My life with teenage girls is really just one long book of The Little Red Hen.
Who will take out the garbage? Not I, Not I, Not I, Not I
Who will help me unload the groceries? Not I, Not I, Not I, Not I
That is the more traditional version. My own version is a little more like this.
Who will clean their room? In a minute, In a minute, In a minute, In a minute
Who will put their clothes away? In a minute, In a minute, In a minute
Who will run this upstairs for me? In a minute, In a minute, In a minute
In a minute means...Not I, Not I, Not I, Not I
In a minute is a warped response that has no actual bearing on real time, as in a minute does not mean one minute at all. It means, "I am sort of listening to you, I understand there is something I am supposed to do, but I do not want to put down my crack (aka cell phone) to do it, so I will wait until you ask four more times and then scream it at me like a nutcase on the fifth time" and then the response will be, "Calm down, chill, I was going to do it."
Who needs a check for drill? I do, I do, I do, I do
Who needs a ride to a friend's house? I do, I do, I do, I do
Who needs papers signed for school at 7:55 in the morning? I do, I do, I do
And now the interpretation of time changes drastically. The minute, which above represented hours and hours, quickly dwindles down to seconds. The little Red Mama is expected to respond immediately and efficiently, like a super hero, producing rides and money with a quickness and speed that will save the world.
I created the beast, so it is really pointless for me to complain. We have been over committed for years with dance, basketball, softball, choir, swim...you name it we have done it. Years of rushing from one activity to another, shoving dinner at kids and handing out checks. Always rushed, never enough time. I probably didn't put enough time or energy into expecting help. It always seemed much easier to just do things myself.
The last time I wrote about being over committed, I was nervously preparing for competitive dance with our oldest. That ship has sailed and I am now on competitive dancer number three. A surprise, last minute, competitive dancer who gave up softball and committed when I least expected it. (There's a line, from The Godfather maybe? "Every time I think I'm out they just keep pulling me back in...").
Life is not as busy for me as it was when I had dancer number one. While we are still over committed, life has taken it's natural course...one child gone to college, another child driving, my husband works in town and helps with logistical rides...not every responsibility is mine. I can, I dare say it out loud, breathe a little. And, the ability to breathe has left me a little more still and in that stillness, I have had the time to embrace competitive dancer number three.
Even though I went reluctantly to competitive dance with child number one...the moment she stepped on stage, I bawled. I cried tears of pride and joy for probably hours at the competition. An embarrassing cry in front of others. The idea that she had fought for what she wanted, made it happen, and then on top of it all was a beautiful, talented, and most importantly confident dancer made me cry. And after that I supported fully without looking back. She paved the way for the rest, and competitive dance has been a part of our busy lives for a long time.
However, with the first two, I was still busy. Still shoving dinner at people, still driving all over town for three hours after work every day, and still balancing my own schedule and the schedules of five other people. My mind ran constantly with times, dates, lessons, car pool pick ups, and the list goes on. Some of this still exists, but not at the same grand level. With Mary I find that I can enjoy the competitions and conventions. Because my time is different, it is something we plan and look forward to instead of another thing I need to plan and find coverage for.
I am sure many would wonder why I invest all the time and money into this. And, as stated above, I clearly did so at the expense of having helpful children who jump up to do chores. I wondered myself in my first over committed blog. At the time I jokingly referenced getting them ready for such aspirations as Rockette, Miss California, and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. Clearly those are all still on the table, but now with six years of perspective on it, I know why I do it. It has been answered for me.
The time and the money didn't go into creating professional dancers, it went in to creating confident girls, and they are, all of them in their own way...confident girls. Confident girls who know how to present themselves, who speak for themselves, who problem solve, who work with others, and who, let's be clear, can tap and shimmy with the best of them. We chose a good dance teacher too. One who leads by example and emphasizes the importance of strong character in her dancers above the importance of winning.
So this Little Red Mama marches on. Competitive dance and high school swim season are on our horizon as Sr. year drill captain winds down. With my time to breathe and enjoy some things I rushed to and through in the past, I am also trying to curb the "In a minute" responses. Big sigh...one step forward, two steps...
The idea was always to keep them busy. Too busy for trouble. I may have succeeded. However, in this blog, time to breathe may also mean time for wine. Wine is also handy when the "In a minute" responses are in coming at me rapidly.
Who will visit mommy in rehab? Not I. Not I. Not I. Not I.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Perspective and I'm Over It
Today I went to our storage. It was drink inducing. If you have things in storage, you know what I am talking about. In my next career I am opening up bars at storage units. A lemonade like stand where you can walk over and order a drink at any moment in your storage experience. Find a box of used kitchen ware you never liked, and may not be clean, but you packed up and you aren't sure why? Go get a drink. Arguing with your husband about keeping a box of loan papers form a house you owned three houses and twenty years ago? Go get a drink. Trying to convince your mother to throw away a rusted metal bed frame that squeaks? Go get a drink. I know I could take a drink with me to storage, and this has been heavily contemplated, but it is a slippery slope. I don't want to end up passed out on the squeaky bed, as then Naomi would have strength in her argument for keeping the bed.
The victory of today's storage trip, well the victory beyond the fact that I am still married and no one is dead, is that I found my extra Lodi High graduation cap and gown. And that I found it before I ordered another one or two this year. Why do I have an extra cap and gown? The same reason yearbooks cost me twenty dollars more each year, the same reason I am at Walgreens hastily printing out a child's picture from my phone to go on the dance wall. The same reason I am paying a seamstress a lot of money as I am saying, "But we need it tomorrow, can you have it done by tomorrow?" In all of these instances there has been plenty of advance warning, but I just couldn't get it done in a timely manner. Three years ago this was the case with the graduation cap and gown for my oldest. Lots of advance warning that resulted in me frantically looking up the company online and ordering last minute. So frantically that two were delivered to us, and I found charges on two different credit cards. Always shooting for the glass is half full approach, I said to myself, "Not a big deal, you are now ahead of the game for Reagan in three years, in fact you should have just ordered four."
Only then we moved. And I put a large part of our lives in storage. So, in reality, I had no idea where the "extra" cap and gown were and as the notices started coming in this year, I thought I would be ordering another set. But, today, while attempting to get a small handle on storage, there it was in a box with a all the Santa hats I have bought over the years for school performances (to be added to the three I bought this year as I am at storage in January, not December) and old camera batteries for cameras we no longer own or have.
Listen, I am not this way in all areas of my life. In fact I am a pretty organized mom and teacher. I have to be with a full time job and four kids. But, there are things that slip through the cracks. I can't hold it together in every area. I used to. I used to run myself ragged keeping up with it all and making sure all the i's were dotted and t's were crossed. Now, I have some time and age on it, some perspective, and I try not to let it bother me. I just have to do the best I can. I have to laugh at myself and embrace the inconsistency, because luckily, I'm over it.
Perspective is important. It is something I wrestle with fairly consistently. The yen and yang of having it for the right things at the right times. I often have it in my head, but what comes flying out of my mouth betrays me. Lately, the college perspective has been my battle. With the finding of the cap and gown, graduation is upon us. Graduation means college. Good God college. I can go on for hours on this topic, perhaps over drinks at my storage unit if anyone is interested. I have four girls. I think they will all go to college, and they will all have a completely different path in getting there. I am on girl number two.
This is what I have to say about perspective and college. Every kid is going to have their own path, and that path does not need to be the one that is harped upon and discussed ad nauseam in the suburban public school systems. There are colleges, great colleges, out there that do not require you to take a load of AP classes, have a 4.9 and then get wait listed, because maybe someone with a 4.95 will come along. Ridiculous. It took me awhile to get here. I have been on the fence for years with it all. At times tumbling over into the side of "Push, push, push...do it! You must get all A's in 7th grade to have any kind of life!!!" and then realizing I am ridiculous and jumping over to the side of "Do your best. Do it well. You are smart and fabulous. We will figure it all out." I am attempting to stay firmly rooted on this side of the fence in a permanent manner because quite frankly, when it comes to the other side, I'm over it.
And it is really that last sentence that needs to guide my perspective. We will figure it out. Because you can be smart and fabulous, and not follow the agenda being slammed down your throat. At no time in my attendance at a Lodi High School graduations will I have a seal bearer sitting up front with special recognition. To do that, there is paperwork involved. Paper work with deadlines that need to be addressed in a timely manner. Ahhh...not our strong suit here at the Daniel house. What we learned from child number one is, that if you don't fill out the paperwork then you are not listed or sitting with the seal bearers in the program, however in the regular program you look very smart because the put tons of asterisks after your name to acknowledge your GPA. Each asterisk denotes a higher GPA. It should really denote, "this person is smart, but uninterested in listening to the morning announcements about filling out paperwork."
The AP class and test. Oh, the AP class and test. Advanced Placement. Take the class, pass the test and you get college credit. Wonderful and exciting and a great opportunity. However, you can be smart and fabulous at age 13, 14, 15, 16 and even 17 and not pass an AP test. Because, while passing an AP test is wonderful and has many benefits, it isn't necessary at these ages to get college credits. Correct me if I am wrong, but I feel that is what college is for, getting college credits. One of ours took an AP test, and passed. Fabulous. I was thrilled. She was devastated. Devastated because she did not pass with the highest number possible after all of her studying. Wait. What? No! I was firm, in this house, when you pass and get college credit at age 13 it is a victory, a success, and we are celebrating, not crying.
I don't want to hear the word vomit that is, "Oh, but some colleges won't take the lower numbers." OK, whatever, but some do and the when you pass, you pass. Any passing at age 13 is a victory. It is a victory because YOU ARE NOT IN COLLEGE. Take the classes if you want, take the test, having the extra units is nice if you get them, but it isn't necessary as a means for determining your success in college. For our oldest it meant a nice comfortable first semester at college where she was able to relax, not load up on units and get used to college, because she had a little wiggle room. I no longer get involved in the decision making to take AP classes. I have been proven wrong every time I encouraged one to take, or not take, an AP class. Now the decision is theirs because... I'm over it.
I don't want to sound flippant when I say I am "over it." I want to sound smart and fabulous. I am not "over it" because I don't care or want the best for my children. I am over it because I want them to be smart and fabulous on their own path. A path with some perspective. The perspective to know that college (and life) greatness does not have to come wrapped in a package of AP classes and 4.9 GPA's. It can, and if it does, that's fabulous. But college, the precursor for life, comes in lots of different packages and you can get there on many different paths.
Storming this week. No storage for me until our March break. I am chipping away at it, the life we once had, but have moved on from. In between the loan documents and dirty kitchen ware I find treasures. Years of basketball, dance and swim pictures, as well as academic achievement certificates from Elementary and Middle School. Reminders that I met some paperwork deadlines and was organized enough to provide four girls with the experiences that will give them perspective and success...no matter what path they take to get there.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
The Tooth
I start each and every day the same way. With a three way text that brings together Lodi, Orange County and Dublin, Ohio. We are committed. We are busy, busy, busy...with politics (we don't always agree), children (we always agree, they are difficult, but we are perfect), dating (one of us is single, she does not always like our advice), husbands (we always agree, I won't say about what), and the most important of all...our bitmoji fashion! And each and every morning...we laugh. Though miles apart, sometimes I will spit out my coffee and laugh. We find ourselves to be incredibly funny! And we are! We really are!!!
We met in college. I moved in to my sorority house, a bold move for a basically only child with nervous, insecure tendencies. Harper was my roommate. One of five roommates. She didn't come for a few days, and by the time she arrived, I was sick from sharing a room and starting to rethink this grand idea of sorority house living in a big way. Let's just say I had started to formulate my "exit strategy." In life it is very important to have an exit strategy for all things, and I was planning one quickly. With Harper came my last hope. Maybe she and I would connect, and she would be the answer to my prayers. Prayers were answered at 6:30 our first full morning together.
I am a life long non sleeper who wakes at the crack of dawn no matter what has transpired the night before. Up until 4 studying for mid terms? I still wake up at 6:30. Drinking until the bar closes? Still up at 6:30. This does not find you a lot of soul mates in college, and my three days in the sorority house had already shown me that the house stayed asleep until at least noon. On Harper's first morning I popped up at 6:30, and there she was, already awake. And that, was the beginning of best friend history.
Witt, our third bestie, would find her to way to us a few months later and we eventually all settled into the same room. Room one besties. Harper had an unusual circumstance. A circus like quality that made her uniquely interesting. She was missing a tooth. Born without it. Not noticeable to the regular human eye as she had been bestowed upon a magic retainer...with a fake tooth attached. As a three year roommate, I was acutely aware of said tooth. Before you waste any time feeling sorry for Harper as a toothless college student, don't. As sad as it is that she is toothless, Harper has also had a magical set of hair bestowed upon her as well. A luxurious, always blonde (without hair color added), ridiculous to this day at 40+ years of age, Christie Brinkley head of hair, that I am not the least bit bitter or jealous of. Except that I am.
In college, once you are 21 of course, there tends to be a certain amount of drinking, or maybe even over drinking that goes on. The 6:30 wake up was often groggy, unclear, lacking focus for the first few minutes. A collection of thoughts , if you will, a series of quick questions to be asked and answered. And for me those first few groggy moments often occurred as I stared right into Harper's tooth. The tooth had some rough nights. It could be discarded or misplaced carelessly upon arriving home, depending on how the night's activities had unfolded. Whatever the case may be, I was accustomed to waking up to either the tooth itself, or Harper frantically whispering, "Oh God, where is my tooth?"
There are several legendary stories in regards to the hunt for the missing tooth. My college sorority sisters get together once a year, and it turns out that many had been in hot pursuit of the allusive tooth during our years together. The missing tooth was important to find, as in college it is nice to have all your teeth in place when attending fraternity parties and socials.
It is in one such moment, when a hunt for the missing tooth is needed, that I make a fatal and tragic friendship misstep. I do not misstep alone, but do so with Witt. We betray our bestie and go on to face a Karma that I am still living out to this day.
One day the tooth is missing, again. Harper is certain it has been left at 7-11. Why the tooth would be at 7-11 is a question that remains unanswered to this day. She does not? cannot? will not? Is to embarrassed to? go look for the tooth. Witt and I are headed there for the mandatory daily diet and intake of Big Gulps and tootsie rolls, we agree to? volunteer? Give in to? Whatever the circumstance, we set out to find the tooth. Only, when we get there, the task seems harder then it did upon conception. The 7-11 worker is cute, it would be embarrassing to ask about a missing tooth. We are easily distracted, it seems bothersome to ask about the tooth. We are selfish, we don't want to ask about the tooth. It isn't our tooth? Is it necessary to embarrass ourselves and put ourselves out over this tooth? We are young and it turns out, bad friends. Not only do we not ask about the tooth, we return to the sorority house and lie. We announce we have asked about the tooth, it is not there, but we have left our name and number in case it is found. Harper will believe this story for the next 20 years.
Flash forward. I am a mother. I have four girls. I married a man with a genetic history of braces. I am at the dentist and orthodontist all the time. I am also less than observant. At some point, I don't want to say when she is 7 or 8, but it is that late in the game, we notice our third child is missing a tooth. Born without it. Same tooth as Harper. What are the odds? The missing tooth lands me in the orthodontist office where the kind, low talking, sensitive orthodontist begins talking me through the missing tooth and the steps that we will need to take to fix this situation. It is all very serious, except to me it is not.
Because I already know all he is going to say about the tooth. I have lived the life of the retainer, and the bridge, and the missing tooth and I know the steps. And not only that, but as he is telling us the steps...I am not a 30 something mother of four sitting respectfully in the orthodontist office hearing the plight of my poor toothless child, no, I am 20 and laying in my top bunk, looking at Harper's tooth every morning. So, I do what one does in this situation, I start to laugh. I start to quietly laugh, and then I laugh loudly. Which startles the orthodontist. Maybe other mothers with toothless children aren't laughing during his speech of procedures? They aren't. Because when you do the orthodontist, who is unaware of your tooth history, thinks you are laughing at your toothless child.
Well, there it was. My comeuppance. My pay back for the long ago tooth search lie. The tooth betrayal had come back to get me. I would take this bad Karma for both Witt and I. Lie on the sword for us both. Pay thousands for those tooth steps that needed to be followed, smile weakly at the orthodontist each visit when he gave me a condemning look, and yell my apologies each time the tooth was lost and I sent a daughter off to high school toothless. Clearly this was enough to even the score.
Only, it wasn't.
I went to the dentist last summer. A solid visit. Things seemed good. I am a lifelong inconsistent flosser. I know this. I also had gumms that were incredibly sensitive through four pregnancies, and then really rebelled after chemo. I have had some rough dental years, and finally I have my gumms and teeth back on track. And I had been flossing, a lot. I was on top of my dental game. My hygienist, who I think finds me frustrating (and by frustrating I mean crazy...once she told me coffee and red wine were staining my teeth, I told he I could not give up the coffee, but I would immediately switch to vodka and ditch the wine if needed), agreed that my teeth looked great. She was gloating, I was gloating, the dentist came in to check my mouth, he was gloating.
Have you ever seen Law and Order: Criminal Intent? In the early years there is this one detective who always says, "I have just one more question?" It is this "one more question," and it's answer, that will bring down the suspect who previously looked as though he would walk away free. This is what happened in the dentist chair, "Real quick, does this one tooth ever bother you?"
"Ummm, no, food gets stuck there a little, that's why I have been flossing more, but it doesn't hurt or anything. No real problem." And with that we were poking at the tooth, taking more x-rays, and sitting back in the chair. No, no...we were all gloating! We all agreed! Things were good...only they weren't.
I had TOOTH TRAUMA. A rarity. Something seen in professional football players. Very odd circumstance it would happen to me. He doesn't actually see many of these cases. And then began the list of steps that would be needed to take care of this.
Tooth extraction. Healing for 6 months. Post put in place. Healing for several months. New tooth put in. Oh, and a retainer...with a fake tooth...because you will be TOOTHLESS, at age 48, during the healing months.
Well, OK then. Karma was not finished with me. Once again, I would take my comeuppance. I would lie on the sword for Witt and I. Pay thousands for the steps to repair my tooth (insurance only covers tooth removal, not replacement...in case you were wondering). I sadly headed home (insert sad Charlie Brown music here) to text my besties of the cruel punishment that Karma had handed out to me. I texted out the news. Explained my tooth trauma, hit send and waited for Harper to respond unsympathetically, and for Witt to be humble and kind. Protective and sad for me. Supportive as she would know how unfair it was that all these years I, and I alone, had taken all our hits. I had been the one to suffer for the day we had made the tragic friendship misstep and betrayed Harper.
The response from Witt was this. "Oh my God, me too."
Wait. What? Me too? She must be joking. But she wasn't. At age 48, at precisely the same time, we were both diagnosed with TOOTH TRAUMA. At 48 we are toothless in our middle class suburbias. We are wearing "flippers" like we are 8 year old contestants on Toddlers and Tiaras. The teeth get lost. We have both had moments where the tooth is lost (theater parent club meetings and parent teacher conferences) and we know that there are discussions in which people may or may not think we are meth addicts.
There are many lessons to be learned from this I am sure. Be a good friend. Be a considerate person. Don't lie. The lesson I have learned is...when asked to look for a tooth? Do it. just do it. And also, just maybe, don't mess with Harper...the Karma will get you. Because Witt and I are toothless with mediocre hair at age 48, and Harper has a tooth (dental technology has improved since the 1980's), and still has her Christie Brinkley hair.
We met in college. I moved in to my sorority house, a bold move for a basically only child with nervous, insecure tendencies. Harper was my roommate. One of five roommates. She didn't come for a few days, and by the time she arrived, I was sick from sharing a room and starting to rethink this grand idea of sorority house living in a big way. Let's just say I had started to formulate my "exit strategy." In life it is very important to have an exit strategy for all things, and I was planning one quickly. With Harper came my last hope. Maybe she and I would connect, and she would be the answer to my prayers. Prayers were answered at 6:30 our first full morning together.
I am a life long non sleeper who wakes at the crack of dawn no matter what has transpired the night before. Up until 4 studying for mid terms? I still wake up at 6:30. Drinking until the bar closes? Still up at 6:30. This does not find you a lot of soul mates in college, and my three days in the sorority house had already shown me that the house stayed asleep until at least noon. On Harper's first morning I popped up at 6:30, and there she was, already awake. And that, was the beginning of best friend history.
Witt, our third bestie, would find her to way to us a few months later and we eventually all settled into the same room. Room one besties. Harper had an unusual circumstance. A circus like quality that made her uniquely interesting. She was missing a tooth. Born without it. Not noticeable to the regular human eye as she had been bestowed upon a magic retainer...with a fake tooth attached. As a three year roommate, I was acutely aware of said tooth. Before you waste any time feeling sorry for Harper as a toothless college student, don't. As sad as it is that she is toothless, Harper has also had a magical set of hair bestowed upon her as well. A luxurious, always blonde (without hair color added), ridiculous to this day at 40+ years of age, Christie Brinkley head of hair, that I am not the least bit bitter or jealous of. Except that I am.
In college, once you are 21 of course, there tends to be a certain amount of drinking, or maybe even over drinking that goes on. The 6:30 wake up was often groggy, unclear, lacking focus for the first few minutes. A collection of thoughts , if you will, a series of quick questions to be asked and answered. And for me those first few groggy moments often occurred as I stared right into Harper's tooth. The tooth had some rough nights. It could be discarded or misplaced carelessly upon arriving home, depending on how the night's activities had unfolded. Whatever the case may be, I was accustomed to waking up to either the tooth itself, or Harper frantically whispering, "Oh God, where is my tooth?"
There are several legendary stories in regards to the hunt for the missing tooth. My college sorority sisters get together once a year, and it turns out that many had been in hot pursuit of the allusive tooth during our years together. The missing tooth was important to find, as in college it is nice to have all your teeth in place when attending fraternity parties and socials.
It is in one such moment, when a hunt for the missing tooth is needed, that I make a fatal and tragic friendship misstep. I do not misstep alone, but do so with Witt. We betray our bestie and go on to face a Karma that I am still living out to this day.
One day the tooth is missing, again. Harper is certain it has been left at 7-11. Why the tooth would be at 7-11 is a question that remains unanswered to this day. She does not? cannot? will not? Is to embarrassed to? go look for the tooth. Witt and I are headed there for the mandatory daily diet and intake of Big Gulps and tootsie rolls, we agree to? volunteer? Give in to? Whatever the circumstance, we set out to find the tooth. Only, when we get there, the task seems harder then it did upon conception. The 7-11 worker is cute, it would be embarrassing to ask about a missing tooth. We are easily distracted, it seems bothersome to ask about the tooth. We are selfish, we don't want to ask about the tooth. It isn't our tooth? Is it necessary to embarrass ourselves and put ourselves out over this tooth? We are young and it turns out, bad friends. Not only do we not ask about the tooth, we return to the sorority house and lie. We announce we have asked about the tooth, it is not there, but we have left our name and number in case it is found. Harper will believe this story for the next 20 years.
Flash forward. I am a mother. I have four girls. I married a man with a genetic history of braces. I am at the dentist and orthodontist all the time. I am also less than observant. At some point, I don't want to say when she is 7 or 8, but it is that late in the game, we notice our third child is missing a tooth. Born without it. Same tooth as Harper. What are the odds? The missing tooth lands me in the orthodontist office where the kind, low talking, sensitive orthodontist begins talking me through the missing tooth and the steps that we will need to take to fix this situation. It is all very serious, except to me it is not.
Because I already know all he is going to say about the tooth. I have lived the life of the retainer, and the bridge, and the missing tooth and I know the steps. And not only that, but as he is telling us the steps...I am not a 30 something mother of four sitting respectfully in the orthodontist office hearing the plight of my poor toothless child, no, I am 20 and laying in my top bunk, looking at Harper's tooth every morning. So, I do what one does in this situation, I start to laugh. I start to quietly laugh, and then I laugh loudly. Which startles the orthodontist. Maybe other mothers with toothless children aren't laughing during his speech of procedures? They aren't. Because when you do the orthodontist, who is unaware of your tooth history, thinks you are laughing at your toothless child.
Well, there it was. My comeuppance. My pay back for the long ago tooth search lie. The tooth betrayal had come back to get me. I would take this bad Karma for both Witt and I. Lie on the sword for us both. Pay thousands for those tooth steps that needed to be followed, smile weakly at the orthodontist each visit when he gave me a condemning look, and yell my apologies each time the tooth was lost and I sent a daughter off to high school toothless. Clearly this was enough to even the score.
Only, it wasn't.
I went to the dentist last summer. A solid visit. Things seemed good. I am a lifelong inconsistent flosser. I know this. I also had gumms that were incredibly sensitive through four pregnancies, and then really rebelled after chemo. I have had some rough dental years, and finally I have my gumms and teeth back on track. And I had been flossing, a lot. I was on top of my dental game. My hygienist, who I think finds me frustrating (and by frustrating I mean crazy...once she told me coffee and red wine were staining my teeth, I told he I could not give up the coffee, but I would immediately switch to vodka and ditch the wine if needed), agreed that my teeth looked great. She was gloating, I was gloating, the dentist came in to check my mouth, he was gloating.
Have you ever seen Law and Order: Criminal Intent? In the early years there is this one detective who always says, "I have just one more question?" It is this "one more question," and it's answer, that will bring down the suspect who previously looked as though he would walk away free. This is what happened in the dentist chair, "Real quick, does this one tooth ever bother you?"
"Ummm, no, food gets stuck there a little, that's why I have been flossing more, but it doesn't hurt or anything. No real problem." And with that we were poking at the tooth, taking more x-rays, and sitting back in the chair. No, no...we were all gloating! We all agreed! Things were good...only they weren't.
I had TOOTH TRAUMA. A rarity. Something seen in professional football players. Very odd circumstance it would happen to me. He doesn't actually see many of these cases. And then began the list of steps that would be needed to take care of this.
Tooth extraction. Healing for 6 months. Post put in place. Healing for several months. New tooth put in. Oh, and a retainer...with a fake tooth...because you will be TOOTHLESS, at age 48, during the healing months.
Well, OK then. Karma was not finished with me. Once again, I would take my comeuppance. I would lie on the sword for Witt and I. Pay thousands for the steps to repair my tooth (insurance only covers tooth removal, not replacement...in case you were wondering). I sadly headed home (insert sad Charlie Brown music here) to text my besties of the cruel punishment that Karma had handed out to me. I texted out the news. Explained my tooth trauma, hit send and waited for Harper to respond unsympathetically, and for Witt to be humble and kind. Protective and sad for me. Supportive as she would know how unfair it was that all these years I, and I alone, had taken all our hits. I had been the one to suffer for the day we had made the tragic friendship misstep and betrayed Harper.
The response from Witt was this. "Oh my God, me too."
Wait. What? Me too? She must be joking. But she wasn't. At age 48, at precisely the same time, we were both diagnosed with TOOTH TRAUMA. At 48 we are toothless in our middle class suburbias. We are wearing "flippers" like we are 8 year old contestants on Toddlers and Tiaras. The teeth get lost. We have both had moments where the tooth is lost (theater parent club meetings and parent teacher conferences) and we know that there are discussions in which people may or may not think we are meth addicts.
There are many lessons to be learned from this I am sure. Be a good friend. Be a considerate person. Don't lie. The lesson I have learned is...when asked to look for a tooth? Do it. just do it. And also, just maybe, don't mess with Harper...the Karma will get you. Because Witt and I are toothless with mediocre hair at age 48, and Harper has a tooth (dental technology has improved since the 1980's), and still has her Christie Brinkley hair.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Change
I made a lot of changes this last year and I drug my husband and family along for the ride. We have settled in from that round of change, and mostly my family is done hating me for it. No one is done complaining, but the hatred seems to be seeping out and we are back on track to normalcy. A small break before I start another round of change. However, the next round really just involves me and doesn't impact everyone on the same grand scale. They will still complain, but they really shouldn't.
We sold a big house. A really big house that I loved for years and that suited our family in a really practical and great way. Everyone had their own space, we celebrated life there with big extended family parties, friends flowed in and out the door, and it was a great place. Until it wasn't.
At some point I slowly started to hate the big house. Resent it. The upkeep, the maintenance, the empty space once my oldest daughter moved out...and the list goes on and on. So we sold it. That sentence is a very abridged version of the year and half journey it took to get it sold, but that's how I am choosing to remember the process...so we sold it.
We gutted our rental condo, redid it all like we were a show on HGTV and I was the designing star, and now we live here. This might also be an abridged version of how it actually happened, but it is how I am choosing to retell it.
My conservative husband had to be convinced this was a good idea. I won't say that there was an ultimatum given, because that seems unfair to the partnership of marriage, but there was an ultimatum given.
Telling people what we were doing became humorous too. Lots of wide eyes, lots of bewildered head nods, a few "Why would you do this?" "Won't you miss your big house?" "How will you all fit?"
My favorite was always, "But, you will by another house won't you?"
Sure, sure we will. But, I don't think we will. I don't want another house. Maybe we will buy another house or condo someplace else, maybe at the beach or my true love Tahoe, but no I don't feel we need to buy another house here, because I love the freedom of enjoying my home, but also walking away for a weekend or week and not worrying about anything.
It is the simplicity of our home I am in love with. The rest are learning to love it, but they don't need to love it. I am not raising them to love their home forever, I am raising them to get their act together and get on out. Go to college, live life, and come back and visit us. And go to fabulous places and we will visit you!
I love the idea of us being a family here. Christmas and New Year's Eve this year were fabulous. We were all together, we did our traditional immediate family things as well as our traditional extended family things. It was holiday perfection. But, things will change, they have already started. Each year we lose a kid to "adulthood." Our oldest was only home just under a week for Christmas. She has a job, and a boyfriend...a life of her own...to get back to. Our high school Senior has a job, she almost didn't make it to Christmas Eve. Adulthood...the curse and the blessing. So thrilled they have a strong work ethic and are contributing...wait! What? You can't run away to Tahoe skiing with us?
I also love the idea of being a family in other places. The places they live in for college. The places they live with their families. Fun places we decide on as a family. Hawaii? New York? A family favorite, Newport? the choices are endless
I knew I would love the simplicity early on. We were homeless for a brief while after we sold our home, but were still working on our condo. So we found an Air B and B house to rent. It had three bedrooms and one bathroom. Our family of 5 1/2 (Nicole being half as she is away at college) went from three bathrooms to one for about two months. I braced myself. I thought it would be a mess. It wasn't, it was fine, we adjusted. Nicole was even home for awhile and we adjusted just fine. In fact I noticed right away, we even thrived. We talked, spent time together, and interacted. In the big house everyone was just going to their rooms and closing the door. Now we were all in the same space. I liked it.
We live on the east side of town now. We are right off the 99 freeway...I love that. We walk to the football games...I love that. We are five minutes form dance...I really love that. The train goes by our house and it rattles everything...we all love that, except my husband, but he is trying. I love it all. It turns out I should have always lived under a train, I find it soothing.
There has been such a gap in my blog. I started when the girls were little. They were young girls with quirky stories, and I was a young mother trying to find my truth. Now they are young adults with quirky stories, and I am an older mother trying to live her truth.
Change is not always easy. We probably made this change a year or two before it was necessary. I remember telling my husband, "I just don't want to stay at the party too long." So we left the party early. I have always been a girl who leaves the party early.
Here comes 2017. My changes aren't over, I've really just laid the groundwork for the next party. I lingered at the last party for 19 years. I look forward to year one of whatever party the next 19 years brings.
We sold a big house. A really big house that I loved for years and that suited our family in a really practical and great way. Everyone had their own space, we celebrated life there with big extended family parties, friends flowed in and out the door, and it was a great place. Until it wasn't.
At some point I slowly started to hate the big house. Resent it. The upkeep, the maintenance, the empty space once my oldest daughter moved out...and the list goes on and on. So we sold it. That sentence is a very abridged version of the year and half journey it took to get it sold, but that's how I am choosing to remember the process...so we sold it.
We gutted our rental condo, redid it all like we were a show on HGTV and I was the designing star, and now we live here. This might also be an abridged version of how it actually happened, but it is how I am choosing to retell it.
My conservative husband had to be convinced this was a good idea. I won't say that there was an ultimatum given, because that seems unfair to the partnership of marriage, but there was an ultimatum given.
Telling people what we were doing became humorous too. Lots of wide eyes, lots of bewildered head nods, a few "Why would you do this?" "Won't you miss your big house?" "How will you all fit?"
My favorite was always, "But, you will by another house won't you?"
Sure, sure we will. But, I don't think we will. I don't want another house. Maybe we will buy another house or condo someplace else, maybe at the beach or my true love Tahoe, but no I don't feel we need to buy another house here, because I love the freedom of enjoying my home, but also walking away for a weekend or week and not worrying about anything.
It is the simplicity of our home I am in love with. The rest are learning to love it, but they don't need to love it. I am not raising them to love their home forever, I am raising them to get their act together and get on out. Go to college, live life, and come back and visit us. And go to fabulous places and we will visit you!
I love the idea of us being a family here. Christmas and New Year's Eve this year were fabulous. We were all together, we did our traditional immediate family things as well as our traditional extended family things. It was holiday perfection. But, things will change, they have already started. Each year we lose a kid to "adulthood." Our oldest was only home just under a week for Christmas. She has a job, and a boyfriend...a life of her own...to get back to. Our high school Senior has a job, she almost didn't make it to Christmas Eve. Adulthood...the curse and the blessing. So thrilled they have a strong work ethic and are contributing...wait! What? You can't run away to Tahoe skiing with us?
I also love the idea of being a family in other places. The places they live in for college. The places they live with their families. Fun places we decide on as a family. Hawaii? New York? A family favorite, Newport? the choices are endless
I knew I would love the simplicity early on. We were homeless for a brief while after we sold our home, but were still working on our condo. So we found an Air B and B house to rent. It had three bedrooms and one bathroom. Our family of 5 1/2 (Nicole being half as she is away at college) went from three bathrooms to one for about two months. I braced myself. I thought it would be a mess. It wasn't, it was fine, we adjusted. Nicole was even home for awhile and we adjusted just fine. In fact I noticed right away, we even thrived. We talked, spent time together, and interacted. In the big house everyone was just going to their rooms and closing the door. Now we were all in the same space. I liked it.
We live on the east side of town now. We are right off the 99 freeway...I love that. We walk to the football games...I love that. We are five minutes form dance...I really love that. The train goes by our house and it rattles everything...we all love that, except my husband, but he is trying. I love it all. It turns out I should have always lived under a train, I find it soothing.
There has been such a gap in my blog. I started when the girls were little. They were young girls with quirky stories, and I was a young mother trying to find my truth. Now they are young adults with quirky stories, and I am an older mother trying to live her truth.
Change is not always easy. We probably made this change a year or two before it was necessary. I remember telling my husband, "I just don't want to stay at the party too long." So we left the party early. I have always been a girl who leaves the party early.
Here comes 2017. My changes aren't over, I've really just laid the groundwork for the next party. I lingered at the last party for 19 years. I look forward to year one of whatever party the next 19 years brings.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
When is it Time for Funny?
I'm not sure when the right time is for funny. I am an amateur comedian at best. In light of the death of Joan Rivers, I realize that funny can happen fast. In fact, Joan would encourage funny to happen fast. It probably happened much faster than her daughter Melissa was ready for, but she knew her mom. Joan would have wanted funny fast.
In my family, my immediate family, the one I grew up with, funny is important. If you are going to sit down with my dad, my brother, and I you better be prepared to keep up. There is a sarcasm and quick wit that runs through our blood.
My grandmother passed away in her 94th year. She was 93. We never say 93. I always say, "in her 94th year." I am both mocking her and paying tribute to her when I say, "94th year." It is a long story, but it is definitely important to note that is important she get credit for the 94th year.
At my grandmother's funeral, my brother was late. He was young, in his 24th year, and had zero concept of time or responsibility. I was old, in my 34th year, pregnant with child number three and had so much responsibility it was choking me. I was peeved at his tardiness.
Fashion and style were important to my grandmother. I have lived in the shadow of that expectation my whole life. She passed it on to her daughters, and they have passed it on to their only daughter and niece. At heart, I just may be someone that could live happily in sweats and leggings and a big fleece shirt. It is her legacy that forces me through the doors of Gap, White House Black Market, and Ann Taylor each season to "get it done" so to speak.
My mother is a fashionista. She has style. Naomi is 71, looks 50 and with grace dresses like she is 40. She was about 60 at the time of my granmother's passing, had the body of a 30 year old and was in a word, "hot." She wore leather to the funeral. She looked good.
I was prickly with my brother for being late. Until...he leaned over the pew at the church and in the middle of the service whispered in my ear, "I didn't know we were wearing costumes. Why didn't anyone tell me mom was coming as cat woman." And just like that, all was forgiven.
There is a 9/11 story I never tell. It never seems like the right time. It never seems like the right thing to do. But it is funny. It was the first funny. It was told to me about 8 that evening. And I laughed. I laughed for the first time in about 10 hours, and for me that is a really long time without laughter.
My friend Mary and I were very close. Taught together, pregnant together, similar lives. Her daughter Annie was 5 on the day of 9/11. She probably sat on the couch all day. She probably heard her mother tell our story on the phone about 100 times. She had it down cold.
The brief version of what she heard goes something like this:
Corey was in New York
Corey was in the World Trade Center
Corey was there for Morgan Stanley training
Corey was on a break during the morning session
Corey was in the bathroom and when he came out and everyone was running
Corey never looked back and ran down 50+ flights of stairs and out the building to safety.
At five o'clock on the evening of 9/11, after hearing the above ALL day, with the news probably on the tv ALL DAY, and being left to her own devices ALL day....Annie had a friend over. And the friend asked, "what happened." And Annie said,
"Oh, our friend Corey was in New York...for bathroom training and....."
The rest doesn't matter because, I laughed. At bathroom training, I laughed. Long and hard and with total sincerity, I laughed.
I don't know when the right time for funny is. But I love that story, and today, on year 13, inspired by Joan Rivers, it seemed like the right time to tell it. You have heard all my deep thoughts on this subject, today, for me, it was time to share the laugh. Be inspired to be better, be inspired to be strong, be inspired to love, be inspired to care, but always laugh when you can. You need the laugh to get you through the moments where you never think you will again.
In my family, my immediate family, the one I grew up with, funny is important. If you are going to sit down with my dad, my brother, and I you better be prepared to keep up. There is a sarcasm and quick wit that runs through our blood.
My grandmother passed away in her 94th year. She was 93. We never say 93. I always say, "in her 94th year." I am both mocking her and paying tribute to her when I say, "94th year." It is a long story, but it is definitely important to note that is important she get credit for the 94th year.
At my grandmother's funeral, my brother was late. He was young, in his 24th year, and had zero concept of time or responsibility. I was old, in my 34th year, pregnant with child number three and had so much responsibility it was choking me. I was peeved at his tardiness.
Fashion and style were important to my grandmother. I have lived in the shadow of that expectation my whole life. She passed it on to her daughters, and they have passed it on to their only daughter and niece. At heart, I just may be someone that could live happily in sweats and leggings and a big fleece shirt. It is her legacy that forces me through the doors of Gap, White House Black Market, and Ann Taylor each season to "get it done" so to speak.
My mother is a fashionista. She has style. Naomi is 71, looks 50 and with grace dresses like she is 40. She was about 60 at the time of my granmother's passing, had the body of a 30 year old and was in a word, "hot." She wore leather to the funeral. She looked good.
I was prickly with my brother for being late. Until...he leaned over the pew at the church and in the middle of the service whispered in my ear, "I didn't know we were wearing costumes. Why didn't anyone tell me mom was coming as cat woman." And just like that, all was forgiven.
There is a 9/11 story I never tell. It never seems like the right time. It never seems like the right thing to do. But it is funny. It was the first funny. It was told to me about 8 that evening. And I laughed. I laughed for the first time in about 10 hours, and for me that is a really long time without laughter.
My friend Mary and I were very close. Taught together, pregnant together, similar lives. Her daughter Annie was 5 on the day of 9/11. She probably sat on the couch all day. She probably heard her mother tell our story on the phone about 100 times. She had it down cold.
The brief version of what she heard goes something like this:
Corey was in New York
Corey was in the World Trade Center
Corey was there for Morgan Stanley training
Corey was on a break during the morning session
Corey was in the bathroom and when he came out and everyone was running
Corey never looked back and ran down 50+ flights of stairs and out the building to safety.
At five o'clock on the evening of 9/11, after hearing the above ALL day, with the news probably on the tv ALL DAY, and being left to her own devices ALL day....Annie had a friend over. And the friend asked, "what happened." And Annie said,
"Oh, our friend Corey was in New York...for bathroom training and....."
The rest doesn't matter because, I laughed. At bathroom training, I laughed. Long and hard and with total sincerity, I laughed.
I don't know when the right time for funny is. But I love that story, and today, on year 13, inspired by Joan Rivers, it seemed like the right time to tell it. You have heard all my deep thoughts on this subject, today, for me, it was time to share the laugh. Be inspired to be better, be inspired to be strong, be inspired to love, be inspired to care, but always laugh when you can. You need the laugh to get you through the moments where you never think you will again.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Never, NEVER, Say Never...
At times in your life you have a good friend that you meet through your children, and you experience life moments or milestones with them that you don't forget. My friend Robbin and I have experienced summer swim team together for many years. Our years at the pool have changed as our children grow, and each year has different stages and characteristics attached to it. It is our early years at the pool that I have been reflecting on lately.
Our children are the same ages, both of us having multiple children (3 for her, 4 for me) and both of us having a younger child that kept us in the baby/toddler stage a couple of years past our tolerance for it perhaps.
The early years we shared at swim team were probably best titled, "The Drudgery Years." Those years when you are lugging a ton of crap to the pool, the kids are too little to help out, someone is always whining, someone is always at the baby pool (which is fenced off from the rest of society and slightly alienating by nature), and it was demanding both physically and mentally to get there every day. I was always grateful for her presence there and the small bit of adult conversation we were able to have in the midst of the drudgery.
These days our children are older, independent teens and our younger children out of the baby pool and somewhat self sufficient. We have become the mothers we used to stare at longingly from inside the baby pool fence. We are able to drop off at swim practice and run errands, go work out while they practice, or not even show up and have an older child drive them. We see each other in passing, we wave from our cars, and our time together is fleeting compared to our daily hours together in those early years.
In fact, my life has changed so much that this summer I didn't even make it to the first two meets. My mother handled meet number one while I was on a real vacation with just my husband, and my husband handled meet number two while I was on my annual girls' weekend. It was actually sad for me when I missed the second meet and my husband had to send me pictures and updates. These days swim meets and banquets are where Robbin and tend to have our time to catch up, and I haven't been there so we are behind this summer in a really big way. Last week she caught me in the parking lot. We were laughing at her first sentence.
She wanted to tell me what a beautiful swimmer Paige was. This shouldn't make us laugh, but it does. We laugh because we share the history and evolution that is Paige and swimming. And, if you follow my blog, you share the history of Paige and swim as well. During the drudgery years I wrote a blog about it. After laughing in the parking lot, I reread my blog on Paige and swim. It is one of my favorites, and I will repost with this one for those that are new readers and may need the history to appreciate the update. Upon the reread, I was reminded that we learn the best lessons from our children and our parenting of them. The title of the post was, Never Say Never, my parenting motto. And after rereading I realized, once again, that when I forget that motto...it bites me in the ass...always! Even when I least expect it. Even when it doesn't seem even remotely possible that I could be wrong. Always where Paige is concerned.
This weekend I made it to my first summer swim meet. Paige basically took first in backstroke, first in her A team relay, and second or third in everything else. I knew this going in because I had heard about it from everyone even though I hadn't seen it live. Hearing it, and seeing it are two completely different things. I stood humbled as I watched this beautiful girl swim to victory and success. Now, I cried a little instead of laughed. She is perfection in the water.
I wish I had two things to go with this blog. I will do my best to give you the visual in words because one of these things I don't possess, and the second I probably can't figure out how to attach.
Number one: A photo of 7 year old Paige. Seven year old Paige forced to be on a swim team with older sisters who swim easily, well, and with confidence. Seven year old Paige in goggles that are two tight for her face and pinch in her eyes, but she deems necessary so that NO water gets near her eyes in any way. Seven year old Paige in her flippers walking the perimeter of the pool (with the tight goggles still on). A slow, purposeful, exaggerated, high lifting walk intent on just making it too her spot. Seven year old Paige smiling at our tent on Sunday of championship weekend, a day that in her own words goes like this, "Is Sunday the day I get to sit and read and play games while my sisters swim? I love Sunday!" Seven year old Paige never once complaining about her hatred of it all. Seven year old Paige determined to make it through.(I know Robbin has this visual locked in).
Number two: Video of 12 year old Paige swimming to first place with the ease, grace,and confidence that true swimmers have.(Robbin's idea)
Somewhere between my blog of 7 year old Paige and 12 year old Paige, a swimmer was born. I wrote in that last blog something along the lines of, "...and while she may never be an Olympic swimmer..." I remember thinking at the time that I was so proud of her, but that we would probably quit swim about this time. Drop summer swim and swimming all together when high school started. Because it was OBVIOUS she would never want to continue, or excel at it.
Paige has requested to swim year round after summer swim. She wants be ready to swim in high school in a year. Summer swim championships are next weekend. Paige will swim on finals day..Sunday, multiple times.
Please note the capitalization in the second never in the title of this piece. I stand corrected. I am humbled I was wrong...in every way.
I think I will end the blog in this way...please look for Paige in the Summer Olympics 2020! Never say never...
The early years we shared at swim team were probably best titled, "The Drudgery Years." Those years when you are lugging a ton of crap to the pool, the kids are too little to help out, someone is always whining, someone is always at the baby pool (which is fenced off from the rest of society and slightly alienating by nature), and it was demanding both physically and mentally to get there every day. I was always grateful for her presence there and the small bit of adult conversation we were able to have in the midst of the drudgery.
These days our children are older, independent teens and our younger children out of the baby pool and somewhat self sufficient. We have become the mothers we used to stare at longingly from inside the baby pool fence. We are able to drop off at swim practice and run errands, go work out while they practice, or not even show up and have an older child drive them. We see each other in passing, we wave from our cars, and our time together is fleeting compared to our daily hours together in those early years.
In fact, my life has changed so much that this summer I didn't even make it to the first two meets. My mother handled meet number one while I was on a real vacation with just my husband, and my husband handled meet number two while I was on my annual girls' weekend. It was actually sad for me when I missed the second meet and my husband had to send me pictures and updates. These days swim meets and banquets are where Robbin and tend to have our time to catch up, and I haven't been there so we are behind this summer in a really big way. Last week she caught me in the parking lot. We were laughing at her first sentence.
She wanted to tell me what a beautiful swimmer Paige was. This shouldn't make us laugh, but it does. We laugh because we share the history and evolution that is Paige and swimming. And, if you follow my blog, you share the history of Paige and swim as well. During the drudgery years I wrote a blog about it. After laughing in the parking lot, I reread my blog on Paige and swim. It is one of my favorites, and I will repost with this one for those that are new readers and may need the history to appreciate the update. Upon the reread, I was reminded that we learn the best lessons from our children and our parenting of them. The title of the post was, Never Say Never, my parenting motto. And after rereading I realized, once again, that when I forget that motto...it bites me in the ass...always! Even when I least expect it. Even when it doesn't seem even remotely possible that I could be wrong. Always where Paige is concerned.
This weekend I made it to my first summer swim meet. Paige basically took first in backstroke, first in her A team relay, and second or third in everything else. I knew this going in because I had heard about it from everyone even though I hadn't seen it live. Hearing it, and seeing it are two completely different things. I stood humbled as I watched this beautiful girl swim to victory and success. Now, I cried a little instead of laughed. She is perfection in the water.
I wish I had two things to go with this blog. I will do my best to give you the visual in words because one of these things I don't possess, and the second I probably can't figure out how to attach.
Number one: A photo of 7 year old Paige. Seven year old Paige forced to be on a swim team with older sisters who swim easily, well, and with confidence. Seven year old Paige in goggles that are two tight for her face and pinch in her eyes, but she deems necessary so that NO water gets near her eyes in any way. Seven year old Paige in her flippers walking the perimeter of the pool (with the tight goggles still on). A slow, purposeful, exaggerated, high lifting walk intent on just making it too her spot. Seven year old Paige smiling at our tent on Sunday of championship weekend, a day that in her own words goes like this, "Is Sunday the day I get to sit and read and play games while my sisters swim? I love Sunday!" Seven year old Paige never once complaining about her hatred of it all. Seven year old Paige determined to make it through.(I know Robbin has this visual locked in).
Number two: Video of 12 year old Paige swimming to first place with the ease, grace,and confidence that true swimmers have.(Robbin's idea)
Somewhere between my blog of 7 year old Paige and 12 year old Paige, a swimmer was born. I wrote in that last blog something along the lines of, "...and while she may never be an Olympic swimmer..." I remember thinking at the time that I was so proud of her, but that we would probably quit swim about this time. Drop summer swim and swimming all together when high school started. Because it was OBVIOUS she would never want to continue, or excel at it.
Paige has requested to swim year round after summer swim. She wants be ready to swim in high school in a year. Summer swim championships are next weekend. Paige will swim on finals day..Sunday, multiple times.
Please note the capitalization in the second never in the title of this piece. I stand corrected. I am humbled I was wrong...in every way.
I think I will end the blog in this way...please look for Paige in the Summer Olympics 2020! Never say never...
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Entitled
This is what I know about parenting...it is difficult. There are moments of great success and then those damn kids turn on you and there are such lows you think you will never climb back out of them. I also know that with four kids, enjoying the moments of their success is fleeting because you are really just jumping from one kid's low to the next. All while they yell, say, demand, ask, whisper, sign, smoke signal the words...mom, mommy, mother, mama. They never yell for dad, even when he is standing right there.
Nicole is leaving for college in August. When I started this blog she was starting high school. I am busy this weekend getting off announcements, cleaning my crack-like house for a party, and shuffling children to sporting events. Same old, same old. I am not going to lie. Nicole has been an easy kid to get to college. Maybe she is setting me up for a ridiculous fall into disaster when she gets there, but she has been easy. She did the hard work, she got in to the college she wanted, she had back up choices in case it didn't happen, and blah...blah...blah...she has been easy. That being said, she can also be very entitled.
I am not sure how this happened. I think some of it comes naturally to children living in suburbia in the year 2014. I think some of it is innately part of her personality, and I think some of it is our fault as parents, because in many ways she has lived a life of, in my humble opinion, great privilege. She has a car. It is our old Navigator. To be fair she loves it. She was happy to get it, embraces the odd awkwardness of it's size, smiles at it's squeaks and creaks, and never once has asked or insinuated a new car would be nice. Our driveway is often seen with a BMW, or convertible this or that when her friends come over, and Nicole always happily jumps in her old SUV and drives off. She also has a job. A good job. She does parties and camps at the local gymnastics place. Great hours, good pay, nice boss and she has a great work ethic. Super proud of all this. She has been diligently saving for months so that she can help pay for sorority costs at college next year.
Two weeks ago she had a fender/bender in the school parking lot. Her fault. And here is where the entitled aspect of her personality comes roaring in. It bothered her so little, or she found it so unimportant, that she did not tell us for two days. When it did come up, she was very dismissive of the whole thing. Rather nonchalant. As though it was no big deal. "Not really any damage," says she "But,oh by the way I gave him my insurance information and now he is calling me. Can dad talk to his dad?"
As it turns out it was a big deal and there WAS some damage. To the tune of about $800.00. She was still very dismissive. And here is a synopsis of what followed and was revisited several times over several days
-Oh, great, insurance can pay for that.
-Ummmm...No, you will pay for that.
-What? I can't pay for that.
-Ummm, yes you can. You have the money in your account.
-Yes, but I have been working really hard for that.
-Thank goodness you have, now you have the money to take care of it instead of having a payment plan with this guy
-When my friends wrecked cars they got new ones and insurance paid for that
-Hmmm? Well, in this house you are writing a check and paying for the damage
-This is very unfair. Why can't you pay for it?
-We did not hit his back bumper
-Why can't insurance pay for it and so on and so on and so on... Exhausting
In the end he paid the man. She was a humble Tigger, a quiet Tigger. And a Tigger that pulls out of our driveway and cul de sac at a much, more cautious pace. I am sure the lesson is learned, for the moment. As I write this I am reminded of my high school car accident. Where in reality, I did not pay for the damages, my father did. I am reminded that there is an extreme amount of hypocrisy in my parenting (some of which I have touched upon in an earlier blog). I am reminded that what I first said is true.
Parenting is difficult. Raising good children is difficult, having them take responsibility is difficult, and here's the thing...sometimes parents aren't honest about how difficult that is. This blog is all about my honesty. I am big on calling a spade a spade. An idiom I guess. I am not even sure of it's origin.
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