Here is Blake before the homecoming dance>
And Kayla in Grandpa's sweet ride.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
BRING ON THE BIG GUNS...OH AND PASS THE CARBS
When Blake was in 5th grade he wore a sleeveless t-shirt (a muscle shirt?) to school. I didn't really like the look but in an un-airconditioned building, you kind of go for comfort. Anyway, he came home and said, "Mom, I'm wearing this kind of shirt alot." Then he made a muscle with one arm and tapped it with his finger and said "The ladies like these guns!!." Of course he said it in a schmoozey kind of voice. At age 10, of course, his guns were pretty much pea shooters, but he didn't seem to care. Also, in 1st grade he told me that "the girls like me because I make them laugh. Oh and I'm attractive too." There is absolutely no self esteem problems with this kid. A year ago, I found a t-shirt that had an outline of a body-builder on it and it said WELCOME TO THE GUN SHOW. Remembering Blake's fine physique, I bought it for him.
A few nights ago, while Paul was in London, Blake came into our bedroom to "fill me in on the plans for the rest of the week." He was in flannel pants and no shirt. I couldn't help but think of him as a little boy flexing his muscles. But now, he really has some guns!! I was thinking "Holy Smokes. He really does have some guns now. So this is what a year of wrestling, football, and weightlifting has done to my little boy. Wait! Wait! Where is my pudgy little boy that loved his green tractor and couldn't walk to the car without dragging one finger through the dirt to take some with him?"
Every now and then, my mom comments on how thin Blake is. Of course it is usually when she sees him in his football uniform. (Perhaps I need to wear football pants if they make one look too thin) And I always remind her that for breakfast he eats 4 waffles or 6 pancakes and 2 big glasses of milk. He orders potatoes AND french fries when we eat out. He eats a whole 14 inch pizza alone. He is just so active. I feel like I need to reassure her that I AM feeding my child. So when she was here the other night, I really wanted to make Blake strip his shirt off so she could see that he is not too thin, that he has muscle. Just not ONE BIT OF FAT (the little stinker) But I didn't. Instead I let her sit back and enjoy the show of Blake and his friends eating the pie she brought them. Blake called her a few days ago and said he was craving her pumpkin pie. Well, Grandma baked a couple pies and Kayla's favorite cake and drove up to deliver them. Grandma was in shock when Blake and his three friends cut the first pie into FOUR pieces and then each devoured their 1/4 of a pie in under 4 bites. Then they cut the 2nd pie and started on it. She said she didn't know why she was in shock, she raised 2 boys and her oldest grandson used to eat a big mac in 3 bites. Some sights just never cease to amaze us.
Then Kayla got home and ate about 3 bites of her cake and moved on. This is the child that has passed up a brownie for yogurt. One time at Christmas, her piano teacher gave her a bag of candy and an apple. She came running out of the house yelling "mommy, she gave me an apple!!!" Of course, I was thinking "great, can I have your chocolate!"
A few nights ago, while Paul was in London, Blake came into our bedroom to "fill me in on the plans for the rest of the week." He was in flannel pants and no shirt. I couldn't help but think of him as a little boy flexing his muscles. But now, he really has some guns!! I was thinking "Holy Smokes. He really does have some guns now. So this is what a year of wrestling, football, and weightlifting has done to my little boy. Wait! Wait! Where is my pudgy little boy that loved his green tractor and couldn't walk to the car without dragging one finger through the dirt to take some with him?"
Every now and then, my mom comments on how thin Blake is. Of course it is usually when she sees him in his football uniform. (Perhaps I need to wear football pants if they make one look too thin) And I always remind her that for breakfast he eats 4 waffles or 6 pancakes and 2 big glasses of milk. He orders potatoes AND french fries when we eat out. He eats a whole 14 inch pizza alone. He is just so active. I feel like I need to reassure her that I AM feeding my child. So when she was here the other night, I really wanted to make Blake strip his shirt off so she could see that he is not too thin, that he has muscle. Just not ONE BIT OF FAT (the little stinker) But I didn't. Instead I let her sit back and enjoy the show of Blake and his friends eating the pie she brought them. Blake called her a few days ago and said he was craving her pumpkin pie. Well, Grandma baked a couple pies and Kayla's favorite cake and drove up to deliver them. Grandma was in shock when Blake and his three friends cut the first pie into FOUR pieces and then each devoured their 1/4 of a pie in under 4 bites. Then they cut the 2nd pie and started on it. She said she didn't know why she was in shock, she raised 2 boys and her oldest grandson used to eat a big mac in 3 bites. Some sights just never cease to amaze us.
Then Kayla got home and ate about 3 bites of her cake and moved on. This is the child that has passed up a brownie for yogurt. One time at Christmas, her piano teacher gave her a bag of candy and an apple. She came running out of the house yelling "mommy, she gave me an apple!!!" Of course, I was thinking "great, can I have your chocolate!"
Monday, October 23, 2006
I'M PACKING MY BAGS...
To go on another guilt trip. I just called into work to tell them I won't be in today. My daughter was up all night being sick to her stomach. I was going to go on in because I would leave at 10 and my husband would come home at noon until I returned at 2. But she was apprehensive about being alone even for two hours. And I don't blame her. She said if it was just a big nasty cold, she wouldn't mind, but with throwing up....again I don't blame her. I, personally, turn into a GREAT BIG BABY when I am throwing up. Which may be happening soon because I am feeling queasy. But I am trying to tell myself that I am paranoid, or overtired.
Anyway, I am still fairly new at this job thing, so calling in to take the day off makes me nervous. I feel terribly guilty. Even though I just answer the phones, they get real jumpy when I'm not there because the ringing phone bothers them, although there are days it doesn't even ring that much. Acutally they went about 10 years without a receptionist before they hired me part time, so I would think it'd be no big deal. I just keep telling myself, I must put my family first, and they knew they were hiring a mother when they hired me so this just can't be helped.
Anyway, it is days like this that I really regret taking the job. The job has been good for me in many ways. It is an ideal situation for my family and it was practically handed to me on a silver platter, so I shouldn't even question whether it's right for me. But, to be honest, I don't HAVE to work. When our kids were little, and we lived pay check to pay check, I was determined to stay home and raise them, and we have no regrets. But THAT was when the extra little pay check would have come in handy. I guess I kind of look at this as making up for what I didn't do then. But I'm not working to put food on the table. I know we are blessed by the fact that I don't have to work to keep my kids in shoes. Although I have said that my paycheck is quite handy these days because high school is QUITE expensive, but that's another blog.
So I am doing a lot of second guessing these days. Of course having my kids sick makes me wonder if I've done the right thing by returning to work.
And also my father is seriously ill and I would love to be over there more. In two weeks, we will know if he can have surgery or if they will continue with chemo and add radiation. Either way, his need for help is going to increase dramatically, and it has become clear that I am probably the one that will be most able (and willing?) to go over there for long periods of time. Will I know if I'm supposed to quit my job? Will I feel comfortable just asking for an extended leave? I know for certain I will feel guilty taking time off because I won't be giving 100 percent to my job, but again, my family must come first. I pray daily about this. I pray that I will see what is the right thing for me to do. Any suggestions?
Anyway, I am still fairly new at this job thing, so calling in to take the day off makes me nervous. I feel terribly guilty. Even though I just answer the phones, they get real jumpy when I'm not there because the ringing phone bothers them, although there are days it doesn't even ring that much. Acutally they went about 10 years without a receptionist before they hired me part time, so I would think it'd be no big deal. I just keep telling myself, I must put my family first, and they knew they were hiring a mother when they hired me so this just can't be helped.
Anyway, it is days like this that I really regret taking the job. The job has been good for me in many ways. It is an ideal situation for my family and it was practically handed to me on a silver platter, so I shouldn't even question whether it's right for me. But, to be honest, I don't HAVE to work. When our kids were little, and we lived pay check to pay check, I was determined to stay home and raise them, and we have no regrets. But THAT was when the extra little pay check would have come in handy. I guess I kind of look at this as making up for what I didn't do then. But I'm not working to put food on the table. I know we are blessed by the fact that I don't have to work to keep my kids in shoes. Although I have said that my paycheck is quite handy these days because high school is QUITE expensive, but that's another blog.
So I am doing a lot of second guessing these days. Of course having my kids sick makes me wonder if I've done the right thing by returning to work.
And also my father is seriously ill and I would love to be over there more. In two weeks, we will know if he can have surgery or if they will continue with chemo and add radiation. Either way, his need for help is going to increase dramatically, and it has become clear that I am probably the one that will be most able (and willing?) to go over there for long periods of time. Will I know if I'm supposed to quit my job? Will I feel comfortable just asking for an extended leave? I know for certain I will feel guilty taking time off because I won't be giving 100 percent to my job, but again, my family must come first. I pray daily about this. I pray that I will see what is the right thing for me to do. Any suggestions?
Monday, October 16, 2006
THIS I PROMISE YOU
Dear Blake and Kayla,
As you become young adults, I am sure you have tuned in to enough adult conversations to pick up on some of the issues I've had with my parents. Perhaps you have picked up on the painful childhood I had. I have never seen the need to share my painful past, but I will never lie to you. I might, perhaps, put off answering questions until I think you are old enough to see the whole picture.
Because of my childhood, I hope to model two things to you as you choose your paths in life.
First, I hope to model a life of forgiveness. I am not perfect at this, but I have learned a lot in my nearly 40 years on earth. Sometimes you will have a heavy load to carry as you face adulthood. Forgiveness lightens that load. Learn now to forgive the small things and it will be easier to forgive the larger things later on.
Second, I hope to model a life of "no excuses." A bad break early in life is not an excuse to behave badly later in life. Hopefully, your dad and I will spare you from any of these bad breaks, but we can't predict what life has in store for us. If you have a setback, mourn or grieve or get angry; but then pick yourself up and learn from it, and move on. Use that setback to make your life better and to improve the lives of others.
And now, I promise you two things.
I promise you that, as long as we are on this earth together, your dad and I will be partners. Before we got married, we looked at each other and promised that divorce was not an option. You can always count on us being a unit. When you choose one, you choose the other. Together we will raise you. Together we will discipline you. Together we will rejoice over your successes. Together we will watch you make mistakes. Together we will decide when to lift you up and carry you and when to let you pick yourself up and brush yourself off. Together we will lay awake at night and watch the clock when you start to date. Together we will mark each milestone in your life - graduation, college, marriage, new babies. Each of you has caught us kissing in the kitchen and dancing in the dining room. I promise that you will have many memories like that. It is our job to be partners for you. It is your job, at this young stage in life, to take for granted the fact that we will always be there as a unit. Because we will.
I promise you that, no matter what, I will never choose to be removed from your life. From the day you were born, I knew it was my job to raise you and let you go out into the world. But even when that day comes, I will never remove myself from your life. I will watch you go off to college. I will watch you make a home and family with your spouse. But I will be there. There will be disagreements, but none will ever be bad enough to make me turn my back on you. As long as I am on this earth, I will love the sound of your voice. I will crave the sound of your laughter and I will look forward to every bit of news you are willing to share with me. As long as I am on this earth, I will hurt when you hurt, and I will enjoy what you enjoy.
This I promise you.
As you become young adults, I am sure you have tuned in to enough adult conversations to pick up on some of the issues I've had with my parents. Perhaps you have picked up on the painful childhood I had. I have never seen the need to share my painful past, but I will never lie to you. I might, perhaps, put off answering questions until I think you are old enough to see the whole picture.
Because of my childhood, I hope to model two things to you as you choose your paths in life.
First, I hope to model a life of forgiveness. I am not perfect at this, but I have learned a lot in my nearly 40 years on earth. Sometimes you will have a heavy load to carry as you face adulthood. Forgiveness lightens that load. Learn now to forgive the small things and it will be easier to forgive the larger things later on.
Second, I hope to model a life of "no excuses." A bad break early in life is not an excuse to behave badly later in life. Hopefully, your dad and I will spare you from any of these bad breaks, but we can't predict what life has in store for us. If you have a setback, mourn or grieve or get angry; but then pick yourself up and learn from it, and move on. Use that setback to make your life better and to improve the lives of others.
And now, I promise you two things.
I promise you that, as long as we are on this earth together, your dad and I will be partners. Before we got married, we looked at each other and promised that divorce was not an option. You can always count on us being a unit. When you choose one, you choose the other. Together we will raise you. Together we will discipline you. Together we will rejoice over your successes. Together we will watch you make mistakes. Together we will decide when to lift you up and carry you and when to let you pick yourself up and brush yourself off. Together we will lay awake at night and watch the clock when you start to date. Together we will mark each milestone in your life - graduation, college, marriage, new babies. Each of you has caught us kissing in the kitchen and dancing in the dining room. I promise that you will have many memories like that. It is our job to be partners for you. It is your job, at this young stage in life, to take for granted the fact that we will always be there as a unit. Because we will.
I promise you that, no matter what, I will never choose to be removed from your life. From the day you were born, I knew it was my job to raise you and let you go out into the world. But even when that day comes, I will never remove myself from your life. I will watch you go off to college. I will watch you make a home and family with your spouse. But I will be there. There will be disagreements, but none will ever be bad enough to make me turn my back on you. As long as I am on this earth, I will love the sound of your voice. I will crave the sound of your laughter and I will look forward to every bit of news you are willing to share with me. As long as I am on this earth, I will hurt when you hurt, and I will enjoy what you enjoy.
This I promise you.
Friday, October 13, 2006
I GUESS IT'S THAT OLD "CIRCLE OF LIFE" THING.
I'm home. Paul picked me up on Wednesday. Kayla took the day off school to make the drive with him.
I have a really cool dad, I guess. He drives (when he's healthy) a 2005 red Mustang GT (with black leather interior). We drive a 2006 Toyota Sienna mini van that seats 8 (and although I only gave birth to 2 kids the seats are usually full - another math puzzle). Dad and Marilyn quickly realized how easy our van was for them to get in and out of, he with his sore back and she with her crutches. So Paul offered to leave the van with us and he'd rent a car to drive home. "No," Dad said. "Drive the mustang." Yay, Paul.
So Paul got to spend the week with the red baby. And the kids got to ride to school and all their activities in style. But alas, the joy ended when we came home, and Dad could not be persuaded to let us leave him the mini van "for his own good, you know" and we would drive the mustang "just to help them out." They'll be sorry. They'll miss that van. I know they will.
Anyway, Dad and Marilyn were very easy patients. They have a very set routine but they were very easy going and flexible about it. They are funny and positive. They are fiercely protective of each other. For example, Dad said he had questions for the doctor but did not want Marilyn to hear them because they would make her sad. And anytime Dad said he was craving something (since he has very little appetite), Marilyn got her purse out and handed me money so I could rush out and buy it before the craving passed. They are very much in love and so devoted to each other. They touched each other's hands during a conversation or would reach over and rub each other's shoulder. They've been married for 25 years, and I could see that they were truly best friends and truly enjoyed their marriage.
Now, I know this is all very normal stuff for those of you who grew up in a normal home. But this was the first time I had seen one of my parents in a loving, happy relationship. I loved witnessing it. Do I wish I had been exposed to this all of my life? Yes. Do I wish that it was my mother instead of my step mother with whom Dad shared this? Yes. Do I feel a great sense of relief that Dad has this special woman by his side during this difficult time? Yes. I am relieved they have each other, and I told them that we would be there to take care of Marilyn too, as the years passed. I do wish we could convince them to move back here, but they are set up with a great medical team now and they couldn't possibly move at this point anyway.
Now, about their routine.
They get up at 3:45. Yes, that is 3:45. IN THE MORNING. That would be 2:45 my time. Dad has always been an early riser and even though he isn't working now, the habit remains. So they get up at about the time I would have been feeding a newborn baby years ago. Then they have their coffe and watch Fox News for a couple of hours. Then they take their naps (only since they have both become sick/injured). Then they are ready for lunch at 11:00. Then more Fox News and napping. After lunch is when I had my daily "battle" with Marilyn to let me do her housework. She is one energetic woman. She has always worked out daily and she has the sleekest arms and legs I've seen on a woman, regardless of age. I think that is why she is adjusting to crutches easily. It is absolutely driving her crazy to be helpless. Their kitchen chairs have wheels on them, so she would simply push herself with her good foot, and do what chores she could. I did take Dad to the office one day so he could pick up some work to do at home. Anyway, after afternoon rest time - at about 3:30, we headed to Damon's. Damon's has been part of their evening routine for years. At Damon's Marilyn would have 2 glasses of white wine (she only had one when I wasn't driving. So that second was a treat) and Dad would have 2 beers, and I would have one diet Pepsi and they'd visit with all their friends, who were also very nice and funny. And then I'd drive them home and fix them supper. Then by 7:30, they'd both be exhausted and ready for bed. They slept in the family room on the couch and love seat because it was simply easier for them. I got their bedroom and bathroom. So after settling them in, I had the evening to watch tv, or read. Yep, it was a fairly easy job. Except for seeing how OLD my dad looks. And how slowly he walks. And how sad and scared they both are, despite their efforts to remain upbeat.
In case any of you are wondering. NO, I did not get up at 3:45. I rarely slept at all, though, because I woke up at the slightest sound from them through the night, especially if I heard Marilyn's crutches moving down the hall. I was so worried one of them would fall or something. It was a fall that started this whole thing, after all. But once I heard them getting their coffee at 3:45 IN THE MORNING, I slept pretty good for a couple hours because I knew they had made it through the night and the routine would begin again. I told them it was like taking care of a couple of babies. Feed them, keep them happy for a couple hours, then put them down for a nap again. And boy was it hard to leave, but there are still things that need to be done at home. Our lives seem to carry on, crisis or not.
I miss them. I know I won't be able to go back for awhile because I can't leave work. Well, until his surgery. Isn't it ironic, that I've started working after 15 years, and a parent becomes seriously ill? I am praying for guidance in that area of my life. Paul may go over for a few days, though, as he can easily work away from the office. Now, isn't that a sweet man? Willing to go take care of his sick father-in-law for a few days.
Interestingly, my sister can't go because she has "so many issues to deal with" and she doesn't want to leave her children. EXCUSE ME??? We all have issues, and it wasn't pleasant for me to leave my children, and to ask for a week off from work, and miss Kayla's ball game and to go days without sleep....But so far I have kept my mouth shut and tried to keep the peace.
The next time I post, I am going to ask this question: Why are some people trying to convince me to hold a grudge?
I have a really cool dad, I guess. He drives (when he's healthy) a 2005 red Mustang GT (with black leather interior). We drive a 2006 Toyota Sienna mini van that seats 8 (and although I only gave birth to 2 kids the seats are usually full - another math puzzle). Dad and Marilyn quickly realized how easy our van was for them to get in and out of, he with his sore back and she with her crutches. So Paul offered to leave the van with us and he'd rent a car to drive home. "No," Dad said. "Drive the mustang." Yay, Paul.
So Paul got to spend the week with the red baby. And the kids got to ride to school and all their activities in style. But alas, the joy ended when we came home, and Dad could not be persuaded to let us leave him the mini van "for his own good, you know" and we would drive the mustang "just to help them out." They'll be sorry. They'll miss that van. I know they will.
Anyway, Dad and Marilyn were very easy patients. They have a very set routine but they were very easy going and flexible about it. They are funny and positive. They are fiercely protective of each other. For example, Dad said he had questions for the doctor but did not want Marilyn to hear them because they would make her sad. And anytime Dad said he was craving something (since he has very little appetite), Marilyn got her purse out and handed me money so I could rush out and buy it before the craving passed. They are very much in love and so devoted to each other. They touched each other's hands during a conversation or would reach over and rub each other's shoulder. They've been married for 25 years, and I could see that they were truly best friends and truly enjoyed their marriage.
Now, I know this is all very normal stuff for those of you who grew up in a normal home. But this was the first time I had seen one of my parents in a loving, happy relationship. I loved witnessing it. Do I wish I had been exposed to this all of my life? Yes. Do I wish that it was my mother instead of my step mother with whom Dad shared this? Yes. Do I feel a great sense of relief that Dad has this special woman by his side during this difficult time? Yes. I am relieved they have each other, and I told them that we would be there to take care of Marilyn too, as the years passed. I do wish we could convince them to move back here, but they are set up with a great medical team now and they couldn't possibly move at this point anyway.
Now, about their routine.
They get up at 3:45. Yes, that is 3:45. IN THE MORNING. That would be 2:45 my time. Dad has always been an early riser and even though he isn't working now, the habit remains. So they get up at about the time I would have been feeding a newborn baby years ago. Then they have their coffe and watch Fox News for a couple of hours. Then they take their naps (only since they have both become sick/injured). Then they are ready for lunch at 11:00. Then more Fox News and napping. After lunch is when I had my daily "battle" with Marilyn to let me do her housework. She is one energetic woman. She has always worked out daily and she has the sleekest arms and legs I've seen on a woman, regardless of age. I think that is why she is adjusting to crutches easily. It is absolutely driving her crazy to be helpless. Their kitchen chairs have wheels on them, so she would simply push herself with her good foot, and do what chores she could. I did take Dad to the office one day so he could pick up some work to do at home. Anyway, after afternoon rest time - at about 3:30, we headed to Damon's. Damon's has been part of their evening routine for years. At Damon's Marilyn would have 2 glasses of white wine (she only had one when I wasn't driving. So that second was a treat) and Dad would have 2 beers, and I would have one diet Pepsi and they'd visit with all their friends, who were also very nice and funny. And then I'd drive them home and fix them supper. Then by 7:30, they'd both be exhausted and ready for bed. They slept in the family room on the couch and love seat because it was simply easier for them. I got their bedroom and bathroom. So after settling them in, I had the evening to watch tv, or read. Yep, it was a fairly easy job. Except for seeing how OLD my dad looks. And how slowly he walks. And how sad and scared they both are, despite their efforts to remain upbeat.
In case any of you are wondering. NO, I did not get up at 3:45. I rarely slept at all, though, because I woke up at the slightest sound from them through the night, especially if I heard Marilyn's crutches moving down the hall. I was so worried one of them would fall or something. It was a fall that started this whole thing, after all. But once I heard them getting their coffee at 3:45 IN THE MORNING, I slept pretty good for a couple hours because I knew they had made it through the night and the routine would begin again. I told them it was like taking care of a couple of babies. Feed them, keep them happy for a couple hours, then put them down for a nap again. And boy was it hard to leave, but there are still things that need to be done at home. Our lives seem to carry on, crisis or not.
I miss them. I know I won't be able to go back for awhile because I can't leave work. Well, until his surgery. Isn't it ironic, that I've started working after 15 years, and a parent becomes seriously ill? I am praying for guidance in that area of my life. Paul may go over for a few days, though, as he can easily work away from the office. Now, isn't that a sweet man? Willing to go take care of his sick father-in-law for a few days.
Interestingly, my sister can't go because she has "so many issues to deal with" and she doesn't want to leave her children. EXCUSE ME??? We all have issues, and it wasn't pleasant for me to leave my children, and to ask for a week off from work, and miss Kayla's ball game and to go days without sleep....But so far I have kept my mouth shut and tried to keep the peace.
The next time I post, I am going to ask this question: Why are some people trying to convince me to hold a grudge?
Monday, October 09, 2006
AND NOW....THE REST OF THE STORY
I am posting from my dad's house where both of my patients are resting. This experience of caring for them will make for lots of blog material.
This is for Jen3 who has asked for the whole story of the homecoming fiasco experienced by my son. Please be patient.
First a little background. We live in a town of about 2000 people (that's two thousand). We are in a consolidated school district with a town of about 1000 people (that's one thousand). That town is 7 miles up the highway. In the ten years we've been here, our school district has never been ranked below number 2 in state testing for our region, so even the consolidation is little bother for the fantastic schools we think we have. Our town is basically connected to a town of about 80,000. It has several public schools and one private Catholic high school (St. T) This school is our ARCH RIVAL in sports. It is a rivalry that seems to have reached animosity - at least when you are speaking to teenagers (and some parents, actually.)
Blake's friend Taylor was dating a girl from St. T. Seems she already had her dress for OUR homecoming,when Taylor broke up with her. So she asked Blake to take her to HIS OWN dance, even though she attends a different school. Boys being boys, Taylor didn't care a bit, other than to say "let Blake deal with the headache." I should have seen the red flag.
So she tells Blake her dress is green and he tells me his tie has to match her dress so I ask "what color green? Pine green? Sage green? Lime green? John Deere green?" He doesn't know but he'll ask her. She responds by saying she has a tie she wants him to wear, which I thought sounded a little controlling, but what do I know?
So we buy Blake his dress pants and shirt and a new belt and I wait around for the tie. Friday night (dance on Saturday) - still no tie. I ask Blake when we are getting that tie so I can make sure it is pressed, etc. Turns out we had to go pick up the tie Saturday morning, because evidently we didn't have enough to do on top of Kayla's basketball tournament, picking up a corsage, pressing clothes, arranging transportation, etc. etc.
Let me back up. On Thursday (two days before the dance) Blake called me from the after school festivities and said "Mom, she just called and said she doesn't want to go to the dance. Can you cancel the flower?" Sure. I think he was relieved. Then he called back 45 minutes later and I felt so bad for him because he said "Mom, now she's called and said she does want to go to the dance with me." Well, I didn't say what I wanted to say, but enough is enough. So I said "Blake you do NOT have to take her to the dance. If you do not want to take this girl, you have my permission to call her back and tell her that you are not going to be strung along by her. She can't play this kind of game with you." Please keep in mind, Blake did not know this girl very well, he thought he was just escorting her to the dance so she could be with her friends who had been invited. She is not the type of girl he has normally chosen to "date."
So, on the evening of the dance, we are all to meet at the pond across from our house for pictures. Blake and his date had their picture taken by her mother and before I could get in position to take one, she said "now Ryan, one with you." Then,
"Alex, one with you." And on it went. So I just said "I'd like one of Blake and his date, please." Though, actually I didn't.
THEN. We all load up to take the kids to Red Lobster and BLAKE'S DATE DIDN'T WANT TO RIDE WITH HIM. And neither did Alex's date. Then after eating, Blake and his date and 2 other couples were supposed to be driven to the dance by my husband. Paul said he got there and one of the girls said "Oh, my mom is taking all the girls." So the girls piled in one van and the boys piled in the other.
Later that evening, all the boys spent the night at our house. That is when Taylor said "next year, no dates. Too much drama."
My theory, and the other mothers agreed, is that these girls simply used the boys to get into the homecoming dance of a rival school. Think of the drama they created by saying they got to go to this dance. Think of how they probably stirred things up with the boys from their own school. And honestly, I am disappointed that our boys did not decide to take girls from their own school, so I do not hold Blake blameless in this mess. I think he has learned a lesson. It was very hard for me to watch all of this unfold, but I was afraid the more I protested, the more tempting it might be for him to not only escort her to the dance but to keep having contact with her. Teenagers are like that, you know.
And guess what. At dinner the other night, Blake asked "Mom, Dad, would I be allowed to attend St. T's homecoming dance.?"
My response: "Not only NO, but NO WAY!!!"
Also, I do know that these girls are just kids and they may very well turn out to be very sweet young women. I do not mean to speak badly of kids. Because they are just that...kids.
************************************************************************************
And now, a quick question.
I am nearing 40. And that is fine with me. I am accepting the hot flashes and the creaking my joints do. I am accepting the higher maintence costs in general that come with middle age. I am accepting that I am in a phase of life where I am raising teenagers AND caring for aging, ill parents. But why, oh why if I am on the threshold of middle age, am I still getting pimples?
This is for Jen3 who has asked for the whole story of the homecoming fiasco experienced by my son. Please be patient.
First a little background. We live in a town of about 2000 people (that's two thousand). We are in a consolidated school district with a town of about 1000 people (that's one thousand). That town is 7 miles up the highway. In the ten years we've been here, our school district has never been ranked below number 2 in state testing for our region, so even the consolidation is little bother for the fantastic schools we think we have. Our town is basically connected to a town of about 80,000. It has several public schools and one private Catholic high school (St. T) This school is our ARCH RIVAL in sports. It is a rivalry that seems to have reached animosity - at least when you are speaking to teenagers (and some parents, actually.)
Blake's friend Taylor was dating a girl from St. T. Seems she already had her dress for OUR homecoming,when Taylor broke up with her. So she asked Blake to take her to HIS OWN dance, even though she attends a different school. Boys being boys, Taylor didn't care a bit, other than to say "let Blake deal with the headache." I should have seen the red flag.
So she tells Blake her dress is green and he tells me his tie has to match her dress so I ask "what color green? Pine green? Sage green? Lime green? John Deere green?" He doesn't know but he'll ask her. She responds by saying she has a tie she wants him to wear, which I thought sounded a little controlling, but what do I know?
So we buy Blake his dress pants and shirt and a new belt and I wait around for the tie. Friday night (dance on Saturday) - still no tie. I ask Blake when we are getting that tie so I can make sure it is pressed, etc. Turns out we had to go pick up the tie Saturday morning, because evidently we didn't have enough to do on top of Kayla's basketball tournament, picking up a corsage, pressing clothes, arranging transportation, etc. etc.
Let me back up. On Thursday (two days before the dance) Blake called me from the after school festivities and said "Mom, she just called and said she doesn't want to go to the dance. Can you cancel the flower?" Sure. I think he was relieved. Then he called back 45 minutes later and I felt so bad for him because he said "Mom, now she's called and said she does want to go to the dance with me." Well, I didn't say what I wanted to say, but enough is enough. So I said "Blake you do NOT have to take her to the dance. If you do not want to take this girl, you have my permission to call her back and tell her that you are not going to be strung along by her. She can't play this kind of game with you." Please keep in mind, Blake did not know this girl very well, he thought he was just escorting her to the dance so she could be with her friends who had been invited. She is not the type of girl he has normally chosen to "date."
So, on the evening of the dance, we are all to meet at the pond across from our house for pictures. Blake and his date had their picture taken by her mother and before I could get in position to take one, she said "now Ryan, one with you." Then,
"Alex, one with you." And on it went. So I just said "I'd like one of Blake and his date, please." Though, actually I didn't.
THEN. We all load up to take the kids to Red Lobster and BLAKE'S DATE DIDN'T WANT TO RIDE WITH HIM. And neither did Alex's date. Then after eating, Blake and his date and 2 other couples were supposed to be driven to the dance by my husband. Paul said he got there and one of the girls said "Oh, my mom is taking all the girls." So the girls piled in one van and the boys piled in the other.
Later that evening, all the boys spent the night at our house. That is when Taylor said "next year, no dates. Too much drama."
My theory, and the other mothers agreed, is that these girls simply used the boys to get into the homecoming dance of a rival school. Think of the drama they created by saying they got to go to this dance. Think of how they probably stirred things up with the boys from their own school. And honestly, I am disappointed that our boys did not decide to take girls from their own school, so I do not hold Blake blameless in this mess. I think he has learned a lesson. It was very hard for me to watch all of this unfold, but I was afraid the more I protested, the more tempting it might be for him to not only escort her to the dance but to keep having contact with her. Teenagers are like that, you know.
And guess what. At dinner the other night, Blake asked "Mom, Dad, would I be allowed to attend St. T's homecoming dance.?"
My response: "Not only NO, but NO WAY!!!"
Also, I do know that these girls are just kids and they may very well turn out to be very sweet young women. I do not mean to speak badly of kids. Because they are just that...kids.
************************************************************************************
And now, a quick question.
I am nearing 40. And that is fine with me. I am accepting the hot flashes and the creaking my joints do. I am accepting the higher maintence costs in general that come with middle age. I am accepting that I am in a phase of life where I am raising teenagers AND caring for aging, ill parents. But why, oh why if I am on the threshold of middle age, am I still getting pimples?
Friday, October 06, 2006
WHAT HAVE I BECOME?
Me 6 years ago at Blake's little basketball games: "Paul you need to tell him not to be so aggressive. Is he supposed to try to take the ball right out of the other players' hands?
Me Wednesday night at Kayla's basketball game (which by the way we won 31-2):
"WAY TO FIGHT FOR THAT BALL KAYLA!!!!!"
Me last night at Blake's football game: "FACE MASKING!!!!!!!!!" (I mean, really, if I could see it, anybody could....)
Hmmmmm.
Me Wednesday night at Kayla's basketball game (which by the way we won 31-2):
"WAY TO FIGHT FOR THAT BALL KAYLA!!!!!"
Me last night at Blake's football game: "FACE MASKING!!!!!!!!!" (I mean, really, if I could see it, anybody could....)
Hmmmmm.
UMMMMM....JUST NEWS I GUESS
There's that old saying "when it rains it pours..." yada, yada, yada.
My dad had his first chemo treatment on Monday. My step mom broke her foot on Wednesday. He cannot get off the couch. She cannot walk.
They called yesterday to ask if I could come for a few days. I have used the time since then to find temporary homes for my kids and make arrangements at work. So after Kayla's basketball game tomorrow morning, Paul will drive me to Indiana and come home on Sunday. Then he will come back and get me....well, whenever they can manage or one of my siblings can relieve me or when Marilyn can get a walking cast put on her foot.
I cannot express the emotions swirling in my head. I have 2 brothers and 1 sister and, of the four of us, I have had the most distant relationship with my dad. There are a number of reasons for that, I guess. But suffice it to say, I have had less contact with him than the other three. There is no animosity or resentment on either part. But there is, I think, that uncomfortable feeling for each of us, that tells us there should have been more. Regret maybe?
So when they called and asked ME to come and help. I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. I just wanted to say "ME? You've chosen ME? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
First, Dad and Marilyn are very independent and private people. I know how humbling it had to be for them to call and say "We can't do this. Can you please come and help us?" Especially given our history. Second, (and I don't want this to sound pompous) but I thought maybe, just maybe, in our rare contact with each other, something of me has shone through to him. Something of me (and my husband) has shown him that yes, we will come running when he calls. Something of me has said that the past does not matter. And I am so thankful that God has let me show whatever quality that is. We are in a phase of life now where he needs my help and I am able to give it. I am blessed to have a job that I can leave. I am blessed to be surrounded by families that will take my children in on short notice and I know they will be happy and comfortable. I am blessed to have a husband that will say "of course, we'll come" and then start making phone calls to arrange things so I don't have to worry about all the details.
Now, I just have to tell my mom. She is coming around, but I know it will be a difficult conversation. In our last conversation about this I simply said that I am doing these things for my dad for a variety of reasons but, as a mother, she should understand my main reason. And that is: my children are watching me. As in every situation, they are watching to see how I handle this. And I will not let them see me turn my back on a parent who needs my help, regardless of the past.
And on a humorous note; as I left work today my boss asked me to call in with the numbers at which I could be reached. I told him of course I would. But I wanted to say "uh...you really have no idea how little I do around here, do you?" He was afraid somebody might call looking for me. I have no idea who that would be. The only people who call me at work are my husband and my children and they will know where I am. All I do at work, basically is answer the phone. But let me tell you, some of these men go into a panic when that phone is unattended. One day when I was leaving and the other assistant was out, the phone rang. One of the brokers actually looked at it and raised up his hands and said "I don't know how to pick up." I guess I perform a valuable service after all.
My dad had his first chemo treatment on Monday. My step mom broke her foot on Wednesday. He cannot get off the couch. She cannot walk.
They called yesterday to ask if I could come for a few days. I have used the time since then to find temporary homes for my kids and make arrangements at work. So after Kayla's basketball game tomorrow morning, Paul will drive me to Indiana and come home on Sunday. Then he will come back and get me....well, whenever they can manage or one of my siblings can relieve me or when Marilyn can get a walking cast put on her foot.
I cannot express the emotions swirling in my head. I have 2 brothers and 1 sister and, of the four of us, I have had the most distant relationship with my dad. There are a number of reasons for that, I guess. But suffice it to say, I have had less contact with him than the other three. There is no animosity or resentment on either part. But there is, I think, that uncomfortable feeling for each of us, that tells us there should have been more. Regret maybe?
So when they called and asked ME to come and help. I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. I just wanted to say "ME? You've chosen ME? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
First, Dad and Marilyn are very independent and private people. I know how humbling it had to be for them to call and say "We can't do this. Can you please come and help us?" Especially given our history. Second, (and I don't want this to sound pompous) but I thought maybe, just maybe, in our rare contact with each other, something of me has shone through to him. Something of me (and my husband) has shown him that yes, we will come running when he calls. Something of me has said that the past does not matter. And I am so thankful that God has let me show whatever quality that is. We are in a phase of life now where he needs my help and I am able to give it. I am blessed to have a job that I can leave. I am blessed to be surrounded by families that will take my children in on short notice and I know they will be happy and comfortable. I am blessed to have a husband that will say "of course, we'll come" and then start making phone calls to arrange things so I don't have to worry about all the details.
Now, I just have to tell my mom. She is coming around, but I know it will be a difficult conversation. In our last conversation about this I simply said that I am doing these things for my dad for a variety of reasons but, as a mother, she should understand my main reason. And that is: my children are watching me. As in every situation, they are watching to see how I handle this. And I will not let them see me turn my back on a parent who needs my help, regardless of the past.
And on a humorous note; as I left work today my boss asked me to call in with the numbers at which I could be reached. I told him of course I would. But I wanted to say "uh...you really have no idea how little I do around here, do you?" He was afraid somebody might call looking for me. I have no idea who that would be. The only people who call me at work are my husband and my children and they will know where I am. All I do at work, basically is answer the phone. But let me tell you, some of these men go into a panic when that phone is unattended. One day when I was leaving and the other assistant was out, the phone rang. One of the brokers actually looked at it and raised up his hands and said "I don't know how to pick up." I guess I perform a valuable service after all.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
SO LONG, FAREWELL, AUFWIEDERZEHN, GOODBYE....
A few weeks ago, I started thinking that blogging was a waste of my time. I started blogging for 3 reasons:
1. I love words. I love to express myself in written form.
2. My daughter reads it and I had hoped that someday both of my kids would view it as a legacy.
3. My husband travels a lot. When my kids were babies, I'd sometimes go days without speaking to another adult. Blogging has been a good way to use up my quota of words, especially when Paul is out of town.
Now though, I think it might be a little silly for me to spend my time putting my words to paper (so to speak)for, well...none of the world to see. I REALLY appreciate the 3 of you who have read and commented, but I am no Erma Bombeck (loved her) and perhaps my thoughts are best left un-typed.
However; just as there are times when I simply can't keep my mouth shut about something, I'm sure there will be times where I can't keep my fingers still and will just have to let my view be known. As for the legacy for my kids - I can always do that on a Word Document and print it out for them.
But before I go, I have one last request.
The news on my dad is not nearly as good as we had hoped. His cancer is inoperable. The doctors have said his lung capacity is too low for them to consider surgery. He has been prounounced "incurable." Yet, they are planning to start chemotherapy and radiation. I don't understand that. Does this mean there IS hope, or are they just giving him more time? I have many questions.
So please pray for him and for my step mother. And please pray for my siblings and me as we try to care for him from a distance, and as we try to manage this whole thing without angering our mother. Also, please pray for my mom, that she will finally see that when we give love to somebody else, we are not taking it away from her.
Thanks.
1. I love words. I love to express myself in written form.
2. My daughter reads it and I had hoped that someday both of my kids would view it as a legacy.
3. My husband travels a lot. When my kids were babies, I'd sometimes go days without speaking to another adult. Blogging has been a good way to use up my quota of words, especially when Paul is out of town.
Now though, I think it might be a little silly for me to spend my time putting my words to paper (so to speak)for, well...none of the world to see. I REALLY appreciate the 3 of you who have read and commented, but I am no Erma Bombeck (loved her) and perhaps my thoughts are best left un-typed.
However; just as there are times when I simply can't keep my mouth shut about something, I'm sure there will be times where I can't keep my fingers still and will just have to let my view be known. As for the legacy for my kids - I can always do that on a Word Document and print it out for them.
But before I go, I have one last request.
The news on my dad is not nearly as good as we had hoped. His cancer is inoperable. The doctors have said his lung capacity is too low for them to consider surgery. He has been prounounced "incurable." Yet, they are planning to start chemotherapy and radiation. I don't understand that. Does this mean there IS hope, or are they just giving him more time? I have many questions.
So please pray for him and for my step mother. And please pray for my siblings and me as we try to care for him from a distance, and as we try to manage this whole thing without angering our mother. Also, please pray for my mom, that she will finally see that when we give love to somebody else, we are not taking it away from her.
Thanks.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEEEASE LET THIS OLD DOG LEARN NEW TRICKS
I've been a terribly indulgent dog-owner and I am now changing the rules on her. I did not want to spend my child rearing years yelling at the dog "Get Down, Get Down..."while I was yelling at my children "Get Down, Get Down..."
Now, though, I realize my mistake. Well, I realized it a long time ago, but you know how it is? So I went out and bought a dog bed (another one). The first dog bed I bought was quickly taken over by our 24 pound cat. So I placed new the dog bed by her favorite love seat and I stood the cushions to the love seat on end so she couldn't climb up there. Then I got a piece of cheese and had my daughter hold the cheese. My plan: have Cookie get on the bed and every time she got on the bed, Kayla could hand her a bite of cheese. Cookie wouldn't get on the bed. I even rubbed the bed all over her to get her smell on it. Then I put it back down and pointed to it and said "get on the bed, Cookie... get on the bed Cookie, geeeeet on the bed Cookie." Her ears stood straight out sideways from her head and she looked at me as if to say "but the loveseat is my bed." Then I dragged her onto the bed and held her squirming body down and said to Kayla in a panic "give her the cheese, give her the cheese!" Then Cookie jumped off the bed with her cheese and ran in circles around the coffee table and stopped and cocked her head at the bed with her ears sticking out sideways from her head again. We reapeated this until one slice of cheese was gone. Then I sat on the dog bed and called her to me. She came over and stopped a mere centimeter from the bed. I dragged her on to the bed and gave her more cheese. Then she started the circles again and I was exhausted and sweating. Then the cat came in and I threw him out of the room and gave up.
But when I went upstairs last night, SHE WAS ON THE BED.
This morning, she was by the front door, but you gotta look at the small victories.
Now, though, I realize my mistake. Well, I realized it a long time ago, but you know how it is? So I went out and bought a dog bed (another one). The first dog bed I bought was quickly taken over by our 24 pound cat. So I placed new the dog bed by her favorite love seat and I stood the cushions to the love seat on end so she couldn't climb up there. Then I got a piece of cheese and had my daughter hold the cheese. My plan: have Cookie get on the bed and every time she got on the bed, Kayla could hand her a bite of cheese. Cookie wouldn't get on the bed. I even rubbed the bed all over her to get her smell on it. Then I put it back down and pointed to it and said "get on the bed, Cookie... get on the bed Cookie, geeeeet on the bed Cookie." Her ears stood straight out sideways from her head and she looked at me as if to say "but the loveseat is my bed." Then I dragged her onto the bed and held her squirming body down and said to Kayla in a panic "give her the cheese, give her the cheese!" Then Cookie jumped off the bed with her cheese and ran in circles around the coffee table and stopped and cocked her head at the bed with her ears sticking out sideways from her head again. We reapeated this until one slice of cheese was gone. Then I sat on the dog bed and called her to me. She came over and stopped a mere centimeter from the bed. I dragged her on to the bed and gave her more cheese. Then she started the circles again and I was exhausted and sweating. Then the cat came in and I threw him out of the room and gave up.
But when I went upstairs last night, SHE WAS ON THE BED.
This morning, she was by the front door, but you gotta look at the small victories.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
THERE, I'VE SAID IT...
We skipped church today. We were not out of town. We did not over sleep. Nobody is sick. We just skipped. There I said it. And it felt good to sleep in a little. It feels good to look forward to a quiet day with the family. Even though our church is 40 miles away, we are usually not daunted by the drive, but after the hectic weekend we've had, we were eager to stay close to home and have a leisurely day doing, well, probably nothing. Although I do have a stack of clothes on my bedroom floor. I was in the middle of cleaning out my closet when I finally went to bed at 2 a.m. (more on that later)
3 years ago at our former congregation we would have been racked with guilt if we missed church for no "good" reason. We didn't necessarily have a desire to be there, but it was a good place to get a healthy dose of guilt from the pulpit and also from all the older members who would ask when they saw you next "and where were you last week?" REALLY. That was probably what kept our attendance regular for the last year we were there.
Now, though, it is the opposite. We have a tremendous desire to be part of worship services and we do not feel like we are being judged on the rare occasion we miss. Nor do we feel like we owe an explanation. You know sometimes, somebody will say "I missed you last week..." and there is the question hanging in the air: "Where were you?" Now it is just more of a "I'm glad to see you" attitude. No judgment. No guilt. No explanation needed. So I may actually miss church a little more now that we drive 40 miles, but I feel closer to God, and more spiritually fed, then I have in a long time.
**************************************************************************************
I was cleaning out my closet at 2 in the morning because my son had a group of boys spend the night after the dance. He also had about 4 girls over until 1. Let me tell you something. This was not a pleasant evening. We told the girls we were taking them home at 1 (because they all said they had to be home between 1 and 1:30, which I think is a little late but I'm not their mother) so while the girls were here, Paul and I had to take turns going to the basement every ten minutes to make sure the kids knew we would be going to the basement every ten minutes to monitor them. I didn't even try to be discreet. I started just stopping at the bottom of the steps, looking around and going back up.
So anyway, at 12:50 I went downstairs and said "ladies, in 10 minutes Mr Woolard will be taking you home. Do any boys want to go home?" One did. So at 1:00 the boy (they call him Chili) was waiting in our living room to go home. No girls. So I called down the steps "girls, it's time to go" One of them makes a call on her cell phone. 5 minutes later, "girls. we need to get going." They ignore me again. So I tried my old family attention getter. I flipped the light on and off really fast several times. And I hear a voice say "we gotta go." 10 minutes later one girl comes up and tells us that instead of all of the girls going to one place they were going to two different places. I am not happy. Still missing 3 girls. I finally say "girls, you have to come up now. Your parents are expecting you." Up they come. So Paul takes the girls and Chili home. He has to make a huge circle to two different homes for the girls and then take Chili home last because he does not want to be alone in a car with teenage girls at 1:30 in the morning. Poor Chili, but it was the smart way to do it.
So then I headed to the basement to talk to the boys and ask Blake if he had a good time "No, I'm never going to another dance again." And then Taylor chimes in "from now on we are just having a get together like this, no dance, and no girls either. There's too much drama with these girls." I wanted to say "oh my sweet innocent boys, you have no idea. This is just the beginning." But I will post later on why these boys had such a terrible time. And you can decide if I'm just a mom who babies my boy or if THESE GIRLS WERE RUDE TO THEM ALL EVENING.
3 years ago at our former congregation we would have been racked with guilt if we missed church for no "good" reason. We didn't necessarily have a desire to be there, but it was a good place to get a healthy dose of guilt from the pulpit and also from all the older members who would ask when they saw you next "and where were you last week?" REALLY. That was probably what kept our attendance regular for the last year we were there.
Now, though, it is the opposite. We have a tremendous desire to be part of worship services and we do not feel like we are being judged on the rare occasion we miss. Nor do we feel like we owe an explanation. You know sometimes, somebody will say "I missed you last week..." and there is the question hanging in the air: "Where were you?" Now it is just more of a "I'm glad to see you" attitude. No judgment. No guilt. No explanation needed. So I may actually miss church a little more now that we drive 40 miles, but I feel closer to God, and more spiritually fed, then I have in a long time.
**************************************************************************************
I was cleaning out my closet at 2 in the morning because my son had a group of boys spend the night after the dance. He also had about 4 girls over until 1. Let me tell you something. This was not a pleasant evening. We told the girls we were taking them home at 1 (because they all said they had to be home between 1 and 1:30, which I think is a little late but I'm not their mother) so while the girls were here, Paul and I had to take turns going to the basement every ten minutes to make sure the kids knew we would be going to the basement every ten minutes to monitor them. I didn't even try to be discreet. I started just stopping at the bottom of the steps, looking around and going back up.
So anyway, at 12:50 I went downstairs and said "ladies, in 10 minutes Mr Woolard will be taking you home. Do any boys want to go home?" One did. So at 1:00 the boy (they call him Chili) was waiting in our living room to go home. No girls. So I called down the steps "girls, it's time to go" One of them makes a call on her cell phone. 5 minutes later, "girls. we need to get going." They ignore me again. So I tried my old family attention getter. I flipped the light on and off really fast several times. And I hear a voice say "we gotta go." 10 minutes later one girl comes up and tells us that instead of all of the girls going to one place they were going to two different places. I am not happy. Still missing 3 girls. I finally say "girls, you have to come up now. Your parents are expecting you." Up they come. So Paul takes the girls and Chili home. He has to make a huge circle to two different homes for the girls and then take Chili home last because he does not want to be alone in a car with teenage girls at 1:30 in the morning. Poor Chili, but it was the smart way to do it.
So then I headed to the basement to talk to the boys and ask Blake if he had a good time "No, I'm never going to another dance again." And then Taylor chimes in "from now on we are just having a get together like this, no dance, and no girls either. There's too much drama with these girls." I wanted to say "oh my sweet innocent boys, you have no idea. This is just the beginning." But I will post later on why these boys had such a terrible time. And you can decide if I'm just a mom who babies my boy or if THESE GIRLS WERE RUDE TO THEM ALL EVENING.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
TWO WORLDS COLLIDE
Back before I had children, I worked at a long term care facility for the mentally ill residents. I was in charge of care plans and admissions for 127 mentally ill individuals. Mostly schzophrenic. I great stories at the end of each day to share with Paul.
There was the lady who, every day of my first two weeks, fired me. And she was a different person each time. Martha Washington. General Eisenhower. Ronald Reagan. I knew who she was each day because she'd say "you're fired. And I'm Martha Washington so I have the authority."
There was the man who sat in my office and talked all day. His conversations went something like this "popcorn, got a washtub full of popcorn. Does the doctor want popcorn. is the doctor sick haha the doctor needs a doctor. tennis shoes, do you have red tennis shoes...hey Heidi, got any shoestrings. livin' on a shoestring, haha. " Sometimes this man would drink so much water that he'd wash the psychotropic drugs out of his system. Then he'd get...well, amorous. He was about 75 and bald and the few teeth he had were yellow and he'd get right in my face with his amorous self and say "kiss me Heidi (kissy noises) come on give me a kiss. MAKE LOVE TO ME BABY." And I'd say the same thing. "you know that is inappropriate and if you can't stay in your chair and be nice you'll have to leave my office." And sometimes I'd tell him he was being a dirty old man and he'd laugh.
Then there was the little old 80 year old lady who just sat in my office and ate hard candy and laughed. Just laughed. Every now and then she'd cry and that made me sad. But usually she just rocked and laughed and sucked on her candy.
Then there was the lady who one day was on a rant looking for "that Heidi" but nobody knew why. Every time she asked where " that *!@#$^%$ Heidi" was, people would act ignorant. She even asked me to my face where that "that little (expletive) Heidi" was and I said I sure didn't know but that I'd let Heidi know she was looking for her. Then the storm passed and I didn't have a hit out on me anymore and the lady was as sweet as could be.
Many many stories.
And it all came back today when I answered the phone at work "Smith Barney, this is Heidi, may I help you." And there was a stream of nonsense words from a man talking a mile a minute, obviously paranoid about his investments from 10 years ago. He wanted me to call GM and McDonald's and find out why he had not seen a return. He was calling from a pay phone. He remembered the name of his broker from 10 years ago. Evidentally he had called last week too and was wanting the number for the SEC so he could file a complaint. I think I will hear from him frequently and I think I have found some ways to calm him down. I really hope he is under the care of a professional, but who knows.
I always thought it was interesting that I have a Bachelors in Social Work and I am working at a brokerage firm. I guess you never know. Or as my grandma would say "who'd have thunk it?"
There was the lady who, every day of my first two weeks, fired me. And she was a different person each time. Martha Washington. General Eisenhower. Ronald Reagan. I knew who she was each day because she'd say "you're fired. And I'm Martha Washington so I have the authority."
There was the man who sat in my office and talked all day. His conversations went something like this "popcorn, got a washtub full of popcorn. Does the doctor want popcorn. is the doctor sick haha the doctor needs a doctor. tennis shoes, do you have red tennis shoes...hey Heidi, got any shoestrings. livin' on a shoestring, haha. " Sometimes this man would drink so much water that he'd wash the psychotropic drugs out of his system. Then he'd get...well, amorous. He was about 75 and bald and the few teeth he had were yellow and he'd get right in my face with his amorous self and say "kiss me Heidi (kissy noises) come on give me a kiss. MAKE LOVE TO ME BABY." And I'd say the same thing. "you know that is inappropriate and if you can't stay in your chair and be nice you'll have to leave my office." And sometimes I'd tell him he was being a dirty old man and he'd laugh.
Then there was the little old 80 year old lady who just sat in my office and ate hard candy and laughed. Just laughed. Every now and then she'd cry and that made me sad. But usually she just rocked and laughed and sucked on her candy.
Then there was the lady who one day was on a rant looking for "that Heidi" but nobody knew why. Every time she asked where " that *!@#$^%$ Heidi" was, people would act ignorant. She even asked me to my face where that "that little (expletive) Heidi" was and I said I sure didn't know but that I'd let Heidi know she was looking for her. Then the storm passed and I didn't have a hit out on me anymore and the lady was as sweet as could be.
Many many stories.
And it all came back today when I answered the phone at work "Smith Barney, this is Heidi, may I help you." And there was a stream of nonsense words from a man talking a mile a minute, obviously paranoid about his investments from 10 years ago. He wanted me to call GM and McDonald's and find out why he had not seen a return. He was calling from a pay phone. He remembered the name of his broker from 10 years ago. Evidentally he had called last week too and was wanting the number for the SEC so he could file a complaint. I think I will hear from him frequently and I think I have found some ways to calm him down. I really hope he is under the care of a professional, but who knows.
I always thought it was interesting that I have a Bachelors in Social Work and I am working at a brokerage firm. I guess you never know. Or as my grandma would say "who'd have thunk it?"
Thursday, September 14, 2006
GIVING CREDIT...
There are a few movies which, no matter how many times I watch them, are still fascinating to me. Apollo 13 and Remember the Titans are two such movies. I think it's because each time I watch them, I am reminded of the "behind the scenes" heroes.
In Apollo 13, we see the engineers at NASA working frantically to bring our astronauts home. They are given an impossible task. They are asked to make a square peg fit into a round hole, and they do it. And yet, it is the astronauts that are considered the heroes. Don't get me wrong; those astronauts are definitely heroes. They were working in a dire situation to save each other and themselves. They stretched their expertise and training beyond limits to come home. But most Americans don't know the names of the engineers. I know I wouldn't recognize any.
And then there's Remember the Titans. First let me say that 5 years ago, if anybody had told me I'd be one to use a sports analogy, I'd have said they were out of their tree. But I am in a phase of life (as is every phase of parenting) where you love what your children love. Many scenes in this movie give me chills. I love the scene where the coach takes them on a 3 a.m. run to the civil war cemetery. When they finally arrive at the cemetery and listen to his speech, they finally get it. The team finally starts coming together. I also love the end where they are playing the championship game. In football it seems to me (in my limited understanding of the game) that there are 2 players who get most of the credit. Of course, there is the quarterback. And then there is the running back. Every Saturday during the fall, people are reading about the number of yards passed by a quarterback and the number of yards run by the runnning back to score in the game the night before. And these gifted young men deserve the credit. But what about the young men "on the line" making their jobs easier? What about the young men whose job it is to stop anybody in their way so the running back can score or the quarterback can pass? Do you supposed it's difficult for any of these young men to do such a good job and watch somebody else get credit? At the end of Remember the Titans, we see the final touchdown play. We see the young man running for a touchdown; but in front of him is another young man knocking down anybody who gets in his way. It is the job of the man in front to make a path for the man with the ball, the man who will score and get the credit. Last time I watched this movie (just last weekend) I watched that scene and thought of...well, Life. How nice, I thought, to have somebody running ahead of me through life to knock down anything and anybody that tries to stop me from achieving my goal. And then I was ashamed. Because I have that. I have that in our Lord. And unfortunately, I sometimes fail to give credit where credit is due.
In Apollo 13, we see the engineers at NASA working frantically to bring our astronauts home. They are given an impossible task. They are asked to make a square peg fit into a round hole, and they do it. And yet, it is the astronauts that are considered the heroes. Don't get me wrong; those astronauts are definitely heroes. They were working in a dire situation to save each other and themselves. They stretched their expertise and training beyond limits to come home. But most Americans don't know the names of the engineers. I know I wouldn't recognize any.
And then there's Remember the Titans. First let me say that 5 years ago, if anybody had told me I'd be one to use a sports analogy, I'd have said they were out of their tree. But I am in a phase of life (as is every phase of parenting) where you love what your children love. Many scenes in this movie give me chills. I love the scene where the coach takes them on a 3 a.m. run to the civil war cemetery. When they finally arrive at the cemetery and listen to his speech, they finally get it. The team finally starts coming together. I also love the end where they are playing the championship game. In football it seems to me (in my limited understanding of the game) that there are 2 players who get most of the credit. Of course, there is the quarterback. And then there is the running back. Every Saturday during the fall, people are reading about the number of yards passed by a quarterback and the number of yards run by the runnning back to score in the game the night before. And these gifted young men deserve the credit. But what about the young men "on the line" making their jobs easier? What about the young men whose job it is to stop anybody in their way so the running back can score or the quarterback can pass? Do you supposed it's difficult for any of these young men to do such a good job and watch somebody else get credit? At the end of Remember the Titans, we see the final touchdown play. We see the young man running for a touchdown; but in front of him is another young man knocking down anybody who gets in his way. It is the job of the man in front to make a path for the man with the ball, the man who will score and get the credit. Last time I watched this movie (just last weekend) I watched that scene and thought of...well, Life. How nice, I thought, to have somebody running ahead of me through life to knock down anything and anybody that tries to stop me from achieving my goal. And then I was ashamed. Because I have that. I have that in our Lord. And unfortunately, I sometimes fail to give credit where credit is due.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
WHERE WERE YOU...?
September 11, 2001 will be our generation's "where were you when?" moment.
Paul and I were nearing the end of the building process of our house. We had an appointment that day to meet at the house with the "tile guy" so we could decide on the tile for our jacuzzi tub. I saw the first plane attack on tv before I left. I called my sister and told her to turn on her tv. We watched together as the second plane hit. I remember saying "Rena, we're under attack." Strangely my first thought was that an American had done this. Remember Timothy McVeigh?
I felt so shallow and nearly ashamed leaving the tv to take care of a such a mundane task as choosing bathroom tiles. I told Paul I couldn't believe that our country was under attack and here I am walking in to our brand new home to decide what tiles will go around my tub. I wondered what kind of person I must be to carry on with life like that.
My brother was already scheduled to fly to Egypt 3 weeks later for military training with the Egyptian Army. We were very frightened for him and hoped he would not have to go. He went. We could not reach him on 9/11 but his wife said he was fine. He worked nearly 24 hours a day on the army base that week securing it. It was chilling to hear later the details of what they had to do to make sure their base was secure. I realized then that bases all over our country - all over the world - were going through the same thing; working frantically to secure themselves and ready their troops for what might come next. The base at which he was stationed was the main supplier of heavy arms. "Tank Row" is several miles of tanks parked side by side on each side of the road - just waiting until they are needed. My sister in law said it was surreal to watch those tanks be moved. Each time she went on base, there were fewer tanks there. When we visited several months later, tank row was nearly empty. The tanks that were left were being painted - changed from green camouflage to desert camouflage. It was a sight that answered many questions about what the future held for us.
My brother was not deployed to Afghanistan or to Iraq. His company was. The young men he trained were sent over. His wife said it was hard on him. Of course he did not want to go to war, but these "boys" who were half his age, these boys who were only 3 0r 4 years older than my son is now, were going.
I am VERY proud of our military. Both my grandfathers fought in WW II (their stories were heart wrenching) my dad was in the Army, and my brother served 21 years in the Army. My father-in-law(Paul's step dad) was a medic in Korea and Vietnam and
Paul's dad served nearly 20 years in the Air Force before he died. I am proud of any man or woman who will put themselves in a situation to have to do what our military is doing now, with very little pay and sometimes very little praise. And I am just selfish enough to be thankful for these sons and daughters who CHOOSE to serve so that my son or daughter will not HAVE to serve.
So to every service member, every police officer, every fire fighter...
THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
Paul and I were nearing the end of the building process of our house. We had an appointment that day to meet at the house with the "tile guy" so we could decide on the tile for our jacuzzi tub. I saw the first plane attack on tv before I left. I called my sister and told her to turn on her tv. We watched together as the second plane hit. I remember saying "Rena, we're under attack." Strangely my first thought was that an American had done this. Remember Timothy McVeigh?
I felt so shallow and nearly ashamed leaving the tv to take care of a such a mundane task as choosing bathroom tiles. I told Paul I couldn't believe that our country was under attack and here I am walking in to our brand new home to decide what tiles will go around my tub. I wondered what kind of person I must be to carry on with life like that.
My brother was already scheduled to fly to Egypt 3 weeks later for military training with the Egyptian Army. We were very frightened for him and hoped he would not have to go. He went. We could not reach him on 9/11 but his wife said he was fine. He worked nearly 24 hours a day on the army base that week securing it. It was chilling to hear later the details of what they had to do to make sure their base was secure. I realized then that bases all over our country - all over the world - were going through the same thing; working frantically to secure themselves and ready their troops for what might come next. The base at which he was stationed was the main supplier of heavy arms. "Tank Row" is several miles of tanks parked side by side on each side of the road - just waiting until they are needed. My sister in law said it was surreal to watch those tanks be moved. Each time she went on base, there were fewer tanks there. When we visited several months later, tank row was nearly empty. The tanks that were left were being painted - changed from green camouflage to desert camouflage. It was a sight that answered many questions about what the future held for us.
My brother was not deployed to Afghanistan or to Iraq. His company was. The young men he trained were sent over. His wife said it was hard on him. Of course he did not want to go to war, but these "boys" who were half his age, these boys who were only 3 0r 4 years older than my son is now, were going.
I am VERY proud of our military. Both my grandfathers fought in WW II (their stories were heart wrenching) my dad was in the Army, and my brother served 21 years in the Army. My father-in-law(Paul's step dad) was a medic in Korea and Vietnam and
Paul's dad served nearly 20 years in the Air Force before he died. I am proud of any man or woman who will put themselves in a situation to have to do what our military is doing now, with very little pay and sometimes very little praise. And I am just selfish enough to be thankful for these sons and daughters who CHOOSE to serve so that my son or daughter will not HAVE to serve.
So to every service member, every police officer, every fire fighter...
THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
NOT THAT THERE'S ANY THING WRONG WITH THAT...
First...my dad is doing better. His surgery to cement the vertabrae went well, he is walking a little bit. He is not eating, though. His biopsy results will be back next week and we are still waiting to see when we will drive over.
I am hoping this will be the catalyst to a better relationship with him.
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My son is a jock. No doubt about it. He loves his sports - football and wrestling being the top two. Grades have not been a priority for him, and I simply cannot comprehend that. There are days I just want to bang my head on the counter top while we discuss this issue. But he might be changing his attitude. I attribute this change in large part to his best friend's older brother. Cubbie's brother is a senior and a star football player. He is also a TOP student who is getting offers for academic scholarships as well as athletic. Oh and Cubbie's brother is Blake's transportation to all things football, which give Blake lots of time with him. We give him gas money and he drives Blake to and from practices and camps. It is worth every penny. This young man is not only a great student and a great athlete; he is a very respectful young man - just a great kid. I think he has been a tremedous influence on Blake by letting Blake see what diligence in the academic field will do for him.
Lately Blake's interests seem to be expanding to include more of a...well, down home, bubba kind of thing. He has developed a love for country music. He is now interested in Nascar and even bought a Nascar cap. And today - when we bought his school shoes...he bought cowboy boots.
Cowboy boots. Black leather with the stitching up the side and everything. He says he will now need some more jeans. I asked if he would want a different kind of shirts. I wouldn't put Nike t-shirts with cowboy boots and jeans, so I thought we'd pick up a dressier look - you know, something with a collar (gasp.) No. He just wants jeans. With his cowboy boots and Nike t-shirts. Not that there's anything wrong with that...I'm just sayin'.
I am hoping this will be the catalyst to a better relationship with him.
***************************************************************************************
My son is a jock. No doubt about it. He loves his sports - football and wrestling being the top two. Grades have not been a priority for him, and I simply cannot comprehend that. There are days I just want to bang my head on the counter top while we discuss this issue. But he might be changing his attitude. I attribute this change in large part to his best friend's older brother. Cubbie's brother is a senior and a star football player. He is also a TOP student who is getting offers for academic scholarships as well as athletic. Oh and Cubbie's brother is Blake's transportation to all things football, which give Blake lots of time with him. We give him gas money and he drives Blake to and from practices and camps. It is worth every penny. This young man is not only a great student and a great athlete; he is a very respectful young man - just a great kid. I think he has been a tremedous influence on Blake by letting Blake see what diligence in the academic field will do for him.
Lately Blake's interests seem to be expanding to include more of a...well, down home, bubba kind of thing. He has developed a love for country music. He is now interested in Nascar and even bought a Nascar cap. And today - when we bought his school shoes...he bought cowboy boots.
Cowboy boots. Black leather with the stitching up the side and everything. He says he will now need some more jeans. I asked if he would want a different kind of shirts. I wouldn't put Nike t-shirts with cowboy boots and jeans, so I thought we'd pick up a dressier look - you know, something with a collar (gasp.) No. He just wants jeans. With his cowboy boots and Nike t-shirts. Not that there's anything wrong with that...I'm just sayin'.
Monday, September 04, 2006
APOLOGY ACCEPTED?
I realized the other day that I spend much of my life apologizing; I'm sorry I'm not a size 5 anymore, I'm sorry I'm not a better housekeeper, I'm sorry I can't be at that family dinner, I'm sorry I have to miss your event to go to your sibling's, I'm sorry I can't get dinner on the table when we are on the go from 3 til 9 most evenings, I'm sorry I am missing another church function, I'm sorry I'm choosing a family outing over a church outing, I'm sorry I can't do that class party or supervise that field trip, I'm sorry if I've put you out in any way at all. And so it goes. Forever it seems.
Of course these apologies are in my mind only and I'm sure nobody else is giving as much thought to these issues as I am. Simply put, I feel guilt too easily. I want to please people and I feel terrible anxiety when I think I've let somebody down or have not made the decision they expected me to make. I don't know how many times I have done something I didn't want to do, just so I didn't disappoint somebody or because it seemed the more accepted choice. I'm not talking about letting myself slip into immoral behavior, or feeling resentful about helping somebody in need. I'm talking about simply not living up. I'm talking about not being assertive enough to simply say, "No thank you. I have something else I need/want to do." Or "Actually, I just don't feel I can take that on right now." I know that this all boils down to lack of self esteem - the fear that I am allowing people to think I don't have my priorities straight, even when I know in my heart I do.
When I do make a decision I think will be unpopular, I feel like I have to spend several minutes justifying it, "Well, I really want to. I'm torn about it. But I have this, and this, and this, and well...honestly I think this other thing is just as important.....I'm REALLY SORRY if I've let you down, I really hate to think I've disappointed you."
Much of this is my personality; but some of it is this BUSY phase of life I am in. Do other moms who are in this phase of life struggle with this same guilt? Do they get sucked into the pit of guilt because they can't do everything and please everybody? Do they feel guilty for choosing to forego many other things so they can be with family because they know all too well how fleeting this time is? Do they wonder if others are criticizing their choices?
I simply want to get to the point in my life where I make a choice and stand firm, where I accept myself as I am and feel confident that others do too, where I don't feel the need to apologize or justify.
And I'm really sorry if this has offended any of you.
Of course these apologies are in my mind only and I'm sure nobody else is giving as much thought to these issues as I am. Simply put, I feel guilt too easily. I want to please people and I feel terrible anxiety when I think I've let somebody down or have not made the decision they expected me to make. I don't know how many times I have done something I didn't want to do, just so I didn't disappoint somebody or because it seemed the more accepted choice. I'm not talking about letting myself slip into immoral behavior, or feeling resentful about helping somebody in need. I'm talking about simply not living up. I'm talking about not being assertive enough to simply say, "No thank you. I have something else I need/want to do." Or "Actually, I just don't feel I can take that on right now." I know that this all boils down to lack of self esteem - the fear that I am allowing people to think I don't have my priorities straight, even when I know in my heart I do.
When I do make a decision I think will be unpopular, I feel like I have to spend several minutes justifying it, "Well, I really want to. I'm torn about it. But I have this, and this, and this, and well...honestly I think this other thing is just as important.....I'm REALLY SORRY if I've let you down, I really hate to think I've disappointed you."
Much of this is my personality; but some of it is this BUSY phase of life I am in. Do other moms who are in this phase of life struggle with this same guilt? Do they get sucked into the pit of guilt because they can't do everything and please everybody? Do they feel guilty for choosing to forego many other things so they can be with family because they know all too well how fleeting this time is? Do they wonder if others are criticizing their choices?
I simply want to get to the point in my life where I make a choice and stand firm, where I accept myself as I am and feel confident that others do too, where I don't feel the need to apologize or justify.
And I'm really sorry if this has offended any of you.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
SUMMER IS OVER
Summer is over - and I am not really disappointed about that because I LOVE AUTUMN.
This is how I know Summer is over:
1. I was alone in the house last night because Paul and the kids were at the Friday night football game. I had said I was going to go more this year but then the thought of a night alone in the house became too tempting.
2. My sinuses are a little bothersome in the mornings
3. The mornings and evenings are cool - love it!
4. We had our last shaved ice on Sunday evening. We had gotten into the routine this summer of going out to get shaveed ice on Sunday evenings. It was our way of being sure at least Kayla would hop in the jeep with us and spend 30 minutes connecting before the week began. Last weekend, Blake went too. And we noticed the hut was closing for the summer later that evening. So we ordered our last 4 (we even got MEDIUMS) - pina' colada for mom, rootbeer float for dad, rock-n-roll for Kayla and candy apple for Blake. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.
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There are five children sleeping my house at the moment. I gave birth to two children. This is a common mathematical puzzle in our house. But I love it. I knew each of the kids was going to have a friend over last night. So when Blake walked in with an extra I just had to tease said extra; "Uh, Taylor, no offense....but why are you here?" He wasn't even flustered. He just smiled and said. "Blake already got the ok from Mr. Woolard."
So anyway after 20 minutes of these FIVE kids being here and all of them talking NON STOP and laughing I quietly asked Paul "Did you shoot caffeine straight into their veins?" I mean every kid was talking at once and they all seemed to be able to answer the others. How is this done?
Anyway, one of Blake's VERY BEST friends is different from Blake in many ways. His name is Jordan but his nickname - from kindergarten days - is Cubbie. (Cubbie spent the night last night too - his parents call me his second mom) Cubbie is 6 foot 3 inches tall and weighs 250 pounds (Quite understandable considering is dad is 6'6"). Blake is 5'10 and 140 pounds. Blake and Cubbie play side by side on the line in football and that is where their physical differences are really noticeable. First, their size - quite obvious. Second, Cubbie is bi-racial. So his dark brown arms are quite the contrast to my son's pale, freckled, red-head complexion-type arms. Cubbie is quiet and shy and quite gentle ( His mom told me that the coaches tell him "Cubbie you are the biggest thing on the field, you gotta get TOUGH") Blake is more outgoing and boisterous. They each have a great sense of humor, though. And boys can tease and "rag" on each other without a problem. They showed me a picture last night from their game this week. Cubbie is standing with his arms out in a gesture of exasperation. Blake goes "Dude, that's when you were yelling at me for missing those blocks." Cubbie say "Well, you were missing everything on that play - you couldn't do a thing." They cracked up. AMAZING. Girls would be mad 3 days later. Girls would be trying to get each other out of the carpool (over my dead body) But not boys. These boys were cracking up about how they yelled and screamed at each other through the game. But at the final buzzer - no more yelling or screaming... just more laughing at each other and themselves. It probably helped that they won again, but anyway...
But I wonder how many adults could learn something from teenage boys. You know, if someone says something that offends you, just laugh it off. If someone criticizes you or leaves you out - just laughingly say "um...that kind of bothered me" Or "DUDE... that was lame." Whatever it takes to let us move on. I know I need to be reminded of that quite often.
This is how I know Summer is over:
1. I was alone in the house last night because Paul and the kids were at the Friday night football game. I had said I was going to go more this year but then the thought of a night alone in the house became too tempting.
2. My sinuses are a little bothersome in the mornings
3. The mornings and evenings are cool - love it!
4. We had our last shaved ice on Sunday evening. We had gotten into the routine this summer of going out to get shaveed ice on Sunday evenings. It was our way of being sure at least Kayla would hop in the jeep with us and spend 30 minutes connecting before the week began. Last weekend, Blake went too. And we noticed the hut was closing for the summer later that evening. So we ordered our last 4 (we even got MEDIUMS) - pina' colada for mom, rootbeer float for dad, rock-n-roll for Kayla and candy apple for Blake. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it.
************************************************************************************
There are five children sleeping my house at the moment. I gave birth to two children. This is a common mathematical puzzle in our house. But I love it. I knew each of the kids was going to have a friend over last night. So when Blake walked in with an extra I just had to tease said extra; "Uh, Taylor, no offense....but why are you here?" He wasn't even flustered. He just smiled and said. "Blake already got the ok from Mr. Woolard."
So anyway after 20 minutes of these FIVE kids being here and all of them talking NON STOP and laughing I quietly asked Paul "Did you shoot caffeine straight into their veins?" I mean every kid was talking at once and they all seemed to be able to answer the others. How is this done?
Anyway, one of Blake's VERY BEST friends is different from Blake in many ways. His name is Jordan but his nickname - from kindergarten days - is Cubbie. (Cubbie spent the night last night too - his parents call me his second mom) Cubbie is 6 foot 3 inches tall and weighs 250 pounds (Quite understandable considering is dad is 6'6"). Blake is 5'10 and 140 pounds. Blake and Cubbie play side by side on the line in football and that is where their physical differences are really noticeable. First, their size - quite obvious. Second, Cubbie is bi-racial. So his dark brown arms are quite the contrast to my son's pale, freckled, red-head complexion-type arms. Cubbie is quiet and shy and quite gentle ( His mom told me that the coaches tell him "Cubbie you are the biggest thing on the field, you gotta get TOUGH") Blake is more outgoing and boisterous. They each have a great sense of humor, though. And boys can tease and "rag" on each other without a problem. They showed me a picture last night from their game this week. Cubbie is standing with his arms out in a gesture of exasperation. Blake goes "Dude, that's when you were yelling at me for missing those blocks." Cubbie say "Well, you were missing everything on that play - you couldn't do a thing." They cracked up. AMAZING. Girls would be mad 3 days later. Girls would be trying to get each other out of the carpool (over my dead body) But not boys. These boys were cracking up about how they yelled and screamed at each other through the game. But at the final buzzer - no more yelling or screaming... just more laughing at each other and themselves. It probably helped that they won again, but anyway...
But I wonder how many adults could learn something from teenage boys. You know, if someone says something that offends you, just laugh it off. If someone criticizes you or leaves you out - just laughingly say "um...that kind of bothered me" Or "DUDE... that was lame." Whatever it takes to let us move on. I know I need to be reminded of that quite often.
Friday, September 01, 2006
WHAT A GOOD MOM....
That's what Paul said to me the other day when I told him what I had bought at the store on the way home from work:
ingredients for homemade chicken noodle soup and NIGHT CRAWLERS.
It's not the homemade soup that impressed him; it was the night crawlers. I have made a few trips to purchase night crawlers for Blake.
This time he needed two tubs. I segregate the nightcrawlers in my cart - placing them in a far corner and making sure no other item touches them. Then I double bag them. Then when placing them in the van I hold the bag as far away from my body as I can and place them in the corner of the "stow-n-go" well and drive home fearing that the nightcrawler tub will pop open. They ARE alive you know. In fact, the label says "our night crawlers will catch fish or die trying." Then I carry all the other groceries in (except cases of water and soda, which Blake has to carry in for me) except the night crawlers because Blake knows once they hit our drive way he must take custody of them.
I just noticed a tub of night crawlers in the fridge. This is not ok. See, Blake has a dorm fridge in his room (he bought it with paper route money) that he uses for his gatorade and his allotment of soda for himself and his buddies. He is also supposed to use it for night crawlers.
Did you know a night crawler tub is the same size as a sour cream tub, or a cottage cheese tub, or a large margarine tub? Can you imagine the ramifications of a "tub" mistake.....
ingredients for homemade chicken noodle soup and NIGHT CRAWLERS.
It's not the homemade soup that impressed him; it was the night crawlers. I have made a few trips to purchase night crawlers for Blake.
This time he needed two tubs. I segregate the nightcrawlers in my cart - placing them in a far corner and making sure no other item touches them. Then I double bag them. Then when placing them in the van I hold the bag as far away from my body as I can and place them in the corner of the "stow-n-go" well and drive home fearing that the nightcrawler tub will pop open. They ARE alive you know. In fact, the label says "our night crawlers will catch fish or die trying." Then I carry all the other groceries in (except cases of water and soda, which Blake has to carry in for me) except the night crawlers because Blake knows once they hit our drive way he must take custody of them.
I just noticed a tub of night crawlers in the fridge. This is not ok. See, Blake has a dorm fridge in his room (he bought it with paper route money) that he uses for his gatorade and his allotment of soda for himself and his buddies. He is also supposed to use it for night crawlers.
Did you know a night crawler tub is the same size as a sour cream tub, or a cottage cheese tub, or a large margarine tub? Can you imagine the ramifications of a "tub" mistake.....
Thursday, August 31, 2006
UM...WHAT ABOUT OUR CARPOOL?
Well, Kayla made the basketball team. She is sore and tired but very excited. Honestly their practice schedule is more intense than the football players.
Anyway, one of the girls in our carpool didn't make the team, but has decided to be manager. It seems to have worked out for her because she had said if she played basketball she wouldn't be able to see her Dad until November (her parents are divorced) So she is trying to see the positive in this. Her mom admitted she was probably more disappointed than the daughter. I told her I was sorry for her disappointment, and I am but I'll be honest. In my head I was thinking "ok, that's one less person in our carpool. This rotation is not going to be easy." I have been given the task of setting up a carpool schedule. We are down to 3 girls in our carpool for an average of 7 trips a week (5 after school pick-ups, a Saturday drop off, and a Saturday pick-up). I even called a couple other moms today to see if they'd like to join our carpool. "Well, thanks, but I'm already in one," was the standard response. One mom is not going to be happy. She is one that was pushing for 7 or 8 girls in the car just so we'd have fewer trips each week. So I've decided my options are:
1. buy a 15-passenger van by Saturday
2. Move to Maora by Saturday
3. offer to drive every trip myself to avoid making somebody mad
4. do my best to come up with a reasonable schedule and hope that the other parents catch on to our mantra..."this is the phase of life we're in...it goes all too quickly anyway so just relax and make the best of it."
On another note. My daughter commented today about how stinky the van was when the football players piled in after practice. I just had to let her know that these young ladies were not exactly smelling like a trip through Bath-n-Body Works when they get in the car after practice now. I started to feel panic moving in this evening as I thought "what if the smell is permanent in my van? What if it smells like sweaty locker room mixed with cucumber melon mixed with gatorade...FOREVER? What if it really smells like this ALWAYS but I only NOTICE it when I'm driving 17 kids around?"OK 3 or 4 kids but it sounds...and smells like 17. The other night I had an almost uncontrollable urge, as I was driving 65 mph on the highway, with 4 smelly kids in the van, to roll my window down and stick my head out and inhale sweet, fresh, midwest farm air. Oh sweet relief when we finally make it home and the kids trudge in the house, drop their bags on the floor and utter the sweetest words of the day..."I'll be in the shower."
Anyway, one of the girls in our carpool didn't make the team, but has decided to be manager. It seems to have worked out for her because she had said if she played basketball she wouldn't be able to see her Dad until November (her parents are divorced) So she is trying to see the positive in this. Her mom admitted she was probably more disappointed than the daughter. I told her I was sorry for her disappointment, and I am but I'll be honest. In my head I was thinking "ok, that's one less person in our carpool. This rotation is not going to be easy." I have been given the task of setting up a carpool schedule. We are down to 3 girls in our carpool for an average of 7 trips a week (5 after school pick-ups, a Saturday drop off, and a Saturday pick-up). I even called a couple other moms today to see if they'd like to join our carpool. "Well, thanks, but I'm already in one," was the standard response. One mom is not going to be happy. She is one that was pushing for 7 or 8 girls in the car just so we'd have fewer trips each week. So I've decided my options are:
1. buy a 15-passenger van by Saturday
2. Move to Maora by Saturday
3. offer to drive every trip myself to avoid making somebody mad
4. do my best to come up with a reasonable schedule and hope that the other parents catch on to our mantra..."this is the phase of life we're in...it goes all too quickly anyway so just relax and make the best of it."
On another note. My daughter commented today about how stinky the van was when the football players piled in after practice. I just had to let her know that these young ladies were not exactly smelling like a trip through Bath-n-Body Works when they get in the car after practice now. I started to feel panic moving in this evening as I thought "what if the smell is permanent in my van? What if it smells like sweaty locker room mixed with cucumber melon mixed with gatorade...FOREVER? What if it really smells like this ALWAYS but I only NOTICE it when I'm driving 17 kids around?"OK 3 or 4 kids but it sounds...and smells like 17. The other night I had an almost uncontrollable urge, as I was driving 65 mph on the highway, with 4 smelly kids in the van, to roll my window down and stick my head out and inhale sweet, fresh, midwest farm air. Oh sweet relief when we finally make it home and the kids trudge in the house, drop their bags on the floor and utter the sweetest words of the day..."I'll be in the shower."
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
FOR LADIES ONLY......
DISCLAIMER - This was NOT my experience, but an e-mail my mother received from a co-worker.....read on and laugh
************************************************************************************
Too Funny!
This was too funny not to share...
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of
easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully
in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit
out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my
demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax,
you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you
peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you
pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean,
I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.
(YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in
so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax,"
yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around
it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it
wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am
She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin
extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I
sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it
was along strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip.
CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and
spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so
much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory
that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!
There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the
hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now
covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on
the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put My foot down.
DANG!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think
to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!
I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the
wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off,
right???
WRONG!!!!!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture
prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is
having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied
myself to the porcelain!!
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put
in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret
of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my
butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but
she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where
the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks Or who-ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and
she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!!
I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with
a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in
hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then
dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm
pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for
this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the
lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What
do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!"
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.
I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief
and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now.
Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I'm going to try hair color...... Now that's funny ........
Notttttttttt Send this on to other ladies who need a good laugh
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This E-Mail is intended only for the use of the individual or entity to which it is addressed and may contain information that is privileged, confidential and exempt from disclosure under applicable law. Use
or disclosure of information e-mailed in error is respectfully prohibited. If you have received this e-mail in error, please contact the sender and immediately
delete the original message. Thank you .
************************************************************************************
Too Funny!
This was too funny not to share...
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of
easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully
in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit
out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my
demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax,
you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you
peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you
pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean,
I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.
(YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in
so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax,"
yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around
it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it
wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am
She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin
extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I
sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it
was along strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip.
CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and
spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so
much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory
that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!
There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the
hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now
covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on
the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put My foot down.
DANG!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think
to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!
I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the
wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off,
right???
WRONG!!!!!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture
prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is
having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied
myself to the porcelain!!
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put
in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret
of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my
butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but
she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where
the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks Or who-ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and
she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!!
I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with
a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in
hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then
dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm
pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for
this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the
lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What
do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!"
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.
I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief
and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now.
Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I'm going to try hair color...... Now that's funny ........
Notttttttttt Send this on to other ladies who need a good laugh
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This E-Mail is intended only for the use of the individual or entity to which it is addressed and may contain information that is privileged, confidential and exempt from disclosure under applicable law. Use
or disclosure of information e-mailed in error is respectfully prohibited. If you have received this e-mail in error, please contact the sender and immediately
delete the original message. Thank you .
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