Category Archives: Family/Parenting

He’s Back Home

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Guess who’s son just got home for the summer?

Here, I’ll put up a couple of pictures to give you some clues:

T-shirts swinging in the breeze

An explosion of green T-shirts

With as much rain as we’ve had lately, I’ve had to capitalize on the rare sunny and breezy day for drying clothes outside.

Don’t even bother warning me about the high pollen levels! I’m hoping that, by the time My Favorite Domer returns to the college up North, the pollen spores will have miraculously evaporated from everything I dried naturally.

Besides, he really likes that clean, outdoorsy scent — better than most laundry detergents!

As for the unpacking, well, that’s taking a bit longer (as is the job-hunting). I truly feel sorry for young adults these days — the economy is so sluggish and good jobs are hard to find.

Traditional seasonal jobs (fast foods, retail, etc.) are being snatched up by older people who’ve been unemployed for a while; big companies might hire one intern but can’t afford to pay; recent grads find themselves taking any job just to be out of the house (and like as not, it’s Mom and Dad’s house they’re living in).

We can only hope improvements are on the horizon.

Take the Bad with the Good

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While wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart recently, I couldn’t help noticing how many babies and tiny tots there were — in car seats, baskets, somebody’s arms, toddling behind parents.

Every stage in life is beautiful in its own way, but I’ve gotta admit there are so many things I don’t miss about being the mom of an infant or little child:

  • Diapers. Ugh, the stench! They were like the Energizer bunny, too — kept coming and coming….
  • Interrupted sleep. You do what you’ve got to do, but that getting-up-every-two-hours stuff is for the birds.
  • Paraphernalia. Baby bottles, special toys, diaper bags, strollers, Cheerios, books — anything to keep the kid entertained for a few seconds!
  • Sleepovers. How many parents have patience to supervise six to eight small boys for an entire night, knowing those boys’ parents are probably out enjoying themselves with dinner and a movie?
  • Birthday parties. From invitations to party favors to choice of location this is a lesson in organization, conciliation, and often aggravation!
  • Candyland. Who invented that inane game, anyway?
  • Temper tantrums. Okay, mine didn’t do this one (seriously!), but having observed other parents try to coax or bribe or threaten their kids when they refused to behave, it’s going on the list.

Now, before all of you start thinking I’m a rotten mother (which My Favorite Domer will assure you I’m most definitely not!), there are some things I do miss about his childhood:

  • That “sweet baby” smell. The one that’s a combination of “sleep” and “clean clothes” and “baby powder.”
  • Impromptu flowers. Usually dandelions, but it was the thought that counted!
  • Rocks. Playing outfield during Tee-ball was a good time for MFD to fill his pockets with “special” rocks. He never seemed to know what made them special, though.
  • Reading together. Every night, we’d read stacks of books (that is, I acted out the stories while he giggled and begged for more). Silly me, I listened to the “experts” who promised that reading to a child would make a “reader” out of them. Yeah, right!
  • Crayon pictures. Art projects in the early grades are great at keeping parents informed on their child’s budding future as the next Picasso!
  • Learning new things. And watching that “light bulb moment” when an idea or skill takes hold.
  • Little notes. Sometimes it was an apology, other times it was a thank you, but often I found scrawled notes left for me after MFD went to bed — things he meant deeply but didn’t feel comfortable expressing out loud. The acorn just doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?!
  • Big hugs. Oh, yeah. Does any mom ever get enough of them?

How sad life would have been without all these special moments!

Nostalgia in a Pickle Jar

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I spent Christmas along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, visiting my sis and her family and soaking up some warmer weather (though they, too, had some nights below freezing!)

When you’re away from home base for several days, you find yourself attending a different church, patronizing different restaurants and stores, and running into different people than usual.

I want to recapture some of those experiences here.

One of the churches I attended has a custom — after the adults’ collection plate has been passed — of inviting the children to come forward and drop their donations into a huge glass pickle jar to be given to charity.

Because of the holidays, the kids were dressed to the nines. Fancy crinoline dresses, little Christmas vests, bows in hair, khaki trousers, patent Mary Janes.

They looked darling.

They also seemed a bit hesitant about dropping their coins and bills into the jar (fortunately, no one reached back in to retrieve their donation!)

Anyway, one little girl with dark curls, a satin-looking red dress, and matching red shoes was the last to give. When she finished, she balked at leaving the altar, holding her arms up until daddy rescued her and carried her back to the pew.

The whole church giggled.

Grandparents and those of us with older kids reminisced over days gone by; parents of younger kids were all-too-familiar with the scene.

It brought to mind something My Favorite Domer said recently about how Christmas “just isn’t as much fun” as it was when he was little.

No toys, not as many presents, nothing from Santa.

Well, duh!

Part of me wanted to argue that his “toys” now are much more expensive than when he was little and to snidely tell him, “Welcome to the adult world,” but I stopped myself.

What if he’s right?

Does growing up have to make us jaded? Can’t we find a way to approach the holidays with childlike wonder, to enjoy and fully live in the present without sacrificing memories of the past?

Deal…or No Deal?

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My Favorite Domer, home for the Thanksgiving holidays, somehow managed to find time to read a book.

Now this wasn’t just any book. It was a challenge, more or less, a carrot-on-a-string, and you’d have to know that MFD really doesn’t like reading to understand what a huge deal it was.

A few days before the holidays, a BIP (Big Important Person) came to one of MFD’s classes, bringing with him a stack of books. BIP spoke to the group and announced that he was giving away said books to all students wanting to read them. BIP even promised his company would donate mucho-dinero to the college, matched by his own contribution to the university itself, if every student taking a book would read it and e-mail him by a certain date, speaking about what he/she had gleaned from its pages.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Ah, but we’re dealing with human beings here, young adult human beings, for whom nothing is simple.

So MFD took one of the BIP’s books, hauled it home, and read. Pretty interesting stuff, he told me.

Returning to campus, MFD e-mailed the BIP and received a very nice response. However, of the 200 or so students participating in the class, only about half actually agreed to take a book and read it; of that number, just half actually read the book and e-mailed the BIP.

Thus, no monetary donation.

MFD was bummed when he told me this. Bummed he’d spent all that time reading when he could have been working on the multitude of other projects on his plate. Bummed his fellow students would take BIP’s book and not live up to their end of the deal. Bummed the college and the university lost out on all that free cash.

I don’t see this as catastrophic as MFD does. First, no time spent reading a good book is wasted. Second, MFD proved to himself and to BIP that he, at least, is honorable, a man of his word. And third, he doesn’t have to live with the stigma of being one of the students who caused the college and university to lose out on a potential donation.

It’s a good lesson in human nature, too. Too often, we take the easy way out, maybe having good intentions but letting other things get in the way. Then we convince ourselves that somebody else can pull the load (or in this case, nobody else would rise to the challenge anyway).

As Vince Lombardi once said, “The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will.”

Did you air mattresses out, too?

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I was changing the sheets on my bed this morning when I remembered another of our regular chores from when I was a kid — the semi-annual “airing of the mattresses.”

This ritual took place in early Spring and late Fall. Why then, I don’t know, but I guess it had something to do with the fact that we just couldn’t do it during snowy Winter months!

Anyway, we kids got roped into helping because Dad was away at work and Mom couldn’t complete it by herself.

“It” consisted of hauling all the mattresses off their box springs, dragging them downstairs, squeezing them out the door, and draping them across lawn furniture on the patio so they could “soak up some sun.”

Crazy? Maybe.

But my mom had it in her head that mattresses needed to be aired out on a regular basis, that the warm sun and fresh air would help us all sleep better.

Did it work? Maybe, maybe not.

It was back-breaking, even for kids.

You had to grab hold of the handles manufacturers used to attach to the sides of mattresses and wrestle them off the bed — not an easy chore unless you’re a linebacker.

Then you had to drag that mattress down a flight of stairs. More often than not, I wound up as the “front person” since I was the oldest kid; that meant I had to guide the mattress down to safety while somebody at the top of the stairs merely had to give it a push.

When it fell into the wall, both of us stopped midway and dissolved into fits of laughter before Mom came to chide us and put the task back on track!

Once downstairs, we dragged the mattress across the floor, opened the door onto the patio, and shoved it outside. There, Mom had prepared some lawn chairs or recliners, and we hoisted the mattress on top of them so it could “sunbathe.”

After a few hours, we reversed the process, placed clean sheets on the mattress and waited to jump in bed.

Mattresses don’t come with handles any more. In fact, mattresses today don’t have two sides. I learned this when I helped Mom look for a new mattress several months ago.

Regardless of the brand, we were told, mattresses now come with only one side for sleeping. The other side is covered by a gauze-like material that “hides” the innards of the mattress.

This means that no longer can you flip a mattress over, top to bottom and side to side, the way we used to. All you can do is “spin” it if you want to make sure it wears evenly.

I’m pretty sure this has something to do with planned obsolescence. Mattress manufacturers probably figured out that folks were hanging on to their mattresses longer than they wanted them to, and they decided that would never do.

Maybe that’s for the best. Now that I’m an adult, hauling mattresses downstairs and outside falls way down there on my list of fun things to do!

Back to the Books

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Have you ever noticed how “Life” sometimes gets in the way of things you’re supposed to be doing — like keeping up a blog?

That’s exactly what’s been going on in my corner of the world.

For the past 13 months (give or take), I’ve been playing chauffeur for my mom. Not because she’s afraid to drive, not because I have time on my hands and enjoy that sort of thing.

No, it’s because she had eye surgery and can’t drive right now.

The ordeal started in September, 2009, when Mom had cataract surgery performed by a local ophthalmologist. Yes, she checked him out beforehand and received rave reviews; the procedure would be a snap, he told her. So much so that she’d be golfing again — or anything else she chose to do — the very next day.

Hah.

Afterward, her vision was blurry. And time didn’t make it one bit better. Not only has she not even touched a golf club — she’s been unable to read (her passion) or drive; even cooking and walking for exercise are real challenges.

No matter that she religiously inserted the drops and ointments she’d been given. No matter that she was “taxied” (by me) to and from his office every week.

Finally, in desperate fear that her vision was getting even worse, she got a second opinion.

And learned she needed to see a specialist in Indianapolis, who advised her to undergo corneal transplant.

Scary stuff, but it’s wonderful what true professionals can do these days.

That surgery was in mid-September, and my sister (thankfully!) shepherded her through it. But Sis had to go back to her life, leaving me to (once again) taxi Mom to follow-up appointments. And once again, the appointments started off every couple of days, extended to every five days, then weekly, and most recently, two months.

It’s too soon, really, to proclaim the procedure a success, but everybody is guardedly optimistic.

I, too, am beginning to see light at the end of this tunnel. To hope that, once again, Mom will be back to her active self and I can resume my own life.

And even though she’s yet to return to the golf course, Mom is reading again!

On being needed too much

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You know, there are days when I just wish I could escape!

Maybe to some place like here:

Sunshine on lake

or here:

At the bayou

or here:

A sunny stream

Now don’t get me wrong. I love my family, I love my job, and I genuinely like most of my clients.

But sometimes it seems as if they conspire to need me, all at once! And it’s frustrating, not to mention stressful, trying to be all things to all people.

I cherish my “me time,” when I can write, read, bead, or just loaf. And I haven’t had very much of it lately.

Maybe that’s why I’m cranky.

Probably time for a vacation!

Running my own Web Design business, I have to be the chief cook and bottle-washer. I wear all the hats — receptionist, designer, sales person, public relations specialist, photographer, accountant, billing person, collections person, even janitor. I can’t imagine it any other way.

Serving my client’s design needs, making sure they’re delighted with the job done (and spreading the word to others) is a labor of love for me. Even a “rotten” day (and there have been thankfully few) is better than slaving away in a cubicle for “the man”!

But living in a family doesn’t mean one person has to do everything, does it? What happened to sharing the load?

Somehow, everybody (even the dog!) decided I’m the “point person.” The go-to person. The entertainment committee, food committee, sounding board, and a host of other titles.

It’s nice to be needed — just not that much!


Flying away

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My favorite Domer has been home just over a week now, and it’s rained almost every day.

Yuck!

No tennis. No golf. No outside barbecues.

Shoot, I’m struggling to walk my pudgy pooch between showers!

Yet every day your kids are home feels like a holiday.

You parents with little kids don’t understand this. You’re not supposed to.

Deep inside, you’re thinking, “Just give me a few hours to myself — away from the taxi-ing to and from activities, away from the incessant unanswerable questions (why do birds have wings?), away from the internal and external pressures of parenting.”

But trust me, you’ll live to eat those words!

I know I am.

People older and wiser than I told me to “enjoy every minute with your little ones.” I did, but sometimes, when the pressures added up and it felt like I’d never have another moment’s peace, I found myself wishing for an island somewhere, a place I could go ALL BY MYSELF where there were no responsibilities and every day was sunny. . . .

But that’s pie-in-the-sky, isn’t it?

Watching your darling fly away from the nest (whether it’s to college, marriage, the armed forces, or a job clear across the country) leaves you with a bittersweet ache in your heart.

You miss them, certainly, but it’s right that they grow up — and go away.

Congratulate yourself — you’ve given them roots and wings!

Besides, their flight frees you to do some of the things you always wanted to.

To reinvent yourself, as it were.

Unless, of course, you have other “little birds” still at home.

Then all bets are off!

Moving out

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Apparently, there are a bunch of people — parents and students — in serious need of a Physics class these days.

I just got back from picking up My Favorite Domer in South Bend after the end of his First Year of Studies.

To call Moving-Out Day “interesting” would be a gross understatement.

I found I had to laugh or cry. Only an extreme emotion would work for something like this.

First, the weather (typically!) refused to cooperate. PermaCloud hovered overhead as a cold front neared. By mid-afternoon, the wind had kicked up and torrential rains produced huge puddles and spongy ground.

In between the showers, I watched parents and students load up their stuff:

  • Somebody was trying to squeeze an overstuffed, full-sized sofa into the back of an SUV (didn’t they measure??)
  • Somebody rolled three TVs out on a cart and put ’em in one vehicle (who can watch 3 TVs at once?)
  • Somebody wrestled one of those plastic carts with pullout shelves into the bed of a truck
  • Somebody hauled out two sets of golf clubs; another had two hockey sticks
  • Somebody maneuvered a futon into an SUV (what were they thinking?)
  • Somebody bear-hugged a refrigerator all the way out to his car; others hauled armloads of clothing, wheeled executive desk chairs, or hoisted more shelving into trunks

No wonder UPS set up shop nearby to capture the overflow!

No wonder the campus had all sorts of containers available for  students to donate to local charities!

No wonder the enterprising youths were “wheeling and dealing” on big-ticket items their comrades couldn’t fit in!

I feel positively impoverished when I recall the amount of “stuff” I took to college, compared to what today’s kids have to have.

Different times, I guess.

But still, even I (who didn’t take Physics) know there’s a finite amount of space in cars, trucks, SUVs, etc. and once that space is filled, the rest of your “crow’s nest” is going to get left behind or shipped home.

Anybody got any tips for how to do this again come Fall Term??

Don’t Worry!

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Have you ever noticed that most of the things we worry about and stress over don’t ever happen?

Take this past couple of weeks, for instance. I’ve been (at times) a bit frantic trying to figure out how I’m going to get all of My Favorite Domer’s STUFF back home from Notre Dame for the summer.

Besides clothing, his video game system, sports equipment, souvenirs, books, etc., he’d purchased this beast of a refrigerator along with a huge rug for his dorm room, and it was these last two items that were giving me sleepless nights.

We’d hauled him to South Bend in one car. Loaded to the gills, of course, but looking no worse than any of his fellow students.

So how was I going to get him home with more stuff??

Remember, he doesn’t have a car as a First-Year, and no way can I drive two cars at once!

So I checked into U-Haul rentals. Not too expensive, but I’ve never driven a car with a trailer attached and was leery about starting now.

I checked into renting an SUV. Way more expensive than I was willing tackle!

I called the Registrar’s Office and learned that some of the dorms actually store big items for the kids, then return them at the beginning of a new school term. Cool. Too bad MFD’s dorm wasn’t on that list.

I was about ready to suggest the kid sell his precious beastly fridge and rug. Shoot, somebody would probably grab them up in a heartbeat!

Then I remembered he wanted that stuff for next year, and we’d have to re-shell out the money for new ones. Yuck.

Before I could despair, he texted me and said he’d found some students who already rented storage units for the summer and he was going in with them.

Yeah!

Problem solved.

Guess that’s why my grandmother always used to say, “Worry’s a sin. It shows you’re not trusting God.”