Monthly Archives: February 2014

Feb28

This is How We Roll

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This is How We Roll

There are so many things I do that irritate my family. I sing and dance in the mornings…I can’t really sing or dance, but it doesn’t keep me from trying. My son has informed me on more than one occasion that he doesn’t like to ‘chit-chat’ in the mornings, so I am pretty certain that my song and dance routines put him over the edge. The other things I do which drive my family crazy include, but are not limited to:

  • I consistently send text message without getting right to the point.  Evidently, I should refrain from textual speak like I am initiating a conversation.  I have been instructed on several occasions to just “JUST SAY WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY!”

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  • I concoct grand adventures the dogs supposedly go on when we are gone or sleeping.  Cooper, our Yorkie, has worked Intel for the FBI and also has been on Dancing with the Stars.  They must now know what it’s like to have an imagination stuck in overdrive.
  • I watch Finding Bigfoot
  • I tend to give them unconventional advice and useless information. (Please ignore my incorrect language usage)

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  • I accidently break the rules (important ones).  Like bringing ammunition to school in a gym bag.

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It wouldn’t exactly be fair for me to take credit for all that is annoying.  These little darlings have a few little quirks that get under my skin as well.

  •  Nine out of ten text messages Evan sends me are on the subject of food or that he is officially starving.
  • Sophi doesn’t put a lid on makeup, toothpaste or deodorant.  (OMG this drives me nuts).
  • Riley always looks like a million bucks but leaves a DISASTER behind while getting ready (category 4 hurricane, this one is).
  • None of my children believe in the possibility of Bigfoot.
  • They all say, “We can tell when Dad goes to the store because he buys good food” (donuts, chips, candy, cookie dough….)
  • The NUMBER ONE thing that is maddening beyond words:

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I wouldn’t trade them for the world.  It isn’t perfect, it’s just how we roll.

 

 

 

 

 

Feb24

The Broken Swan this Side of Heaven

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My family had to say goodbye to a fantastic lady today. After 95 years, my grandmother, Violet Stephens, ended her journey on this earth. This special lady left this world just as a person of her caliber should have—surrounded by people who loved and adored her. I wasn’t there when she passed, but I did love and adore her. I was fortunate that she spent the last year living in the nursing facility where I work. So, I got to see her and hug her and kiss her anytime I want. She was precious.

The truth is, she wasn’t even my biological grandma. I was a step. Sometimes that can be complicated. I was 13 years old when I became her grandchild and there was little else more complicated than I was at that age (except for maybe ages 15-19). It wasn’t complicated for Grandma. She just lumped my sister and me in with the rest of them and loved us like she had been there when they cut our cords. I would like to say it was because we were so special, but that wasn’t is at all. It was because she was special.

Grandma was a gentile sprit and kind nearly to a fault. She was the type of person who would go out of her way for other people and wouldn’t expect anything in return. She was someone I didn’t want to disappoint, because she was just such a doll. Once, when my sister and I were spending the night with her and my grandpa, she brought us a flashlight. She said, “Girls, I am giving you this flashlight so you won’t get lost if you have to get up in the night to use the bathroom.” I can’t really capture how endearing this gesture was. The bathroom was literally three steps outside the room where we were sleeping. The house was tiny and cozy and there was exactly zero chance of us getting lost. She was precious.

There was something I should have told Grandma and I didn’t. This isn’t like me at all, because I am pretty forthcoming about my plethora of blunders. I was sixteen and attending a family gathering at Grandma’s. Nearly everyone had congregated in the backyard and I had made my way to the sit on the front step. I was sitting next to a concrete planter that was fashioned into the shape of a swan. It was full of blooming red flowers and I casually reached up and put my hand around the beak of the swan. A good-sized portion of the beak broke off into my hand. Looking back, I know that Grandma would have just brushed it aside had I taken the beak to her and told her what had happened. But I didn’t. I did what I sometimes do in sticky situations–I improvised. I used the gum I was chewing to stick the beak back into place. I am normally not a good secret keeper, but I kept this one for a long time.

Twenty-six years have passed and as of yesterday, that swan with the bum beak was still sitting in front of Grandma’s house. I came clean to my sisters and my step-dad a few years ago and they have all teased me about telling Grandma I broke her swan planter. They never told either. I should have told her. It wouldn’t have mattered to her. It mattered to me.

A few months ago Grandma became very sick and we had to take her to the hospital. I went and sat with her until my aunts and uncles could get there. She was weak and barely able to stay awake or talk. Several times she opened her eyes and I would smile and say, “Hi there, Sleeping Beauty.” Each time that day she said the same thing to me: You aren’t my real grandchild. You aren’t my great-grandchild. You are a really great grandchild. She had never said that to me before that day and never said it to me again. I should have told her then I broke her swan.

At her funeral, my mom (who is a dynamic speaker) shared that my Grandma had left a note to her and my step-dad on a visit to their home about fifteen years ago. It was also something Grandma hadn’t spoken to them about before or since she left it. It was a request to have the following poem read at her funeral:

“Miss Me But Let Me Go”

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little-but not too long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me-but let me go

For this is a journey that we all must take
And each must go alone.
It’s all part of the Master’s plan
A step on the road to home

When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me but let me go.

Author: Anonymous

My Grandma didn’t have many worldly possessions. She didn’t need many. She was content in her family, faith and community. I am a step. Sometimes that gets complicated, but I have decided to ask for the broken swan. I think it would look lovely on my porch with the flowers blooming and a broken beak. Moreover, it will serve to remind me to strive to be more like her. Maybe I can choose to focus on the good in people, to serve others more and to put God and family first. I get that wrong a lot of the time. She got it right. If I am entrusted with the planter, I hope Grandma knows it will be the most treasured broken swan this side of heaven.

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Feb18

Parenting is NOT Like Pie-It isn’t Easy and Not Everyone Gets the Same Size Slice

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Parenting is NOT Like Pie-It isn’t Easy and Not Everyone Gets the Same Size Slice

Today was one of those days, when I question my parental aptitude. It was a day of kidpiesecond-guessing my maternal competency and sorting through my stacks of ‘should’ve, could’ve wish-I-would haves’. There were many years that I would allow guilt (perceived or genuinely earned) to consume me. I would sling that heavy bastard on my back and lug him around with me. Several years ago I decided on a lifestyle change. With a steady diet of personal reflection and regular exercises in what can I learn from this, I have trimmed down the guilt-weight. With that being said, there are days like today when Guilt knocks me down and his stupid friend, Doubt, sits on my chest and I can hardly breathe.

My three children are so completely different from one another; it is almost a stretch to think they share any of the same genetic material. When my oldest, Riley, was born I could sit her in her highchair and clean the entire kitchen and she would entertain herself with little toys or finger foods. I could put Evan in his highchair and he would beat on it, throw things, or rock it so hard it would almost tip over. Sophi would stay in her highchair for about 2.7 seconds. Even when buckled in, she would Houdini her way out and be out of sight before I could turn around. From the naked mole rat stage to their current stages of development, they have been utterly dissimilar.

So when one child feels slighted by the attention, treatment, or overall parental nurturing, it is like a stake to my heart. I immediately feel compelled to justify my parental portions. Mentally I start making note of the pieces of my love, discipline, and attention. I become totally aware that there are absolutely no ‘do-overs’ in this life and there is a good chance that I need a flippin’ do-over. The pieces of my pie are not cut and served in three identical portions. I screwed up serving my parenalt pie. Doubt is sitting squarely upon my chest.

I have been trying to get a good foot-hold on this parenting gig for over 22 years now. The mistakes I have made are many and being double-teamed today by Guilt and his fool-ass friend, Doubt, is a crappy way to start my week. There is a lot of week that I have to get through and there is a lot of fight left in my imperfect mom-self. It is time to pick myself up and dust myself off and own this Mom-thing. So, I might go down, but I am going down cutting this pie the best way I know how.

What I want my children to know:

1. I am so far from perfect that if you could buy parents, you would probably find me at the Ninety-Nine Cent Store. My love for you is not flawed. It is the best thing about me.

2. The decisions I make about your siblings is independent of the decisions I kidsmake about you. I wouldn’t put diesel fuel in a car that runs on unleaded. It doesn’t work.

3. You didn’t come with a manual. I have done my very best to make you feel loved, safe, and adored. You are loved, safe, and adored.

4. Life is not fair. It is never going to be. I have not treated you equally. I have, however, loved you equally. It is the only perfect portion I have to offer. I will never waiver on loving you each with every fiber of my being. This will be true forever.

5. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. Your siblings are not perfect. Life starts to make sense when we can look past one another’s imperfections and focus on the ‘good stuff’. Sometimes you have to look for the ‘good stuff’.

6. My days are numbered. I cannot live forever. Love one another. Forgive one another. Keep one another safe. If I can leave one legacy, it would be for you to always share the love I have given you with one another. Life is too short to fight over pie.

Feb14

A Swing and a Miss

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There are very few parents capable of balancing the role of parent-coach.  In fact, I have been on a sojourn the last several years on learning how to be a supportive, positive, and less intense sports parent (I have come a long way).  My husband, Kevin, has coached my daughter’s competitive basketball team since she was in the fourth grade.  He is exceptional.  He knows the game, he knows his players and he knows how to treat our daughter, Sophi, like she is just another player on the team. Where I tend to be a little hotheaded, critical, and slightly maniacal, Kevin is patient, calm, and rational.

Over the years, he is shaped and molded his group of girls into a winning and basketball2fundamentally sound ball club and he has done so without acting a fool.  He doesn’t yell at the referees, he doesn’t throw his clipboard (although he did throw his pen ONCE), and he doesn’t engage his parents in negative banter about players, playing time or performance. He has only been issued one technical foul.  As part of my journey towards psycho sports parent transformation, I have learned to refrain from these once regular behaviors:

  • Calling or texting Kevin during a game to tell him my ideas for plays or defensive strategy.  He no longer takes my calls during games.
  • Yelling at referees when they are complete idiots.  I have developed a respect for the folks in stripes, even the blind ones with fluff where their gray matter should be.
  • Confronting offensive parents/coaches/coaches wives from the other teams.
  • I have changed my spirited cheering from Seriously?!; You have GOT to be kidding me!; If that is a walk, I can dunk;  Damn it, Sophi, Get in the Game; to the uplifting encouraging words of: Defense, ladies; Nice job; Get big defense; and Niiiiiiiiice!

Note: The inside of my mouth is often bleeding by the third quarter from biting my tongue, but I am a work in progress.

The finesse in which Kevin coaches is what makes the recent series of events blog-worthy.  basketball4Sophi had a rough game last week.  It was the school team, which means Coach Kevin was in the stands with the rest of the parents and spectators.  It was a home game and a decent size crowd for a girls’ game.  She struggled.  She managed to get a few shots off and pull down several rebounds but the rest of her game was quite messy.  She came off the court fully aware of the mistakes she had made and was probably already trying to forget the game in its entirety.  But Coach Kevin took a detour from his usual supportive route and recounted nearly every mishap.  The ride home from the game was tense.

Kevin’s recap of the game consisted of a verbal highlight reel of her blunders and bobbles.  Sophi and I rode in silence, both stunned by this critical recap from the usual docile daddy-coach.  I felt compelled to say something, but usually when I feel compelled to say something it turns out to be something inappropriate.  So, while Kevin ranted, I texted Sophi instead:

Me:      The hardest thing in the world besides losing someone you love is taking criticism. Don’t let this defeat you.  Build on it.  He is doing it because he loves you and  he believes in you.  It’s what drives him.  It’s like getting a shot when you are little. The shot hurts a little but not as bad as getting polio.

Sophi:     OK. You don’t make any sense.  What does my bad game have to do with polio?

Me:      Polio is bad.  Your game was bad.

Sophi: Wow

 A swing and a miss for Mom.basketball3

The week continued.  Sophi was quiet and withdrawn, Kevin stoic and silent.  The weather was grey and cold and as the snow accumulated, so did the snow days for the kids.  I came home one evening and inquired how Sophi’s snow day had been.  She replied, “Well, Dad did call me this morning and apologize for being so hard on me about the game.  It started out promising but his apology went off the rails.”  When I pressed her for details she complied:

Dad:    Hey, Sophi.  I just wanted to call and say I am sorry for being so     hard on you about the game the other night.

Sophi:  Ok, thanks, Dad.

Dad:      I really didn’t mean it was the worst basketball game I have ever seen you play in your entire life, I meant it was the worst one this season.

Sophi:    Okaaaaay….

Dad:       But, really, why did you have to throw the ball away???  Your passes were sloppy.  There were so many people there watching.  It was embarrassing.

Sophi:    (Thinking to herself) You have got to be kidding me???  This is his apology?

Dad:       So, anyway, I just wanted to call and say I am sorry and tell you that I love you.

A Swing and a miss for Dad.

After Sophi’s highlight reel of the apology, we were both laughing and shaking our heads.  We didn’t know exactly how to process this side of Kevin the Coach.  Sophi was laughing, but her walls were still up.  She wasn’t ready to forgive his trampling on her wounded ego.   The standoff continued.  After nearly a week of eye-rolling (Sophi) and stubborn silence (Kevin), I demanded reconciliation.  Kevin set out to make things right with his girl and according to him they had a ‘great talk’.   Considering the debacle he had made of the apology, I wasn’t exactly ready to take his word for it.  However, Sophi did confirm that he had made successful amends and was now back in his starring role of ‘Best Dad in the World’.

photo 4I wonder how much of Kevin’s deviation from his positive daddy/coach role was even about the basketball game.  His little girl is growing up.  The two of them have always been exceptionally close.  Lately, her attention has been further divided by her friends, her phone, dances, and her need to always be on the go.  Recently, a handsome young 17 year-old fellow has also emerged onto the scene (heavy sigh).  Perhaps, Kevin was consumed solely by Sophi’s less than stellar performance on the court, but it would be my wager that there was a host of other things fueling his frustration.  I am her parent too.  I feel the weight of the how fleeting these days actually are.  I, too, wonder how it is that more often I find myself left out of the huddle and forced into the stands as a spectator in her world.  I think as parents we all swing and miss sometimes.  We lose sight of what is really important.  When I take the time to reflect on all the laughter and love we have shared as parents and I look at the remarkable young lady Sophi is growing into, I have resolved myself to accept that my role is changing.  I sincerely hope Kevin recognizes his role in Sophi’s life is also changing, but is as vital as ever.  Girls never outgrow needing their daddies.  He might have an occasional ‘swing and a miss”, but when it comes to being a great dad, he hit that one out of the park!

 

 

Feb5

The Ledgend of Big Kevin’s Green Hairbrush

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The Ledgend of Big Kevin’s Green Hairbrush

I love my pillow, my Mineral Area Football League T-shirt, my blue sweats of unknown origin, and a white blanket that I lovingly call my ‘stink blanket’, but not because it stinks (please do not mistakenly refer to it as my stinky blanket, because I consider that highly offensive). Due to my propensity for being slightly quirky, my emotional attachment to a few inanimate objects will surprise exactly zero percent of people. However, revealing the odd relationship my logical, sensible, meat-and-potatoes husband has with his beloved hairbrush is perhaps another matter altogether.

For two decades I have shared my life with this strong, silent, giant of a man. We have hadahairbrush4 many ups and downs, laughter and tears, good times and bad but through it all one thing has remained constant—his green hairbrush. This simple grooming tool has stood the test of time and while its value to Big Kevin remains a mystery to our family, it is something we certainly all have learned to respect (sort of).

When the kids started getting to an age where they were able to get themselves ready in the mornings, trouble started brewing. Inevitably, one of them would carry the brush off to another bathroom and Kevin could be heard yelling, “Where is my hairbrush?!” There wasn’t exactly a shortage of hairbrushes in the house, so we all sort of blew him off at first. “Just use a different one,” we would rebut. He wouldn’t hear of it, “I DON’T WANT TO USE A DIFFERENT ONE! I WANT TO USE MY HAIRBRUSH!” Inevitably, he would go to the store and buy half-dozen hairbrushes and proclaim that anyone in the house could use any hairbrush, except his green one. Life would be good for a while, but then one of us would slipup and use his brush and forget to return it to its proper location and we would all be scrambling and blaming one another for the infraction.

ahairbrush3My oldest daughter, Riley, was blessed with an amazing mane of hair. She also sheds like a Sasquatch in full molt. She would often use Kevin’s brush to flat-iron her hair and leave wads of long strawberry blonde hair tangled in the bristles. “SOMEONE HAS BEEN USING MY HAIRBRUSH,” he would accuse as he extracted the hairs. We all know he hates for us to use it, yet like moths to the flame…

Let me clarify. Kevin is not a Type-A personality who has to have everything in its place like some sort of Sleeping with the Enemy character. I take his tools and don’t put them back. He can have his underwear and socks crammed in the same drawer and if the glasses are put in the cabinet up-side down, right-side-up or a combination of both, he absolutely does not care. This is what makes this random hairbrush OCD so baffling (and funny) to all of us. I have used his toothbrush on many occasions with not so much as a grunt or a growl from him. But the hairbrush–it’s sacred.

One evening several years ago, after the hairbrush had been tracked back to one of the kids’ bathrooms and Kevin reiterated the off-limits hairbrush rule for everyone for the six-hundred and thirty-sixth time, Evan told Kevin, “You are like Larry the Cucumber with that stupid hairbrush.” He produced a YouTube video of Larry the Cucumber singing a dreadful song about losing his hairbrush. It was epic and quickly became Kevin’s theme song for times his brush went missing.  (You can watch Larry sing in the Hairbrush Song by clicking the link below):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtHr7gluh08

This hairbrush is ragged.  Its once shiny green color is chipped and faded.  It has been burnt with a hot flat-iron (for which I have no comment), and the bristles are worn and frazzled.  It has been left behind and retrieved home.  Our family has fought about it, laughed about it, sang silly songs about it and spent countless hours looking for this old green hairbrush.  As our 19th wedding anniversary approaches, I realize how I am not so uahairbrush1nlike this raggedy old brush.  I am scarred, sagging, wrinkled, and frazzled, but Big Kevin is still hanging in there with me!  I know that I am not the shiny young thing he married so many years ago, but I know he still loves me.  I don’t understand why the man loves his stupid green hairbrush and there are many days I don’t understand why he loves someone as fallible as me.  All I know is that I am extremely grateful that he can value something seemingly so insignificant and I am also pretty okay with him hanging onto that silly hairbrush!