The "F" Word

My daughter will be in the 9^th grade this new school year. Many of my peers are using the word “Freshman” to describe their children. I, however, am refusing to use that word.

The “F” word suggests that my daughter is embarking on a new adventure, into the world where Sophomores and Juniors (my son) and Seniors congregate. I am not ready for her to be in that world.

 

The “F” word suggests that she soon will be driving and dating and departing. See future entry for my reflections on those “D” words. I am not ready for the “D” words.

The “F” word would imply that the baby I used to cradle in my arms has at supersonic speed moved from her first steps and learning to ride a bike to being less dependent on me. Ok … I may possibly be ready for that one.

Somehow saying my daughter is in 9^th grade is less traumatic for this mother than using the “F” word. Ninth grade is just like all the others … 2^nd grade, 5^th grade, etc. Ninth grade implies nothing special; it’s just another grade.

This summer I have watched my daughter blossom. She has moved away from playing soccer (which granted was more my passion than hers), toward her own interests. She is mature enough to babysit and confident enough to stand up for herself.

While I am not ready for her to be a Fre …. Fre … Freshman, I suspect that she is. My habit has been to take a couple of days off leading up to the new school year to make sure the kids are prepared with supplies and clothes and we have time together before the hectic-ness ensues. This year, a little extra personal preparation will be needed. The “F” word is imminent.

The Greatest Invention of All

There was a time in my life when I thought Little Debbie Nutty Butty bars were the greatest invention of all time. Chocolate and peanut butter combined into the ultimate road trip food. What could be better than that?

Today, I may have to bump young Miss Debbie to second place and nominate the stretchy material that is appearing more and more often in the pants I choose to buy. My pants look like jeans. They feel like jeans. But they secretly are empowered with a magic stretchy material that allows me to wear a size smaller and still breathe. Genius!

Today I am wearing a particularly flattering pair of grey cropped pants which are … YES! … a size smaller than the ones hanging in my closet from last year. I want to grab an empty soup can and a string and shout “They fit!” I have received several compliments, not to brag, on these pants. And, privately, every time I stand up or sit down I am praising the creative genius who thought of adding the stretchy magic material so that my comfort is assured.

But have no fear Little Debbie. I may have cut back on your decadent offerings of chocolate and peanut butter so that I might one day soon buy a pair of jeans which lack the magic stretchy material. But, know this … I look forward to the day when I am behind the wheel, driving to an anticipated destination and I reach for one of your snacks and think “I really should have put these in the cooler.”

7 Things Moms Shouldn't Have to Do

I know that as a mom I am often called upon to make sacrifices, carry the extra load, place my own desires and wishes behind those of my kids. But there are some things I should not have to do. Who's with me? Here's my list, numbered but in no particular order.

1) Pick up wet towels off the bathroom floor. There has been a towel hamper in the same spot for at least two years. The bathroom is small. It's not that hard.

2) Get socks out from between the cushions of the couch or any other piece of furniture in my home. I don't want to touch your feet; I don't want to touch things that have touched your feet; and I don't want to smell anything that has touched your feet and been wadded up for days with sweat permeating through the fibers.

3) Flush after someone else. Enough said.

4) Wipe up pee from the tile around the toilet bowl in the boys' bathroom. Remember when you were young and I put Cheerios in the water for you to hit? Today, I'll just be happy if you hit the water.

5) Ask more than 15 times for your clothes to be picked up in your room. Here's a hint: if you have to sleep on the floor, on top of clothes, because the pile of clothes on your bed is too high for you to traverse, it's time to CLEAN YOUR ROOM.

6) Take your laundry from the washing machine and place it in the dryer before I go to bed because you were playing video games earlier and didn't wash the clothes in a timely fashion. I'm sure once you put your wet uniform on the next day it will dry before the 7th inning is over.

7) Do all the dishes by hand at night, go to work the next day and come home to find dirty dishes on the table, on the counter, in the living room, in the bathroom, on your dresser, inside the mailbox and accompanying a dirty pair of socks in the cushions of the couch.

Perhaps I have babied my children. Perhaps their habits are a reflection of my poor parenting skills. Perhaps one day they will grow up and not do any of the above. And perhaps ...

Wait, my son just came back into the room to put his OWN uniform into the dryer. Perhaps I should have him read #3?

Church Ladies

From the time that I was a babe in arms, I have gone to church. And over the years I have discovered the influencing nature of church ladies.

My earliest memory is of Mrs. Hoover, a round woman with a large bosom who smothered you when she gave you a hug. I picture her today in a blue polyester dress with an embroidered print. The fabric was itchy and she smelled of Avon bath bubbles. I don't think that she and my family were particularly close. I just remember being hugged. For a little girl going to church, hugs can leave a big impression.

I remember my high school youth group leader, who eventually became a second mother to me. It was because of her support and encouragement that I found the confidence to spread my wings.

Later in life there was Grandma Jane, a recently widowed senior who adopted me and my young children after my divorce. I could call Grandma Jane at 4:30 on any Friday night and ask "Want to have dinner tonight?" In response she would have one of two answers ... "Sure, let me get my pocket book." or "Sorry, dear. I already have plans." At 85+ years old, Jane may have slowed down, but she never stopped.

Today I worship with Miss Betty, who sings in the church choir. Name any ailment and she has had it over the years. Her hands are crooked from arthritis, complicating her daily tasks. But ask her how she is doing, and she'll respond "Oh, I'm here, and that counts for something."

Just in front of Miss Betty in the choir is Geri. Her husband of 50 anniversaries died last year. Her grief was etched on her thinning face for months. I don't think she's missed a Sunday worship service since her husband's death. I can't speak for her, but given their lengthy relationship with the church, I suspect she finds him still there.

My mother is a church lady, helping cook and serve hundreds of meals and lead as many studies or meetings. Her life has not been easy, but her faith has been steadfast.

In all of these women I have found examples of perseverance, strength, joy and faith. And thoughts of them embrace me and leave an indelible mark.

Not a Slacker

Ok, beloved fans. Yes, it has been a day or two or three since I have posted to my blog. No, I am not a slacker. There's this thing called "life" that got in my way. I hate it when that happens!

Today was the perfect day. I went to church. Came home and took a 3 hour nap. Went to get burritos with my family. Played the first round of tennis for the season. And capped it all off sitting by our firepit. Now it's time to reflect back on the week and see what lessons I've learned.

I learned that even though my son is almost 16, when he gets hit with a baseball in a place that doesn't feel good, all other parents still look at me in judgement because he isn't wearing a cup. My son owns a cup. He even owns the cup holder. I bought both of them for him. I don't think I should have to text him each day with a reminder to "Have a good game. And protect the family heritage."

I learned that once a co-worker gets on your nerves, he/she is almost always on your nerves. I'd like to be the person who can forgive and forget, who can move on with life, who can shrug certain things off. Maybe next week I'll learn how to do those things.

I learned that cranberry and vodka are very good together.

I learned that online weight management programs still charge you a monthly fee even when you haven't signed on during the month.

And I learned if a pizza place doesn't have pepperoni as one of it's options for toppings I shouldn't spend $12 there for lunch.

Stay tuned for more life lessons. I have to go trade out laundry now so my son's baseball uniform will be ready for tomorrow. I hope he remembered to wash his cup holder.

Can't Write That

Early on as I begin my blogging I am realizing that I need to pick and choose how much I write about the husband. He has issues with guilt, usually self-imposed at this point. So some things that I write may not appear as funny to him as hopefully they are to you.

For instance, I’m not sure if I can write about the two dozen or so burnt dinners that have occurred over the past year when he was in charge. I can’t describe the scent of split pea soup that was left to fully boil for 2 hours when the recipe clearly said to simmer … and watch carefully. I can’t write about the frozen pizzas which looked more like molten lava two days after an eruption. (Who burns frozen pizza?) If I do, his thoughts turn to deprived children who were starving to death under his watch.

I also cannot write about the bathroom paint job which had to be redone because someone pulled the wrong can off the shelf while I wasn’t home. If I do, his thoughts turn to failing as a handyman and letting his relatively new wife down. 

And never, ever can I bring up again the trip to go hiking in southeastern Ohio while we were dating. I was in charge of the picnic. He was in charge of getting directions. When we saw the “Welcome to West Virginia” sign, and he pulled out his laptop to check where we were, I knew something was wrong. If I do, his thoughts turn to the time we missed in the woods and a ruined getaway. It really wouldn’t have been so bad if the highway patrolman hadn’t suggested we backtrack via a road that had more curves than Brittany Spears career, causing me to get horribly car sick.

I definitely have to be more careful. I can’t write about any of this stuff.

Evil Twin

When I get behind the steering wheel of a car, I become the evil twin of my normally calm, composed self. I talk to other drivers. All of them.

To the guy who blows by me: "What, you don't like this life well enough you have to go shooting for the next? Hope you don't take any innocent victims with you."

To the slow guy whom I have to pass: "There's this new feature on most cars. It's called an accelerator. When you step on it, the car magically begins to move forward." OR "Pedal. Pedal hard."

Other drivers rub me the wrong way, but the one that I have the hardest time with is my husband. Some drivers are very good  at following or leading when two cars are traveling together. It's a simple process. You decide who is going to take point and then the other person follows. Throw in a little communication, and it's easy. That's the way it works.

Not on a trip to Indianapolis. The December after we got married we decided to gift the entire family with a weekend getaway to include indoor bumper cars and sledding. I, being the "think ahead" traveler that I am, got printed directions off the computer. My husband had a GPS. He wanted to be point, so I agreed to follow.

As you head into Indianapolis from the East, you can either travel straight on I-70 or you can take the outer loop. As we approached this decision point, I called my husband on his cell and asked which he was going to do. He responded, "Let's take the loop." This was fine since I was already in the right lane to take the appropriate exit in two miles. As I took the exit I watched my husband continue straight.

I called him again. "Um, Dear, didn't you say we were going to take the loop?" Response: "Yeh, but at the last minute the GPS told me to go straight."

My evil twin was REALLY not happy.