Living The Life Of Riley

It’s four days post-Christmas, and I am already in my New Year’s Nesting Mode. I want to ring in 2010 with a fresh, organized home. Out with the stale fudge, old toys and chaos! Junk- Be gone! I am ruthless in my quest for a de-cluttered home. I’ve taken down all holiday decor minus the tree, which my kids won’t let me touch yet.

Butterfly’s boyfriend is coming for a week-long visit, and he’ll arrive here tonight from OH. I am planning on having him move into Little Squirt’s bedroom. So Super Hubs and I have been de-junking on behalf of our youngest, The King of Clutter. We’ve cleared away some of his old and unwanted toys to make room for his new stash of goods. We’ve organized his closet, in hopes to make room for The Boyfriend to store his clothes.

Is The King of Clutter grateful to His Royal Servant-Parentals, who have transformed his bedroom into a sparkling, shiny abode? It’s hard to tell. He hasn’t had enough time in between bites of Christmas licorice to actually thank us. And he’s been intensely industrious, playing his new Wii Band Hero for four hours stretches, which he says, makes his back hurt. So then he needs time to relax in my shiatsu massage cushion, before going back to another stretch of Wii and sweets gorge-festing.

Oh, to be seven again! Why didn't we know to enjoy it while we could??

Loss And Gratitude

Simply put: It’s been a week. It’s been a week of great losses, airline frustrations, Christmas celebrations, and sheer exhaustion.

The great Northeast Blizzard of ‘09 arrived as an unwanted guest, and completely disrupted my father-in-law’s funeral plans. Several close relatives had to miss the wake, including my husband's brother. Our flight to NY was delayed by a day, causing us to arrive at my mother-in-law’s house with just a few hours to spare until the wake. We were so tired we could hardly see straight.

And at the cemetery for the interment, my mother-in-law’s brother suddenly felt ill, and a few hours later, was dead from a torn aorta, causing great ripples of shock and grief to us all. He had just been sitting behind us at the funeral, mourning with the family over Dad’s death. Now he, too, will be buried this very week. The losses, so close together and right before Christmas, of two great family patriarchs, has been almost too much to bear.

There have been a few bright lights flashing in the darkness, like fireflies darting about at midnight, that have been life-giving to our souls during the craziness of this week. Participating in our church’s Christmas services was one of those “lights.” It was good, so good for my husband and I. The 3-hour rehearsals, delicious meals and conversations in the Green Room, and publicly proclaiming scripture before hundreds; that was a timely gift from God.

And I will forever be thankful for the love of our friends. It mattered. Showing up mattered deeply. They were Angels sent from Heaven, serving us so beautifully and thoughtfully, and healing the pain in our hearts. They let me “shop” in their closet for funeral clothes, brought us meals when I was too overwhelmed to cook, sent us flowers and cards, dropped off treats and watched our kids while we traveled. They gave me a safe space to vent frustrations, be sad, and process. They gave me wine, sent flowers to the funeral home, or simply told us they were praying.

It’s been an education in Bereavement Sociology. It really has. And here’s what I learned about grief and healing: Acknowledgment by others matters. It really does. It mattered to have people offer a hug and look me in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry for your loss.” It wasn’t awkward. It made me feel less alone. I needed that.

Having a husband who lives a lifestyle of serving others so selflessly, I was moved to see some of his men-friends surround him and serve him back. For those friends who took him to lunch and breakfast, who called and texted him words of encouragement throughout our weekend to NY, who showed up for him, supported him and loved on him, I will always be grateful. I saw my husband gain strength and stand taller after each loving interaction. He would not have been able to give such a beautiful, moving Eulogy at his father’s funeral, without the loving support of his friends. I truly believe that.

Friends, and you know who you are, you have been Jesus’ hands and feet to our family. And we are grateful.

Merry Christmas!

"In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen His glory." (John1:1-14)

To all my Reader Friends,
Wishing you and yours the love of Christ.

Merry Christmas!

Dad

My father-in-law died early yesterday morning; peacefully, unobtrusively, much like he lived his life. His wife of 47 years held his hand as he passed on into Heaven. I know he’s in Heaven, because, after I heard the news, I took my coffee into my library, and gazed at the eastern sky. I’ve watched the sun rise all week, and this one had the most brilliant display of color. God spoke to my heart, “He’s home with me now.”

On our wedding day, my father-in-law told me I could call him “Dad.” I continued to call him “Mr. Murphy" for a few months, which morphed into “Ken,” and eventually “Dad.”

Dad was a good man. He lived a life of integrity and honor. He was wise; never making selfish, regretful mistakes that hurt others. He loved his wife completely, treating her as a precious gift throughout their entire marriage. I am forever grateful for that legacy, because that is the kind of love my husband has for me.

He was a hard worker and good provider for his family, never complaining about the long hours of his week. He did what needed to be done. He raised 4 awesome children, educating them in private schools and helping them out with college tuition. He loved God and served faithfully in his church community.

He never understood the parenting culture of today, which he viewed as raising entitled, lazy children who complain if they have to walk to school, and expect a trophy for every sport played. He once told us we ought to take our (then 8-year-old) Rock Star into the Forest Preserve. We should leave him there alone with just his bike, and expect him to find his way home on his own. He believed that act would encourage a courageous, “can-do” spirit within our son. “Dad!” we said in exasperation. “That would be considered Child Neglect. We’d get arrested!”

Dad was an encouraging voice in our lives. He told Super Hubs and me that he was proud of us, admired our values and the way we lived our lives; words I had longed to hear from my own father, who was never able to give me verbal love.

Dad was one of the most well-read, interesting people I’ve ever known. He knew everything about everything, and he was well-traveled. Random facts about birds and trees and architecture flowed from his lips and into our heads. He loved food, and knew the perfect wine to go with each meal. He gave Rock Star a bird feeder, and they’d bird-watch "together," even though Dad lived 400 miles away. He gave Butterfly her first Barbie when she was a baby. Sadly, Little Squirt only knew him as “Grandpa Who Cannot Walk or Talk.” His Alzheimer’s was advanced by the time my youngest was born, and he lived in a nursing home for the last 5 years.

“Why couldn’t God and Jesus let him be with us for longer?” asked Little Squirt yesterday, when I held him on my lap and told him of his grandfather’s passing.
“I think maybe God wanted him to go to Heaven for Christmas,” I said. “And now he won’t suffer anymore. He has a perfect, new body that can walk and talk again.”
“But why did God let him suffer?” he said, wide-eyed.
The Question. The Big Question we all wonder, shaking our fists toward the skies.

Why did God keep Dad living for most of his 60’s, trapped in a declining body with a deteriorating brain? Perhaps because it was for our benefit, that more of Christ would be formed in us. There were lessons we needed to learn. We needed to learn, from watching Dad suffer, how to give selflessly. How to advocate for him to the nursing home staff in an assertive, but loving way. How to grasp each moment of life as a gift, because we don’t know how long we have with each other. And, from watching Mom patiently shave his face, rub lotion on his hands, plump his pillows, and care for his needs, we learned unconditional love. We learned that marriage really is “for better or worse.” And even though the past decade brought a lot of “worse,” Mom relished the time she was able to love on our Dad, as he had done for her throughout their marriage.

“For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what do I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.” (Phil.1:21-24)

I am grateful we were able to say our “good-byes” at Thanksgiving. And, even though I grieve with my family, my heart is thrilled that Dad will spend this holiday in a place where he will suffer no more. It'll be a bittersweet Christmas.

Love you, Dad! Thanks for everything!

Apocalypse? I'm Ready!

My grandmother used to stockpile beauty supplies. When I’d visit her home, I’d find a multitude of jars of Noxema, and hoards of her beloved Facial Oil Blotter packs. Her dresser drawer was packed with her favorite Muguet. I believed she was preparing for a sudden event of Apocalyptic nature, when getting out to shop would be difficult, and at least she’d face the forces of evil with a fresh, oil-free complexion and reeking of LiIy-of-The-Valley.

My dad has also bought in bulk for years, way before Costco shopping became all the rage. My mom would stealthily bring me bags full of toothpaste and toilet paper, imploring me not to tell my father. “Good Lord-I don’t know where he expects us to store these things!”

I attributed the compulsive buying of my relatives to, simply, aging. But now I notice I am beginning to engage in the same behavior. And it is starting to make sense to me. Every time I shop I pick up another bottle of my favorite hand cream. My appendages would not survive the brutal winter without it! You can never have enough tubes of tooth paste stored under your bathroom sink, and I’m certain my dentist would approve. And the Carmex lip balm I apply before bed- what if, God forbid, I were to run out?? I’d have to face my pillow with than dewy-less lips! That cannot be!!

I’m starting to scare myself.

Cool Men Tap

Little Squirt is in our church’s “Where Is Christmas?” Christmas show, with 5 performances this weekend. He’s had 3 hour rehearsals all week, and he's enjoying every minute. It’s an awesome show, with a very talented cast of teens and young adults singing and dancing.

Little Squirt is in the children’s choir, and was required to wear black pants. So, in addition to the black pants, I purchased his first pair of black “dress” shoes. I presented them to him the other day after school.

“Tap shoes!!” he said joyfully.
“No, these aren’t tap shoes. They’re just black dress shoes to wear for your performance,” I explained.

He quickly put them on, and then did an impromptu step-shuffle-hop-step and step-ball change. He’s never had a dance lesson in his life. “See, Mom? They’re tap shoes!” he said merrily, and shuffled up the stairs.

Should I be worried?

Santa Uses Aveda Products

I went to a Christmas party to beat all other Christmas parties the other evening! It was at Spa Bleu, where I have previously made a name for myself as Most Ignorant Customer. But, not one to be daunted by humiliation, I went anyway, with two girlfriends.

Party-Goers were treated to a variety of Spa Experiences using Aveda products. I was given a 15-minute chair massage, a scalp massage, and 3 hand massages, prior to and after a Caribbean Hand Treatment. My appendages have never been so silky-smooth! A Makeup Demo erased years from my face (or so they told me). And, after participating in a “Tour of the Senses,” I was handed a gift of a little bottle of perfume in my fav-pick scent, called Water.

My girlfriends had facials, and, while I waited for them, I snacked on sushi, and engaged in a wine tasting. The evening was rhapsody! We left in a delirium of Scent And Peaceful Relaxation.

It was a study of Marketing Brilliance! I ended up buying their Aveda Plum lip gloss, and a bunch of other products I had no idea I’d needed. I’m also going to call and book another Full-Body Massage. And this time, I won’t be a dim-wit.

Slowing Down

“You need to relax. You have trouble relaxing.” Words from God through spoken through the mouth of a Massage Therapist. So true! I am not relaxed, even when I am relaxing.

I went on a 24-hour Silent Advent Retreat this week with a friend. That’s right. Me. Sans words. (Please stop laughing.) I wasn’t premitted to utter a sound, even when I went to bed and found a spider on my pillow. I quietly shuddered, then flicked it out into the hall. That was huge for me, as I find spiders repulsive and terrifying. Be proud of my courageousness!

The point of the Retreat was to create space for us to engage in the spiritual practice of silence and solitude. It allowed me to hear from God as all the noise in my life quieted down. I payed attention to the voice of my Maker.

I thoroughly enjoyed it all. I sat in a cozy rocking chair in front of a picturesque window, watching the snow gently fall on the evergreens. I devoured two books I’d been wanting to finish, swept clean some attitudes and resentments in my heart, journaled, and did a little Life Mapping, considering what God might be inviting me to do next in my life.

I had one of the most wonderful massages ever, in which I was completely ministered to, body and soul, and told the words above, through a cloud of lavender lotion. It leads me to ponder this week: How can I slow down and learn to relax?

One of the highlights of the retreat for me was watching the sunrise. It was not a spectacular display of colors, and I was a bit disappointed. It was a gradual awakening of the earth with light. Quietly, gently, and subtly. God spoke to me, "That's how I came to earth. Like the start of this day." As I watched and listened, I wrote these words about Immanuel:

God is with us! He, who created the vast universe, and set the sun and moon in the sky, left the perfection of Heaven to come be with us! He came without fanfare; quietly and humbly, unnoticed except by the few who were paying attention; a tiny baby born in a stable who would grow up to be our Redeemer. His coming blanketed the darkness with light, and turned the world upside down.

And now He lives with us because He cherishes us. His constant presence can be as clear and vibrant as a brilliant sunrise, or as gentle as a ripple on a lake. He is our daily guide and constant companion, our strength and comfort, our righter of wrongs, and the peace we feel in our hearts. Rejoice....rejoice! Jesus has entered the world and filled it with His presence!

As my friend and I drove away from the Retreat House, we stopped the car to watch three deer peacefully browsing in the snow, unhurried. Hmmm....the perfect metaphor to conclude our time.

Thanks-Giving

We spent Thanksgiving with in my mother-in-law’s beautiful Connecticut home. Mom is an artist by profession, and her creative juices flow in the kitchen. She is a fabulous, inspired cook. I have no idea when she made all her elaborate preparations. I awoke to the smell of a roasting turkey, and the fridge was filled with delectable dishes.

It was a feast for the eyes as well as the tummy. She set her dining room table with a centerpiece of candles and fresh pears. The appetizers of shrimp cocktail and marinated shredded carrots in a proscuitto wrap perched on her best china. Homemade cranberry sauce nestled in little bowls of real blood-red oranges. Everything was scrumptious! Quite honestly, Mom is the Queen of Cuisine and needs her own show on the Food Network. She really does. She is my Hospitality Goddess.

In the midst of our gorge-festing, we took a couple hours off to go and visit Dad. He has spent the better part of his 60s living in a nursing home. Alzheimers is a thief who has robbed him of memories, intelligence, and the ability to particpate in activies of daily living. It came unannouced and uninvited almost 10 years ago, and stole many wonderful years from him. It turned Dad from an intelligent, interesting, independent gentleman who embraced life into an infant who depends on caregivers for his every need. But it couldn’t steal his spirit. The sweet, kind, gentle essence of who Dad is still remains. I can sense it.

Over the past year, Dad’s health and mental status has rapidly declined. He is forgetting how to eat, and Mom has made the prayerful decision that they won’t feed him by artificial means. At the point when Dad officially stops eating, they will allow his body to gently shut down and die. Mom is a Hospital Chaplain, and she knows what she’s doing. She has had a front seat to many a death.

So we’ve been grieving Dad’s immiment death for a while. And whenever we visit their Connecticut home, there’s a sense of loss. Dad’s presence is missed greatly. His favorite chair where he sat reading his history books remains empty. The stereo that would produce soothing classical music of his choosing is quiet. I miss watching him proudly choose the dinner wine, with his interesting trivia about its grape and vineyard. I valued his thoughtful event-planning for his grandchildren. He filled their trips to visit him with much hoopla. There are holes in our hearts, and we all felt a sense of heaviness over the holiday.

But there were treasures in the darkness. Dad has not shown any recognition of anyone for months on end. So when we entered his nursing home, we expected vacant eyes in his invalid body. It had been almost two years since we last saw him. Super Hubs walked into the room with Little Squirt. Together, they entered Dad’s line of vision and spoke to him. He started, made eye contact with his son and grandson, and his face lit up into a hug smile. And then he laughed!

The recognition lasted for just a moment, but it was a gift. He remembered his son and his grandson. Deep in the recesses of his impaired memory, he knew he loved them.

Super Hubs prayed a blessing over his father, knowing it will be the last time he will see him. And then we left, giving thanks.

A Prayer Of Thanksgiving

Almighty God, we give you thanks
for this life and all its blessings,
for joys great and simple,
for gifts and powers more than we deserve,

for love at the heart of your purpose
and wisdom in all your works,
for light in the world brought once in Christ
and always shining through your Spirit.

Giving thanks to you we pray
for that light to dawn upon us daily
that we may always have grateful hearts,
and a will to love and to serve you
to the end of our days.

Hear our prayer and our praises,
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

AMEN
--The Book of Common Prayer

NYC

I love New York City: The hurry-scurry, ethnic-diversity, culturally-rich, uppity-attitude of it all. It is so very Not Chicago, and I love Chicago with all my heart. New York is different. It is immense and grand with a Roller-Coaster-Ride Feel.

On Wednesday, we took the train from Stamford to Grand Central Station, and walked right into Build-A-Bear at Little Squirt's insistence. He wanted a "new best friend," and promptly made a black teddy which he dressed in Darth Vader gear and named, with great creativity and thought, "Darth Vader." We then walked up 5th Avenue to Rockefeller Center. We watched them put the finishing touches on the great Christmas tree, which will be ceremoniously lit next week. The weather was slightly misty but warm, and we stood for a while, watching the skaters.

We strolled through Times Square and stopped long enough for Butterfly to take a picture with The Naked Cowboy. I have to give the cowboy credit! He has found his shtick and made it work for him. He wears cowboy boots, whitey-tighties and carries a guitar, strategically placed. He charges $1 a picture. He has been on numerous tv shows and once even ran for mayor of New York City, before withdrawing from the race. He was actually quite charming. His monetary success has made me ponder potential job possibilities for myself in Chicago. Hmmm....Housewife Wearing A Bathrobe on Navy Pier?

Our day in New York concluded with a pizza dinner on 44th Street with Super Hub's charming cousin, Krista. Pizza Margherita is my absolute favorite, and tastes especially yummy in The Big Apple. Go figure.

Over The River And Through The Woods...

It was a nightmare-ishly long drive yesterday, but without incident. It was great to have Butterfly back in the car with us. It felt complete. Listening to the two teens argue from the backseat...ahh....that's how it is supposed to be. Good times.

We drove through four states to get to our destination. Little Squirt asked twelve bazillion times: "Are we in Grandma's country yet??" There were crazy scary drivers on the road, reading kindles and shaving whiskers and drifting into our lane. For serious- it was a free-for-all. And we hit insane rush hour traffic in New Jersey. But we finally reached the George Washington bridge; the gateway to years of family memories. Driving across the Hudson and viewing the evening Manhattan skyline was life-giving. I love New York!

We pulled into my mother-in-law's Connecticut driveway a short time later and piled into her home with the subtlety of a nuclear bomb. Little Squirt skated across her hardwood floors: "I LOVE Grandma's house! The floors are so slippery!" And later, gorging on her homemade ziti with meatballs, we unwound.

It is good to be in our Home-Away-From-Home. I have over 20 years of memories of warm, pleasant stays in thie beautiful house in Stamford. And it feels really good to have all three of my children sleeping under my roof again.

CT OR Bust Out The Airborne

The Bad Timing Illness has hit our family. Little Squirt came down with a fever and cough on Saturday night, and I followed suit by Sunday. And today we packed up the mini-van and headed east to spend the holiday with the ‘rents. We’ve decided to share the wealth of our germies with the state of Connecticut. It seems fair. Last time I was there I caught a cold, so we’ll call it even.

I settled my feverish self down into the shotgun seat and slept for the first 2 hours of the trip. I coughed and hacked my way through our dinner at McDonalds, the upside being that I cleared tables in a jiffy and so we got our pick.

Now we are safely ensconced in our little hotel in my daughter’s college town in OH where we will spend the night.
My favorite things about this place:
1.) My daughter brings all her college friends over to swim, and management is fine with that.
2.) They serve complimentary hot drinks, and I am sucking down the orange spice tea at present.
3.) Their killer breakfast.

So tomorrow we will cross another 4 states into Connecticut. I’m hoping for a smooth and healthy journey. And I’m grateful I’ll have my daughter in the car with us!

On Being A Star

I am parenting a Stage Kid, and I have just recently figured that out. The child I am speaking of is Little Squirt.

My older two were not Stage Kids. They each took a few acting classes as youngsters, and were less than enthused. And I dragged them into some church dramas I was cast in. I labeled it: “Mandatory Performing For Jesus.” Neither of them wanted anything to do with that. They hated being up on stage in front of hundreds of people.

Little Squirt, however, was cut out of a different cloth. He longs for the spot light. He sits up close to the television and sings and dances to Sponge Bob and iCarly. He imitates each and every movement he sees, pausing the tv, practicing, rewinding and trying again. He told me he wants his own tv show on Disney, and how could I get him one?

This weekend the vocal team he is on sang for the children’s church for the first time. He simply glowed. With each performance, I saw him stand taller, more confident, and energetic. And during the very last song of the last service, he tried to hijack the microphone. As the vocal team leader addressed the audience before the song, he leaned in toward the mic, tapped it a few times, and blew. From the sound system came a soft, thunder-like acoustic. I tried to catch his eye and motioned him to move back into place. He ignored me. I believe he was encouraged by his feeling of power. So when the music and song began, he moved up a couple of inches and tried to sing directly into the mic he was sharing with two other children. Startled by the sound of his solo voice, he moved quickly back into place and became part of the team again.

But his zest for Stardom was ignited. He loved every second of performing, and wanted me to count out how many days were left before he could be on stage again. A true Stage Kid. I may need to take him to Hollywood.

Maybe A Little Bach Will Help?

My Fantasy Ideal Self has a green thumb. She is also a gifted harpest and can speak fluent French, if I were to continue dreaming.

I had a green thumb when I was a child, cultivated out of a need to nurture. I loved animals and desperately wanted a pet. But my brother was allergic, and even begging my parents to keep a tiny hamster in my bedroom with the door closed at all times did not convince them. My mom was not an animal lover, and I secretly think my brother’s allergies gave her the excuse she needed not to have pets. She insisted on a spotless, dander-free home.

So my longing for a pet to love projected into a love for houseplants. I began to buy them with my allowance, and by age 10, had quite a collection. I had Spider plants, Cacti, Philodendrons, and Ivies of all kinds. I named evey one I had. I would choose a new plant with the same kind of care that people take in picking out a puppy. Then I’d bring the new plant home and research its care. I became a young expert on houseplants of many varieties. I had all their Latin names memorized, and knew how to propagate them. I dreamed about owning a home some day with a green house. And I had serious aspirations about becoming a Botonist, or bulding a plant business.

Eventually, as I became a teen, my passion for plants waned, evolving into a passion for boys, clothes and makeup. My plants died out, and I didn’t give them a second thought when I went to college. Somehow I Iost my green thumb.

As an adult, I have a hard time keeping houseplants alive, mostly because of my cats. I sometimes get wistful for the days of my Green Thumb Past Self, when I carefully tended to the life of a Maidenhair fern and watch it flourish. But that doesn’t seem possible in my current life season. Maybe someday I’ll attempt again or try my hand at gardening. My Fantasy Ideal Self would have a flourishing vegetable and herb garden, and no aversion to earthworms. But for now, I buy a few potted plants every spring, and that’s about as green as I get.

I brought a plant inside this week. It has served me well by decorating my front porch for the past 6 months, so I thought I’d reward it with a warm, cozy retreat for the winter. And, since it is going to spend the cold months bunking with my family, I thought that it needed a name. So I asked Little Squirt what we should call it. He took one look at the plant, frowned and said, “Let’s call it Dead.”

Hmmm. Maybe I should purchase a Prayer plant to live next to it?

Senssssational

A generous friend gave me a gift card to a spa, and I finally decided to spend it this week. I couldn’t have the dog upstaging me in the ways of Pamperdom! I made an appointment to indulge in a full-body massage, or, in Spa-Speak: An Elemental Nature Massage.

I’ve had one other massage in my life only, mostly because I tend to be neurotic. There's something about lying unclothed on a table while a stranger touches me and judges my cellulite that unnerves me. But I decided to let go of my inhibitions and be freed-up to enjoy the experience, while a trained professional worked on the knots in my shoulders.

Still, I had a bit of angst as I walked through the Spa door. I was relieved when the receptionist asked me if I’d like a drink while I waited. “Oh, that’d be great!” I said with a sigh, thinking how a little inebriant would be perfect thing to help me relax. “I’ll take a Bellini!” I announced happily. Already my experience was sounding delightful! There was an awkward pause, and then she answered, “We have cucumber water, Aveda tea, or coffee.” Oh.

Cup of tea in hand, I followed the receptionist down the Massage Wing, where she led me to a quaint little locker room, with the instructions to change into a robe and slippers. Then she scurried away, leaving me to my privacy. I examined the contents of my locker. A thick robe, towel, and slippers. And what was this? A cute, cotton miniskirt with velcro to fasten. I changed into the skirt, robe and slippers. The ginormous robe would have comfortably fit a line-backer in uniform. And the slippers were five sizes too large. Nevertheless, I shuffled out to the private waiting room in my large Spa Getup, and sat gawkily sipping my tea. I listened to the piped-in New Age music and tried to de-stress. Ah yes, it was so soothing to be sitting naked in a strange living room, wearing a bathrobe that would have fit the Octomom right before delivery! I felt as sophisticated as a toddler looks wearing her mom’s dress-up clothes.

Sheena (as in Sheena, Queen of the Jungle) was to be my masseuse. I imagined her large and gruff, with big hands that enabled her to swing from tree to tree. But it was an exotic-looking brunette who greeted me professionally, and led me to a candle-lit room. She invited me to sit on a chair and have a foot soak while she brought me on a “journey of the senses.” I closed my eyes and chose from a trio of soothing fragrances. Eucalyptus. Then she asked me quietly, “Do you have any problem areas?” I sighed. This was wonderful! A bonus counseling session accompanying the footsoak! This must be what the literature meant by it being "wholistic."
“I am struggling to understand my teenager,” I asserted.
“I meant areas of tension in your body,” she said quickly. Oh. I paused awkwardly, recognizing that every muscle in my body was now rigid with embarassment.

Drying off my feet, she instructed me to take off my robe while she left the room, and then lay on the bed. “What about the skirt?” I asked. “Do I take that off as well?”
“Skirt?” she looked puzzled.
I lifted my robe to show her the cute cotton mini.
“That would be a facial towel,” she said without emotion, and left the room. Oh.

I lay on the bed, head down in the padded circular head-ring, trying to get comfortable. There must be a secret to this, I thought. How do I possibly relax when I am laying in an odd position and looking like an idiot?? It shouldn’t be this hard! I worried that I'd leave the massage experience more stressed than when I came in!

Sheena entered the room, rearranged my sheets, and began. Ahhh.....I let go. All sense of vulnerability and discomfit disappeared under her magic hands. She was good! I completely melted into the table as I felt every bit of tension loosen through her technique. My neurotic, anxious self viritually oozed into tranquility. I completely relaxed.

Bliss. I highly recommend a good massage every now and then. It was better than wonderful. And that, my friends, is Soul Care.

Rudy

I have odd pets. They say that animals take on the personality of their owners. If that’s true......hmmm.....

I took the Hairy Dachshund in for a Spa Day. His long hair was tangled and unruly because he refuses to brush it, and therefore was dragging in leaves and twigs from the backyard. They were getting all over my floors and making me insane. So I took him in for a trim and a pedi, which was a feat in itself, mostly because the dog won't leave my house except to potty. He’s the only canine I know who deplores walks. When he saw me get out his leash, he hid under the bed. And trying to get him into the car was nearly impossible. I pushed him in; he hopped out; I pushed him in; he hopped out. What finally worked was keeping a viselike grip on his scruff while quckly slamming the door with my other hand. He then spent the entire car ride howling, trying to climb on my lap, and piddling on the seat.

By the time we got to the Spa, I was in need of a spa. And was the dog grateful that I was treating him to a trim and a pedi? Absolutely not. While I signed him in, he tried to escape out the door. When the groomer came to collect him, he showed her his backside and refused to make eye contact.

But it was well worth all the fuss. In a couple of hours, my dog was transfomed from a long-haired dachshund to a short-haired one with an attitude. He pranced back into our home and paraded his new ‘do in front of the cats. I think they’re jealous.

Chasing Pumpkins

I posted about chasing lions yesterday, but I actually spent the day chasing pumpkins. The pumpkin is my “lion,” so to speak, because I’m in big trouble with Little Squirt if I don’t find one and soon!

My son had a pumpkin; a great big pumpkin, which he proudly picked out and polished several weeks ago, and made elaborate plans to decorate. We parked it in front of the fireplace to await it’s primping. And then I had company for dinner a few nights later, and lit a fire in the fireplace. I was so excited about the homey, autumn atmosphere I’d created that I forgot to move Little Squirt’s pumpkin away from the heat. So there it sat, roasting in the heat of the flames, it’s backside turning to pudding.

So Little Squirt was sad and angry and it wasn’t a proud parenting moment for me. But I promised to buy him a new pumpkin, and all was forgiven. And yesterday, it suddenly dawned on me that Halloween was coming up quickly, and we had better get that pumpkin. Super Hubs and I went shopping yesterday, and, to our dismay, this is what we discovered: Pumpkins are gone from the stores. They sold out. We raced from one side of town to the other and could not find a pumpkin anywhere in town! It was beyond fwustwating.

Today I am heading out to a farm, and will have to traipse through the soggy, wet fields in the rain to find a pumpkin for Little Squirt. Otherwise, there’s gonna be big, big trouble. I can feel it.

Chasing Lions

Written for the teen ministry at Willow Creek McHenry County Church.

I’m not gonna lie; I’m not the most courageous person on the planet. I dread confrontation. I cower from spiders. I sleep with a fireplace poker under my bed. And I’ve never considered fighting a lion in a pit on a snowy day. (I’d at least wait until summer. And then find a hunter with a gun.)

Benaiah was a warrior in the Old Testament who chased a lion into a pit of snow, and then fought and killed him. Because of his bravery, King David honored him by putting him in charge of the bodyguard.

I’m probably never going to have to fight a real lion. The closest thing I’ll ever come to that, most likely, is giving my cranky cat a bath. But reading about Benaiah’s story makes me ponder. Hmmm. What kind of “lions” do I face in my 21st Century American Life?

One “lion” came in the form of a relationship a few years back. I felt God drawing me to befriend a person that others said I shouldn’t. There were rumors circulating about her that were negative, and I was worried that they were true. Lots of people started distancing themselves from me once I began hanging out with her, which made me fear rejection from them. But I trusted God and kept moving toward this new friend. And I am so glad I took that risk, because so many blessings came out of my friendship with her. She introduced me to some incredible new relationships and experiences that benefited both me and my family. And through our friendship, she felt God’s love for her through me.

Moving toward that new friend felt to me like facing a lion in a pit, but it was also an opportunity; an opportunity to trust God, face some fears, and take a risk. And I have never regretted it. There have been other “lions” in my life that I am glad I did not run from.
They have come in the form of adopting babies from foreign countries, confronting difficult people, auditioning for dramatic roles, starting new jobs and facing financial decisions. Everytime I prayerfully took a risk and faced that “lion,” God worked in my life. And even if the end result wasn’t what I would have chosen, God used it for good.

There are still a few “lions” looming in my vision that I haven’t yet been able to face. But armed with faith in God and the love of supportive people in my life, I hope to jump into those “pits” someday soon.

How about you? Prayerfully consider if there is a challenge in your life God might be asking you to confront. Consider being a “Lion Chaser.” And expect God to work in your life!

The Little Bird Flies Home

We drove out to OH this weekend to see Butterly. I have missed not seeing my girl in two months! I could not wait.

The trip from our home in IL to her college in OH can take 5 peaceful hours or 6 stressful hours, depending on the day of the week and the time of the day and the phase of the moon. This time it was the latter. We hit tons of congestion through Chicago, a bottleneck in Gary, and then came upon myriads of Notre Dame peeps near South Bend. We stopped at a rest area for lunch, and it was jammed with Domers on their way to a game. Being in a place with a bunch of Notre Dame alums at the same time tends to make me cranky. And here’s why: I went to Illinois Wesleyan University, which is a fine school and was a wonderful experience for me. But during my Senior year, my brother began going to Notre Dame, which was my father’s favorite college ever. He was a bit obsessed with it. So then it was all Notre Dame attire and Notre Dame memorabilia all over their house, and Illinois Wesleyan Who?? And I thought I was done with all of that after my bro graduated. But then I happened, by chance, to marry a Notre Dame alum, who came from a Notre Dame family. And, during the early years of our courtship, we hung out with all Super Hubs’ Notre Dame friends. So again it was Notre Dame Pride all the time everywhere I turned, and Illinois Wesleyan who??

Seeing all the rah rah Notre Dame fans crowding the rest area and and then jamming the freeway made me irritated and slowed down our journey. But it was all worth it when I finally got to hug my baby girl once again! We hung out in her dorm room and met her awesome boyfriend, then did a little shopping. Later, we took the two of them out for dinner, along with her roommate. And, over wings and Buffalo fries, they spontaneously decided to come back to IL with us the following day. They had three days left of Fall break.

So it’s been great having Butterly and her two college friends fill our home for the past few days! I’ve enjoyed cooking for them and hearing their boisterous banter. And it has been so comforting to have all three of my children sleeping under our roof for the first time in a few months. It makes my world feel right again.

Plastics And Banana Peels

Sometimes God’s kindness shows up in the most unique of forms. I’ve been engaging in a daily practice of reviewing my day, and noticing where I felt loved. For what moment am I the most grateful?

The answer of the other day showed crystal clear in the form of the Recyling Dude. And it was all because of Columbus. Columbus Day confused me. I thought that since it was a federal holiday, the Garbage and Recycling Collectors would be a day late. So I was surprised when I heard a large truck barreling down the street. I ran down the driveway, and saw the Recycling Dude emptying my next door neighbors’ cans into his truck. He waved a greeting to me, as I raced up to the garage to wheel down my recycling bin.

Then, wondering if the Garbage Collector would be arriving soon as well, I raced back into the house to empty my wastebaskets. I then ran back outside to see the Recycling Dude wheeling my bin all the way up my driveway and into my garage. “Thanks for the extra service!” I exclaimed. “No problem,” he said, smiling. “But I think they already collected the garbage on the street.” He paused. “But I’ll throw it into my truck if you’d like!”

I started. “You can put my garbage in your recyling truck??” I exclaimed. He winked. “I’ll do it if you keep it our little secret. It’ll save you from having to wait another week.” And with that, he grabbed my garbage can, tossed the trash into his truck, and then wheeled it back into my garage.

“You are The Man!” I yelled happily. “And you are The Woman!” he said, and hopped onto his truck and roared away.

A Recycling Dude who gives garage-side service and takes my garbage to boot.....Go him!! A gift of love, in the most unlikely of forms.

I promise I will keep my end of our bargain, and not tell anyone this little secret. It’s the least I can do.

Failed

I took Rock Star to see his Orthopedist because of an issue he was having with his knee. Little Squirt accompanied us, carrying his portable art case which tags along on most outings. While we were waiting, he pulled out some paper and crayons, and asked to play “school” with me.

When the doctor entered the room, I told Little Squirt that’d I couldn’t play with him anymore. To which he responded with a pitiful look and a hurt, “It wasn’t a game, Mom.” And then, while the orthopedist reviewed the xrays, my son handed me a paper on which he’d written an “F.” Apparently I’d failed motherhood. Oy! I've never failed anything in my life!! And to add insult to injury, he then told me, dramatically, “If the doctor would take an xray of my heart right now, he’d see that it has broken into a million pieces.”

Brain Fog Alert

So far the fish oil that my friend recommended I take is working out nicely. I feel loser, more fluid, and I believe I swim better. But I needed to stop taking the supplement for mental well-being because it gave me hives. And that is not good, because I need to take something for my brain.

I fear I am going insane. Or getting dementia. I keep losing things. Like my phone, for one. I lose it constantly. And a leader of my team at church gave me a CD, and between the church building and my car, I somehow lost it. I looked all over the parking lot and all over my vehicle, and I simply couldn’t find it for three days. And then it mysteriously appeared on the floor of my car. And this was after I had already sent an embarassing email to the entire team, admitting that I’d lost the CD ten minutes after it’d been handed to me, and perhaps next time they should pin it to my shirt, just like a kindergartener, and could someone please be on the look-out for the CD or make me another copy? And then I found it, and had to send another mortifying email admitting that it was in the very spot where everyone had told me to look in the first place.

And now I’ve lost my binder. It was a big pink binder with a dozen years worth of paperwork in it for church ministry, along with some scandalous documents of a highly personal nature. (Actually there are no scandalous documents in it, but I thought if I said that, I’d trick the scandal-loving peeps into searching for it.) So I had my binder in the house one day in its usual place, and now it’s gone. Just gone. Gone along with my very last brain cell, which dried up last Thursday, I believe. I’m heartsick.

And besides generally misplacing things, I am riding a roller-coaster of moods, and I keep forgetting the names of movies. And I’ve been sending emails to myself instead of to others. I know what you’re thinking; I’ve always been that way. Diagnosis: Blond. But last week I got lost going to my friends’ house. I wound up in the wrong neighborhood, and part of the reason was that I was listening to an old Spice Girls CD and doing a little car dancin' and not being mindful of the street signs. But still. Getting lost going to a place where I’ve been a million times is weird. Even for me.

A friend of mine said that the years between 40 and 50 are hormonally fluctuating, and women can feel different from day to day. And that Brain Fog is very normal at times, which is also an outcome of the insomnia I’ve been battling. And that women throughout history have navigated perimenopause without alot of drama. I surely hope that is true. I don’t want to end up greasy-haired and holed up in my neighbors’ bushes, like a celebrity tabloid story.

So, my blogger friends, if you have any suggestions for any kind of supplements designed to make my dull brain sharper, I am open to suggestions and willing to try. If I can find my way to the vitamin store again, that is.

"Imagination At Work"

My clothes dryer began misbehaving on Sunday. The heating element failed, and it took 8 hours to properly dry a load of clothes. Super Hubs got out his “Fix-It Yourself Manual” and wondered and pondered and flipped pages. Then he cleaned out the vent and declared the dryer "cured." The dryer obediently heated up for about 30 minutes, then went back to it’s former misbehaving status. So Super Hubs called and made an appointment for a GE Service Person to come and take a look.

Requesting and receving an audience with a GE Service Person is like trying to meet with The Duke of Gloucester: The appointments are golden. And, in the GE Royal Pecking Order, I, The Consumer, sit at the very bottom of the feeding pond. I need to take whatever appointment I can get and be grateful. So the service call was to be today, any time between 8am and 5pm. The company would not be any more specific than that, because they assumed I had nothing better to do than stay at my house and wait. (I actually didn’t have anything better to do. The only thing on my agenda was to empty the dishwasher, which I could very well do while waiting. But that’s hardly the point.)

While I was waiting, I plopped a load of wet clothes into the dryer, and noticed, with confusion, that the dryer was heating properly again. I texted Super Hubs to ask if I should cancel the service call. But he reminded me that the dryer was temperamental at best, with the heating element working only intermittently. So I waited some more, and then I got an automated message that the GE Service Person was about to grace my home with his presence, and to please lock up my dog promptly (which I deferred to do, just in case the GE Service Person had a second job as a Serial Killer.)

The GE Service Person showed up at noon in large, muddy work boots, glanced at my dryer, and told me curtly that if the dryer was currently working, there was nothng to be fixed. He did an about-face, and marched out the door, leaving, in his wake, a trail of dirty footprints on my white carpet.

My appliances consistently conspire to make me look like an idiot. I swear they have meetings about this when I go to sleep at night. So I am guessing that tomorrow my dryer’s heat will again fail. Then I’ll have to call the GE Company and schedule another appointment, and go through this same little ritual again. (Big sigh.) It’s going to be a long week.

Sneezles and Wheazles

Butterfly’s been living at her college for over a month now, and I miss her like crazy. It helps that we communicate almost every day, through facebook or skype or text messaging. And it encourages me to I know she has made some good friends and is really happy. She’s dating a wonderful guy, loves her classes, and is active in Lacrosse. It’s all good.

However, this week she was sick for the first time. I fielded a bunch of phone calls from her yesterday. She was feverish and achy, and wanting to come home. It took everything in me not to jump into the car and make the 5 hour drive to her campus with a pot of homemade chicken soup in the cooler. I wanted to plump up her pillows, make her some tea, and tuck her into bed.

Today, on the recommendation of her Lacrosse coach, Butterfly went to an ER with a fellow athlete who has also been sick. They had chest xrays and blood work, and the diagnosis came back as “viral.” They were ordered to bedrest for the weekend. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was being cared for. And she has some good people in her life who will look out for her.

Several friends have told me, difficult as it is, this is an important adult step for my daughter. She had to navigate the medical field, figure out the paperwork, and, expecially, know she can be ill and survive without her mommy caring for her. But it is excrutiating for me. When my child is sick, she becomes 3 years old again in my mind. She probably always will.

Amino Acids And Omega-3

I went to the Vitamin Store this week, with a list of products that my friend advised me to take. I was a bit wary. Vitamin stores tend to intimidate me, for the same reason that Health Food Stores do. First of all, they make me feel guilty for not taking all the brews and concoctions they claim can protect me from disease and increase my lifespan. So when I pass labeled bottles with those promises, I begin obsessing that I’m going to walk back to my car to find the Grim Reaper sitting in the driver’s seat.

I also get befuddled by all the products they offer, most of which have names I’ve never heard of. Like Horny Goat Weed. There was a whole shelf full of that. For serious. I have no idea of the who, what or when, or if you smoke it. All I know is that it was a for-really-real product which my macbook has refused to let me google because of the filter I have on it because of my teenagers. So I’m still perplexed.

I finally found the products my friend recommended. They are supposed to make me stronger, smarter, restore my balance, cure insomnia, soothe anxiety, and help me to achieve my two key goals and possibly make a few more. I surely hope so. They cost me an arm and a leg. So, we’ll see.

Hello, Bottle Of Dreams And Aspirations!

I am Goal-less. Or, to be Politically-Correct, “Goal-challenged.” Or “Goldenly Un-Goal-Oriented,” if you are the Glass Half-Full Sort. I actually didn’t realize this until the other morning when we had a friend over for breakfast. She had come to pick Super Hubs’ brain about getting her Graduate Degree. My friend is almost twenty years younger than I, and has her whole sunny life ahead of her, filled with dreams, ambition, and wrinkle-free skin so far. It’s just all Happiness in her corner.

As I was hearing her process her next five years, and her next decade, I came to the grim conclusion that I have absolutely no aspirations. None. Is that bad? I have goals and aspirations for my children, and goals and aspirations for my husband, and I even came up with one for my cat: ”Hit the litter box when you pee, buddy. Or I’m cutting back on the catnip.”

To be fair, however, I do have two short-term goals. My Daily Goal is to make it to dinner without needing a nap. And my PMSing Goal is to get through the week without slapping a stranger. Currently I feel those are all that I need.

I have a friend who is my personal Health-Food Pharmacologist. She’s the smartest Health-Food person I know. And she is prescribing some frog oil and cat’s patella and INS or some such for me. And I’m hoping they’ll help me with my two current goals, and, if I’m lucky, will clear out the cobwebs in my brain and help me to reach a little farther. Maybe dream into my One-Year Future Self. Or my Five-Year Future Self. Who knows? I’ll keep you posted.

A Brief Story

We had a family over for dinner whom we really like and want to get to know better. Their son is Little Squirt’s homie, and our lives overlap through school and church. It was a beautiful, balmy September evening, and we adults enjoyed sitting on our back deck while our sons and their tiny daughter ran around playing Super Heroes.

Later that night, after our friends had gone home, we got Little Squirt ready for bed. “That’s my friend’s underwear. He left it here." He pointed to crumpled Power Rangers briefs in a corner. Huh??? I just tried to roll with it. “What’s up with your homie’s undies?” But trying to get a straight answer out of Little Squirt is like trying to make sense out of Trigonometry. You simply cannot.

So I sent a text to the parents, telling them I had found their son’s underwear, in case they noticed it was missing from his body and were concerned, and I didn’t know the story, but I’d wash the briefs and return them, and all was well and it was no problem because people frequently leave their underwear at my home. No biggie. I wanted to be super casual and breezy about it all.

I saw the parents the next day at church, and we had a conversation about the skivvies. And they, too, found History Fact-Checking a bit nonsensical with their First Grader, because First Graders tell you nothing that makes any logical sense. (Unless they are First Grade Girls, and then they tell you everything in complete detail 24 hours a day until you want to plug up your ears and yell, “Please stop talking!!” I know this because I proudly parent both genders.)

But, when we put our collective four adult heads together to puzzle out why their son’s drawers were found in Little Squirt’s bedroom, we came to this conclusion: They had been playing Super Heroes. And Little Squirt had loaned his friend a Spiderman suit. And Spiderman was never seen with panty lines.

I'll Take My Coffee With Cream And Boundaries

Apparently I have an ability to move people. And by “move” I mean “get them to go.”

Super Hubs and I went to breakfast this morning at our favorite Greek greasy spoon. It’s a little diner with all kinds of artery-revolting deliciousness. They let us seat ourselves, charge us next to nothing, and the food is served within 3 minutes. What could be better? I truly believe everyone needs a favorite little hole-in-the-wall. They are one of life’s pure pleasures.

We had just sat down and were given our menus when I saw an old friend walk in. She was a fellow comrade from my homeschool days, but I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Over the years, we’d gone to a conference or two together, shared curriculum, and occasionally socialized. I loved that she was a Free-Spirited Hippie. If she’d been a generation older, I’m certain she would have been Barefooted, Beaded and Beflowered.

She walked into the diner alone, and sat down at the booth behind us. I happily greeted her, and asked if she wanted to join our table. She shook her head. She was less than friendly, and dismissed me by reading her newpaper. In retrospect, I should have taken her standoffish attitude as a hint that she wanted to be alone. But that’s not who I am. I see “alone” and I want to fix “lonely.” I see pain and I want to make it painless. I am a nurturer by nature, often times to an unhealthy degree. I saw something in her face that said she wasn’t in a good place. So I asked, “Are you doing okay?” With that simple question, she got up from the table, burst into tears and ran out of the diner door.

The other diner patrons followed her with their eyes, then looked back at me as if I was Queen of the Drama Creating. I was stunned. My internal voice mocked me: “Way to go, Kel!” Super Hubs shook his head at me, and ordered an omelette.

I don‘t know what was wrong with my old friend, and I probably never will. I am sad for her, and wish her well. If I still had her phone number, I would give her a call. I feel just awful. It’s a talent of mine. (Big sigh.)

Cloudy With A Chance Of Gnocchi

I’ve had some Fairly Odd Food Encounters lately.

A friend and I went on a Spontaneous Adventure over the weekend. After seeing a movie and browsing through a flea market, we decided to pick up some food to cook back at my house. At the mention of the word, “Gnocchi,” an elderly lady at the store approached us and proceeded to grill my friend. She was a self-appointed Gnocchi Nazi with very strong opinions on the topic. She interrogated us on our cooking technique, types of potatoes and frequencies with which we cooked the pasta.Then she waved her dirty fingernails at us, gave a merry cackle and diappeared around the bend. It was all so very odd, and gave me Fairy Tale Wicked Witch chills.

Then today, I had a Confused Checkout Clerk, who kept trying to give me things I didn’t pay for. I watched her bag up some red and yellow peppers, and she was puzzled when I told her they weren’t mine. Then, as I loaded my groceries into my car, I found a bag in my cart with a vinyl striped shower curtain and a box of raisins. Again, not mine. So very weird.

I’m on a run with these Fairly Odd Food Encounters. (And one shower curtain.) I’ll let you know what happens next.

Shin Guards And Clover

Are you familiar with those times when it seems as if one more Thing Gone Wrong will throw you over the edge? The final Thing Gone Wrong for me yesterday was shin guards. They were missing from Little Squirt’s legs. We were already late for soccer practice, and he was supposed to have been ready. I figured it would take Two Boy Brains to get Little Squirt prepared for soccer practice while I finished cleaning up, which is why I asked Rock Star to partner with him. Their mission, I thought, was simple: “Get Little Squirt Soccer-Ready.” But even with Two Boy Brains burning, Little Squirt wasn’t ready for soccer practice. Collectively, the brothers had forgotten about shin guards.

It was the last straw on the back of a very fragile camel. I broke. I had had a week of being pushed to the limit emotionally and physically. But this camel still needed to get her son to soccer practice. So off we went, and then I sat on the grass, feeling completely deflated, and watched him practice drills.

My heart felt unbearably heavy. Emotions had surfaced for me earlier in the day, and I was feeling wounded and confused in some areas and relationships in my life. I was questioning things that I had thought were solid. And lots of losses loomed before me like the headlights of an inbound train. I was drained. Spent. Empty.

And then a little girl approached me. She was the sister of a soccer player, and she was only about three years old. She asked me if she could sit on my lap. I said Yes. She snuggled down, and we talked about Disney Princesses. And then she picked a handful of flowers and gave them to me.

Later that evening, as I placed the bouquet of clover into a cup of water, I recognized that Love had shown up in the form of a little girl and warmed my heart, just when my heart needed warming. Thanks, God.

A Day Of Triple Sighs

Yesterday was the first time in 18 years of Motherhood that I had all of my children in school all day at once! I’d been anticipating this day for months, dare I say years?? What would I do with all this free time? Seven whole hours to share with just Me By Myself! The pages of the day were beautifully blank, and just waiting for me to fill with bounty! What amazing things I could accomplish!

I thought, perhaps, I could clean and reorganize my entire house. Then I’d invite Martha Stewart over to gawk and envy, and perhaps take notes and pictures. Or maybe, without any Kid Interruptions, I could write half that book I'd been imagining for years. I’d madly type on my laptop as quickly as ideas flowed through my brain. With seven whole hours of straight writing, I could finish the novel by Tuesday, and would be well on my way to finding a publisher by Wednesday. Or possibly I’d get a head-start on my cooking; freezing meals for an entire month. Or I’d do all my Christmas shopping in one stop, long before the holiday rush. Who knew?? An entire day loomed before me, and I did not think my goals too lofty. But, frustratingly, all did not go as I’d hoped.

By 9am a school nurse called to tell me that my teenage son was feeling poorly with an upset stomach. So I picked him up and settled him into bed. He napped for one hour, felt better, and then proceeded to follow me around the house for the rest of the day, asking what he could eat. (First big sigh.)

Then my eldest child called from her out-of-state college to announce that she was about to “declare her major” to the Administration. And I took issues with her particular major choice, finding it (for lack of a better word) ludicrious. So I begged her, deplored her to wait and just take her time to consider all possibilities. Then she got angry and reminded me that it was her life and her dream and her future. And I agreed with all that, but reminded her of the issue of practicality. It is wise to consider the job market, and I learned this the hard way. When I was her age, my dream was to become a Princess, and I really wanted to major in Princess-ology in college. But although it was the prosperous Eighties, there were few job openings in the area of Royalty, oddly enough. So I wisely switched my major to nursing, and, by graduation, had landed an excellent job at a prestigious hospital. So I told this all to my daughter, and she promptly hung up the phone on me. (Second big sigh.)

And then my youngest came home from school copping an attitude. He, King of the Firsrt Grade Lunch Table, with his school choices of mini-corn dogs or chicken wrap, turned up his nose at the snack options I offered him. Then he was too cool to tell me all about his day. Or snuggle on my lap. Or listen to me read “Ginger Pye.” (Third big sigh.)

So, later that evening, when I got a text from some friends inviting me to join them for dinner at Portillos, I heard the Siren Calls of the Italian beef and cheese fries. I left Super Hubs with a pot of sloppy joes, and headed out for some Shameless Emotional Gorge-Festing over Girl Talk. It was critical.

Firsts

Give him the title “First Grader” and he cops an attitude! Little Squirt believes he’s All That with his GI Joe back pack and his big first grade open-and-close desk. He was too cool to allow me to take many pictures on his first day of First Grade, and didn’t even look back when he walked from my car ino the school building in the rain. He adores his cute young teacher and proudly showed her his missing teeth. He cannot wait for his first full day tomorrow, when he will get to purchase lunch at school and chocolate milk. (Let me repeat myself in case you went all ADD on me.) CHOCOLATE MILK! That is a rare treat for Little Squirt and he is beside himself with excitement!

Rock Star began his Sophomore year with little fanfare. He refused to allow me to take pics to mark the milestone, so you’ll just have use your imagination. (Bullhead jeans, white Hollister t, and a cloud of Axe body spray.) He hasn’t told me much about his classes, but I’ve heard about all the Lunch Drama. (Who sat with whom, who refused to sit with whom, who spit milk through their nose, etc. The crucial stuff of High School.)

And Butterfly. Oh my. She is stretching her wings and getting ready to fly off to college this weekend. I am keeping myself from spiraling into desolation by staying in Task-Mode. We’ve bought everything on her “What To Bring To College’” checklist, and I can no longer see my diningroom table. It is piled with dorm ware. I’ve relished the ordinary moments of hanging with her this week. We’ve seen a movie, had a few meals out, and just co-existed. I am painfully aware of the impending big hole in our home and my heart next week when she is living two states away.

Oohh firsts!!

thirtysomething

thirtysomething was just released on DVD! This thrills my heart and will be more effective than a sunlamp in getting me through the dreary winter months. I am beyond elated!

thirtysomething was my favorite show in the 4-year 87-91 span that it aired. I was young; in my early twenties. In those four years, my life morphed from being single to marriage to new motherhood. And I looked to those characters as being role models. It was like a fascinating glimpse into my future. I viewed The Thirties as older, wiser and more sophisticated, and I watched with fascination as the characters plowed through terrritory I would soon be camping in.

Critics of the show panned it for having characters that were whiny and self-indulgent. But I thought it was authentic. We marrieds understand that real couples sometimes argue about ridicuous, insignificant things. One the worst fights that Super Hubs and I ever had involved dry spaghetti and the garbage disposal. I’ll say no more.

I saw the writers deal responsibly with big issues like infidelity, infertility and cancer, but they also kept it all real and covered day-to-day life. The characters stressed about finances, parenting, and mother-in-laws. I liked the friendships, the candor, the real-life scenerios. And they had great clothes!

So if anyone is making out their Christmas list and a’wonderin’ what to get me, I’ll make it easy for you. thirtysomething.

An Ounce Of Mother-Wit Is Worth More Than An Ounce Of School-Wit

I have spent the past week getting my boys ready for school. I have gone through their closets and drawers paring down, systemetizing, organizing, and sorting through. I’ve gotten their outfits ready for school next week. Then I took them on a shopping excursion to buy some new shoes and school supplies. After a total of 10 hours of SoloWomanPower: They.Are.Ready.

The thing is....they could care less! While I feel greatly relieved that their bedrooms willl begin the school year clean and orderly, neither of them has any concern whatsoever whether or not their clothes fit or match or if they have enough #2 pencils in cute little plastic boxes. How un-fun is that?? I don’t get boys! Not at all.

My girl is way more school-fun. She’ll have every outfit ready with it’s precisely coordinated scarf or bauble. She’ll carefully choose each folder color according to the “feeling” that particular class evokes. (Black for math because it is akin to death.) She relishes getting ready for each school year, seeing it as a Opportunity. Opportunity to meet new boys and potentially be voted “Best Dressed.” She has been zealously planning the decor of her college dorm room since middleschool.

The boys are different. Little Squirt’s only concern is lunch. That A.) He’ll get to buy it each day, and B.) It’ll always be pizza.

Rock Star feels no enthusiasm for beginning his Sophomore year whatsoever. He truly would rather have the summer last indefinitely. We took the kids out for dinner last night. We discussed our expectations and hopes and optimism for the year ahead. We asked each child what they most looked forward to this school year. Rock Star’s answer:
“The last day before summer break.”

It Takes A Village

I was sitting in a hotel room with my husband in the middle of Lima, Peru, on August 27, 1991. We were playing cards on the queen-sized bed with it’s brownish quilt. We had been in the country for 1 week. A sibling group we’d flown over to adopt had fallen through. The 3 yo girl and her infant brother had lived with us for 72 hours, and then, for reasons out of our control, were sent back to their birth mother. The whole thing felt surreal. We were young twenty-somethings, visiting a third world country, and had just lost two children we’d begun to bond with and had hoped would become ours. I felt like we were starring in a movie on Lifetime.

Feeling discouraged and shell-shocked and alone, we had spent the remainder of the week doing a little sight-seeing, our spirits lifted only by the community of some other Americans, and the promises of our atttorney to find us another baby “really soon.”

As I shuffled the deck of cards, there was a knock on our hotel room door. I answered it and was surprised to see our attorney standing there, holding a little bundle in her arms. I gasped as I realized the bundle was a tiny sleeping infant with curly black hair, swaddled in an orange blanket. “Boy or girl?” I asked. “Girl.” my attorney whispered. And then she placed the sleeping baby in my arms with the words, “This baby was born for you.”

Flash forward 18 years, two sons, and a whole lot of wrinkles later. That little “sleeping baby girl” will be leaving for college next week. And it’s taken a village to raise her. I don’t mean that negatively. She has been a joy and a delight, and I love her with everything that I am. Frankly, I’m not certain I will survive the transition to college without a wise therapist to guide me along! Butterfly brings a great amount of fun and laughter and positive energy to the family. I will miss her like crazy!

But there were times, particularly during the adolescent years, when Super Hubs and I were not key voices in her life. In fact, we were The Voices She Was Least Likely To Listen To, much like the adult voiceovers on Charlie Brown. “Wah wah wah wah wah wah.”

I am beyond grateful to “The Village” that has helped us raise this child; the godly women that have come alongside my daughter. They have consisted of church staff and small group leaders, relatives, teachers, neighbors, and close friends of mine. They have crossed paths with my daughter at Divinely-appointed times to offer prayer, counsel, encouragement, truth, guidance, or perhaps a gentle reprimand. For those moments or days or weeks when our parental exhortation fell on deaf ears, they surrounded her. Like a village.

I hosted a Prayer Shower for Butterfly on Monday night. I wanted to do something to honor her and send her off onto the next leg of the journey before she leaves for college. I invited some of those key “Village” women. There wasn’t enough room around my dining room table for the entire “Village,” so Butterfly chose some particular women that have been instrumental in her life as of late.

We shared a meal, and then spent time blessing her. But I was the one who was blessed beyond measure! Truly. As any mother knows, you love those that love your kids. I heard the voices of beloved women that have consistently spoken beauty into her life. They showed up to pray. One even sang an incredible song. They cared for her.

They are my angels. I will always be grateful. May they, too, be blessed beyond measure.

Would You Like A Frosty With That?

I envy Little Squirt’s personality. He dives into everything with gusto. Life is to be enjoyed! He’s always fully confident and courageous, thank you, God, and may he always be that way. He got his letter from school last week telling him who his new teacher will be. He has no angst over meeting his teacher or meeting new classmates or doing first grade work. He cannot wait for the adventure! He believes it will all be awesome, and for him it will.

We were having lunch together the other day, and I was telling him how much I will miss when school starts. Our conversation went someting like this:
Me: (facetiously) “How about you stay with me this year and I’ll homeschool you?”
LS: “Mommm......then I won’t get to eat lunch at school. And they have the best pizza ever!!”
Me: “Well, what will I do with myself all day long with you gone?”
LS: “You could get a job.”
Me: “And where do you think I should work?”
Pregnant pause.
LS: (said with great excitement) “You could work at Wendy’s!”

He is so very right. Didn’t the mantra goes something like, “You only have to be friendly to work at Wendy’s"? I can do that! I can be friendly.

Kiddieland

I begin grieving the end of summer at the start of August. The month always flies by so quickly. It’s crazy! Super Hubs and I jam-pack into August all the outings we intended to do all summer but were lax, for one reason or another.

We took Little Squirt to Kiddieland a few days ago. Kiddieland is Chicago-area’s oldest amusement park, having opened in 1929. It’s geared to youngsters belonging to the 10 and under crowd. I have a very faint memory of attending a grade school friend’s birthday party at this very place. Every child growing up in Chicagoland ought to visit Kiddieland once. It’s a classic.

We arrived to find a ginormous line wrapped around the parking lot. The park, sadly, is closing down for good at the end of the month due to a family feud and some hot mess. It must have been the reason that every child in the state of IL plus all of their cousins were there with us. It was insanely crowded! But my child would not be thwarted. Long lines or no, he dragged us around in the hot sun to every attraction possible. We sampled bumper cars and roller coasters, ferris wheels and log rides.

Amusement parks bring out Little Squirt at his very best. He was rocking the true Carnival Ride Spirit with his boundless energy, indomitable enthusiasm and positive mental attitude. He should seriously consider a career as a carnie.

I, however, came to the realization that I am too old for amusement parks. The heat, the long lines, empty ketchup packet holders and subsequent naked hot dogs, did not bring out my true Carnival Ride Spirit. It brought out my inner Crankmeister. At one point, while Little Squirt was cruising on a Mars mobile, I sought out a park bench to rest my weary back. I shared the bench comfortably with another woman at the other end. But then a third woman inched her way between us into a teeny space where no adult human backside should ever have gone. Subsequently, she booted my booty clear off the bench. Really now?!!

But at the end of the day, it was worth every miserable moment. Little Squirt had the time of his life, and memories were created. His joy was contagious. We shared cotton candy on the car ride home and it was sensational, as cotton candy can only be.

I'd Like A Little Whine With My Dinner, Please

I’ve spent a lot of time on the beach this week. Little Squirt is taking swimming lessons at the lake in our town, and after the classes he wants to free-play in the water for a while. I’ve sat in the sun sheathed in #30 sunblock, a book on my lap. The book is really only a prop. I’m too distracted by the adorable little toddlers playing in the sand. When Little Squirt is done with his lesson, he splashes out to the dock, where he spends the next 2 hours climbing on and jumping off. So then I keep my eyes fixated on him and all his play gear. So far this summer, he’s lost 4 pairs of goggles, two plastic shovels and a dophin mask. I am not exaggerating.

Sitting on the beach, I’ve had lots and lots of time to think. Time to contemplate. Review my life. Feel a little content. Feel a little frustrated. Consider the future. Get anxious. Butterfly’s entrance to college is in 3 weeks, and my boys will be in school full time. I’ll be home alone all day for the first time.....ever! What will I do? Continue to pour myself into the church volunteer work that I’ve done for many years? Get a fun and mindless part-time job that allows me to be home when the boys are home? Rekindle my nursing career and dive into learning something new and exciting? So many things to muse. None of which excite me, candidly. What is that about?

And this is a week of several disappointments. I’m feeling raw and tender and misunderstood. Not valued. Overlooked. I’ve had a Victim Mentality. Ironically, I really deplore it when others have a Victim Mentality. People wih a Victim Mentality are stuck and life draining. But darnit, you can't help how you feel! And today I was feeling Victimized. A Victim of some slander. A Victim of some unfortunate timing. A Victim of some miscommunication. Poor me. I am a Victim. Let me wallow in my grievances.

So I sat on the beach today, feeling the weight of an ambiguous future, and mentally recapping all the injustices done to me this week. I was enjoying my misery, relishing it, soaking it in like the sunshine. The Misery was getting comfortable, like a favorite pair of jeans. But interestingly enough, it's hard to stay stuck in the muck for long when you’re sitting on a beach.

I reframed my mindset. What is right in my world this week?
-An unexpected and affirming message from a FB friend, just when I needed affirmation, telling me he viewed me as someone who consistently modeled joy and happiness. (Oh, if only he knew.....)
-The American journalists released from prison in N. Korea. I had been praying for their release intensely.
-A beautiful conversation with my teenage son this morning, in which I was impressed with his spiritual growth and maturity.
-The invitation of a close friend, a soul-filling friend, inviting me to dinner tonight, just as I was considering dining on Self-Pity.

Little Squirt and I got in the car to go home and I turned on the radio. I listened to him loudly bellow the lyrics to “I Need To Know” along with Mark Anthony. “I need to know...I need to know...tell me baby girl cuz I need to know...ohwoahwoahwoah....”
Then he asked, “Mom, what does he need to know??”

He makes me laugh all the time. Little Squirt is definitely what is right in my world.

A Taste Of Summer And A Dream

I’ve taken a week off Blogosphere and now I’m back with a vengeance, and bound and determined to get back to blogging consistently this week. But sometimes I need a break from the deep (and not so deep) contemplation writing puts me in. Occasionally I need to take a break from thinking, so to speak, and just allow myself to enjoy a day without considering how I need to chronicle it through blogging. Just feel the experience privately.

It’s been a week of swimming lessons and Driver’s Ed and one bad hair cut. I’ve devoured the latest juicy Patricia Cornwell novel and thoroughly relished it. I’ve enjoyed several movies, watched Little Squirt frolic on the beach, and sat in the sun with friends, talking about nothing and everything. I’ve spent several cool evenings relaxing on the back deck with my husband and a glass of wine. That is how summers should be, filled with seemingly insignificant yet precious moments that I know I’ll be grieving come the winter months.

This summer is a bridgeway to change, and last night I had a dream: My three children were heading out the door to walk to school together in the snow. I was zipping up the coat of my youngest, and wrapping the scarf around his face. I was fulll of angst; wondering if I should drive them. The snow was swirling, and I didn’t want them to get cold in the blustery weather. Or injured. Or have someone hurt them. All kinds of fears filled my mind. So I verbally considered loading them into my car, but my daughter objected. “We’ll be okay, Mom,” she said. So I let them go on their own. I felt it was the right thing to do, even though it was hard to watch them walk away.

I sat on the beach today and processed my dream. Did the winter represent a New Season? My children will be heading to three different schools this fall. The oldest will be two states away, and the baby will be gone all day for the first time ever. It’s a Season of Change for sure. For all of us. I generally deplore change. I really do. But I keep holding onto my daughter’s reassurance in the dream, ”We’ll be okay, Mom.” And I’m going to have to trust that they will. But will I?