting started. Already we’ve shared meals and long talks over coffee. I am impressed with her depth, her strength of character, and her authenticity. I sense a lot of affinity in this relationship, and I look forward to where we will go. I don’t think she has any idea how special she is.

These are my Circle of Friends. My Tribe. The kind of people that would take my phone call in the middle of the night. Or, as my pastor says, people who won’t look at their watches at my funeral. (I'm hoping.) They make the sweet times sweeter, and the dark times so much lighter. And I have other friends; new friends whom I am just getting to know, and older friends; friends whose lives have overlapped with mine, and just maybe, if time allows and it's meant to be, we’ll draw closer.

A Date With Brahams and Stravinsky

Every year, Super Hubs gets tickets to the Spring Symphony at the university where he works, and we have ourselves a fabulous Date Night.

The drive from my home into Chicago last evening was monstrously long; 2 1/2 hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic. But it was sunny and warm and I was able to listened to my CDs, which is a rare treat. I’m usually in the car with one to three offspring who dominate the sound system with loud rap or metal, which make me long to use my chewing gum as ear plugs. Even Little Squirt has been turned on to his teenage siblings’ music choices once he realized that Raffi was no longer cool.

So, on the drive into the city, I Iistened to my own music as well as my own thoughts, which included what food I would order at Rhapsody, the upscale restaurant attached to the Symphony Hall. We always eat there on these Date Nights. It's tradition. The temperature was comfortably warm, and I was looking forward to dining on the restaurant’s large patio, surrounded by lush flora. I parked on Wabash, located Super Hubs, and we headed together to Rhapsody......only to find it closed for a private party. Noooo! A Private Party to which we were not invited? So no Spring Pea soup? No Potato Crouquettes? Nil to the Wild Striped Bass? Non to relaxing on the restaurant’s patio on this warm May evening in Chicago, people-watching over a glass of savignon blanc? I was deeply disappointed.

With sad sighs of regret, we wandered around the loop, looking for an alternative. Bennigans, with its cacophony of young families and drunken co-workers? The sleazy Thai restaurant on the corner, with its dirty tables? No and no.

We finally landed on a small, intimate restaurant in The Palmer House. Super Hubs ordered a $24 hamburger. I had a small appetite and ordered, as my entree, an appetizer of chicken wings. The food I was served can only be described as ridiculous-looking: three teeny pillows of deconstituted chicken lay on a ginormous plate, a skinny bone standing upright in each. Uh.....chicken wings? Where were the wings, exactly? Was this a joke? Was I being punked?? I gobbled the ugly things down in 30 seconds. We each had a drink, and split a dessert of chocolate mousse. Our bill totalled $90. (And I was starving an hour later.) Whew!

We then ran 2 blocks to the Symphony Hall, barely making the concert. We sank into our chairs and enjoyed the melodious works of Brahams and Stravinksy, peacefully relaxing.

Our Spring Symphony Date Night.

Missing

Last night was Butterfly’s youth group Graduation Ceremony for our church. The proud Senior Class sat in the front couple of rows, beautifully dressed in formal attire. It was, as transitions usually are, bittersweet. As I watched the slide show of the tight-knit Seniors, many of whom frequent my doorstep and fridge, I got a lump in my throat thinking about them all moving on in life.

Rock Star sat with the Freshman boys, and Super Hubs was back in the Video Booth working the audio. I sat on a chair toward the back, with Little Squirt by my side. He generally doesn’t sit well, unless it’s in front of a HD screen showing Sponge Bob. Other than that, he prefers motion. So he spent his time digging in my purse for gum, picking a scab off his finger and subsequently needing a bandaid (“Spiderman, please”). Then he took pictures with an imaginary camera, complete with his own audio. “Cha-chick.”

When the ceremony was over, I moved up two rows to give a quick hug to Butterfly, before she ran off with her Small Group for some celebration BBQ. Then I turned back toward my seat, and Little Squirt was gone. Thinking he’d gone up to Video Booth to visit his father, I went to find Super Hubs. But he hadn’t seen him either. Our eyes scanned the auditoroim, half-full of high school students and parents.

I wasn’t too worried at this point. We were in our church, surrounded by safe people. But still....While Super Hubs stayed in the auditorium, I headed out to the Atrium to see if he was playing one of the video games. No Little Squirt. Then I looked in a few bathrooms. No Little Squirt. Our church is in a renovated warehouse with lots of long halls. Little Squirt knew his way around this building, inside and out. But running off like this was not something he would do! Where was he??

I went to find Super Hubs again, who shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know where he went!” Now I was beginning to get worried. Episodes of “Nancy Grace” filled my head. I’d read “The Deep End of The Ocean.” I was never so aware of the fact that scary people sometimes entered safe places and abducted little children than I was at that moment! How could my child just have disappeared??

Getting that tight, panicky feeling, I grabbed a friend who was standing in the Auditorium, and said, “Have you seen my son??” She had. “Yes. He ran behind the stage with Colton. There he is playing ball!” She pointed to the front corner of the auditorium. Relief flooded my soul.

It was probably only about 10 minutes that Little Squirt had been missing. But 10 minutes of losing a child is an eternity. I scooped my baby up, and held him against my chest. Then Super Hubs and I took him out for his favorite pizza.

Wow. How I love this child! It’s never been clearer than it was last night. And today, I’m giving him a lot of grace with his mischievous antics.....

Baking For Daddy

Super Hubs’ birthday is tomorrow, so today my youngest child and I made his cake. Little Squirt loves to help me bake, but his assistance requires me to have an added measure of patience and energy. Liquidy egg whites drip onto the floor, chocolate batter is launched from the electric mixer onto the cabinet doors, and there’s a lot of Finger-Lickin’ Germy Action going on. (Thankfully germs die in excessive oven heat, I’ve heard. I'm counting on that.)

I will sometimes choose to bake in stealth, when my child is otherwise distracted by video games or sleep, just to avoid the excessive mess. But I let him “help” me today, and we chose to make a Chocolate-Covered Cherry Cake. He put all the ingredients into the bowl, cracked the eggs, and did the mixing. I poured the batter into the pan, and then, when the cake came out of the oven, made the chocolate chip glaze to spread on top. We were the Brilliant Baking Brigade.

The part of baking that Little Squirt enjoys the best is to lick the batter off the wooden spoon. I allow him to do that as a reward for helping me. I know it’s frowned upon today by the American Academy of Pediatrics. There have been dire warnings about salmonella-contaminated eggs or some such. But I happen to believe that there’s a little too much overprotection of children these days on a lot of levels. I grew up licking batter and lived to tell about it. So I want to give Little Squirt that pleasure. It’s one of the joys of baking, in my book. I make him wear a helmet when he rides his bike, and he stil sits in a car seat. But I refuse to get paranoid over the chocolate cake batter he labored to stir for his daddy’s birthday. A few licks won’t kill him. And the memory-making is invaluable.


I think Super Hubs will love our tasty “work of art.” Now.....if we are only able to refrain from diving into it tonight......

Can I Do This?

It’s a Milestone Season for sure. Butterfly and I traveled to Ohio this past weekend for Freshman Orientation at her college. It could hardly stomach the fact that my baby girl will soon be leaving my cushy nest for the Hallowed Halls of Higher Education. And Hallowed Halls that are a 6 hour drive away! It also does not seem possible that I am old enough to have a daughter who is old enough........But then I said that when she reached kindergarten. And then middle school. Nonetheless, it is seems implausible.

We left in the morning, and actually made it to our hotel in under 6 hours. That included one incident of exiting on the wrong expressway and making a panicked cell call to Super Hubs, who, with a few taps of his laptop keyboard was able to talk us back to the right expressway, bless his heart. We also made two stops for sweet teas and petrol. We arrived at 4, checked into our hotel, and then made a drive to the university campus. A prettier, warmer, quieter campus greeted us than the campus of last November. Most of the students had left for summer break, so we were able to wander around the buildings and quad taking pictures, virtually unnoticed. We stopped for a pizza dinner, then headed back to our hotel for some well-deserved chillaxin’.

The Freshman Orientation program began the next morning with sweet rolls, coffee and a lil People Watching from mois. Nervous-looking future Freshman, eyes darting anxiously about, were accompanied by their apprehensive parents. “Will I fit in?” “Is this really the right place for her?” undoubtedly darted through their brains. My daughter and I were wondering the same things.

Then there was a Welcome from some Important Academic Types. I liked what they said. I really did. I left the first session feeling a bit more peaceful and settled at the thought of leaving my daughter here in a few short months. The only useless session was the goofy woman plugged as a Mother of a College Student and thereby ready to answer our every question. But her son didn’t actually attend this university. So all her answers were laced with, “Well, I don’t know about here, but at my son’s college....” Ludicrous.

I commisserated with another mother in the dining hall over cheeseburgers, while Butterfly went to the Activities Fair to speak with a LaCrosse coach. Flushed and excited, she found me about 30 minutes later, and said she was given a quick try out and was welcomed to this Division 2 LaCrosse Team! Later, the amazing coach drove the two of us around in his car and showed us the sports fields and athletic buildings.

At the end of the day, we met with a Mathematics Professor who was to advise us on Butterfly’s class schedule. I was not looking forward to this, as Brilliant Mathematically Inclined Peeps tend to make me very nervous. They are everything that I am not. But even she was kind and maternal, showing us pictures of her 5 young daughters.

We began our road trip home by late afternoon, Butterfly’s posture straighter, both of us feeling reassured. Seeing my daughter’s thrill about making the LaCrosse Team, thereby coming into the school with a sense of belonging, assuaged me on a really deep level. And furthermore, I found every faculty member that I met to be warm and approachable, which made me want to grab them by the arms, look into their eyes, and make them pledge to care for my daughter when I am too far away to care for her myself. (Sniff.) Maybe I will be able to do this letting-go thing after all.

On Being A Mother

I woke up this morning, craving coffee. As I headed down the stairs, Little Squirt blocked my way, saying he had a surprise and wasn’t quite ready yet. Apparently I had a scrurmptious feast of breakfast in bed to await me. My youngest child had lovingly prepared french bread toast slathered with raspberry preserves for my dining pleasure. And a yummy cup of coffee.

I love Mother’s Day! I am blessed to be pampered by three adorable offspring. But, I dare say I’ve earned it. Breakfast in bed is probably the least they can do!

Butterfly, my firstrborn, was a fiery ball of fiestiness with a crown of thick black hair. She came into the world believing she was boss, and I think she believes that still! I was her favorite person from age 6 months to 4 years, and woe to anyone who got between us. When Super Hubs and I would hug each other in her presence, she'd come raging, and push him far away from me. I actually felt guilty about loving my husband! The first time I left her for an overnight with her grandparents at age 18 months, she spent the next day ignoring me for a good 6 hours. And let’s not even talk about when I betrayed her by bringing her brother home!

Rock Star was a sweet, serious, peaceful baby, with the exception of age 1 to 2. That entire year, we could not eat out as a family even once because of his deplorable behavior in the restaurant high chairs. He also had a crazy habit of sticking things up his nose. Popcorn kernels, beads and tonka truck boulders somehow found their way into his nostril caverns. I went through more pairs of tweezers during those years. If only I’d thought to buy stock in Loreal, I’d be a rich woman indeed.

And then, after an 8 year pause, came Little Squirt. He was born with a smile on his face, a incredibly fun temperament, and an unbelievable mischievous spirit. He still is wonderfully resourceful when it comes to elimination issues. When he didn’t have time to run to the bathroom, he once peed in a bucket in his closet. And several times in my heating vents. And once on the dog. His creativity has led him to getting his head caught in a the bars of a rocking chair. And in a potty seat. And one day, at age three, I caught him trying to pry open my 2nd story bedroom window, while holding a scarf. His brilliant plan: To climb down the side of the house like Spider Man. I had palpitations the whole week after that near-disastrous episode.

So you see, I’ve earned breakfast in bed. And much more!

Seriously, I adore my children with everything in me. I am so grateful they are mine!

Happy Mother’s Day to all those women who “mother” in one form or another. You are a blessing.

Too Many Books, Too Little Time

How I love bookstores! Honestly, I get palpatations just walking in and viewing the newest, latest novels with their artsy covers. Or the yummy paperbacks. Or the crisp classic work of literature, their comforting words that have stood the test of time. But I rarely buy books, because I hate to spend the money, and we have an excellent local library.

But Rock Star wanted to buy a book tonight. If you know my 15yo, you will realize what a Once In A Blue Moon Miracle that is. I am a reader, and Super Hubs is a reader, and we raised our children to be readers. I was a homeschool mother for 7 years, for Pete’s Sake, reading countless classics and quality books to my children from infancy on. As a result, Butterfly adores books and devours Jane Austin like a beagle on Girl Scout cookies. I don’t know what happened with Rock Star. He does not read unless required to, and it breaks my heart. I have failed, as a mother, to impart my love of reading to him. (Sniff.)

So Rock Star’s need to buy a book tonight was not based on whim, but on an Engish assignment. His teacher is requiring that he read a book this month, and he chose to read a Stephen King novel. Why that particular choice? Not for the love of the author, or a passion for thrillers, but because he spied a friend with that certain book and liked the cover art. But, whatever. I was thrilled to purchase words for him! So off we went to the bookstore this evening.

While he searched for his book, I browsed. I received a couple of gift cards to this bookstore for my birthday, which is such a treat for me. But I have yet to use them, because of all the choices. I feel like I need to buy the perfect book, one that will live proudly on my bookshelf for years to come, and be read over and over. So what is that special book or books that I must buy with my gift card? I have been in this bookstore many times since my birthday, and yet I always leave empty-handed. Too many wonderful choices! What to buy?? Lately I have been attracted to travel and food memoirs. But then I always love a new cookbook. On the other hand, I want to begin collecting some new additions of the classics. Or perhaps a beautiful poetry book. Or an inspiring biography. I just don't know which to get!!

Rock Star left the store with his Stephen King novel, and I left with my two gift cards still unused in my wallet. I cannot decide!!

Even With The Rattlesnakes

The weather has been delightfully warm, and, after a very soggy April, we’ve had some wonderful days of sunshine. I’ve opened the windows wide, am wearing flip flops on a consistent basis, and engaging in my favorite method of aerobic activity: The Power Walk. In IL, Power Walking is really quite a hazardous form of exercise during 4 months of the year. It’s just too dang cold. You could get frostbite. Or have an asthma attack. Or slip on the ice and break a fibula. Or get hit by a car because of sight impairment due the big furry hat and pashmina wrapped 7 times around your neck.Or you could get attacked by a roving caribou, because it really is that formidable on the arctic tundra that is my neighborhood during the winter months.

But now it lovely and toasty and perfect outside. So I Power Walk and enjoy the sights. But if there is a downside to this beautiful balminess, it is this: The neighbors and I shared a certain solidarity during the cold-weather months. We had snow-covered lawns and barren vegetation. Everyone’s yard was a sad-looking mess. We were on equal ground, and I rather liked that.

But now the Neighborhood Yard Competition begins. Suburbanites are extremely competitive about their lawns, and it’s a contest in which Super Hubs and I have never faired well. We suck in lawn-maintenance, quite frankly. And that is evident to all. Our lawn is patchy at best, and no matter how many tons of grass seed we sow, it remains patchy. My teenage son in charge of the mowing, which he embraces as he does every other chore he’s ever been given, with a lick and a promise. So our grass remains uneven throughout the summer, and that, combined with the patchiness and current dandelions and future weed issues, puts us at, most probably, Last Place in the Neighborhood Yard Competition. Year after year. I’m actually grateful for the August droughts because then everyone’s grass dies, and, like the winter months, our lawn will once again be on equal ground with my neighbors. (See above.)

I plunk a few planters of colorful flowers on my front porch, in hopes they will mask the lawn ugliness by drawing passerbys eyes up and away. But I think it’s like a pig wearing a prom dress. It ain’t helping. And the worst of it is that we live next door to a retired couple whose lawn would make Martha Stewart envious. It is perfect. They spend hours every day planting and fertilizing and watering, and it shows. We just don’t have the time. And that shows.

Arizona homes don’t have grass. They have dirt. And a few cacti. I was there for Spring Beak and intrigued. So I’m considering going that route and pretending it’s a southwestern theme. No more mowing or watering or competition. Hmmmm...........