Post-Summer 2010

It's not yet September 21st, but I'm celebrating summer being over. It's not December 31st, but I'm celebrating New Year's as only I can when it's 93 degrees in the shade of my polka-dot umbrella. Thank Someone that this god-awful summer is over... according to me.

My dream last night was that I was telling my mom that my dad was still alive, while realizing in my dream that my mom wasn't alive to be telling the story to. I couldn't convince her or me that he really was there. I skipped to another scenario of traveling with Nick and our remaining dog and losing said dog. I asked Nick where she was, and he replied that he had left her and her red wagon right there... pointing to an obscure part of pavement in a parking lot. I awoke to my own voice calling the dog's name, and her standing by my real bed in my real room looking at me as if to say, "I'm right here! What's the problem?"

I guess that's what you get when you lose your dad three and a half years after your mom, and then lose your dog (not euphemistically) three weeks after your dad.

Throw in a birthday party turned "celebration of life" and a trip to Scotland shepherding teenagers immediately following the birthday/celebration/ceremony, and you come up with a completely exhausted, confused, sad, neurotic, slightly funny at times, middle aged woman with decades of weird dreams to come.

My orphanhood has been a long time coming. Now that it's here, I feel 18 and 60 years old at the same time. "I can't be the only adult... I can't be old enough to have children... I've already been through two sessions of role reversals with my parents that aged me..." Being an only child sucks at this juncture in life. And, I know all my multi-sibling friends are guffawing right now, but really it is lonely. I wish I had listened better to all of the stories.

I want a cocktail/nap/jello shot/vacation/good cry/big snow/and no holidays.

June 2010 Baseball & Toes In The Grass

I love baseball – not the major league stuff with all of the hooplah, I mean the teenage-level (not even 3&2) real baseball on real grass. There really are differences, and I'm not talking about the fact that no one walks by my fold-out chair with a hot dog, peanuts and a cold beer.

Recreation-league baseball is a treat that only the luckiest of parents get to enjoy, and I love watching it because my son loves playing it. There is something about a daily smacking of about 300 balls with one's bat that brings out the exhaustion (I mean happiness!) in a teenager with testosterone. And, that's just practice.

Come game day, the real fun begins... for both of us.

Him – "Where are my cleats/hat/glove/bat/water/hitting glove/bag/sunflower seeds/socks???"

Me – "Did I wear your cleats/socks/seeds last???"

Him – "Mom, we're going to be late!"

Seriously, I really do enjoy the season. He packs up whatever he can find of his that resembles baseball equipment, and I pack up my lounge chair (yes, with a foot-rest), my cooler, sunscreen, snacks, magazines, a blanket (for sibling/friend sitting), and a husband, and off we go. The grass is cool, the players are so happy to be hitting and catching and running... and the parents are so happy to be sitting, chatting, munching, cheering.

We park about twelve yards from the field (for free), there is no concrete on which to burn our feet, the breeze blows and we position our chairs under the trees, or in/out of the sun... depending on the day. The boys never care what the climate is, as long as there is a bucket of balls and an opposing team to show up every now and then.

There's not one commercial playing in the background. No announcements, no megaplexes with snack stations, no numbers hanging from large fences ("Look for field 37, Harold!). There aren't scads of other teams playing around us with 385 cars hiding ours in big parking lots. It's just us and the kids and the baseballs and the grass.

The sun takes a little longer to set at the height of the season, and the parents marvel at how the boys have grown and how the team has improved, and how much they've learned since we started all of this.

I don't have anything against big-league ball, it is a wonderful form of entertainment. But for my money, it's a local ball field with a picnic and some friends I've made over the years in my comfy chair, and some worn-out teenagers with red cheeks at the end of the evening that gives me the biggest entertainment value in these parts. It's part of the beauty of living in the Midwest.

March 2010 Humble Pie

It is easy to become overwhelmed with reality, and this winter has challenged even the most cheerful among us. "Oh, the beautiful snow is bringing a white Christmas," became "I think my house is over there somewhere!"

One romantic night of fog turned into a week of being socked into a grey world of not being able to find the dogs in the yard, and a horrific state of affairs on the highways. I felt like we were swimming in cream of mushroom soup.

Two weeks of winter vacation found me home with my kids for three weeks, and I swore on Facebook that if I had to clean the kitchen ONE MORE time, I might hurt someone. So, on the way to the fast food restaurant, we got our four-wheel drive, seven passenger, SUV, big-honkin' vehicle stuck in the drifts on the driveway and had to be dug out by a randomly-passing-by truck with two guys and a big shovel. But, at least my kitchen stayed clean.

We've been cooking, doing jigsaw puzzles, and having crackling fires in the fireplace, all in the hopes of keeping things sane. Then we got the heating bill. My lunacy took over. "Put on six sweatshirts, close down the chimney, let the faucets drip, and start rubbing sticks together."

Until the news of Haiti hit. Their world was rocked beyond imagination, unless you happened to be in Port au Prince. No need for imagination there. The scope of devastation jerked me to my senses. Why does it always take something drastic to bring me around? This natural, yet unprecedented disaster makes the word "overwhelmed" look like a sleeping puppy dog.

I clearly don't know what being overwhelmed looks like or feels like. I know where my husband and children are. My home is in one piece, my belongings (too many, I admit) are safe, my world as I know it still exists, and my friends and acquaintances are right where I left them. As I deal with the natural order of things (an ill parent), the people of Haiti are dealing with no order whatsoever.

How many times have we heard, or even said to ourselves that we need to be more grateful? Generally, we are a nation with much for which to be thankful, and on a local level Leawood is a community in which we have many blessings. Do we remember that? Not always. Do we practice it with each other? Not usually. I donated some money through the American Red Cross to Haiti relief, but I also took some clothes to a local Goodwill location.

As spring makes its much-anticipated and glorious entrance, I'm sure I'll find something to complain about! It'll probably be something important like mud being tracked in by the kids and dogs. But, I will also do some random kind thing... hmmm – what will it be? Will you be the recipient? Can you beat me to it? I'd love to be overwhelmed with the kindness of it all...

Better Late Than Never

Top Ten Resolutions Even I Can Keep

10. Stay out of the gym during the month of January. There will be 1,003 people there who think they can go 9 miles per hour on the treadmill because they saw some yahoo on Biggest Loser do it, and they're sure it's not that hard. Get off before you hurt yourself.

9. Refuse to do any more stupid people tricks. I entered some ridiculous 50,000-words-in-a-month novel writing contest in November. First of all, I don't have 50,000 words I can put in an understandable sequence in a month. Second of all, don't you people have lives? Moby Dick is already taken.

8. Do not buy one more appealing paperback book until I have finished one of the seven appealing paperbacks on my bedside table. I don't care if it's got Oprah, Michelle Obama, Ellen DeGeneres, Mackenzie Phillips, and Snoopy all on the cover, I'm not buying.

7. I am not going to pay more to check my underwear on a flight than I pay to check my whole person. Do you hear me? I'll take a cab to Mazatlan, I swear.

6. Insist that wait staff at restaurants learn the soup of the day before they approach my table. True story... recent outing to a restaurant in the Legends; asked the waitress what the soup was; she replied, "umm, something with chicken in it, I can't remember the name." Oh, that narrows it down.

5. Put my Christmas cactus in the closet so it blooms on Christmas instead of November 19th. Oh, for the love of penguins, does this mean Al Gore was right?

4. Use the word "Shankapotomus" more. Seriously, try it. "Catapotomus, Dorkapotomus, Freakapotomus," isn't that fun?

3. Watch more prime-time television. Really. I'm the only one I know who can't keep up at a cocktail party because I have no idea why Madmen aren't sitting on the laps of Desperate Housewives.

2. Figure out why they put braille lettering on the ATMs in the drive-up lane.

1. Go to the gym in February.

Anne and Norbert Plus 2

Anne and Norbert Plus 2

What is it that the TLC Channel is trying to tell me? Kate minus Jon plus eight equals chaos. Michelle plus Jim Bob plus another 18 kids and a grandchild equals the biggest dang house in Arkansas. Here's what they are trying to tell me... "If you want to have a TV show, you must have at least four times as many children as adults in the house."

Call me crazy, but I kind of have trouble keeping track of just two kids every now and then, and that's with two adults in our house. What I do know is that, as Hillary said, it does take a village to raise children. And, in my current stage of life, it takes a village and a bunch of people with unique skills to help me take care of my kids, my husband, my house, two dogs, my dad, my dad's business, and my dad's house.

I marvel at Kate's ability to cook for eight kids, I am in awe of the conservative values instilled in the Duggar family with little TV watching and even less internet exposure. But, I really need help understanding the logistics of it all. How many boxes of macaroni and cheese does it take to keep the Gosselins fed for a month? How many soccer socks will the kids go through and will they all be the same color? Where do the Duggars get enough poster boards for the science projects? Oh, never mind that one, they are home schooled! How? How in the world can Michelle be breast-feeding one while diapering another while educating fourteen while cooking dinner and doing the breakfast dishes? And, let's just talk about transportation for a minute. I don't think my Leawood homes association allows for a "rock star" style, 18-wheeler bus to be parked in the driveway for long. State Line at rush hour is not ready for that block-long, gas-guzzling spectacle!

Do Kate and Michelle have aging parents? Do they have aging parents who came on the wrong night for dinner? Do they have aging parents with two sewer drains backed up in the basement of their 90 year-old house? My village includes Roto-Rooter.

My village also includes a complement of friends who are at the ready whenever I call. They are the real heroes of my made-for-TV drama... as are: Jiffy Lube, Costco, the neighbor who mows the lawn, dozens of faculty and staff at school, Beauty Brands, Hen House, Facebook, and the Pizza Hut delivery guy, just to name a few.

My point is that none of us can do it alone. It is so critical to have our friends, family, neighbors, and even complete strangers who help us through the day. And, would I take a TV show if it were offered to my measly family of four? Nah. I don't have a wardrobe or haircut as cute as Kate's, and besides that we only have one washer and dryer and one box of mac-n-cheese in the cabinet. We'd never qualify.

(first appeared in Leawood Lifestyle, Dec. '09)