Out of the mouths of my babes

I work very hard every day on my freshly minted writing career. Whether I'm studying up on the nuances of romance writing, devouring book after book, or actually sitting down and writing, I am feverishly working. Yesterday, after a nap with the puggle to rejuvenate I sat down to continue the editing I was working on before I felt myself heading into slumber land. (Which is not a positive to build readership, I suppose now that I'm hearing myself say that....)

Me: "...as if she had wrapped her hand around an electric wire" Ugh. I don't like that.

Madison: "It depends on what you're referencing that to."

Me: "A tingling started at her hand and zipped through her arm at the touch of his lips on her skin, as if she had wrapped her hand around an electric wire." Ugh. It's so cliche.

Madison: "Well, I would think all of that genre is a cliche. I mean, how many ways can you describe and discuss romance?"

Me: "That is the truth!"

Madison: "But a tingling? Wrapping your hand around an electric wire is going to give you more than a tingling."

Me: "No, I've touched an electric wire. It is a tingling."

Madison: "Well, I was imagining the electric wires overhead outside our house."

Me: "Maybe I should clarify that. as if she had wrapped her hand around an electric chicken wire."

Madison: "Because nothing sounds more romantic than an electric chicken wire." 

A dog is in my bed

I didn't really grow up with my own pet. Once upon a time we had a cat, but she lived outdoors. Years later we ended up adopting a stray dog, but he too lived outdoors. Most of the people we knew that had animals had them outdoors. The animals weren't tethered. They ran free pooping and peeing where they felt comfortable and the neighbors fed them with leftover dinner scraps. For my brother and I it was the best of both worlds; we enjoyed animals without the worry and responsibility of their daily care.

My mother could not stand the thought of animals in the same place where people resided. That thought alone would cause her to shudder. The smell! The noise! The utter chaos! I blame her obsession for my having to always immediately wash my hands after petting a dog, something I used to do religiously after entering adulthood. No way was I going to have an animal living in my home.

Of course, that changed as soon as we got Elliot. My mother was horrified.

Mom: "You let him on the furniture? You let him on your bed?"

I've been very honest about those first months with Elliot. It took forever for me to get over the same feelings she had about having a dog in the house, but gradually all of that left. Hell, even the large chunks of Elliot's fur wafting across my floors like tumbleweeds doesn't bother me. I am now an animal person, although I'm not into the jumping up on people or the licking, neither of which my dog does.

Dog sitting the puggle has brought about even more changes, the main one being that she is a cuddler. My dog is not the cuddly type. He loves us, especially my husband, but while he enjoys us petting him at times it is only done on his time and on his request. Otherwise, leave him alone and find something better to do with your hands. He does not sleep with us, although he does join me for naps. Jazzy, the puggle is the opposite. She loves sitting next to us. She loves attention. She loves being loved, and she loves me best. But the biggest change for us is the sleeping at night in our bed.

This dog sleeps with its owners under the covers. I could hardly believe that when I was told, but it is true. The first time we allowed her on to our bed, after some concern the first night about her puncturing our water bed, she immediately planted herself  between us at our heads, curled into a ball, and went to sleep. Approximately, one hour later I woke up to find her standing by my head, and having been warned, I lifted the covers and she immediately went under them to find a space up against my leg. It's like having a little mole. You can barely see her under the covers, but due to her excessive snoring you know she is there.

For four nights I have slept with this dog, and I have not batted an eye. I love having her little body tucked against me, her snores vying for attention against Tom's snores. It is sort of like having my children in bed with me. Sometimes I wake up to find myself hanging precariously close to the side of the bed. Sometimes she paws me in the back. Sometimes I have to shove her little body over to make room for myself. In the morning when she wakes she crawls out from under the covers and licks me, and while I'm not keen on that one, I do enjoy that she stretches out and takes some time waking just like I do. The fact that I am not batting an eye at the thought of dog hair under my covers is so foreign to me that I wonder if I've lost my mind, but I shrug and tell myself come Wednesday I will strip the bed and wash the sheets.

If my mother were in a grave instead of in ashes on my china cabinet, she would be rolling over in it every night that dog climbs into bed with me.

Hey. Welcome to our hood

I am surrounded by new neighbors. While I have met all of them, they aren't as outgoing and neighborly as the last crew who I knew for more than twenty years. I have tried to put myself in their shoes, but since I at one time was in their shoes and still count all of those long gone neighbors as friends and family it isn't easy. They don't seem to want to engage. Oh, they talk when spoken to and sometimes we even stand and chat a bit, but if isn't the same neighborhood as it once was and I blame the newbies.

My kitchen window faces the street. My front door faces the street. My bedroom window faces the street. Pretty much every room that I frequent during the day has a window that faces the street. This means that I can see the three houses across the street from me 24/7. In the old days, before the newbies, I knew the comings and goings, routines, and normalcy of those three neighbors. I knew my two next door neighbors as well, but only because I knew them so well, or from walking the dog, or from sitting outside. If something was amiss with any of those neighbors and I noticed, I took action. They did the same with my property. We had a great system and we were all on board with it. I can't tell you how many times I have called my neighbors at midnight to remind them that their garages were open.

Recently, our neighborhood has experienced a rash of petty thefts. A gang of youngsters ranging in age from 13 to 24 have taken to stealing items out of open garage doors in daylight and breaking into cars in driveways at night. Due to these incidents, our homeowner's association had the sheriff's department send out their community liaison to speak at our monthly meeting. My old neighbor (old as in she and I are the only leftovers from the old hood) across the street and I attended. The new neighbors did not.

It was a great presentation. I learned a lot, and it validated the disagreement I have had in the past with my eldest regarding nosy neighbors. Vigilant neighbors are the number one crime deterrents in neighborhoods. The liaison told story after story about neighbors who work from home watching in silence as robbers pulled up trailers into driveways robbing them blind. She discussed how we as neighbors needed to watch out for one another, keeping eyes on houses during the day if we were home, calling in and reporting any suspicious activities. Since I watch way too much a lot of television I'm practically an investigator and I'm always on the job during the day.

One morning after the presentation as I stood at my kitchen window swallowing my daily dose of you-are-so-old medication, I noticed that my neighbor catty corner to me had an open garage. School was still in session then and the daughter's car was gone, as were the parents' cars. Yet the garage, which is always closed, was wide open, and inside the garage was his woodworking business complete with lumber and god knows how many dollars worth of tools. I commented on the situation to my husband who was eating breakfast.

Tom: "Hmmmm...."

I wondered aloud some more and then went into a dissertation about the presentation I had gone to, about how I had no phone numbers for these new neighbors as the directory wasn't new enough to include my newbies, about how annoying the whole thing was for an investigator such as myself, and about how he as an employee of the sheriff's office should be more concerned.

Tom: "Let me know how it all turns out. I'm going to work."

I left for my weekly breakfast meeting, and when I returned the gaping garage stared right at me as I passed by the house to enter my driveway. Seeing my old neighbor across the street watering plants, I hightailed it over to her to discuss the issue. Before I could open my mouth, she commented on the open garage. We stood and discussed all different sorts of possibilities of getting a hold of them, none of which would work as we didn't even know their last name. Finally, we decided to take matters into our own hands, and we hiked next door.

I had Elliot on a leash and he and I entered just a ways into the garage to have a look around. Immediately, I spied the door into the house, which they had remodeled and moved if memory served me, and next to the door was the garage opener. I pointed it out to my neighbor, Bonnie, and she offered to close it since I had the dog. It took her two tries because she forgot to jump over the laser the first time, but the second time was a charm and the door closed. We high fived, and immediately I felt better.

Bonnie: "We're like the secret neighborhood defenders."

Me: "Except that we're caught on camera from the neighbor across the street."

Bonnie: "I hope they didn't leave it open for a reason like a repair guy coming by or something."

Me: "You couldn't have thought of that before we closed the garage?"

Bonnie: "It just came to me."

Me: "Well, maybe we need to gather all of these newbies together for cocktails and tell them how it was in the old days and ask them whether they want to be a part of that or not."

Bonnie: "Let them know you and I are on the job."

Agreeing it was a great idea, we parted ways and went home. Several hours later I noticed a cement truck parked in front of the same neighbors' house. A man sat in the truck. He sat and sat. He was there when I left to run errands and pick up Madison. He was there when I returned. He was there every time I went back to peek out of the window, and suddenly I began to worry that the neighbors had left the garage open for this guy and now were having to leave work to meet this cement guy because he couldn't get in.

Madison: "Let me get this straight. You trespassed on to the neighbor's property and entered their premises without permission and closed their garage door?"

Me: "Allegedly."

Madison: "Except the neighbor across the street has outdoor cameras."

Me: "My fingerprints are on nothing."

On their way to a singles bar

Two weeks ago every night while we were sitting down watching television a roach would crawl casually across the floor right in front of us. They were never large, more between medium and small, and they were slow enough for us to smash them with a shoe. Which is what we do in Florida when we see roaches. At least in this house. Madison doesn't believing in killing any animal, small or large, but after trying and failing to kill a gigantic roach that ended up escaping into my closet and requiring a purge to get to it, she is now smashing them with shoes too.

It was the oddest thing. Every night. I would smack it with a shoe and leave the body for Tom who didn't believe that it was "every night". I started griping about how my fired bug man, he of the naked photo of my mother HERE, never let roaches crawl through my house despite a week of rain. My husband fired him to go with a start up company who also treats our lawn at a much lower price, and I went with this with the understanding that if I wasn't happy we would go back to CB.

Tom told me to email the new company as they were coming the next day and so I did, outlining the issue. My bug man showed up first thing in the morning, driving his truck with the Superman symbol and wearing little blue booties over his shoes to keep my floors clean.

Carl: "I'm told you have roaches? What exactly is the problem."
Me: "Well, Carl, every night we have a roach strut across this floor right here as if heading to a night club with nary a care or concern. My guess is it's a singles night club since they never stroll through in pairs."
Carl: "What do they look like?"

Huh? That one threw me, but he explained that my description would help him determine the type of roach and so I did the best I could by holding up my fingers a few inches apart. When he mentioned the word "small" I moved my fingers further apart because I didn't want him to go light on whatever treatment he was going to do. Small isn't a word I use to describe any type of roach.

We discussed the possibility that they were coming from the boxed refrigerator I have sitting in my living room that Darcy received as a graduation gift. The thing is too heavy to move, and we have no idea where to move it, and so it is sitting in my living room until move in date arrives. Carl examined the box, but found no "traces" of single or families of roaches. We discussed where they could be coming from, and after examining behind and over various furniture and finding no "traces", he decided they were because of the vast amount of rain we have received lately and that they were strolling in through the front door. I told him that they were unwelcome, and he brought out a small vial of mysterious potion from a hidden pocket and dropped it behind and around my furniture. Then he went outside and did his normal spraying job.

Carl: "Let me know if you have any other problems, but that bait should do the trick."
Me: "You've closed down the singles bar? With bait?"
Carl: "That's how we do it in the bug world."

And he got back into his Superman truck and headed off to protect more houses. So far, knock on wood, we haven't had our nightly visits. I have found one dead, gigantic roach in the garage, and Darcy found a not so large one in the Steelers room. I'm giving it another week, and if I see any more I might have to go the way of my MIL and purchase THIS. Or I'm calling CB, begging forgiveness and offering my mother's naked photo for him to return.

Dogsitting because I'm weak

When we first got Elliot, I was a wreck. As a SAHM, I mother the hell out of my kids--and apparently my dog. I can remember sleeping on the floor with him for the first few weeks because I didn't want him to wake up and cry. I talked to him and worried constantly and was a complete emotional wreck. It was nuts. Now I'm an expert when it comes to Elliot. He and I have a routine, and I'm the one he comes to when he needs to go out because he knows I will believe him and delegate. He loves Tom the most, but he respects me.

During Darcy's graduation party, my Steelers buddy and his wife casually asked, in a joking sort of way, whether or not I would be interested in watching their Puggle while they went on vacation in June. My first response was a loud, bold, capital lettered, resounding, "NO." But then, because I'm freaking nuts nice, and because they talked about it only being two days while their normal guy was out of town, I casually, in a joking sort of way, said, "sure." Somewhere between that party and their actual departure date, it became a real thing.

Of course, I knew the dog, having spent my Sundays at their house watching Steelers games, but it had been a while since football season. Scott brought her over for a play date with Elliot, who mostly spent his time allowing the puggle to sniff his nether regions and the rest of the time watching the crazy dog run circles through my house. They had no trouble with each other, and suddenly it was all set. I was watching their two-year-old puggle Jazzy for a week.

They brought the dog on Wednesday morning. I had closed off my bedroom area so she wouldn't have as much room to circle, but she seemed right at home upon entering. Scott went through the instructions; feed twice a day, allergy medication once a day, treats after pottying, etc. They left the vet number, loved all over the dog, and left. Oh, and they left two turtles with me as well. That was a last-minute addition with the assurance they would "be no trouble-don't worry about them-just feed them and leave them." Off they went leaving behind their precious baby.

Scott: "I'd really rather leave the kids here and take my Puggle on vacation."

Krista: "Oh, stop!"

He was serious. This man loves this dog as much as Tom loves Elliot. If only they treated their wives with this much love and happiness...

As they drove away, Jazzy stood at the door, crying and jumping up on her hind legs pawing at the glass door.

Jazzy: "Wait! Wait! You forgot me! Please don't leave. DADDY!"

I speak dog, so believe me when I tell you I heard all of that. It was pitiful and sucked me right into my mommy mode. I sat down with her and loved her. I told her where they were going, how we would love and care for her, and I tried to reassure her that this week would blow by so fast and that her family would return soon. She sat, on her rump like a human, with her legs in front of her, and turned her head side to side as she took in what I was saying. Then she proceeded to run through my house like a maniac, and when she wasn't doing that, she was doing this:

It made me sad, and it made me a wreck. I began having anxiety that this dog would never relax and would keel over and die from the stress of being here. I worried when I walked her, and she didn't pee. I worried when I walked her that she would pull right out of the leash and get hit by a car. I worried when she didn't eat her dinner that she would starve to death. After walking her around the block, I worried she was overheated and might have a heart attack. When we opened the front door, I worried she'd race out and disappear forever. I worried that she couldn't relax and that she didn't seem to ever sleep. By the end of the day, I was a raving, stark mad, lunatic of anxiety.

Darcy: "Why did you say you would watch the dog if it was going to stress you out this much?"

A good question, and one I will remember from here on out. Last summer, I took care of my neighbor's dog, but it was only a go over and feed it kind of thing. I only brought her to my house during the day because I felt guilty about her being alone in her house all day. 

I became a SAHM so that my kids didn't have to go to daycare, and that has just naturally morphed into feeling the same way about animals. I didn't crate my kids during the day, so why would I crate my dog? I kept bringing the neighbor's dog to my house, and when I felt she was getting stressed and causing my anxiety level to rise, I took her back home. However, this dog was here for the long haul no matter how hard she whimpered for her home.

She didn't sleep at all during the day. She pooped in my closet. She kept going from room to room and from couch to couch. She couldn't seem to relax, and if by some miracle she would start to do so, Elliot would bark, or my refrigerator would make a noise, or I'd shift position, and she would spring up and take off running. 

Then Tom came home and began questioning me on all sorts of things regarding the dog. He hated that I had closed off the bedrooms. He worried the dog would put a hole in our new couches because she climbed over them like a cat, so I covered the couches with blankets and told her sternly to get down off the backs and the arms. He worried she would puncture our water bed if she got on it, so I wouldn't let her on our bed. She normally sleeps with her owners, but that thought stressed me out because I move a lot, get up a lot, and am constantly hot, so the idea of a body next to mine brought anxiety, not to mention Tom's concern over the water bed. 

I decided to crate the dog for the night, telling myself repeatedly that all of the experts say it is the safest and most secure thing to do.

She cried. She whimpered. Maddy couldn't take that, and so she took her to her room and into her bed. I fell exhausted, emotionally, and physically, into bed that night. By 5:00 the next morning, the dog was scratching at Maddy's door. Scott told me she usually gets up by 7:00, but at 5:00, she was begging to run around the house again. 

Tom took the dogs for a walk, which increased my anxiety level, thinking he would be annoyed, and he fed and watered them before he showered and had his own breakfast. He was very laid back about it all, and I realized his nonsense the previous night was just a bad day at work. Since I was already up, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived from two nights of early morning awakenings, I jumped at the chance to walk the dog around the block again when my neighbor showed up at 7:30 a.m. with her own pug—anything to tire her out.

We came back home, and suddenly it was as if the day before had never happened. Suddenly the dog, not to mention me, was relaxed. She slept. She didn't run around crazily. She went into her crate when I left to run errands and to see a movie. She napped with me in Madison's bed for a couple of hours. She went outside each time and did her business. When they came home from work, she played with the girls and greeted Tom with Elliot when he came home. She ate her dinner when it was time. She sat and watched us all eat, pushing Elliot out of the way when he got too close to any of us. Suddenly the dog adjusted. That, in turn, changed me. Except for another poop in my bedroom, and I blame Madison for that one, the dog was an angel.

That night I went to bed early. Jazzy was with Tom, but at some point, she got on my bed and licked me, and when I pet her, she curled up next to me and promptly went to sleep. I let her be. As my friend reminded me, our waterbed is inside a mattress and protected, and so the dog slept with us all night. I didn't mind it. Not even when she burrowed under the covers to curl up against my legs.

Darcy: "Does this mean you're going to get another dog? Get the little lap dog you keep saying you want?"

Not in a million years!

I raised two children, and I raised my dog, and now I'm going to enjoy myself. Adding more warm bodies into this household and into my life is obviously way too stressful for this soon to be retired SAHM. Someday I'll welcome grandchildren and grandpets, but for now, this is my last duty. No matter how cute he or she might be. I mean it.

Streaming shows for summer

During the summer while regular television is on hiatus, I watch a lot of shows on streaming sites. Here's my list of recommendations if anyone is looking for enjoyable ways to kill time.

• Movie - The Hunt for the Wilderpeople - Hulu - Signing up for a free month of Hula is worth it just to see this New Zealand movie. It is laugh out loud. The teen actor is hilarious, and the mom, OMG the foster mom, deserves a whole movie just by herself. I've researched the director and now want to see some of her other films.
• TV Series - Longmire - Netflix - My friend's mother is an avid reader and when I see her we discuss books. She recommended the book series Longmire by Craig Johnson to me and then told me it was also a television series on A&E. I never took her up on it until this summer. I started watching Longmire on Netflix where the series moved after A&E cancelled it after season 3. The mysteries are engaging, the main character is lovable as are the secondary characters, and the Wyoming scenery is breathtaking. They are ending it after season 6 which is currently being filmed, and I will miss these guys as if they were family.
• Movie - Sing Street - Netflix - I wanted to see this movie at the theater, but never made it. The same director John Carney did one of my favorite movies, Begin Again. This one is just as good. Great soundtrack. Wonderful story. A real feel good movie.
• TV Series - Freaks and Geeks - Netflix - I'm disappointed to learn this show only lasted one season. Set in 1980 when yours truly was in high school I found this show a step back in time. Not that I was a part of the freaks or the geeks, but the clothes, hair, scenery, parents, school, etc. brought back memories. A cast full of newbies who we now know made it years later adds to the hilarity.
• Movie - Amelie - Netflix - Be warned. This movie is French with subtitles. I had a hard time in the beginning trying to watch the action and read at the same time, but once the movie gets going you too learn to adapt. An interesting premise with lots of interesting twists. It's a simple story that weaves into other stories and leaves you feeling good for those summer nights when you just want to chill.
• TV Series - Doogie Houser M.D. - Hulu - I was excited to watch this show again since I devoured it as a teen. Whoa. The things on television back then that are now changed. I was a bit shocked at the risque content, but kind of proud of my generation for tackling those story lines. Fun to see Neil Patrick Harris as a youngster in all his geekiness, but viewers have to remember this is old school television.
• Movie -  Sleepwalk with Me - Netflix - Another indie flick. A simple story about a comedian and his anxieties. Interesting and funny.
• TV Series - Saving Grace - Netflix - Okay, I started watching this a year or so ago, but left it and came back. It's pretty hardcore and a tad depressing, but the acting is top notch and the police stories hold interest. Grace has flaws and lots of them and her angel from God works hard at getting her to have faith, but she is one stubborn chick who just might outwit all of them.

Team Jaimee

My cousin Jaimee (jeez, thank god she is in my life so I have blog entries) is currently going through a family upheaval. I've said before that she is Super Woman with her 14 children, her job of saving people's lives, and her day to day activities which include a side job as an FBI informant, but lately she has been pushed to the point of someone-is-going-to-get-hurt-if-she-doesn't-get-some-relief.

A year ago her husband took another job in a city an hour from where they lived, and because their house wasn't selling he commuted an hour each way for a year while the kids finished this school year. And before you think, "Oh, that poor man" please remember all he had to do was sit on his ass in a car and drive, sometimes through traffic. She, on the other hand, had the responsibility of her 14 children and all that entails before and after her own job. I'm on Team Jamiee there.

The house has sold now and because they don't have a new house in the new city they are going to move into my Aunt Lorene's house temporarily. Let me, for those who don't know Lorene stories, give some background to that statement. My Aunt Lorene's house, as I've been told, was purchased from the coal mining company, one of the many homes abandoned as families sold their land to the coal companies. A basement was dug on land owned by my grandfather and the house was set down on top of that for Lorene and her husband. I don't know the year this occurred, but my aunt came back to Indiana to care for her mother in the late 60's or early 70's when she got sick. I don't remember a time that Lorene didn't have that house, and I was quite surprised to find she lived in Michigan until moving home.

As a child, coming to visit my grandfather at his farm Lorene's house was like a palace compared to the farm house. I grew up in the suburbs in a 3700 square foot home with modern conveniences, and while that made others think I was privileged I was born into that life, and going from that to the farm was a big shock to my system. I was used to having indoor plumbing, thank you very much and Lorene's house had that.

That being said, while a few changes have happened to the house over the years there haven't been that many in the last twenty to thirty years, and she had a habit of allowing everyone and their brother to dump their belongings in her house where she stacked them up in the basement or in the front bedroom or in the barn or in her yard. It wasn't anything like a hoarder, and I considered it a historical treasure trove, but for those who didn't grow up with the house I'm sure it's an eye opener.

Farm life is very different from the suburbs and two of my favorite posts about Lorene and her life are HERE and HERE. This will give you an idea of why when Jaimee gave me the news that her husband was insisting on saving rent by moving into Lorene's house my own family, while shocked to the core at even the very thought, resorted to humor.

Madison: "Well, let Jaimee know that there is plenty of food in the basement."

Once while visiting my Aunt Lorene, she was bemoaning the fact that her sons wouldn't let her go down into her basement and she wasn't sure what canned goods she had down there. I offered to go down to take pictures on my phone so that she could look at those and then I could get an item if she saw what she wanted. She asked me to look into the freezer as well. I, of course, wondered as I snapped the above photos how long the food had sat on the shelves and in the freezer. Her comment upon seeing the pictures?

Lorene: "I have a pizza down there? I didn't know that. We could have that for dinner tonight if you want."

Madison also wanted to remind Jaimee that expired food at Lorene's house is okay. As is the canister of flour where Lorene use to just toss the pieces of chicken inside to coat them before frying. Madison, who assisted Lorene in the kitchen that day, claims she still has nightmares from the incident, but also loves having the memory. Jaimee, on the other hand, doesn't find any of these stories humorous in the least.

Her husband, my cousin, on the other hand, grew up with all of this. Lorene was his grandmother and so this was his norm. He grew up with this house, spent considerable time in it, and he has great memories. He doesn't understand what the problem is or why Jaimee is upset by all of this. He thinks she is spoiled because she wants new "things". I take this to mean she wants walls that aren't paneled, carpeting that isn't older than her, and a kitchen where the canisters of flour haven't had raw chicken pieces dumped into them. The fact that the house has been closed up for the past three years doesn't seem to phase him, but it does her. I'm on Team Jaimee with that one too.

Other factors in moving into this house beside the few I've mentioned also include no cell service and no wifi. While I'm sure her husband would roll his eyes at that comment, and while I agree that I don't miss any of that when I visit the area, it does seem a necessity for emergencies while the parents are at work. Times are different than when we were younger, a fact that people always seem to forget. It isn't our fault we have come to expect nice "things". The world changed and you either jump on the bandwagon and move forward with progress, or you live in the past. Even Lorene moved forward from her days of living on the farm up the road..

I feel for my cousin. Uprooting and moving your family to another city is hard enough. Not having a place to live in the new city with the start of school looming would have me spinning in circles. Temporarily sucking it all up and moving into Lorene's house? The woman is a saint. She'll do it, and she'll survive, and hopefully, she will blog all about it with humor. If she can find it. I told her to start in Lorene's basement.

Out of the mouth of my husband

I was on the recorded part of my television recently where the listing of my shows is on the left hand side and the current channel is in a square in the upper right hand corner. I was scrolling through the list when I noticed the commercial playing in the corner. At first, I thought I was seeing things as every person who appeared had their pants pulled low enough to expose parts of their derriere, but then a bottle of Liquid Plummr appeared in a woman's hands and the voice over exclaimed, "Because there's a plummr in all of us."

I was speechless. I looked at Madison sitting beside me.

Me: "Did you see that? That commercial?"

Madison: "Yes."

Me: "What the hell? I can't even believe I just saw that. On regular TV. Are you kidding me?"

Madison: "What? Your horrified?"

Me: "Yes! I mean, seriously? Is that necessary? To show everyone's butt cracks?"

Madison: "Are you serious? You're offended by that?"

Me: "Yes, I am. Why is that on television?"

Madison: "You're soap opera people hop in and out of bed all of the time. What's the difference?"

Me: "What? The difference is we don't see their nakedness on regular television! What are you talking about? Tom! Tom, did you see that commercial?"

He hadn't and so I rewound it and we all watched it from the beginning. It was gross. Everyone and their brother walked around with his/her pants low enough to expose parts of their butts I had no wish to see. I just was amazed.

Me: "Can you even believe that commercial, Tom? I mean, what the hell?"

Tom: (shrugging) "It's a shitty commercial, what can I say?"

What I will have come August

The last several years I have jumped ahead. I began bemoaning the loss of my daughter a year before she finished high school, preparing myself for the day she headed off to college. I began planning ahead for the health issues I invented when I turned fifty, and started counting up the years I had left after the death of my last parent. Lately, I've begun envisioning my life without children. Come August these two red heads are gone from my house and from our daily lives, and the thought of that has me sobbing in a fetal position on the floor envisioning my life eating dinner alone at the kitchen table with only the dog staring up at me in the hopes I'll include him in the feast.

I have learned this summer to take deep breaths. When I find myself wanting to rail against the unmade beds I find each morning wandering through their bedrooms picking up dirty laundry off the floors, I stop and tell myself, "Come August this will not be a chore you will have to do". It helps me to remain calm to think ahead to what exactly I will have after they are out the door and living in dorms.

I will have a clean dining room table. One on which we can actually sit down and eat a meal. Right now the dining room table is the catch-all for both girls. Darcy uses it as her closet, hanging clothes, jackets, and sweatshirts on the backs of the chairs and leaving her shoes under them. Her school supplies, despite the fact that she has a desk, were always covering the surface of the table because the table sits right outside her bedroom and was "not as far to walk" in the mornings. Now her work related items have taken over. Her purse, her name tag, her lunchbox, etc. are spread out from one end of the table to the other. I move everything to the head of the table closest to her room, but before the night is over everything is spread out like a nicely decorated table setting with items before each seat. Can't she at least grab a corner of the table and stay there? (Picture below was taken after I had cleaned most stuff off of it)

I will have a clean hall bathroom. One in which I can sit on the toilet and do my business without seeing wet towels in a clump on the side of the tub and hair clinging to the wall in front of me. I'll actually have toilet paper to use instead of an empty roll staring at me forlornly. The sink will be empty of the many hair care products that now make it impossible to even get to the faucet. The mirror will be free of toothpaste splatters and there won't be make-up smears on the counter top. Yesterday, I spied a little red curl in the sink because Madison insists on dumping her head in the sink in mornings to tame her mass. Instead of wondering how much hair I would find clogging the drain if I lifted the insert, I thought about preserving that lone curl.

I will have a lunchbox. One in which I can actually pack food in and carry with me to my volunteer job or to the gym. The girls have three lunch boxes in which they can pack their work meals. I purchased a small one for myself to help with my dieting, but every morning it is missing as are the other three. Darcy insists that my small box is better for her in the summer months, but the truth of the matter is she uses my box because she hasn't cleaned out her box from the previous day. It, of course, is on the dining room table, or sometimes in her room under the clothes she wore to work.

I will be able to see my kitchen counters. Darcy had orientation this week and collected bags of goodies. They are sitting on my kitchen counter along with her keys, her sunglasses, various papers, and bobby pins. Whatever she doesn't believe should be on the dining room table goes on the counter in my kitchen. Some days it is set up like a desk complete with computer, stacks of folders, and a variety of writing utensils. This despite the fact that SHE HAS A DESK.

I won't find odd objects on furniture. This is a Madison thing. Her favorite pieces of furniture include the entertainment center, the piano, and the back of the couch. How hard is it to put these things away? Everything has a place and it isn't on the furniture! Darcy's favorite place besides the dining room table is the floor....of any room.

My floors won't be sticky. I don't know what these girls are spilling because they insist "nothing", but my kitchen floor always has areas of hidden stickiness that about cause me to break a hip when my sneakers are abruptly stopped on the surface.

Items will be put back from where they came. Today I had a guest and we sat in the Steelers room chatting. Behind his shoulder, I noticed my container of extra office supplies had been pulled out of its cabinet. The cabinet was wide open. The container lid was on the desk, the supplies had been gone through and stacked back so that the lid didn't fit, and the container was just sitting there too. What?

This summer, however, I'm not thinking of having all the above. Nope. Instead I repack the containers and shove them back in their places. I pick up objects off the furniture and the dining room table and put them in the girls' rooms. I smile at sticky floors and belongings. Come August I will miss all of this stuff....well, maybe.

Darcy: "Don't worry. I'll be bringing home laundry and dirtying up my bedroom for you every few weeks or so."

I have a feeling I'll be looking forward to that.

CARA!

My cousin Jaimee after delivering 10 kids closed up shop. She tied up her organs and set about raising her little peeps as a full time mother, student, FBI informant, and a slew of other titles that put us all to shame. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, her organs betrayed her, or her doctor's surgical skills sucked, although her husband likes to believe it was his super sperm, but whatever she got knocked up. Her eldest was a teenager and her youngest was not far from double digits at the time.

After a few moments of sheer panic and depression, she pulled herself up by her boot straps (that's an Indiana term, but I've never seen her in boots though I have no doubt she would wear them like a cowgirl), sucked it up, and prepared to add to her brood. She calls it starting over in all of her social media, but I look at her and call it a blip on the radar as she is at pro at winging it when life throws her a curve ball.

Nolan was born perfect as all her children were, and I had the fortune to meet him before he turned one. Actually, I was with him when he turned one, and I only threw that part in to piss off Grandma who has never forgiven any of us for her missing his actual big day. (Thanks for sharing him, and all of them, Grandma! Love you. Thanks for reading my blog!) During the time I spent with the family, I worked hard at bonding with Nolan. First, because he smelled like a baby and had kissable cheeks and secondly, because I'm determined to not be forgotten in this family.

The major thing I worked on with Nolan besides swimming, not eating food off of the floor, going to his father for menial requests, and looking for adult supervision before leaping into a major body of water was having my name be his first word. Okay, he said "ball" already, but my name as his first declaration of family greatness. But I only had a week and it was a week with a lot of distractions like sand, ocean, and pools and so I've had to continuing my education via SnapChat video. Other than some videos of him with crazy animal filters and a lot of whining I have yet to hear my name.

Until the other night:

I'm keeping this on my phone so that when I'm down in the dumps I can turn to Nolan calling out for his favorite cousin Cara. Look at that face. OMG! My cousin and his wife sure do know how to make 'em. 

Class rings, gowns, and more nonsense

This year Darcy had to purchase a graduation gown despite the fact that we had Madison's. Now we have two gowns folded in a box of clothing that they will most likely never be looked into again. Maybe one will be used for a Halloween party or a theatrical production, but let's be serious, those gowns are not going to be worn again. Yet, it was included in "grad fees" and there was no way we could take out the gown portion of the fee. We were stuck with another blue gown that takes up space in my already cluttered house.

Then the emails funneled to my inbox from various companies loudly exclaiming for me not to miss out on "high school's biggest memories" which to them included year books, class rings, and announcements. Because nothing brings back memories more than those things, eh? Which got me thinking. How often do we trek back to take a look at those things?

For me, I recently reorganized my keepsakes going through boxes and cabinets and filing everything in folders that then went back into a box that is shoved in the nether regions of my daughter's bedroom closet. My high school yearbooks, and my K-8th grade book, are in that bin, but I can honestly say that I doubt I will be back in there for those items in the next year or so. As for my announcements, I can't even remember if those were in that pile of stuff. I do remember seeing my tassels that were worn on my graduation caps. They are now filed in a folder, but the announcements? Other than my wedding announcement and invitation I don't remember seeing any other formal cards. No, I take that back. I have other people's graduation announcements which I do believe I chucked. It's bad enough my children will be going through my stuff let alone notices of stranger's invitations and such.

That left my rings. I can remember in high school wanting a class ring. Probably because we all got to get out of class to go down to the office lobby to meet with representatives from the ring companies. I don't remember if we had to vote on the company or not, but I vividly remember the tables and browsing through the samples. My parents, I think, purchased the ring for my birthday, and I do remember worrying about the cost. I didn't get what I wanted. I'm a gold wearer, and gold was more expensive than the silver and white gold, which I didn't even know was a thing until I shopped for this ring. My friend Robin picked out the white gold ring, and I went along with it due to cost, but it wasn't what I would have chosen had cost not been an issue.

One side has our mascot and one side has a seal of some sort. Who knows the seal of their school? The date is on there and the gem stone is topaz which happened to be one of the colors of our school, not to mention my birth stone. That worked out well because who wants a stone that doesn't signify the school colors? That's how I thought in the early 1980's. Inside the ring is my name in my hand writing. That was a cool thing to find in looking over this ring because, whoa, my curly q's on the capitalization of my name.

Don't get me wrong. I wore that ring. I wore the heck out of that ring for the last two years of high school, and I was not a ring wearer. I chewed my nails, still do as observed by that thumb in the above photo, and my fingers are on the pudgy side so a ring on my hands wasn't (and isn't) the most adorable thing. But then I went to college and the ring became passè. It went into my jewelry box where it has resided for the past, cough 35, years. The only finger it fits is the ring finger of my left hand now taken up by my wedding band so even if I wanted to wear it I couldn't. But then, again, who wants to wear those rings?

I find them hideous. Who designed these things? Mine was always worse to me because it wasn't yellow gold, and in looking at it now I just think, "ugh". I think my ring was a tad over $100 which back then to me was a fortune. Today that same ring is $570.00 and that's not including shipping because everything is done over the internet and shipping is part of the cost. WHAT? $570.00 for something you will wear for one to two years depending on when you purchase it? That's crazy. Isn't it? Does this mean my ring is worth that? Hmmm...I hadn't thought about that one.

I got smarter in college. By then ring styles had changed, and Robin wasn't involved in the selection. I got a ring that I thought I would wear forever. Truly. I thought that. I got it in yellow gold and because my dominant school color was also my favorite color I got that win too. I loved the final product, so dainty and girly, something I was not.

Finally, here was a ring that looked pretty and didn't scream, "class ring". I was quite proud of that thing, and I wore it way past my college days. Until one day it too ended up residing in the jewelry box with the high school ring, and while I might wear it today it only fits on my left ring finger or the pinky finger of my right hand. I have no idea what it cost back then, but today it would be over $700.

Years ago I purchased a college class ring for my husband. During a conversation about school, he remarked how he had always wanted a ring, and since he is hard to buy for I researched online and got him a class ring. It cost over $500 at that time, and once he got it on over his big knuckle the ring was too loose. Sizing it smaller would make it impossible to get on over his knuckle. It sits in his drawer never having been worn.

I asked both of my children if they wanted rings. They both looked at me as if I had sprung horns and was pawing at the ground. Darcy's eyes popped out of her head at the thought of spending that kind of money. Maddy went along with this entry and the whole "it will just sit in a drawer" thing. They would rather have electronic devices.

Of course, now days they have more than rings. There are class bracelets and class necklaces. All cost anywhere from $300-$1000 depending on metal and gems. Obviously, someone is purchasing these things since they still sell them, but I want to know who still wears them after school is in the rear view window?

Suddenly two graduation gowns sitting in a box in the closet doesn't seem so bad.

Crossing the bridge

Two and a half years ago Darcy and I began attending a local Unitarian Universalist church. We had been introduced to the church when the girls were little, but the timing wasn't right then as it was for us now. Both of us were in transition, seeking something more due to different reasons and the congregation welcomed us. Darcy joined the youth group and there she found kindred spirits, a safe place to explore her spirituality, and more. She attended youth group conferences and took part in many of the church's youth experiences, as well as those within the church.

Sunday our congregation held a Bridging Ceremony, one of the many rituals the Unitarian Universalists perform throughout the year. The Bridging Ceremony celebrates the transition of UU's youth from high school to adulthood, typically a time of great change for many. It is a rite of passage that welcomes these youths into the rewards and responsibilities of adult life, and Darcy was eager to take part. It was our first experience with this type of ceremony as we had not had a youth transition yet since we started attending on Sundays. This week Darcy and Eli transitioned.

Adulthood brings many changes some of which are scary and stressful. These young adults are going forth into the world to be on their own for the first time in their lives taking on responsibilities they have yet to shoulder. Bridging is a continuation of the journey these youths have taken. They stand at the side of their childhood and adolescence contemplating their spiritual journeys before continuing their journey across the bridge to the other side. It is an entry into adulthood with the hope that these young adults will go forth into the world with their faith and with the values they have acquired through their spiritual journeys.

The service began with the lighting of the chalice and the lighting chalice words led by our two bridgers. Both chose hymns for the service, and Darcy was quite proud of her choice Love Makes A Bridge feeling it was not only fitting, but representative of her beliefs. They then were called forth to sit before the congregation while our reverend spoke about the importance of finding one's way, continuing our spiritual journeys, and reminding the two that our congregation would be here always for them to seek out advice, hugs, and a safe haven if necessary.

The director of religious education then spoke about the two youths. Darcy's bridging companion has grown up in the church and is well known so the stories were plentiful. He has worked the sound booth every Sunday for several years, drives over an hour to worship here, and has shown his musical talents throughout the year during service. Darcy has been a part of youth group for over two years, but the director discussed her commitment, her mentoring skills, and the messages she has delivered for the congregation in youth led worships. As a parent sitting an listening to someone speak about my child, it was touching to hear that others see her as I do.

Both youths were given their own chalices that were then lit. With their youth group behind them on their side of the bridge, the two climbed the stairs and walked over the bridge to the opposite side where the young adult mentors waited to welcome them.

I am not alone. 

I don't have to face the world alone and I don't have to fix the world alone. 

When I need hope, I find it in on the faces of my people. 

I find it in their hearts, 

when we find each other again and stop hiding out,

 thinking we are the only one. 

I find it when we come together in community to sing, 

to bless one another, 

to mourn, 

to strategize. 

All we need is hope and for that, we have each other.

It was a nice service. They had to stand in the receiving line afterwards and that took forever as the congregation took the time to speak with each of them, reminding them that if they ever needed anything they knew where to come. Darcy and I are very grateful to have been welcomed to this spiritual home where love for everyone is felt from the moment we walk in the door. It has fit us well and I know Darcy will continue to live her life by the UU principles and her family values. I have so much hope for her and what she will do for all of us. We couldn't be more proud of her.

Wonder Woman the movie

Back in the old days when I was young, kids played outdoors and used their imagination. We still acted out fantasies seen in movies and television, but we didn't have store bought items to assist us in getting into character. One of the games we played was Super Friends which we learned about from cartoons as comics weren't as prevalent in my neighborhood. All of the kids played and some were villains and some were super heroes and most of the time we fought to be our favorite character. Mine was Wonder Woman. I'd like to be able to say my obsession with her was due to her strength, but the outfit and her dark haired beauty probably ran equal to her power in my eyes. I was always drawn to the non-blonde characters.

We used all sorts of items to become our character. I had a Wonder Woman on a shirt that I had made so I wore that with shorts and attached a handmade W sign to a hair band that I wore around my forehead. For my arm bands, those that stopped bullets, I used empty toilet paper rolls, and I'm fairly certain I unwound a few rolls of the stuff to get to the cardboard holders. I had a rope that I wore dangling around my waist, and when I wanted to be in my invisible airplane I would yell that I was invisible. We had our Justice League headquarters, and we all contributed to the story lines that usually ended with someone tied with my rope around one of the oak trees in our front yard. It was great fun, and I'd give anything to have had pictures of us in character, but back then our parents, in my family my dad, took pictures, and he was at work in the days of our summer fun (although I did keep the shirt and do have a picture of that).

Wonder Woman was a television show in the 70's starring Lynda Carter, and I faithfully watched it along with other shows like the Bionic Woman, Charles Angels, and Laverne and Shirley all with women as the main characters. It was probably also the beginning of my obsession with reading mystery novels with women detectives, and deep down the beginning of thinking that women were able to do way more than clean house and take care of kids.

When I saw that a remake of Wonder Woman was coming, I was all about seeing it. I haven't really seen many of the super hero movies, although I've seen enough, but once they start changing actors and introducing more sequels I lose interest. Plus, it's always about the men. But now Wonder Woman. My favorite super hero, along side Aqua Man, and an entire movie with a woman as the badass savior. Yes, please.

It was great. Gal Gadot was superb, beautiful, and oh, so cool. By the end of the movie when she jumps into the air and the camera angle cuts to show her flying toward us face first, I wanted to whoop and shout, "GIRL POWER!" I wanted to clap and cheer. YES! YES! A women can fight her own battles, and others' battles, and do it against men. YES! YES! Love is one of the answer to this wretched country and messed up world and societies evils. Spread it. Embrace it. Love everyone instead of judging. It was a wonderful movie with a strong message, and most importantly during this week of violence and a court case of a popular entertainer for rape, it shows young girls like my own that women do have the power. To stand on their own. To be somebody. To make changes.

It made me wish I could go back to the neighborhood and suit up as Wonder Woman again, but instead I left the theater in my own skin imagining using my arm bracelets to deflect those who get in my way. GIRL POWER.

Out of the mouths of my babes

Recently while discussing our upcoming bridging ceremony at church, our reverend talked about the changes in children after attending college that first year. As she gave examples to me forgetting that I already had one daughter in college, I thought about that daughter and any changes I had noticed. The only one I could think of was that she came home this year with hair on her legs. I didn't notice it at all until Madison remarked on it.

Madison: "I did not have time for that shaving nonsense. I had other important things to do like studying, and when I had free time, which was rare, I didn't want to spend it on shaving my legs."

You can't tell. Her red hair doesn't show up on her legs unless you are right next to her and looking for it. It doesn't bother her and it doesn't bother us, and so since coming home she has not shaven her legs with all her new found free time.

This week she and Darcy started their summer jobs. Both are working as camp counselors at the Montessori school they both attended. This is Madison's first year working there, and Darcy's second. Both girls are working this week in the recreation room where the kids are moved in and out of during a rotation that also includes swimming. The recreation room has table top games including corn hole, ping pong, and air hockey. When they were setting up the recreation room prior to the start of camp a couple of weeks ago, they noticed that one of the air hockey tables had a jury-rigged cord, 

Madison: "The table had this cord that was only about a foot long and it was sliced in the middle with wires going every which way as if someone had cut it with a pair of scissors. One of the IT guys spliced it together and stuck a bunch of electrical tape around it. But it was too short to be plugged into the wall and so there is this giant extension cord on the floor where we are supposed to plug in the air hockey cord."

Tuesday one of the kids came up to Madison and said the air hockey table wasn't working. Madison investigated and deduced that the cord had come unplugged during play and that one of the kids had tried to plug the cord back into the socket in the wall instead of into the extension cord on the floor. Doing this had stretched the table's cord so that the jury-rigged job had come apart and wires were exposed.

Madison: "I just did this in Physics my last semester. The unit was all about electricity and motors, and I knew in theory all I had to do was reattach the wires to complete the circuit so electricity could flow to the air hockey table properly. So I unplugged it from the wall, and then for some strange reason I plugged it back again into the extension cord on the floor."

Darcy: "Because Madison, an intellectual individual who is always being accredited with book smarts and supposedly knows how to solve problems thanks to physics and science, but who doesn't have the basic street smarts, plugged the cord back into the extension cord!"

Madison: "I was thinking that I would just check first to see if that was enough to solve the issue before I spent the time unwinding the tape and fixing it. The cord, with the broken area and crappy electric tape, was on my leg because I was sitting on the floor, and after I plugged in the cord I touched the two wires together and all of a sudden sparks were flaring up like a mini camp fire on my leg. I immediately jumped and pulled apart the wires. I looked down and thought I had caught my leg on fire, but I saw instead that I had singed the hair on my leg."

Darcy: "Oh my god, it was hilarious! I told everyone the story. Ethan went by me today and asked how my day was going, and I told him fine but my sister set her leg hair on fire. I also told one of the teachers, and he doesn't know Madison and assumed it was a kid. I said, uh, no, Madison as in my sister and pointed to her. It was great. And even funnier was the little kid who kept jumping every time other kids came close to the table, shouting, "No, no, don't go over there. You don't want to catch your leg on fire like my teacher did." I mean, it was just too funny."

Madison: "I know how to vaguely fix electrical stuff because I've watched dad do electrical things. I remember him telling me you only have to curl the wires together and the tape is only really for protection, and that you're good as long as you don't touch live wires. But for some reason I plugged it in while I was touching live wires."

Darcy: "I mean, really. It was hilarious. SHE CAUGHT HER LEG ON FIRE."

Madison: "Technically, I only caught my hair on fire. Actually, my not shaving and letting my leg hair grow saved my leg from a possible serious burn. That's the way I'm looking at it. Not shaving saved my leg." 

Wine and Design

One of the newest crazes, and I'm sure I'm months behind on this, is a wine and painting class. My friend SueG has wanted to go for quite some time, but it wasn't until Madison expressed an interest that we actually signed up. The premise is easy. Bring some snacks and some wine (or beer) and paint. Each night there is a specified painting, and while our evening's selection wasn't my favorite, the timing was right and off we went. She brought her two children and I brought Madison, and we ended up being the only ones in the class that night. Obviously the selection wasn't anyone else's favorite either.

The studio was set up for us with our easels, our paints, and our canvas already drawn out for us. I'm not sure if that is typical or that she wanted to move things along, but I didn't argue. I am certainly not an artist and would probably list that as one of my top five least talents so I was quite happy to sit down with my wine to fill in the blanks. We started first by examining some other people's work, concentrating as she told us, on depth, contrast, and texture. She had us stand close and then far away to study these paintings, and mostly I gulped my wine and consumed my chips and salsa and nodded when I felt it appropriate.

At last we sat before our soon to be masterpieces.The teacher stood on a platform above us with her supplies and talked us through the painting. We painted the beach portion of our painting first. She told us to mix the brown, the white, and the yellow and then added, "if you chose", but by then I had followed the directions like a good little student, and I didn't like the color of my sand. I learned that I had to listen to her with a grain of salt and weed out the portions I didn't necessarily agree with as she talked.

It was fun. We were probably too serious in this our first experience. She kept trying to get us to talk, but except for a story I told at the beginning, we were very focused on our task. She had music playing in the background, and I would occasionally burst out to sing along which excited her, but we were apt little painters. Other than almost dipping my paintbrush in my glass of wine to clean it, I thought I did well. I didn't, however, feel that my painting was going to sell any time soon. It turned out a bit better than I had hoped, but after seeing other creations around the room and on Facebook I realized I came in with higher expectations. I think it would definitely be more fun with a bigger group of drinkers.

A few days later while at my volunteer job our administrator was remarking on how she needed art work to hang in her office. I smiled and told her I had just the thing. I'm going to hang it in her office tomorrow while she is at a doctor's appointment. Oh, and I'm donating it.

Reinvent, take the leap, but don't rush

After Monday's holiday, I set my alarm to get up at 7:30 a.m. so that I would set a summer routine that didn't involve staying up and sleeping late. I figured I would stick to my normal routine and so I went to the gym and planned to run errands. The next day I got up on time, but my morning got derailed by doing a favor for a friend, and after she left I sat quietly on my couch sipping coffee while the girls slept. I took my normal morning SnapChat of my coffee cup and the empty couch across from me and sent it to the long list of peeps that I SnapChat daily. I captioned it with something along the lines of "My mornings now..."

Wow. This is it. In two months both girls will be living elsewhere, Tom will head off to work, and I will be here with the dog alone. When I think about that, it isn't really any different than the past six years except that the girls won't be returning in the late afternoon. They won't be here in the evenings. It is a strange feeling. On Tuesday, coming back from the gym I was figuring out my errand schedule and immediately I pictured the two o'clock time slot when Darcy would be home from school, and I wondered what she had going on after school before it hit me that yeah, no more of that. It was a moment where my heart actually hurt.

This morning drinking my coffee and listening to the quiet I thought about my soon to be empty nest. No more six o'clock rising. No more packing lunches. Instead of seven hours of alone time I would now have more than twelve hours before the husband wandered in from working. Yikes. I knew this was coming, but the reality hadn't really hit me as hard as it is suddenly hitting me. This is why my mother tried to tell me to keep teaching swimming or something. This is why my friend sent me a smile through a card with a nice note telling me she understood what was coming (thanks Michelle!). We SAHM are suddenly thrust into oblivion much like workers on retirement or being replaced by a younger worker. Yikes.

I'm making lists now of things I want to do. To try. I've had this list for awhile now, but I never let myself truly think about doing any of the things on it because I was too busy with my girls and their activities and wants and needs. Now I have no excuses. This past weekend I registered to take music lessons. I didn't actually sign up for classes, but I paid the pre-registration fee and talked to the music instructor. I'm going to make myself do it. I'm going to learn to play the drums. My husband rolled his eyes. My MIL laughed.

They don't get it. My husband has his job. My MIL worked when she had kids at home. It's an experience that only SAHMs who have been through it can understand. Everyone around me tells me it's time for me to go back to work, but what they don't seem to understand is that my being away from the workforce has hinder me as the work that once was so greatly out there has since shrunk. I'm no longer relevant, certainly not in my old field of aquatics or administration. I'm now a relic, at the age when people are planning their retirement and not their return to the work force. I have limited physical capabilities due to an injury suffered while caring for my mother. Suddenly going back to work isn't as easy as people make it out to be.

I searched the Internet for articles on this very subject hoping to find advice, jobs, and a support group. The best information I found:

1. Give myself time - To adjust to the situation. To reinvent myself. To self-reflect. I think this is the best advice of all. Just as I don't expect my daughter to learn how to adjust to college overnight I can't expect to adjust to my new situation quickly either.
2. Revive relationships - Both with my spouse and with friends. The article talked about how marriages fall apart at this stage and that reconnecting in the new life is key. I know this will be true in my own marriage. Right now we are looking at each other and rediscovering the things that we once loved about each other. As for friends, I know that many of my relationships aren't the same as they once were, and I take some responsibility for that. I'm willing to give it a try if relevant. 
3. Volunteer - Yep. Check. This is a good way to jump slowly back into the work force, to gain experience and knowledge.
4. Try something new - Now is the time to try something you've wanted to try. Playing the drums? Give it a try.

I'm going to give it some time. I wouldn't mind a part time job that would bring in some income and give me meaning. I would love it if I knew I was helping others. I'm also going to try new experiences, and since I couldn't find a support group maybe I'll start one. Who knows? I sure don't, but this is my new phase in life so I've got to jump in with both feet if I want to keep on keeping on. As for now, I'm going to soak in every moment with the girls and enjoy this early morning coffee quiet.