MY FAVORITE KIND OF GETAWAY

So...let's see...what day is it?

Friday?

So on Wednesday morning, we left for the Amana Colonies in Iowa. As I mentioned earlier, we had to meet my brother to pass off Mom so Paul and I could get her back home after her five days in South Dakota. You will all be glad to know that we all three made it home safely. There was NOT a homicide on I-80; as I had feared.

Rather than drive five hours one way, then home, all in one day, we decided to make it a little getaway and visit The Amana Colonies Wednesday afternoon. Then we only had about 20 miles to drive westward on Thursday to get Mom, turn around and head back home.

Let me just add right here, that I had found a rubber stamp shop in Davenport, from one of my magazines. All I had to do was mention to Paul it looked like a nice one and he Mapquested it, said it would not be that far out of the way and drove me right to it. How sweet is that? I was so, so, so happy he did that. Of course, he might have done it because, since he sat in the van while I shopped, it meant an hour of silence without me saying "So, what can we talk about...?" But still it was pretty darn sweet.

Anyway, our children did not come with us because, well, they cannot fit us into their schedule anymore. Since we were not going to a major league baseball game, a UFC event, Disney World, or a mall of any kind, neither of them found it the least bit tempting to get in the car and drive for five hours into Iowa.

So we dumped Kayla onto the R family, and left Blake, who is one month shy of 17, at home.

Thanks, R family, for taking our daughter. I mean, I know you said it wasn't any trouble and that H, her good friend and classmate found it a treat, as did Kayla; but still, it's really a help that you took her because otherwise she would have had to come with us and she was NOT going to enjoy walking through the historic Amana Colonies, because they did not have an Aeropostale or a purse shop. And since we could NOT have softened her mood at all with the locally brewed beers or locally bottled wines (like I did her father's in preparing him for the trip home with his mother-in-law), well, it just would not have been pretty. So, thanks.

Anyway, we really only got to explore one colony out of seven, which was still great. We spent about 3 hours walking up and down 6 blocks of their little business district, where each shop was housed in an original building from the colony that had been settled in the late 1800's.

I was in Heaven.

And not just in the bakery, where I had a "Raspberry Pocket" made with the flakiest crust I've ever eaten and locally made raspberry preserves. And not just in the Chocolate Haus, where I bought a box of Chocolate Cashew patties and two packs of gourmet coffee. Those cashew patties? Oh. My. Gosh. It oughta be illegal for something to taste that good.

No I was in Heaven the entire time.

Because I literally felt the stress melt away from me as we walked those streets, admired the old buildings, read some history, and of course explored their unique and beautiful wares. I especially liked crossing the tiny wooden bridges built over the ditches lining both sides of the street; and imagining the need for such tiny bridges when the original settlers were building the town. Really, the stress just ran off my shoulders as I walked those quiet little streets. I had no idea I needed this getaway so much. And it is, indeed my favorite kind of getaway.

Paul was in Heaven, I think, when we separated briefly because "the brewery is going to close in 20 minutes, so I'm going to check it out while you shop here. I'll meet you at the Chocolate Haus." And really, it would have been very cruel of me had I NOT encouraged him to sample the local brews when he had made this long trip just to bring his mother-in-law home. He also sampled some local wines. Oh, and so did I. Sample a wine I mean. A communion cup full. The plum wine I sampled was almost good enough to turn me into a drinker and make me risk a seizure, but alas I did not chug from the bottle, as I was tempted, because to be truthful, I was a little uptight about the ride home with Paul's mother-in-law too. We did however, buy two bottles for our Thanksgiving dinner, because it is expected that we will bring wine to the Aunties; and a three pack of half bottles for my aunt and uncle for when we take my step-mother to visit them in the fall. This aunt is my dad's sister. She was with him when he died, so she deserves a sampling of local wines, no?

What else did I buy? You ask. Well I bought a stainless steel pancake turner, made locally of course. A CD of a local pianist, because it was playing in the store and it gave me goosebumps, 9 old fashioned candy sticks - 3 for each child and 3 for myself (because I knew Paul wouldn't want any) the raspberry pocket and the chocolates and coffee. And...I think that's all until we stopped briefly at the outlet mall, where we bought a Big Dog shirt for each of the kids (and for me - a $3 one), two gadgets from the kitchen shop, and a pair of earrings from the Liz Claiborne outlet.

The only room we could get at the Holiday Inn was a Kids' Suite. It had the cutest little room, walled off from the main bed area, that contained a set of bunk beds, a tiny table and a separate television for children. I kept saying how perfect that would have been when our children were five and eight. In fact the getaway would have been nice for our children when they were little because the hotel contained a very small indoor water park and a mini golf course. Of course they wouldn't have liked walking through old historic buildings built by German Settlers when they were five and eight but we could have bribed them with bakery items and goodies from the Chocolate Hause. Oh and maybe if we'd had little ones with us, I would have had an excuse to buy that handmade musical marble tree for $74.99, that fascinated me.

Alas, we are beyond the stage where our children found it exciting to pack up and leave home to stay in a hotel that has a pool. In fact, they really don't find it exciting to leave home overnight at all - at least with us - because that would require them to leave their friends and all their activities - movies, the pool, fishing, ballgames, mall time, watching BOYS' baseball games (and I don't mean Blake... ahem).

We have been outgrown.

Anyway, we're home for a while. And thank goodness, because I'm tired.

Oh, and from the "How Cool is That" File -

Paul is taking Blake to New York in late July to watch a Yankees game, because Paul wants to visit Yankee stadium before they tear it down at the end of this season. It happens to be right around Blake's birthday so he said "This is a pretty awesome 17th birthday gift. Thanks mom and dad."

We haven't told him that, because of the gazillion frequent flier miles Paul earns from work travel, and because of the free hotel rooms he earns from work travel, this trip to New York is probably going to be cheaper than feeding him and some friends at the local steak house. I mean if he wants to believe we are splurging on him and giving him a gift fit for a prince, why should we burst his bubble? I am so happy they get to do this. They are going to make some great Father/Son memories during their 48 hours in the Big Apple.

Now I just have to get through July during which we will be moving my mother, and then life will be good.

I DON'T WANNA GO ANYWHERE...

We returned on Sunday from a weekend trip to Indiana, where I met up with my brothers and sister to help Marilyn clear out some of our dad's things. Needless to say, I had been dreading the trip, but it went as well as it could have, I guess.

I will naturally post more on that later, but now I am getting ready for another brief trip.

Tomorrow we are heading to Iowa. My mom has spent the week in South Dakota with my brother, and we are meeting them on Thursday to pass her off like a relay baton, so we can get her back home.

Paul and I are going to spend tomorrow afternoon and evening at Amana Colonies, and then get up on Thursday and drive to Malcolm, Iowa to pick her up. We picked Malcolm because it is EXACTLY halfway between our two homes and because it is our grandfather's name and the middle name of my brother's son. Paul and I decided we JUST HAVE to say we've been to Malcolm, Iowa. I hope I can find a t-shirt.

In other news...

We have had something going on EVERY SINGLE WEEKEND since the beginning of May, and I don't see a break in sight anytime soon. We are starting to feel the stress of always having to be on the go.

I just want to stay home.

Many thanks to Susiewearsthepants at www.susiewrsthepants.blogspot.com. She has me on her blog roll!!

I've been linked!!!!

MAY I SUGGEST...?

Dear Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck,


I appreciate your store.

I grew up wearing your clothes. My mother, having had four children in four years, dressed my brothers in your ToughSkins and my sister and me in whatever little girl tops came in two packs. Ditto with our skirts and slacks. She tried to dress us all in coordinating clothes because having that many children so close together completely zapped her memory and her sanity; but that isn't your problem.

I dressed my own children in your clothes when they were little. You carried cute, reasonably priced children's merchandise, and I always liked that KidVantage (is that what is was called?) thing you had where I got a gift certificate after spending so much on kids clothing or shoes. It allowed 20% percent off the purchase of any kids' products. Clearance merchandise included.

I still occasionally drop in at your store and browse. I will buy my husband's tools there, look at your housewares, and even find a cute trendy top now and then. It's kind of nice to find some clothes at your store that I like because, well, no offense, but most women my age don't shop at your store. So when I find something surprisingly cute, I'm sure nobody else will have it.

Anyway, I've been wanting to let you gentlemen know for quite some time that a visit to your store is getting more and more annoying.

And, since I consider it my duty to help retail managers everywhere by pointing out their flaws as often as possible, I thought I should finally let you know about the problem. I am only doing this to help improve your business and make it more customer friendly. You DO want your business to become more customer friendly don't you?

First, may I suggest that your cashiers cease and desist their constant questions about whether I have a Sears credit card and if not would I like one; and if I already have one, would I like to upgrade to a Sears Gold Visa, or whatever it's called? May I suggest that when I answer in a way that is not acceptable to them that they be instructed to simply count their blessings that I'm shopping at Sears anyway and cheerfully accept my money? May I suggest that when I say "No, I don't want to upgrade," that the cashiers be instructed to NOT tell me what a great deal I'm passing up, and then purse their lips at me as though I am the greatest disappointment they've come across in their lifetime?

Just so you know, YES I have a Sears Credit Card, but NO I don't want to use it. EVER. Unless I'm in desperate need of an appliance and even then it would be iffy because, frankly, your appliance people are a little snooty if the customer does not want to buy the extended service warranty. Perhaps I will fill you in later on the appliance lady that threw a little hissy fit and slammed a dryer door shut when we said "No, thank you" on her offer of an extended service warranty.

Second, and this is the bigger issue for me, may I suggest that you stop sending that little bald man around to accost shoppers and ask if they are interested in siding, windows, gutters, and whatever else he is trying to push on us. I really don't care that I could get all of that from you. Frankly, if I was interested in any of that, I would do some research and find out that you carry all those things and I would consider your services along with all the other suppliers of such materials. You really should let the customer come to you on that; because it is quite annoying to be stopped by the little bald man and listen to his spiel; especially when I have told him several times that my house is only a few years old so NO I don't need any of those things. But, to be quite honest, when I was living in a 75 year old bungalow whose windows were painted shut, I still would have told him I lived in a brand new house and didn't need any of those things, because I am not above lying just to spite pushy sales people. And no I won't keep Sears in mind, when the need does arise, because, frankly, you've bugged me too much about it.

So there.

I know that many stores nag, I mean ask, customers about using their own store credit cards; and, frankly, it's annoying from all of them. They just may receive similar "helpful" letters from me too. But yours is the only store that actually sends somebody around trying to pedal wares and push services onto the customers while we're shopping.

So I'm begging you to stop. In the name of all consumers everywhere, please stop.

Also, please let me know if I can be of further assistance to you at any time in the future. That's what I'm here for.

Yours in NO need of any household improvement item whatsoever (at least from you)

HW

WON'T ANYBODY HELP ME?

Yesterday, somewhere in the bread aisle at Wal-Mart, I'm pretty sure my uterus fell out.

But that's ok. I don't need it anymore. I have no intention of birthing any more babies, and it's been nothing but trouble for me for quite some time now. I fully intend to speak to my doctor about this; because, somehow, it is his fault.

Anyway back to Wal-Mart; the previous two nights had been really bad, as I had lain awake much of the night in extreme pain. You know? Because I'm a woman.

The first night, I actually started calculating whether or not a "fall" out of my second story window would be bad enough to knock my uterus out but still allow me to get up and walk away so I could continue raising my children. But then I realized I'd probably just land in a pile of dog poop and that would not do anything to improve my mood. Plus, my day lillies and hostas are really looking good right now and I'd hate to ruin what little beauty I've managed to attain in my yard, on the off chance I landed in them. Plus, I can never get our bedroom blinds pulled up right, so I'd probably just end up tangled in the slats and strings of the blinds and my husband wouldn't even notice when he woke up the next morning.

So I just fell asleep doing the breathing exercises I learned in childbirth classes many MANY years ago.

The second night I decided the pain was so bad I was probably going to wake up with a newborn suckling at my breast.

Well wouldn't that just be GREAT if I was one of those women who gave birth without knowing she was pregnant!? I'd be on the news; and since we all know the camera adds ten pounds, that thought didn't do much to improve my mood either.

Then, on that second night, I decided to wake my husband for some help.

*nudge, nudge*

"Honey, tell the nurse I'm ready for my epidural."

But that didn't work. He just sat up and stared at me with haunting glassy eyes. He's not good in middle-of-the-night emergencies.

Fine, I'll take care of this myself.

So I went downstairs and got on the phone.

*Ring. Ring*

Labor and Delivery, may I help you?

Uh, yes, I'd like my epidural now, please.

What room are you in ma'am?

Um...my kitchen.

You're giving birth at home....?

Oh Lord No. I'm not giving birth. I'm just having really bad cramps so I'd like an epidural. Do you deliver? Well of course you deliver, you're a labor nurse *ha, ha*. I mean, do you deliver epidurals?

Ma'am epidurals are for women who are in labor?

But...but...I'm in just as much pain as I was when I was in labor.

Ma'am you're not even a patient here.

But I'm in just as much pain as any of your current patients, probably more because many of them have probably had their epidurals.

Ma'am this is ridiculous. You do not qualify for an epidural. You are not in labor and you are not a patient here.

Let me get this straight. I've given birth twice at your hospital, had numerous x-rays, scans, -grams, and tests. My children have had numerous x-rays, scans, -grams, and tests. My son had surgery twice when he broke his finger. Of course it was broken for two weeks before he had his surgery, which would make some say I'm a bad mother. Do you think I'm a bad mother?

Ma'am my thoughts on your mothering are irrelevant, although I'm beginning to form an opinion...

Anyway, I've had all those things done at YOUR hospital and now I can't get one small pain killing measure when I need one. I'm a good customer. All I want is a small epidural to go. Hello? Hello....?



*Ring Ring*

Surgical Services. May I help you?

Yes, I'd like to come in, like, right now for a hysterectomy.

Do you have a referral.

Um...yeah, my uterus is referring me loud and clear. Hello? Hello...

*Ring Ring*

Neurology. May I help you?

Yes, I'd like to schedule a lobotomy, please....

THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING

So yesterday Paul and I decided to go out alone.

To Sam's Club for a few groceries.

Because we're romantic like that.

And I guess by saying "Paul and I..." I'm being a little deceitful, because actually I decided to go to Sam's club and convinced him to come with me so he could load the cases of water, Gatorade and green tea - that HIS children drink - into the van.

Anyway, after another romance-filled trip through Sam's club, we stopped by the library to pick up a book that was on hold for Paul. Actually, the book was on hold for Blake; but it was on hold under Paul's name, so our Top Level Library Security Team (the TLLST), would only let Paul pick it up.

I waited in the car, because the library was going to close in 10 minutes and I wouldn't have time to browse if I went in anyway. As I was waiting I saw a young man get out of his truck and enter the library with a couple of DVD's in his hand. Before he entered the door, he threw his nearly whole cigarette on the ground. I had two thoughts when I saw him do this.

First, he didn't step on it to put it out, and I thought if the grass was dry enough he could have started a fire and sent our nice little library up in flames. I intend to turn him into to Smoky the Bear once I have run his license plates through the system.

Second, since the cigarette was almost whole (is that the correct term - "a whole cigarette?") I thought how wasteful it was, to light one up, take a couple of puffs and then throw it away. I mean, aren't cigarettes like really expensive?

But I needn't have worried about the waste because when he came out of the library, he stopped, leaned down to the ground, picked up his still smoldering cigarette and put it in his mouth and proceeded to puff away at it, as he walked back to his truck.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

Now, obviously he didn't care about the toll the smoking was taking on his lungs, but what about the countless number of icky things that could have ended up on that cigarette while it was on the ground in front of a public library?

What was he thinking?

So I'm just going to take this opportunity to plead with you, my ones of readers, to stop smoking. If you don't smoke but know somebody who does, try to get them to stop.

Because lung cancer or any lung disease is not a pleasant way to die.

My dad quit smoking about five years ago. Less than two years ago, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died two months ago, tomorrow.

He did not slip away quietly as he slept. He died a frightening, horrible death.

His cancer had spread to his bronchial tubes and it was those tumors that the chemo and radiation could not shrink. But the treatments, of course took their toll. For some of his radiation, they actually had to insert a tube down his throat and deliver tiny pellets of radiation into his bronchial tubes. His voice faded and he could no longer speak loudly. He had to gasp for breath between words.

Ironically, it was not the tumors on his bronchial tubes that eventually caused his death. It was the the tumors in his lungs, that were breaking away from the lung walls. As the tumors broke away, he bled.

Profusely.

He did not cough up little spots of blood. He, in his own words, sprayed "sheets of blood" with each cough, and could not stop coughing, when an episode hit.

He had about four of these episodes, over the last ten days of his life. The first episode brought his children rushing to the hospital late at night because we were told he had hours left to live, he was in organ failure, and needed 3 units of blood to rebound. But he did, indeed rebound.

The final episode is what took his life. I was not there for that, which will forever by a huge regret, but by the way it was told to me, he basically drowned in his own blood. The coughing and bleeding started and was worse than ever. He was not able to control it, even by turning up his oxygen and taking all the other measures he had learned to control the situation.

He bled to death, and that bleeding filled his lungs.

And I'm sure he knew what was happening. I'm sure he knew his life was ending. I'm sure he knew that this episode would not be controlled like the ones before it.

I desperately want to tell all the smokers I know, especially those who have small children to STOP! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, STOP SMOKING! Even if you think this won't happen to you, why in the world would you want to gamble with your life like that? Why in the world would you want your loved ones to see you sick and suffering?

We are living in an age where there is no excuse to be uninformed. Warnings are everywhere about the dangers of smoking. I know it is a terribly difficult habit to break, but try. Please try to stop. There is no reason to believe that if you stop now, you can't have a very long and healthy life. Don't assume that because cancer takes some lives even after they've stopped, that it will take yours too. Don't assume that stopping won't matter in the end. Give yourself a chance.

This concludes this public service announcement.

DID YOU KNOW...PART II

Dear Paul,

Did you know that our children absolutely adore you?

Did you know that when they walk in the door each day, the first words out of their mouths are usually "When will Dad be home?"

Did you know that when you are away for business they always ask "Has Dad already called? Will he call back?"

Did you know that we are blessed beyond measure that our 17-year-old son says "Love you Mom," and "Love you Dad" every time he leaves or hangs up the phone, even in the presence of his buddies?

Did you know that when they were babies their faces lit up like a starry night when you walked into the house at the end of the day?

Did you know that when Blake picks at you and starts a wrestling match nearly every night, it is his way of wanting to feel your touch, to be close to you? Did you know that, by agreeing to those wrestling matches every night, you are blessing him beyond measure?

Did you know that even though he is several inches taller than you, our son looks up to you?

Did you know that when our daughter was little and could have chosen any frilly soft nightgown in the world to sleep in, she chose your flannel shirts simply because they were yours?

Did you know that she still tells her friends that you were always able to fix her hair into a perfect ponytail when she was little?

Did you know that the day you baptized our daughter is a day she will never forget? Nor will her mother.

Did you know that the respect and honor you show me is mirrored in the way our children treat me?

Did you know that our children's friends really really like you and enjoy visiting with you?

Did you know that our daughter's friends, in particular, feel so comfortable with you that they make up songs about you?

Did you know that sometimes I search and search my memory for what incredibly good thing I might have done in my life to deserve a partner such as you? And I can't come up with anything.

Did you know...?

DID YOU KNOW...?

Dear Blake and Kayla,

Did you know what an amazing dad you have?

Did you know that you were just as likely to see his face above your cribs at night as mine, when you were babies?

Did you know that each of you, upon your arrival into our world, turned him into a soft puddle of mush?

Did you know that, even when you were newborns, I never had to leave the slightest instructions for him when I left you with him?

Did you know that, when you were little, you always had more fun with Daddy than with Mommy?

Did you know that he worked two jobs while you were little, so that I could stay home with you full time? He drove to a nearby college on Saturdays to teach a review course for the CPA exam. Did you know that?

Did you know that he has NEVER ONCE said that I need to return to work, because he respects my desire to be home for you at the end of your day?

Did you know that early in his career, you never saw him work into the early morning hours, because he always came home for dinner, bath and bedtime and returned to work after you were asleep for the night?

Did you know that he has taken midnight flights to London, rather than early afternoon ones, so he could sit through one of your concerts or sporting events before leaving for the week?

Did you know he often excuses himself from business meetings at corporate headquarters to speak to you on the phone, even if it's just to hear the latest Cubs' scores, or the details of your day?

Did you know that he, year after year, has said "I'm not coaching again," but up until this year has always allowed himself to be talked into volunteering for one or both of your teams?

Did you know that he actually LOOKS FOR WAYS to spend time with you, and doesn't wait for suggestions from anybody else?

Did you know that he calls me at 3:30 nearly every school day to make sure you are home and to get a report from me on how your days were; then offers to talk to you if you're around?

Did you know that when you are sick, he will come home from work to bring ice cream, movies, or whatever other treats will make you feel better.

Did you know that he was the first person in his family to graduate from HIGH SCHOOL, not to mention college and then go on to become the professional success that he is?

Did you know that he counts you two as his most successful achievements in life?

Did you know that he NEVER complains about the money I spend on myself or on you, even though we all tease him about how cheap he is?

Did you know that he treats your mother like a queen, and makes me weak in the knees with his devotion and love?

Did you know, Kayla, that if you marry a man just like him, you will be happier than you ever imagined?

Did you know, Blake, that if you treat your future wife as beautifully as he treats me, you will make her happier than she ever imagined?

I think you know all of these things, because he lives such a beautiful example for you.

But on this Father's Day I just wanted to give you this sweet little reminder.

MARILYN MONROE'S GOT NOTHING ON ME

To my friend I just saw at Wal-Mart.

You know who you are. We spoke about our daughters who are classmates. You told me I looked really nice in my skirt and top. Your two-year-old cracked me up with his conversation. You said you felt a little sloppy compared to me in my skirt and top.

First, I've never seen you look sloppy. I kind of think you are one of those women who can wear a gunny sack and still look ready for a magazine shoot. I have decided to like you anyway.

Second, I seriously want to snatch your little boy away from you. He just makes me smile all the time. "...I can't find a Cardinals cap." Too cute.

Third, your choice of shorts and top today was the right choice.

I will admit to feeling pretty good about my outfit today. My lavender, black, and beige print skirt is fun. Its flowy fabric and flare at the hem make it kind of swish when I walk; and sometimes it's fun to swish when you walk. And it's comfortable.

The trouble is, when I was getting dressed this morning, I wasn't anticipating a storm moving in. So when I walked out of Wal-Mart, soon after we visited, and was hit with a gust of wind that nearly sent the hem of my skirt up to my chin, I wasn't feeling so cute and fun in my outfit anymore.

I tend to park pretty far from the entrance so that I have to walk more to reach the store. You know? It's good to get in as much movement as I can through the day. I certainly was cursing that habit as I struggled to reach my van in the high winds that had moved in.

Seriously. I was certain I was going to be flashing all the other patrons of Wal-Mart if I didn't come up with a way to keep my skirt down. My only consolation was that my underwear happens to be lavender today, so if said flashing had occurred, at least people would be impressed that my foundation garments matched my outfit. And, NO, I was not wearing a slip.

Anyway, I grabbed my skirt in my left hand as low as I could and kind of scrunched it all to my left side, around my knees, gathering as much of the fabric as I could to keep it from flying north, and proceeded to walk to the van, leaning to the left, while pushing the cart with my right hand.

I know. Dignified.

I soon realized if I held things too tightly, my knees were kind of bound together and I had to shuffle along like Morticia Adams. If I held things too loosely, I was at risk of having the skirt fly up on the right side, which would have resulted in only half a flash, which certainly would have been better than a whole flash, but still...

It was crucial to obtain a delicate balance.

I thought about trying to hold my skirt on both sides, which would require me to hunch forward a little bit and push my cart with my shoulders or my chin.

But that would have looked silly. Because, surely, I wasn't looking silly yet.

So I just shuffled along, leaning to the left, grabbing my skirt, cursing my habit of parking far away, and praying that if God chose to lift my skirt up over my face, He would also choose to strike me dead with a bolt of lightning.

It was the longest walk of my life.

Oh, and that conversation we had about finding the perfect pair of shorts? I am going out immediately to look for some.

And now, if you haven't already, scroll down and read my previous post from today. It is just as poignant and thought provoking as this. And I like to follow through with my promise to lower the standards of my ones of readers every chance I get.

ON CLEAVAGE

*Note - this is not a debate on cleavage. Please do not weigh in on whether you are for it or against it. Because I'm sure that vote would be split evenly along gender lines. On second thought, if it will increase my comments, go ahead and weigh in on whether you are for it or against it.
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That's it!

I can't keep my mouth shut any longer.

Or my fingers quiet, as the case may be.

I am sick of putting on a cute new flirty summer top and looking into the mirror to see cleavage.
I've had it up to here with it. All the tops are like that. I can't escape the cleavage. These cute new styles are something else, I tell you.

How is a girl supposed to keep her girls covered?

Now I'm no prude. I'm not Amish; nor do I belong to the FLDS. But I like to dress modestly. I like to keep certain parts covered.

I also like to dress in the latest fashions.

Evidently the two are mutually exclusive.

I try to layer things with tank tops and sometimes that works. Sometimes, though, the tank top is lower than the neckline of the cute new flirty summer top. Sometimes the tank top is lower than the top of my bra.

I usually do a little cleavage test. If I stand at my bathroom sink and lean forward EEEEEVVVVER so slightly to wash my hands, and I see cleavage, I start trying to modify the wardrobe. Trouble is, almost all my new tops fail the test - I see cleavage with almost every top.

Cleavage cleavage cleavage cleavage cleavage.

(I wonder how many times I can type the word cleavage before I'm linked from Google)

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Sometimes I turn the tank top around and wear it backwards, if the front neckline is too low. It usually works because the "tags" aren't tags anymore. The "tags" are printed right onto the fabric. Sometimes it doesn't work because the line of the tank top - worn backwards - completely ruins the look of the shirt. But I'm getting tired of trying to layer things. I'm also getting hot, because our temperatures are rising and the humidity is usually around 90% this time of year.

Let me repeat. I am no prude. But I want to dress fairly modestly for a few reasons:

- I don't want to be speaking to a man (or woman) and notice that they are looking south of my eyes. I know a man who does that to all women, even if they are wearing turtle necks. It is irritating and disgusting. Whenever I know I'll have to speak to him I want to pin a sign to my shirt that says "Hey! I'm up here, stupid!"

-I don't want to be showing off the girls to anyone but my husband, unless I'm at the swimming pool or the Oscars. And really, guys? Even if you enjoy seeing your wife's/girlfriend's cleavage, do you really want her body on display for every other male she comes across?

-I'm raising a 14-year-old daughter and I want to model the right example for her. How can I veto some of her clothing choices if I'm showing too much skin myself.

-I'm raising a 17-year-old son who has friends over all the time. I'd think it would be embarrassing for him to have his mother walking around the house showing off her girls. I also want to model an example of moderate dress for him so, hopefully, he won't choose a wife one day who dresses like Brittany Spears.

So there is my dilemma these days - dressing fashionably and trendy (trendily?) without showing too much of myself.

If things don't improve soon I will have to give up all electricity and start driving a horse and buggy.

Or take 4 sister wives and have 12 more children.

*Shudder*

THE FAMILY THAT SHAKES TOGETHER...

So when I got out of the shower today I noticed six...no seven...little trickles of blood on my left leg, where I had cut myself shaving.

SEVEN!!

And one on the right leg. I debated the need to go to the ER for a transfusion but decided just to stick little bits of tissue on each bloody spot. You know? Like men do on their faces.

I looked like I had stood in the garage and shaved my legs with a hacksaw.

I thought about taking a picture and posting it, but I couldn't put my shorts on and hobble downstairs to get the camera without leaving a trail of bloody tissue bits all over the floor. So you'll just have to use your imaginations.

I do not know what came over me; I can usually be trusted with sharp objects.

Then as I started to paint my toenails for the first time this summer, I noticed my hand shaking.

Aha! My tremors were acting up.

I have Essential Tremor, or Benign Essential Tremor, or Essential Familial Tremor.

It is a harmless condition that causes slight or severe trembling, or shaking, in the hands and arms. It runs in families.

My paternal grandmother has it. My dad had it. HIS brother has it. Three of us four kids have it - my oldest brother does not. My other brother, who is 43, has it the worst of us kids. My son has it. We noticed his when he was 15, which threw me into a panic until I talked to my neurologist about it. She assured me it was not uncommon for it to show up in teenagers, so I should not be alarmed. But yet I worry about how it will worsen for him as he gets older since it showed up so early. So far he is just as active as most teenage boys - wrestling, football, weightlifting. It probably will never interfere with his pursuit of any activities.

Anyway, the tremors are at their worst when a person is tired or stressed. Considering I was still awake at 2:00 this morning, I shouldn't be surprised that my hands are shaking today. It is mainly just annoying when I am trying to do fine motor work, like painting my nails, or finishing detail work on my crafts. You will certainly hear dishes rattle if I try to carry a cup on a saucer while my tremors are acting up. Also, I know it's not a good idea to cut my son's hair if my hands are shaking.

I'm just sayin'....

My brother's army buddies used to tease him and say he could mix a drink without using a swizzle stick. I actually think it was a little hurtful for him, but he took it in stride. It never interfered with his marksmanship or anything while he was younger, but now that he is retired it is considered somewhat of a disability - militarily speaking - and his pension reflects that. He has tried medication for it, but decided the side effects of the medicine were worse than the condition; as is often the case. And now, it doesn't interfere with his job as an agent for the Law Enforcement Intelligence Network working for an agency that falls under the umbrella of Homeland Security. I just really think that's impressive, so I had to stick that in somehow.

The Meadows Shakes, as we lovingly call them, have never prevented any of our family members from maintaining careers and leading busy, active lives.

My grandmother has said there is a neurologist in town who wants to use our family as a case study on the condition because; although it primarily runs in families, ours is one of the few this doctor has seen where it is SO common.

Just think! I could be in the New England Journal of Medicine!! I could be a statistic!! I wonder if I will be able to adjust to the stresses and problems of being famous. I think I could.

I would just shake it off.

HOW COOL IS THAT?

Our son has been a staunch Republican since the 3rd grade. That is when George W. Bush first ran for president; and he loved watching the debates and news coverage during that election year. He listened to both parties and in his limited, eight-year-old comprehension decided he liked what the Republicans stood for. He was so involved that he told us that he sure hoped we didn't vote for John McCain in the primary because he called George Bush an anti-Catholic bigot. When asked what an anti-Catholic bigot was, he responded "I don't have a clue...." but he had decided it didn't sound right so he ran with it.

Our friends used to call him Alex P. Keaton.

Last weekend, he got to work at the Illinois Republican Convention. Now even if you're a Democrat, you have to admit that's pretty cool for a teenager to be so up close and personal in our national election process. Well, you don't HAVE to admit it, but it would sure be nice if you did.

Anyway, he spent a couple hours Thursday night and about 12 hours on Friday working for the "top ranking Republicans for our state." He ran errands, picked up their lunch, put together credentials, assembled notebooks of information. He dropped in at home once during an errand and said "No time to talk...I'm running errands for the GOP." How cool is that? He also informed us he spent $200 of the Republicans' money at McDonald's and Staples. I'm not sure I'm supposed to share that information with you so if I suddenly disappear, you'll know that, for sure I was NOT supposed to let you know that.

This past weekend made me think back to his third grade year when his dad took him out of school for the day to go see a Bush/Cheney rally near Chicago.

He and Paul were standing in the security line to be let into the rally when a Secret Service agent walked by. Paul asked if he could take a picture of him with Blake and the agent politely said it wasn't allowed, and moved on. A few minutes later, the same agent returned and slipped something into Blake's hand. It was an official Secret Service lapel pin. That alone was enough to send him to cloud nine.

But then, the agent returned again and asked Paul "Sir, is it just the two of you?" and Paul said "Yes, my son and I." And the agent said "Come with me."

And he led them PAST THE SECURITY CHECK, THROUGH THE GROUP OF OTHER AGENTS, AND RIGHT UP TO THE FRONT ROW OF THE AUDIENCE AREA, where Blake got to listen to Bush and Cheney speak, shake their hands and get their autographs on a campaign poster, all while standing right at the front of the stage on which the candidates were speaking.

Seriously, how cool is that? Again, even if you're a Democrat, don't you think that is cool?

We have many photos of that day - photos of the candidates and their wives and photos of the sharp shooters perched on all the surrounding buildings, which to an eight-year-old boy was absolutely beyond cool. He sill has that campaign poster framed in his room.

On Halloween that year, he dressed as a Secret Service agent and spent the night in a suit and dark sunglasses, with his hand pressed to his ear, pretending to talk into his wrist. When somebody tried to drop candy into his sister's bag, he stepped in front of her like he was her body guard. To one of our friends who offered him a full size Hershey bar he said "No thanks ma'am. I'm on duty," without cracking a smile.

Now he is thinking about pursuing a degree in political science when he heads to college in two years. I, as his mother, am expecting big things from him.

You can look for him in Washington one day.

He'll be the tall thin redhead giving the State of the Union Address.

WHAT DIDN'T WORK FOR US - THE CONCESSION STAND

I worked concession last night during Kayla's softball game. By the way, our girls won 13-3. I don't really know much else since I was in the concession stand, but...

Did I tell you our concession stand has been revamped? And it's really neat. Kudos to those who are in charge of it! I think one of them may read this so let's hear it for the Concession Committee. Is that what you're called "The Concession Committee?" or is it "Executive Board in Charge of Food and Beverage?"

Anyway, I love the new drawer thingee that holds the cash box, and the new professionally made menu banner outside. And I can't wait to try a cinnamon-sugar pretzel. And I love that you put me down to work in early June instead of in July when the heat would be REALLY bad. I mean yesterday was bad enough at 90 degrees with 80% humidity. So a big thank you for that. So anyway, thanks Concession People. I appreciate your work.
************************************************************************

Working concession is usually not so bad. You get to visit with the other parents that are working. You get to see lots of kids. You get to support your Youth League because being surrounded by all the treats makes you hungry, so you just keep dropping money into the cash box and eating crap...I mean junk...I mean treats.

And working concession brings back memories of the days when YOUR OWN kids were little and you tried to make a night at the ball park bearable for all. You know? It reminds you of one of your failures as a parent. It gives you an idea for a "What didn't work for us" blog post.

When Blake started baseball Kayla was about 3. One of the biggest challenges was telling her over and over again that she could NOT go to the nearby playground because we were there to watch her brother play ball; but that after the game we'd go play for a while. I carried Fashion Pollies with me. I carried coloring books. I carried snacks and juice. I carried money.

I carried tequila.

Oh! I'm kidding.

I didn't bring coloring books.

Oh stop! I'm kidding again.

Anyway, I carried money so I could bribe her a couple of times through the game with food and she'd sit quietly and nibble on whatever junk food she chose. Turns out, the kid soon learned that I'd fork out money for candy to keep her quiet. So I started being nickeled and dimed to death.

Or extorted.

And then her brother would finish the game and be absolutely starving and dying of thirst so I'd fork out more money at the stand for him. Now I believe in supporting the local ball leagues and all; but come on!! It gets ridiculous. Which leads to another of my biggest challenges at the ball diamond-keeping spending under control.

Can I get an Amen on this?

So one summer I decided I was taking charge of the concession spending our family did. I tried different things. I tried buying a case of skittle packs at Sam's and giving each child one at the game (cause they always chose skittles at the concession stand), then allowing them to buy popcorn with the 50 cents I gave them. I also carried our own water.

Turns out, if Skittles is their only option, kids suddenly hate them, even if that's what they ordered EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY PLACED THEIR DIRTY LITTLE HANDS ON THE CONCESSION STAND COUNTER. So they'd say "I dooooon't liiiiiike Skiiiiiiiitlesuh."

And as consistent and firm as I tried to be in my parenting, something about the hot humid ball diamond turned me completely spineless and I'd fork over more money.

So the next summer I tried telling them they could each have ONE DOLLAR for the ballgames. ONE DOLLAR PER GAME. I. AM. NOT. KIDDING. DO NOT ASK FOR MORE. YOU. WILL. NOT. GET. IT.

By this time both kids were playing ball and we probably had 4 nights a week, if not more, full with baseball and softball, so a dollar per game was still a lot of money by the time the week was over. But I held firm with the Dollar Per Game rule.

For about 6 games.

Because, dang!!

Kids are persistent! I don't know if any of you have noticed that. But little kids can sure hang in there when it comes to wanting stuff.

Again, I don't know how they wore me down so easily, but they did.

Mommy can I have a bag of m&m's?

Where's your dollar?

I spent it on Skittles and popcorn. Can I have more money?

NO.

Please mommy?

NO. One dollar per game. That's it.

Pleeeeeease moooooommmmmmy! I won't ask for anything else. Just one more treat.

No.

Just m&m's. That's all I'll ask for the rest of the game. Pleeeeeeease?

Oh alright!!

And what they didn't hear me say was "if it'll shut you up you can have a whole stinkin case of m&m's. And, by the way, where is your father?!" But I was thinking it.

And now? Well, first of all, Blake rarely shows up at the ball diamond because he's a wrestler and a football player now, so I'm getting off easy with that. Plus he um...well...he doesn't find it a priority to sit through a junior high girls softball game. As for the rest of us; I usually take an Airborne tube full of quarters. By the way, did you know Airborne tubes are perfect for stacking quarters in? Anyway, I take a tube of quarters and any ones and fives I can find in my purse or in my secret place in the van. Whatever. I try to come loaded, even though the concession stand isn't such a novelty now that the kids are teenagers.

The point is that now I don't even try to fight the concession stand battle. I waved that white flag several seasons ago. Because sometimes I'm a parenting wimp.

And because I like m&m's too.

STORMS

Last night we were hit with another series of severe storms. Fierce lightning, strong winds, thunder. Lots of thunder. Tornado sirens.

Paul, Kayla and I were on our way home from an errand when the sky turned black and the lightning started really shooting down all around us. Knowing that Blake was out and about, I called him.

"Hi Blake, where are you?"

"At the lake fishing. I told you I was going fishing..."

"Where are you fishing?"

"Lake D---"

"You need to get away from the lake and head home."

"Uh. Mom. The weather is not bad here" Which it probably wasn't since the lake is about 10 miles from our house.

"Well, it's going to get bad. You need to get inside somewhere. The lightning is fierce."

See, sometimes you just don't know if your teenager really will have sense enough to come in out of the rain, so you have to call and prompt them a little. Which will not go over well, but it is your job as a mom. Number one, because you worry about them, and number two because it will drive them crazy and they won't have anything to complain about if you don't get "all up in their business" from time to time.

After we had been home for a while, and Blake was still not home, our tornado sirens went off. And just like last week when they went off and he was at football camp, I became paralyzed. My hand flew to my mouth and I whispered "OH NO!" and Paul said "He's fine, he just called and he's on his way to Cody's. He'll go in there if it's bad." So I went to the basement with Kayla and sat on the sofa, staring at the Doppler watching the storm pattern, and DID. NOT. MOVE. until I heard him come in the front door.

Just like last week.

My neighbor told me, when Blake started driving, that I was entering a whole new world of fear.

And, boy, she wasn't kidding.

Thankfully we just bought a Wii. So while we spend so much time in our basement listening to tornado sirens, my daughter gets to pulverize me in tennis and bowling. She also gets to pulverize her father, which brings on lots of giggles from her and I both.

Not so thankfully, my back and shoulders are killing me today from playing those virtual games.

Yes, I am in the phase of life where I can hurt myself without leaving the sofa.

WHAT DIDN'T WORK FOR US - THE FURNITURE STORE

In the interest of full disclosure, I thought it would be great fun to recall with you, my ones of readers, the moments in our parenting journey that have had us scratching our heads and wondering if we would make it through the day without poking our own eyes out with an ice pick.

Let's start with the furniture store.

We usually had good luck taking our kids just about anywhere that was family friendly. They behaved well in restaurants, the mall, the grocery store, church. Well, most of the time they behaved really well; there were, of course, times that did not have happy endings.

Our kids were about 3 and 6, or 4 and 7, when we took them into a furniture store. I can't, for the life of me, remember what we were shopping for; but we were surely ready to purchase something or we would not have been there. We did not routinely stop in at furniture stores just to browse. We had to have a specific purchase on the horizon to enter a furniture store.

Because our kids were usually pretty good when we were out in public, we gave no thought to unloading them from the van and entering this furniture store with them. Looking back, one mistake might have been NOT reviewing our expectations with them. I was really big on that. But perhaps we were smug and overly confident. Or perhaps some of our brain cells had died that morning, as is wont to happen when one becomes a parent.

Whatever the reason, our world turned upside down as soon as we entered that store.

The door had not even closed behind us before our TWO children had seemingly multiplied into SIX. I am not kidding. As soon as we were in the door, the kids zipped off in different directions and started climbing on coffee tables, bouncing on sofas, slithering under end tables, scaling bunk bed ladders, and grabbing every throw pillow within reach. And to top it all off, this store had an open staircase down to their lower level; so they naturally ran down the stairs, and back up again, down the stairs and back up again.

Paul and I were paralyzed.

We stood wide eyed and slack jawed while we watched, for a moment, the children of Satan completely humiliate us. I was wondering how they could turn on us like this. How could they possibly choose to ruin my life like this in public? I'm sure Paul was adding up how much it was going to cost us to pay for every piece of furniture they scratched, chipped, or marred with their grubby little paws as they ripped through the store like two tiny tornadoes.

What in the world had happened?

I figure the elapsed time in all of this humiliating activity was about 2 minutes, but things seemed to move in slow motion. There was a voice in my head that said "GET MOVING! STOP THEM!" But I think I refused, for a moment, to believe that this was happening to me. My kids had turned into those kids at the grocery store that I looked at with sadness and judgment. I was that mom who could not control her children. My worst nightmare was coming true.

Finally, we regained movement in our extremities and rushed off in two different directions to round up the little people who had plotted and planned this horrible exhibition to completely ruin our lives. I honestly don't remember what happened after that. I'm sure I was down on their level whispering through clenched teeth, putting a period after every word, and letting them know they'd be lucky to see their next birthday if they did not "STOP. RUNNING. AROUND. THE. STORE. THIS. VERY. MINUTE. OR. YOU. WILL. RECEIVE. THE. SPANKING. OF. YOUR. LIFE."

I am feeling flushed just remembering it.

About a year later, we took them back to that furniture store to buy a new bedroom suit for ourselves. We were going to use Paul's bonus to buy the first matching bedroom suit we'd ever had in our twelve years of marriage. And you better believe our kids got a huge lecture on how to behave in a furniture store.

Funny, after that last visit, that store went out of business. I think we scared them away.

WHAT WORKED FOR US - MOMMY DOLLARS

I used to love grocery day when my kids were little. Really, I did. They always behaved well, and it was a couple of hours out of the house. And I had to get out of the house each day when the kids were little.

Also, when we got home, I made a game out of putting groceries away. I divided the counter top into 3 sections and said "Freezer things here. Pantry things here. Refrigerator things here." And they'd sort the groceries for me so I could put them away.

But as they got a little older - like early elementary school - trips to the grocery store took a little different turn, because I spent the entire time saying NO.

Mommy, can we buy orange soda?

No.

Mommy, can we buy Fruity Pebbles?

No.

Mommy, can we buy strawberry milk?

No.

Mommy, can we buy strawberry syrup to put in our white milk?

No.

Mommy, can we buy oreos.

Absolutely. Make it two.

No no no no no. It seemed that's all I ever said; and I'm sure it seemed to them that's all they ever heard.

So I decided to give the kids a little control over our shopping trips; and I invented the Mommy Dollar.

I made little construction paper dollars and gave each child two Mommy Dollars each time we went to the store. For each Mommy Dollar, they got to choose one item to put into the cart. When they put it in the cart, they handed me a mommy dollar.

With Mommy Dollars, if they asked for something I would simply say "if you want to use a Mommy Dollar on it."

Of course there were some rules for using Mommy Dollars:

-A Mommy Dollar was not equal to one actual dollar. The item could cost a little more, or less.

-They could not pick toys.

-I had to approve the item.

They usually picked things like a box of pop tarts that we wouldn't normally buy, a six pack of pudding cups, a bag of chips, occasionally a bottle of soda - things that would not normally go in our cart but I didn't mind if they had occasionally. Sometimes Blake would choose a six pack of IBC root beer, which would usually cost him both of his Mommy Dollars. And sometimes, I'd reward the kids with an extra Mommy Dollar. If they'd been exceptionally good while daddy was gone I'd say "you guys are getting THREE Mommy Dollars at the store today!"

Mommy Dollars worked beautifully for us. We did the Mommy Dollar thing for quite a while - up until they stopped going to the store with me; except when the kids got older, I think we called them Mom Bucks. Mommy Dollars took the negativity out of the shopping trip for me. They allowed me to stop playing the bad guy who always said no; and they made the kids aware of what went in our cart. They made the kids really think before they chose something because they knew their "dollars" were limited.

Now when I go to the store I say "I'm going to the store tomorrow. If you have any requests, write them down."

Blake's list usually looks something like this:

Full Throttle
Cinnamon Toast Crunch
Ice Cream
Donuts
Eggos
Oatmeal Cream Pies

And I usually say "Um, Blake? You might get one of these items, if you're lucky."

Kayla's list might look something like this:

Ice Cream
Broccoli
Ranch Dressing
Gala Apples
Yogurt
Microwave Popcorn
Fruit Chews

And I will say "Ok, you can share ice cream with Blake, and the rest looks pretty good."

And of course, asking my kids to come to the store with me now is like inviting them to their own execution. It's not gonna happen, people.

But I still get the last laugh because I leave all the heavy stuff in the car for them to carry in.

DECISIONS, DECISIONS...

I couldn't decide what to post about today:

- Carpools - again

- Migraines

- The price of gas

- The search for the perfect wedding shoe

- Insomnia

- Other drivel that keeps my ones of readers checking in several times a day so they can become bored enough to fall out of their chairs.

So I didn't post about any of these things and, instead, left a post on that other blog of mine
www.thisphaseoflife.blogspot.com - you know? The grief one. But it's a dark, depressing post, so avoid it if you want.

THE SOCIAL (NON) DRINKER

I do not drink alcohol.

But I totally don't mind if you drink it. Really I don't.

I used to think it was wrong to drink alcohol. I used to allow myself to be swayed by some very strict conservative views that proclaimed the consumption of alcohol was morally wrong; yet at the same time I was never offended to be in the presence of somebody else who was drinking it. I don't know if that made me a hypocrite or not...

Now I don't think drinking alcohol is wrong. I think drinking alcohol to the point of becoming drunk is wrong. Because becoming drunk is an abuse to your body, and it's an embarrassment to yourself and those around you.

But even though I don't think it's wrong to drink, I still choose not to because:

- I take medications that may or may not mix well with alcoholic beverages, and why take the chance that I may or may not have a seizure at some upscale social function. That would totally embarrass my husband and probably ruin a really nice outfit.

-Alcohol can trigger migraines and, as a sufferer of migraines, it's not worth the risk for me.

-I truly believe I have an addictive personality. My grandfather (my dad's dad) was an alcoholic and, from all accounts, a pretty mean one when he was drunk. I know now that when we visited my grandparents when we were little, the "meeting" my grandfather was at was Alcoholics Anonymous. My dad drank a lot. He never got mean or out of line, but he started drinking early in the day and certainly liked his beer. Because of the history of heavy drinkers in my family, and my addictive personality, I choose not to take the chance.

-I don't like the taste. I have tried to acquire a taste for wine. You know? To be social. But I just don't like it. And why learn to like something that may or may not cause a migraine, or a seizure, or excessive vomiting.

So I don't drink.

And people look at me like I'm speaking a foreign tongue when I pass up an alcoholic beverage at a party. And I'm getting pretty tired of it. I mean, if I don't judge you for drinking; then why should you judge me for NOT drinking?

I didn't feel so freakish as a non-drinking teenager as I do as a non-drinking adult.

Can anybody tell me why that is? Because it's really irksome to me.

Last summer, Paul and I were invited to the home of his co-worker for a wine tasting dinner. They have a small vineyard and they harvest their grapes and transport them to her brother's vineyard where he actually makes his own wine and sells it under his own label. They took us on a tour of their vineyard and explained the whole process of growing and harvesting grapes. It was really fascinating and Paul even went back the next day to help harvest. Then with dinner, they served wine that had been made at her brother's winery.

The thing is, when we received the invitation, Paul told the hostess that his wife didn't drink wine but that we'd be glad to come. She said she probably wouldn't be drinking that night either because she wanted to be able to get up early the next day, and that she'd have soft drinks available. I was still a little uneasy about the whole evening because I knew I would stick out like a sore thumb being the only person without a wine glass in my hand.

So as they started pouring wine with the appetizers, while the guests mingled, I simply stayed back and didn't grab a glass. One of the other guests actually looked at my stomach and said "Are you pregnant? I'm just not used to seeing somebody NOT drink unless they're pregnant." To which I said "If I was pregnant, Paul would be falling down drunk right now, from the shock. No, I'm not pregnant. I just don't drink wine."

But, really, why did she even have to ask me why I didn't drink wine? Why did she have to draw attention to me for that? Am I the only one who thinks that was rude? Am I the only one that thinks that was a classless thing to do? Because this woman was the wife of a REALLY big wig in the company and she should have had more social grace than that.

And to top it all off, there were NO other drink options. The hostess actually handed me a glass from the counter and pointed to the sink where I could help myself to some tap water. I felt lucky she hadn't sent me outback to drink from the garden hose.

So when we were invited to another "grape picking supper" this year, I told Paul that, if it wasn't that important to him, I wasn't going, but he could sure go without me. I was made to feel so uncomfortable at the first one that I can't see myself going again.

At the office Christmas party, while I was drinking ginger ale, I also had to offer an explanation to the man beside me as to why I didn't drink wine or beer or gin and tonic or martinis. I was very honest and polite and told this man that it triggers migraines, doesn't mix well with my medicine, and, honestly, I just don't care for it. He was actually pretty sweet about it and listened to me as though he was fascinated at having met such a rare person. Oh, and he was British so he can go home and tell his friends he met an American who doesn't drink. Imagine!!

Please don't think that because I don't drink alcohol that I'm not social. Because I am. Really, I'm social. And I can get as wild and crazy as the next girl, without wine or beer.

I've embarrassed myself and my family plenty just by drinking diet Pepsi.

Please weigh in on this. If you are a drinker, does it bother you to be around a NON drinker if he or she is NOT judgmental about your choice? Shouldn't we, as adults, be way beyond the stage where we care who joins us in a glass of wine? Really, why do I make people so uncomfortable?

MARRIAGE 101

I just told Paul I was going to write a post on marriage and asked if he had any words of wisdom. His advice to men: Keep the toilet seat down.

Is it any wonder the spark of romance still shines brightly in our marriage?


Last Friday - May 23rd - we celebrated 21 years of marriage. Well, we didn't CELEBRATE exactly. We marked the occasion by taking our kids out to lunch and enjoying a day off for Paul. We had agreed to buy no gifts, but I found out Paul bought me something, so the night before, as I was running Kayla to the hair salon to get her hair done for graduation, I said "Oh, and I'm going to buy your anniversary gift, since you broke our agreement and bought me one."

See? Romance.

Some friends seemed surprised we had no special plans for our anniversary. We usually go out for a nice dinner; and often take a weekend away. Paul always takes the day off. Only a couple times in 21 years, have we done basically nothing to celebrate. This is one of those years where we did basically nothing to celebrate.

And guess what.

That's OK with me.

I love that our marriage is such that we do not need roses and wine; fireworks and sizzle, every time May 23rd rolls around on the calendar. Because, really, we try to celebrate our marriage every day. And I'm just gonna say it - we have a great marriage.

We REALLY have a great marriage.

I don't mean to brag, but it's true.

We have a great marriage, because we work at it.

Our marriage hasn't been great EVERY MOMENT for the last 21 years; in fact, we had a couple of pretty rough years early on. But somehow, we've managed to make a success story out of two people who probably got married too young, while still in college.

So here are my tips for a great marriage - because since it's my blog I can call myself an expert.

- Keep your faith at the center of your marriage.

- Second only to your faith - LAUGHTER - make humor a big part of your home. Be able to laugh at yourself. Laughing with Paul is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Laughter will get you through many things - even the most difficult.

- Have a financial plan that works for both of you. Don't let one person control the money. If the wife doesn't work, try to allow her some money that is hers to spend without having to check in with the husband.

- Husbands, if your wife is home raising YOUR children, NEVER NEVER NEVER make comments about her going back to work, if she's not ready and if your budget doesn't need it. NEVER minimize her work as a stay at home mom. NEVER NEVER NEVER ask her what she does all day when she spends the day at home with YOUR small children. If you have to ask that question, take a week off and do her job for her. You will fall at her feet in adoration after that.

-Wives, NEVER NEVER NEVER belittle your husband's job choice. If he is working hard and doing his best to provide for your family, let him know you appreciate it. Much of a man's identity comes from his job and his role as provider; to belittle what he does is like cutting him off at the knees. If he likes his job, is good at it, and well respected by his peers, don't push him to change jobs to make more money. Be proud of his work ethic. I once heard a woman say with great disdain,"My husband's a CARPENTER," and made her embarrassment quite clear. I quickly told her "Jesus was a carpenter."
You most likely knew his career choice when you married him. If it's a different style of living you hope for, change your standards, you'll be much happier. And yes, I have personal knowledge of this; I'll post on it later. Thank your husband for how hard he works to provide for your family. Being a provider is much more than making money, so thank him for the efforts he makes.

-Husbands, take an active role in child rearing. I have realized that Paul spoiled me in this. He set the bar very high when it comes to judging young fathers. Paul was VERY hands on with our babies. Even though I breast fed them; he got up at each feeding, brought the baby to me, sat and talked to me and touched the baby, then changed the diaper and put the baby back to bed. Then he got up for work the next morning. I never had to leave instructions for Paul when I left our babies with him, even the first time. I realize now that he was rare. He is still VERY hands on with our teenagers and actually LOOKS FOR ways to spend time with them, rather than being goaded into it. Husbands, just so you know, a wife finds it very romantic and even sexy to see her husband being an involved, loving father. Wink. Wink.

-Wives, appreciate and acknowledge his efforts with your children. So what if lunch isn't what you'd make, or the outfit doesn't match? So what if the little ones get dirty when Daddy watches them? Here's a secret. They probably have more fun with daddy because there are fewer rules with him. If the child is kept safe and happy - let them do it. Many dads don't chip in because mom's standards are too high and he can't please her. Moms, lighten up and don't rob your child of memories with daddy because he does things differently.

-Wives, learn about your husband's job. Even if the details cause you to fall off your chair in boredom. I've had lots of people ask me "Oh, and what does your husband do?" And I feel good knowing I can give them at least a good enough explanation to make THEM fall off their chair in boredom. Again, his job is a big part of his identity. Be interested in it.

-Husbands, ditto with your wife's job.

-If your child is disrespectful to your spouse, jump in and let them know you won't tolerate it. Let those kids know you are a united team, and you won't let them disrespect your partner. Our kids are very rarely rude to me and I credit Paul's example in that. Also, the one time when Blake was about 10 and he got in my face and raised his voice, Paul's punishment was SWIFT AND HARSH. Swift and harsh enough that Blake, I'm sure, never forgot it. Talk about Shock and Awe. I hope that I've set the same example in the way I treat Paul; and letting the kids know that I won't tolerate them being rude to their dad - my partner for life.

-Along with the above, be a united front in discipline. If your child asks for something, make it a habit to ask them "have you asked your dad/mom and what did they say?" One time when Blake was about 3 he asked to do something and I said "Did you ask Daddy? What did he say?" And he very sadly said "Daddy said 'no way, Hosea.'" And he was busted. As they get older, it's ok to tell them "we have to discuss this, and then we'll let you know." If Paul is out of town, I will tell the kids they have to wait until I speak to their dad on the phone, if it's an issue I'm not sure about. This is a good way to let them see you are a team.

-Go away for weekends. When our kids were little, we went on weekend get aways every 3 months. They were never fancy get aways, but we left them with grandparents or friends and left town. Children need to see you make time for your marriage. They need to see you make your partnership a priority. Now that our kids are older, we don't feel the need to get away as much, because the daily grind of child rearing is not nearly so exhausting; but when they were little, we were very diligent with this; and I think it was good for the kids too.

-Go on dates. Simple dates are great. We at least go out for a cup of coffee, without kids, once a week. When they were little, if we didn't want to hire a sitter, we had "at home dates" where we'd put the kids to bed, order take out and sit on the living room floor, without television and have a quiet dinner. Now, of course, we have teenagers and we have to beg them to go with us, so date night is not a problem. But if you have little ones, try really hard to go on dates. Swap baby sitting if you can't afford to hire one. Even getting groceries without small children can be fun. I really believe young couples don't go on dates enough, and it's so important for a marriage.

-Fight fair. Every couple argues. If a couple doesn't argue, somebody is being treated like a doormat. But think through your words before you say them. This is more of a problem for me than for Paul. Paul would never argue if I didn't make him. I have learned to think about things, sometimes over night, before I speak my mind. And Paul has learned not to run away from an argument; because it really is NOT a good idea to leave the room while your spouse is trying to discuss something. So if you choose your words wisely and your spouse will remain in one place and listen to them, things should turn out great.

-Um...yeah...you know what...the bedroom...I can't talk about that because my daughter reads this...so...um...never mind.

-Don't hold your mother-in-law's actions against your spouse.

-Respect your in-laws even if you don't always like them. They are your spouse's parents, and as such deserve your respect. Further, they are your kids' grandparents.

-See your kids through their grandparents' eyes. Watch them like Grandma does and you will see a whole new child. Encourage them to spend time with ALL of their grandparents. Some will do things differently than you and you may not agree with it all but grandparents crave time with your children; so please let them have it. The memories they form will be precious for your child and for the grandparents. When our kids were little, I always thought of my mom first to watch them. When I realized that Paul's parents were just as eager, it was a gift to all of us to allow them to keep the kids. Each set of grandparents did different kinds of fun things with the kids, so they were excited to see all of them. I'm so glad I saw the error of my ways before it was too late.

-Husbands, tell your wife she is pretty. OK what I'm about to tell you is absolutely true.
My husband tells me how beautiful I am EVERY DAY. Sometimes I tell him his eyesight is failing; or he must have just finished a 20 year prison term if THIS looks good to him. But he tells me I'm beautiful. And I really think he means it, despite the weight I've gained, and the wrinkles, and the mood swings.

-And if not for my daughter reading this, I'd tell you how the above benefits my husband...but...you know....

I think that's it for now. But I might think of more. I'm sure I'll think of more. I would recommend two books that are very old and old fashioned - "Letters to Phillip" and "Letters to Karen." These books were written by a father to his son and daughter before their respective marriages. They are simple advice letters on how to be a good husband and a good wife. Again, they were written in the 70's I think but some of the advice still holds true.

Let me know some of your tips on how to keep a marriage happy. And I also realize that now that I've made this list for my ones of readers, someting in our household will blow up in our faces and I'll feel like a complete failure as a wife and mother. But, per number 2 - I'm sure I'll laugh about it.


Sometimes right in the middle of an ordinary life, love brings us a fairy tale...

I am so blessed to be living my fairy tale.

A DISAPPOINTMENT

Yesterday, when Blake got home from weight - lifting he found me in my craft room and said he needed to talk to me.

See, I had done something the day before that had hurt his feelings and disappointed him. I did something that embarrassed him; and I don't mean the typical day to day embarrassment that most teenagers suffer at the hands of their mothers. I'm talking about embarrassment that hurt his spirit and, although he didn't say it, probably made him question my loyalty to him.

He sat down and calmly and maturely stated his case and told me why my actions had made him so unhappy. He didn't raise his voice or even appear angry. That's how I knew his heart was hurting and not just his feelings. I told him I agreed with his feelings; explained how I would handle similar situations in the future and apologized profusely for letting him down. I told him that no human being on this earth will come before him or his sister in my heart, except their father, and I hope he believes that.

This one hurts.

This one makes me feel really small. I am disappointed in myself.

Disappointing your child is much worse than making him angry. I've been making him angry for nearly 17 years; and we both know it's part of the parent child relationship. But disappointing him? Making him feel uncomfortable? Huh-uh. That just doesn't fly.

I just wasn't thinking. I wasn't looking at things through his eyes. And now I know better.

The beautiful part of all this was that after our talk; he stood up and said "Thanks mom. I love you." And he hugged me.

I wanted to hold on forever because when you're son is closing in on 17, you don't get a lot of hugs from him. I had to stand on my tippy toes to hug him. And he had to meet me halfway by hunching his tall lanky self into an arch.

This child who learned to walk by following my outstretched arms; this child who learned to tie his shoes under my direction; this child who learned to ride a bike with me running beside him; this child who just moments ago stepped onto the school bus for his first day of kindergarten; this child who has learned from me for nearly 17 years, taught me a valuable lesson yesterday.

Learning from your child - it's a beautiful thing.

IT IS SO HARD TO BE ME - PART I - THE DIORAMA

*Edited to add: I have realized that I completely read my son's diorama instructions wrong. The Biomes are: polar, tundra, coniferous, deciduous forest, grassland, desert, tropical rain forest, temperate rain forest, marine and freshwater -NOT fish, birds, reptiles, amphibians and mammals as I had stated. I do NOT in any way want to be responsible for my ones of readers learning their Biomes incorrectly, so I thought I must come on here and clear the air.

Oh, and after I went through all that hassle to buy his animals, Blake decided since it is an OPTIONAL assignment, he wouldn't do it, because it seems impossible to meet the requirements. I have no idea where the students are finding the animals for this project because each project must include TWO animals from each group. I agree with him on why it must seem impossible to do it correctly....but COME ON!!! How much heartache can a mother take!



The stress level at the W household is very high right now. Seriously, between 1 and 10 I'd give it a good solid 13 on the stress-o-meter.

Paul has a sore throat and is experiencing some job dissatisfaction right now. Blake is uptight about final exams and end of the year projects. Kayla has final tests and projects, the end of track, the beginning of softball, camps to plan for and occasional junior high girl drama. And me? Well, I have all of the above since I am the wife (slash) mother and it is my job to nurture and take on everybody else's worries, even if they don't want me to.

Plus I am in a state of bereavement, which really has muddled my mind to the point where I find myself distracted by shiny objects and forgetting my children's names.

So when my husband reminded me that he'd be a little late today because he was playing golf this afternoon, I asked him "which restaurants will you be passing on your way home? Cause it would be a good idea for you to bring home dinner tonight. Seriously, you really should not say no to this request." And somehow he knew not to hesitate for one second before saying "I'd be happy to."

I expected today to be a busy but manageable day. I had to drop Boomer off at the vet, run to Wal-Mart for a couple of groceries, run to the mall for softball socks, make two batches of cookies for Kayla's class project tomorrow (which will be the subject of my next post) and find plastic animals for a diorama.

"A diorama?" you say. "Does that mean you have a 3rd grader?" you might ask.

The answer to that would be a big fat NO.

My tenth grader has to make a Biome diorama for biology. And since he wants to make it to match the poster he made of the Temperate Deciduous Forest Food Web, he asked that I find little plastic mammals that were similar to the pictures he placed on his poster.

Do you think that was an easy task?

Again, the answer to that would be a big fat NO.

I found plastic firemen, plastic military men, plastic construction workers, plastic dinosaurs, and plastic aliens.

Where have all the four-legged mammals gone?

What I did find that would fall under the heading of "biology requirement" were a tube of plastic bugs which would, evidently not meet any of the requirements (now that I'm reading the instruction sheet); a tube of plastic fish which would meet the requirement for a biome of the Osteichtyes or Chrondrichtyes Biome; one plastic elephant and one plastic giraffe, which of course are mammals, but would make a pretty paltry Mammalia Biome. Oh and I found some individual sticky sea animals that feel like jell-o, at the Dollar Tree.

My final stop was Target where I found the tube of fish and the tube of bugs. Thank goodness there is a Starbucks in there; the vanilla latte I'm sipping now is saving my sanity.

When the coffee girl asked if I wanted anything added to my latte I said "yes, a shot of tequila please...no wait...make that two!"

Oh, I'm kidding!

I am now hoping my highly stressed teenage son will look at all these plastic animals I have purchased and decide to change his mind on what kind of Biome Diorama he wants to make. Because I simply cannot come up with a plastic cougar, bear, deer, opossum, skunk or rodent mouse. And if he utters one word of dissatisfaction with my efforts today, the Mammalia Biome fur is going to fly.


Now, I mean no disrespect to teachers, 'cause I love them.

But come on!

Asking a 16 year old boy to make a diorama is like asking him to shop for his mother's underwear. Seriously, this is not a good idea.

I am frustrated enough that I'd like to glue the teacher to a shoe box and call it a School Biome diorama.

We'd call it the Secondary Educationus Ridiculosi Biome.

WHAT WORKS FOR US - RESTAURANTS

So quite a while ago Beaner mentioned in a comment that she'd love to hear what works for us as parents. I haven't really addressed that because:

a) I thought she surely must be joking

b) I couldn't think of anything

So I asked my kids. "Hey kids, what would you say I've done well as a mom?" To which Kayla replied "you took me to the emergency room the day I broke my thumb; and didn't make me wait two weeks like when Blake broke his finger."

Um, yeah. It's always good to be reminded of your brightest moments as a parent.

And Blake replied "Tuh...I don't know."

See? I am just a shining example of parenthood.

But last night I saw evidence of something that's worked for us.

We had the best evening when we went to dinner. The food was good. The conversation was good; and there was lots of it. All four of us laughed a lot. I sat in the booth thinking I must surely be the luckiest woman on earth.

I am always proud to be out to dinner with our kids and watch them interact with the servers in the restaurant.

We taught our kids very early to order for themselves when we went out to eat. I think by age four, they were ordering on their own, with prompts from us.

We taught them to look the server in the eye, speak clearly and politely and say "May I please have chicken fingers," or "I'd like the pizza please." We taught them that when a server comes and brings their food,they are to look at them again and say "Thank you" very clearly. And they are to continue saying thank you each time the server brings them something. If the server asks if they need another drink they are to say "yes, please" or "no thank you" and look them in the eye when they speak to them. They are to hand their empty plate to the server if possible when he or she comes to get it and say "thank you" when the plate is removed.

This stuff can be taught to children fairly early. They do not have to be able to read to order at a restaurant. We simply prompted them by saying something like "tell her 'I'd like chicken fingers, please.'" I don't remember ever having a server seem impatient with us while our kids learned on their time. But I do remember receiving compliments on our kids when they were little, because they interacted with the wait staff so well.

Kids can, of course, also order at fast food counters on their own when they are very young.

These restaurant lessons are important because they teach independence, they encourage verbal skills, they keep the kids busy for a while if you are preparing them to order like a big boy or girl and, most importantly, they teach kids to be polite and respectful to everybody with whom they come in contact.

So last night, I was watching our kids with the waitress and I was so proud of how respectful they were to her and how they each looked her in the eye when they spoke to her. They each said "No thank you" and "Yes Please" They looked at her when they ordered and didn't keep their faces buried in the menu. (I am really big on eye contact. Eye contact makes somebody feel like they are worth your time. I do not trust people who won't make eye contact with me. That's why I keep hammering that point.) I hope our waitress last night finished her service to us feeling good about her job.

I certainly finished dinner feeling good about my job as a mother.

So, there you have it. My first installment of "What Works for Us."

IN SEARCH OF THE PERFECT T-SHIRT

My typical summer outfit is a plain colored t-shirt and denim, black or khaki shorts or capris. Except this year I've decided to do skirts. I've always loved skirts and now is a good time to wear them since I've decided my thighs do not need to see sunlight until I've lost 5 or 40 pounds.

In the past I have bought my t-shirts at Kohl's.

Can I name stores on here if I'm going to say less than favorable things about their products?

Anyway, Kohl's t-shirts are usually like 7.99 and they have good colors and I like the neck lines and, of course they are cheap.

The trouble is, over the last couple of years, their quality has dropped dramatically.

Very dramatically.

If I dry them in the dryer they shrink up. If I hang them up to dry they lose their shape AND shrink up and I end up looking like Opie. They are fine t-shirts if you plan to wear them only once. You know? A disposable t-shirt.

So this year I have declared an end to the Opie shirt and I let my husband know that I am no longer buying cheap clothes that don't last more than one summer. Heck, these shirts don't last more than one washing.

"I mean it," I said. "I am not buying any more cheap shirts. I don't care how much I have to spend; it will be worth it to get shirts that last several seasons. I'm going to Talbot's."

I am woman hear me roar.

And he actually drove me there. Funny, though, while I was there, he walked to the wine shop. Now I know why that credit card receipt didn't make him have a stroke. I mean he seemed awfully relaxed that afternoon...

So I got to shop at Talbot's. And can I just say....Holy Fashion Plate!! Those are some beautiful clothes! I mean really beautiful.

If I was a working woman, and made, like...I don't know...any money at all...I'd be in there all the time. It's a good thing Talbot's is down town and I forget about it or I'd be the best dressed divorced woman in town.

So I bought myself some t-shirts and a 3/4 sleeve shirt. And a denim skirt that I absolutely HAD to have because...you know...the thigh thing, and I suggested to Paul that he not look at the receipt until...oh, he was like 60 or something.

And now, here it is Mother's Day and it's rainy and windy and cold and the t-shirts are still in the sack because I'm dressed in a sweatshirt and craving hot cocoa.

But I think they are going to last me a while; and I don't think I'll have the Opie look anymore.

Oh! And guess what!! My children got me a Talbot's gift card for Mother's Day. With 3 more just like it, I can afford that polka dot skirt I saw last week.
And they both got me really funny cards. Kayla is into the Hoops and Yo-Yo cards from Hallmark. They are really funny. She got me one of those and I have laughed all day with it. You can see Hoops and Yo-Yo at www.hallmark.com

And Paul punched me for mother's day....I mean he GAVE ME SOME PUNCHES for mother's day - a complete set of alphabet punches for my card making, which I had pointed out to him and put on my wish list.

Now Kayla is on her way to the mall with Daddy, and Blake is out on a hunt for a Wii, which we promised the kids we'd buy if we had a successful yard sale. Which we did. And I think I'm going to settle in for a rainy day nap.

Happy Mother's Day.

GUESS WHAT...

I started a new blog. It's a grief blog. It allows you to avoid my grieving process if you want to.

So, head on over to www.thisphaseoflife.blogspot.com if you are interested. I haven't posted anything there except my little test post, but still....

I think this means I'm a chain.

PERHAPS THERE WAS A PLAN

Here I sit after a prolonged absence with nothing to say.

Well, actually, I have a lot to say, but don't know which words to put out there.

I feel I need to be careful about the amount of time I devote to my grief on here. You know? I don't want any of my ones of readers to come over and say "Is she STILL talking about her dad's death?" But then again, it is MY blog. It is being written for my own memory and for my children; and I'm hoping that someday, should they be facing grief like this (and they are sure to, because it is a part of life) that they might draw something from my own experience, as unique as it is... WAIT! I've just convinced myself to grieve all I want to on here.

I am swayed so easily. Now you all can see how muddled my mind has been the last few days. I have lost countless items, forgotten events that are coming up, failed to know what day it is (seriously)neglected to fix supper, forgotten common household chores, and allowed myself to become completely overwhelmed at the thought of participating in the neighborhood yard sale. So much so, that my husband, who is in such a hurry to rid our house of crap...I mean junk... I mean somebody else's treasure...is taking Friday off work to do the garage sale because "I simply cannot focus on doing that right now. I do not have the energy or the desire..."

In other news...I had lunch with Marilyn yesterday. My grandmother and my aunt also joined us. I was struck, sitting at the table in Steak-n-Shake, that four of the most important female relationships in my dad's life were sitting there - his wife, his mother, his daughter, and his sister. And isn't it funny that he had two wives (at different times of course) two sisters, and two daughters. Of course only one mother. But each of those vital relationships was represented. I wonder if he would have been struck by that as well.

I cannot get Marilyn out of my mind. She is driving home today and it will be her first time to be in their home alone. I offered several times to drive back with her, but she insists she must do it sometime so she might as well do it now. She also said she has not really had a chance to sit alone and cry and she needs to do that. Yes, she does, and she will do it often, I'm sure. So I told her if she gets home and decides the solitude is indeed too painful, to call and I can be there in a few hours.

I've learned that grief is one thing, but the worry for the others who are grieving is another very difficult thing for me. I cannot quit thinking of my brothers and sister. I cannot quit thinking of Marilyn or of my aunt who spent the final moments with her big brother. I cannot quit thinking of my grandmother who knows the heart wrenching pain of burying a child and how, even if he was 64, she must surely wish she had not lived to feel that pain.

And I cannot quit thinking of the last day I spent with my dad, in his house, sitting on the couch holding his hand; and wondering if he had a fever because his hand felt hot. He told me a funny story about trying to buy shirts that were on sale but he could never find the actual sale items and he kept taking the wrong things to the checkout counter, and he finally ended up paying full price for everything he bought that day. THAT had to be VERY painful for him because he was indeed one of the cheapest people I've ever known. But he laughed. He could certainly laugh at himself, and had a great sense of humor. Five days before he died, he was sitting up on his couch making me laugh. I still cannot wrap my mind around that.

Given my past with my dad, I never thought I'd miss him so much. But my how I miss him. The last eighteen months were indeed beautiful for me, given the time I got to spend with him and Marilyn helping them at their house.

I have found myself wondering if perhaps God had a plan. Eighteen months ago, when Dad had taken his first chemo treatment, and Marilyn broke her foot mowing the yard, did God have a plan that would lead me back into their lives, that would lead them back into my life? Because it was ME that he called for help - the one child from whom he had been the most distant. He called ME.

And I feel some peace in knowing that he got to know the person I've become. He told me how proud he was of my giving nature and my willingness to go anywhere and do anything for them. He told me how he appreciated that nothing seemed to be a bother to me, and that I seemed to make everything fun. And those were hard words for him to say, because he was a quiet, private man -not given to expressing himself. As hard as the words were for him to say, they will be in my mind forever as a reminder that perhaps I have turned out OK after all. Because no matter the relationship you have with your parents, you want them to be proud of you.

Also during those eighteen months, I got to know him as a person, apart from the biased words I had heard from my mother all my life. I got to know him as the man I thought I remembered from my early childhood years - quiet and funny. That's how I have always described my memories of him and, strangely enough, that's how everybody described him during the week of the funeral - a quiet man with a great sense of humor. I certainly cannot brag about the kind of father he was, but I loved him as a person. I liked him as a person. I enjoyed him as a person. He made me laugh and he made me feel loved for who I was and not for what I could give him.

And it is that person who keeps me awake at night and muddles my thoughts through the day and causes tears to creep up on me at the oddest moments.

It is that person that I miss so terribly.

HEY JUDE...

Hey ya'll. Go on over to http://www.ericcope.blogspot.com/ and see this little one's version of Hey Jude.

"Remember to ret her in to your heart...."