Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Happy Santa Merry Birthday

So I have Santa sitting on my coffee table. He wears purple and gold, but of course, has a snow globe, and plays the ECU fight song on demand, while he peers in at the ECU football stadium. Why, yes, I am aware that it's the beginning of October. Why, no, I have not fallen prey to the same influences that seem to drive the retail world as they force Christmas on us before we can get our pumpkins carved. Santa is a birthday present. Or he was a birthday present - in July of 2008 - and it took Santa seven years to find my chimney. Actually he was home briefly, so maybe it should be classified as a detour.

In July of 2008 I was given Santa as a birthday present. But Daddy had dementia. So Daddy decided that I had stolen Santa. He couldn't stop complaining to Momma that I had "pulled a fast one" and taken his Santa. The solution - I returned Santa to Daddy with my apologies for being "confused". Santa sat on a table at my parents back door until last month when Momma looked at Santa, and said, "Why don't you take that damn Santa home? You know he's yours." So I loaded Santa back into my car for a return trip to his rightful home. But it's not Christmas yet so I stuck Santa into the closet with the other decorations.

However Santa wasn't happy apparently. See ECU was playing Virginia Tech and early on it looked like a blow out. So I decided that Santa should come on up and watch with me. Next thing I knew we had pulled out an unexpected victory AND I had spotted my goddaughter in the crowd. My solution - I told Rick that Santa stays out until further notice. His response - whatever makes me happy - proof he doesn't have dementia.

Last weekend our college freshman went to his first game as a college student. If you've got to pick a game to be your first one as part of the student body, then by all means pick the one where your school is nationally ranked playing another nationally ranked team on national TV in a pouring rain. Spend your morning tracking down a couple of ponchos and texting your football crazy momma who has lots of advice. Especially when NONE of that advice involves staying home. HAVE A GREAT TIME!! Layer, use trash bags if necessary, did I mention layers? Put your paper printout ticket in a Ziploc bag. Leave your phone in the dorm since it ain't water proof. Just a few examples of my wisdom.

My wisdom was well earned at a life time of going to games in all sorts of weather. One of my favorite memories of an ECU game came in September of 2000, well before Daddy became the man who thought I had stolen from him. It rained the entire time as just Daddy and I sat through the ECU/Syracuse game. We won, but I'm not sure if that makes the memory sweeter (silly, of course it does). I sat there with Daddy, getting soaked, cheering on our Pirates. I love, love, love that my first born went to his game, cheered on his team, and had a blast. Not as crazy over his statement that the clothes are "ruined 'cause I hit some mud on the way to the field, and I threw them over there in a corner." Apparently the laundry life lesson did not take as well as the support your team lesson did.  But, life should be about making memories. It goes by too fast to spend no time in the rain.

Santa reminds me that kindnesses aren't always done in expected ways. I never corrected Daddy. I never complained over Santa, though I did make a joke to Rick that I had the distinction of giving instead of receiving a birthday gift for my own birthday. My brothers were well aware of the story of Santa. They heard Daddy, and they knew he would be mine - eventually.

The day after I brought Santa home was the two year anniversary of my father-in-law's death. The past two years have brought much heartache, many transitions, a lot of shifting of material goods, and so very much growth in lessons learned. Three years ago, Santa would never have peeked out in September. I would have been a embarrassed over the story. Now, I leave him out. I didn't expect him to help win a game, and truly our rushing QB did that for us. I just wanted to look at him, and reflect. I like seeing him.  He'll get put back up eventually. I have too many Martha Stewart pretensions to leave him out year round. But for now - Happy Santa Merry Birthday to me. Oh, and GO PIRATES, GO TIGERS, (please, dear God, may Tennessee win).

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Popcorn and a Movie

I’m channeling The Property Brothers, and that perky, creative couple from Fixer Upper. Everywhere I look in our home I see DIY projects and I’ve taken the plunge, enjoying The DIY Zone. It’s been a blast, even though I haven’t actually done a demo project. (Is it wrong of me to really want a sledge hammer?) My time line for getting ‘er done is when I can fit in a project between my family’s schedules.  

The big idea for my latest project was to completely redo my daughter’s bedroom. Anna had picked out a new bed and paint color for her walls. First I’d scrape the acoustic popcorn off of her ceiling then repaint the ceiling and walls. I’d done it before, so it should be easy, right? I could envision the end product in my mind. Love It or List It would always be a love it situation if my vision would go as planned.

When my daughter called this past weekend to say she would be home again on Friday, I started her bedroom ceiling. Spray the ceiling with warm water, scrape, catch the debris in a bucket, and repeat. A little up and down the ladder, and Bob’s your uncle, the job is done. I just didn’t realize that I had entered the room of doom that would turn my flip into a flop.
It took a freaking ocean of water to remotely get this repainted popcorn from hell soft enough to begin to scrap. Some of it flew off in chunks, somehow getting plastered inside my shirt. My arm muscles were aching after what seemed to be the 40th trip down the ladder to refill the spray bottle. I wanted one of the Scott brothers to massage me and tell me it was going to be alright. A Wanna-be DIY lady can dream, dammit, because the dream was much better than the reality. I was covered; head to toe in “popcorn dust.” The room was hazy. My mask was clogged, and I had visions of my family finding me frozen and statue like with a bucket in my arms. That bucket was full of yucky, wet, chalk-smelling, white goo when I hit the floor.

The ladder tipped, sending me, and the scraper flying. Somehow, the scraper arched in the air and landed in the bucket. The bucket launched itself, as though ghosts of DIY celebrities past were trying to teach a novice not to be quite so confident. It landed firmly upside down on my head, bounced, and plopped on my feet, covering my shoes and the carpet in sopping wet popcorn sludge. I’m not sure what sounds came out of my mouth as I held my head, but I’m pretty sure it was close to speaking in tongues. All I know for sure is that my eight-year-old son ran away, fast. The big reveal, when the dust settled was a room splattered in ceiling popcorn, and one very spotted lady. No one could come into the room without pushing the muck more firmly into the carpet. Taking my shoes off became a test in how not to further spread the ceiling blob. I was covered, and there wasn’t a Property Brother in sight.

Today is Tuesday. My daughter will be home on Friday to a completely NOT 
done room. It took two days for all the goo to dry before the room could be vacuumed, and wiped down. Anna’s room will be clean with a partially scraped ceiling and old paint on the walls. Her new bed will be freshly made and I’ll even spring for some fresh flowers in a vase. This time my DIY project isn’t on schedule. I thought I could redo a bedroom in five days since some of the HGTV programs show totally renovated houses in thirty days. I’ll give it another go later. I would rather enjoy the time I have with my daughter when she is here. In the meantime, I have a power washer and a chain saw, and I’m not afraid to use them. Sounds like a HGTV/Lifetime Horror movie in the making.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

College Countdown

Eighteen. Eighteen minutes, eighteen hours, eighteen days, eighteen months...eighteen years. A mother counts her child in so many ways. When he was eighteen minutes, they wheeled him out of recovery. My husband looked at me,  then looked back at his first-born son, and said, "I'm going to follow him." I completely understood. I still follow him. I glance up, I glance back, I trace on Find My iPhone, while I convince myself that my parents would have traced me if they could have, and if it's on the ground then it can't be helicopter parenting...maybe.

Our first-born is eighteen. He leaves for college in less then a week. We're older parents, and I'm fine with that. I think we're not in charge of timing, and the timing was right for us. But how time has flown - I'm not good with that. When he went to have his senior pictures taken last year, all I could see was my mother-in-law's wall of senior pictures of the grandchildren. Ours won't be on the wall. She passed away his junior year. 

Last year Momma was able to come see his marching band. She loved seeing both our sons and their band, while my brother, and I were struck by how much Daddy would have loved it. He loved a good band. But he passed away, too.

I'm not sure how to approach being the parent of an adult. I knew or pretended to know how to handle an infant. Lots of love, clean diapers, food on time, and a dash of praying. Elementary school had its challenges - ADHD, and judgmental parents and teachers who should have known better. High school meant a lot of time convincing him to try harder on his schoolwork, and to talk to people. He wouldn't stop talking when he was young. Once he got to high school he wouldn't start. I was painfully reminded of that at my favorite grocery store not too long ago. The bagger was a kid I recognized. I said hello. He asked how he knew me. I told him whose Mom I was. Immediately he said that my kid was the kid who was such a clown and idiot, wouldn't shut up when they were younger, and when they got to high school he was known as the kid who wouldn't talk.

Well, bite my ass, punk.

No, I didn't say that, but I really, really wanted to. Amazing how immaturity hits you the moment it involves your child. I wanted to point out our son's every accomplishment. Instead I mumbled my way through my groceries while feeling the eyes of the cashier bearing down on me - 'what a lousy mother she must be.'

Our son has had criticism thrown his way from the very beginning. So have I. His hyperactivity was because of too much sugar or my slack parenting, take your pick. Except the kid isn't really big on sweets, and I didn't sit around letting him run wild. Along the way, he heard your comments, after all his ears are thirty-six years younger then mine. You people who went to anti-bullying rallies thought nothing of making negative comments about him. So the pendulum swung and he just stopped talking. If you're a close friend, he'll talk. Otherwise you can bite his ass. What strikes me is if I went up to you and said, 'Hey, your kid is fat.', what a horrible person I would be. I know nothing of the circumstances involved. But a kid who is very shy, it's perfectly acceptable to come up to me and say something. Seriously?? Do you think I'm not aware? I particularly enjoyed the teacher who went on and on about how slow he was, and forgetful, and how that would drive her crazy if he was her child, and she did this IN FRONT OF SEVERAL OTHER MOTHERS! Why, yes, a highlight of the years.

I'm petrified to send him off to college. I know just how cruel people can be, and colleges are not immune from that. If anything they are a breeding ground of selectivity enabled pompous asses (I keep using that word - normally I'm a much cleaner writer, but the word works). I remember the rejections of college. I want it to be a happy, fun experience. 

I've been posting childhood pictures of fun times - trips, fishing with his grandma, riding a tractor with one grandpa, and on a train with the other granddaddy. He's laughing or excited in these pictures, and then it strikes me. He's happy. He's got several close friends. One will be his roommate. And along the way the asses taught him a valuable lesson. His self esteem is not earned based on your approval. He takes care of his business, and ignores the ass who wants to give him a hard time because he's not interested in performing for your approval.

The pictures have reminded me not to grieve this chapter closing. His childhood was fun for both of us. Playgrounds, museums, battlefields, amusement parks, state fairs, beaches, mountains, music, and laughter have all been experienced. When they say that your child will grow up so fast - believe them. When you see some homily about housework can wait, go have some fun - do it. I will miss my child. But I look forward to meeting my adult son. I'm sure he will be more mature than I am about the asses of the world.

Finally, to quote a favorite song: "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" Ashford & Simpson

Remember the day I set you free
I told you you could always count on me darling
From that day on, I made a vow,
I'll be there when you want me,
Some way, some how

Oh baby there ain't no mountain high enough,
Ain't no valley low enough,
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you babe

I love you, always, my beautiful baby boy.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

It's the Everyday Stuff, Ain't It?

One month from today, I'll have a high school graduate. Actually, three of the four gaby ladies will have high school graduates this year. Just a touch overwhelming to think about, when your child still seems so young to your own eyes. Some high school graduates will go straight to full time work, others straight to the military, others go on to college. Any way you approach it, adulthood is beckoning. I told some friends at lunch that I had been struck by the most horrid realization that as much as I had tried to raise my child, there were huge swaths of knowledge (like the proper usage of the word swath), that I never properly conveyed. So I started a list, because every teenager LOVES seeing their mom approach them with a list...

So every day, the poor kid has a very brief lecture, discussion, about items on the list. So here in writing, and I do not promise no further additions, is some of the list:

The car - how to jump-start a battery, already demonstrated when he sat in his car running the a/c, and the radio without the engine. Also discussed a flat tire, engine warning lights, roadside assistance, and car insurance. Most importantly, we discussed accidents - who to talk to, who to call, and DO NOT STOP ON A DESERTED ROAD IF SOMEONE REAR ENDS YOU. Sadly, I explained about staged accidents, and that he should call 911, explain the situation, why he was not stopping at the scene of the accident, and where he should travel to. Young adults traveling alone are a target, and you aren't always in an area you are familiar with. In case you think I missed a hot topic - he's been lectured on the use of his phone while driving since before he could drive. Fortunately, he uses his phone to pipe music playlists through his car speakers, which has the advantage of making him ignore calls/texts as that would mess up his tunes.

Identity Theft - most teenagers are not comfortable yet with their own identity. Unfortunately, there are people out there more then happy to take on your identity for you. One simple rule - when in doubt, shred. People will go through the trash looking for that piece of paper with your social security number or maybe a voided check with your account number/routing number. Shred it. Never give out information on the phone except to your own mother, if you want me to cover that outrageous bill for data. Don't trust the email that looks all official-like wanting you to confirm a password. The bank ALREADY knows what they need to know - they ain't asking you. Same thing for the government, and your college. Never give out account numbers or passwords. And treat any threats they issue - like how you'll lose access, blah, blah, blah - exactly the way you treated my threats over cleaning your room. Then I know they'll get nowhere.

People - Sorta like the identity theft one, trust is a big issue. You're going to meet a lot of new people. Some will be fantastic, and become life long friends that you will laugh with over that thing that happened that night at that place (better not be a bar - geez, now I just sound stupid) for the rest of your lives. Others will be ones that you will use as examples to your own children. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish the two, and sometimes you're wrong. Often the manipulators are soooo nice, and friendly, and they make the request to use your car, your computer, your money, seem sooo reasonable. Like you're the one being unreasonable, and mean to say no. Others will jump in like a Greek chorus pushing on you to say yes. JUST SAY NO. You were not put on this earth to provide rides, money, food to others (except your brother - if he goes to the same college, you two WILL do all of that). These people will exist in your universe for the rest of your life, so college is a great training ground for recognizing them, and moving past them. This doesn't mean that you can't help someone in need. BUT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. Some of the wealthiest girls at ECU were the biggest users. I ended up throwing away shoes, clothes, hot curlers that were ruined by others, even provided rides to parties I WASN'T invited to, before I started realizing what was going on. I can be slow on the uptake. Sharing with others, and being taken advantage of are not the same.

Priorities - College is expensive. You are not there for the party. You are not there to demonstrate your video gaming prowess. You are there to prepare you for a career which will enable you to come home to visit, not to live. Set your priorities. Have fun, AFTER YOUR SCHOOLWORK, especially if you want us to contribute to the cost.

I've shown our son how to write a check, how to look at his balances online, made sure he has his email set up on his phone, how to address an envelope, how to write a thank you note, how to wash a load of clothes (though I suspect those will come my way since he's only a short drive away), but I know I've missed a lot so any suggestions are welcome. I'm going to miss my baby, but I do welcome seeing a young man.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Blood Sport for the All American Girl

"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?”
Mr. Bennet, upon reading Lizzy the letter from Mr. Collins, which hints that she may be engaged to Mr. Darcy and warns them that Lady Catherine will never approve
Pride & Prejudice, Volume 3, Chapter 15
So I read a book for my much loved book club. The book was simultaneously the easiest and hardest read. On reflection, I have to give it a very solid, porch swing worthy recommendation. The book is "Big Little Lies", by Liane Moriarty.
More about the book in a moment - I will tie all of this together, wrapped up in the threads of life.
"Now I know I'm just here to amuse you
And I don't mean to abuse you
But if I could just use you one time 
Tell me what it's like
To be the queen of it all
The Neiman Marcus of the Mall
And tell me what it's like to be the one and only
All American Girl"
Train, "All American Girl"
I find myself reflecting on the passage of time. Our oldest son will finish high school in May. We're wrapped up in college decisions, and majors, and the younger son is only one year behind, plus my goddaughter has decided to go to college at my own alma mater. At times I feel like my head peeked out from a cocoon and the time/space continuum warped me - or something like that. So I was thinking last week that I should focus on what I WON'T miss when the boys have gone off to college. You know, the dishes, the tracked in dirt, the car lines, the Queen Bees, and along came this book. 
"At the gas station, I think she pretended not to see me." 
"It felt like every parent was secretly observing their conversation. This must be what it felt like to be famous."
"Not here, you idiot. Let's not talk about family business with sharp-eared mothers all around us."
"The Blond Bobs hurrying about looking very involved and important as they did each Friday morning."
"It would already be on Facebook."
"Give me a vicious corporate takeover any day."
Yes - along came this book. I'm betting that I don't have to go into much more detail then the quotes...because I'm betting you now know what sport I reference. It's the blood sport of motherhood. It's mildly amusing that once I got a grip on how little the Queen Bees opinion of me should count, I have very little sighting of them anymore. But this book brought back many delightful memories woven with a thread of humor, and a reminder - don't trust what YOU DON'T KNOW to be true.
So to the moms out there still in the running of the moms which bears an eerie resemblance to the running of the bulls in Pamplona - You are a champion. Read the book - You are not alone. Good luck - but you don't need it. Their opinions don't matter, trust me.