the story of kids,chaos, mothering challenges and sometimes chocolate
Friday, March 21, 2014
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: The Fortune Cookie
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: The Fortune Cookie: The last couple weeks have been filled with harsh reality that my babies are turning into people. People in puberty. And I have also bee...
The Fortune Cookie
The last couple weeks have been filled with harsh reality that my babies are turning into people. People in puberty.
And I have also been hit in the face that these babies are independent thinkers and "want to do it " their way.
Santa brought Walker a cell phone. I mentioned to him that he needed to really think about who he wanted to have his number. "Oh mom, it is all good." Yeah, I have heard that before. So, I kept my mouth shut.
Earlier this week, I could hear his phone going off and he did not respond. Imagine, a pre-pubescent not responding to a cell phone. Immediately, the alarms went off.
"Hey buddy, everything ok? You are not answering your phone."
"Yeah, these stupid girls just call me constantly. They are like " are you ok, are you mad, are you breaking up with the girlfriend, is everything good and blah, blah, and blah. I get so tired of them calling and texting me. I NEVER should have given my number out."
Chalk one up for mom.
Addie had, key word had, the "never shaved my legs before monkey hair" all over her legs. The deal was, once summer/spring hit, she could shave her legs. "But, it is not that glamorous, once you start, you cannot stop." Well, I have been shaving my legs for 43 years and I didn't know what I was talking about. She told me that I didn't know what I was talking about.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I begged. I too had the monkey hair on me legs. I wanted it off. And, when my mom FINALLY consented, she said, "You will be sorry."
I ran up those stairs. I drew the bath and climbed in. Now remember, this was 1972. I used my dad's razor, the heavy gold one, that you turned the bottom and it opened or closed the compartment up to put the new razor in. I lathered up my legs with soap, like I had seen my mom do, and went for it.
What nobody ever mentioned was how lightly you needed to press on the razor. I pressed that razor down so hard on my shin that I stripped off the biggest piece of skin you have ever seen. Still have the scar to this day. The bathroom looked like a Hitchcock crime scene, my mom put a towel on my leg, I was screaming, naked, hysterical and the blood kept coming and my mom kept saying, "I told you would be sorry." Sympathy was never her strong point.
After the blood stopped, she showed me how to do it and the monkey hair was successfully removed. And I have had to shave my legs everyday since the crime scene day. Yes, I was sorry.
So, a few weeks ago, Addie and I were off to a baby shower. She wore her favorite short skirt. Along with her super pale, bruised legs, the monkey hair really did stand out. "Mom, please can I shave today?"
"Yes, but you will be sorry. Hold on a minute". I wanted to help her. The crime scene whipped into my head and I was not prepared for blood, flesh and a tourniquet.
Well, she got the green light and she went for it, and didn't listen.
She shaved her legs for the first time without any soap, shaving cream, water, nothing. The first two minutes were euphoric.
The next two hours were hell. She had to apply so much lotion to get rid of the dryness I thought she would slide off the seat in the car.
At the shower, she won a prize, hand lotion. She grabbed that lotion and reapplied.
They are growing up. I am happy, sad and scared. A normal path of emotions for any mom.
Earlier this week, I brought home Chinese food. There has been little mention of the "button" lately.
Until the fortune cookie that my daughter got.
She read it and then said, "this Chinese man who wrote this must know the "button". This is his fortune."
She handed it to me and I smiled and threw up in my mouth at the same time.
She was correct. The "Chinese man" was also correct. This fortune applied to all of my babies. I just wish that I would have gotten a fortune cookie that said, "Relax mom. It will ALL be okay."
And I have also been hit in the face that these babies are independent thinkers and "want to do it " their way.
Santa brought Walker a cell phone. I mentioned to him that he needed to really think about who he wanted to have his number. "Oh mom, it is all good." Yeah, I have heard that before. So, I kept my mouth shut.
Earlier this week, I could hear his phone going off and he did not respond. Imagine, a pre-pubescent not responding to a cell phone. Immediately, the alarms went off.
"Hey buddy, everything ok? You are not answering your phone."
"Yeah, these stupid girls just call me constantly. They are like " are you ok, are you mad, are you breaking up with the girlfriend, is everything good and blah, blah, and blah. I get so tired of them calling and texting me. I NEVER should have given my number out."
Chalk one up for mom.
Addie had, key word had, the "never shaved my legs before monkey hair" all over her legs. The deal was, once summer/spring hit, she could shave her legs. "But, it is not that glamorous, once you start, you cannot stop." Well, I have been shaving my legs for 43 years and I didn't know what I was talking about. She told me that I didn't know what I was talking about.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I begged. I too had the monkey hair on me legs. I wanted it off. And, when my mom FINALLY consented, she said, "You will be sorry."
I ran up those stairs. I drew the bath and climbed in. Now remember, this was 1972. I used my dad's razor, the heavy gold one, that you turned the bottom and it opened or closed the compartment up to put the new razor in. I lathered up my legs with soap, like I had seen my mom do, and went for it.
What nobody ever mentioned was how lightly you needed to press on the razor. I pressed that razor down so hard on my shin that I stripped off the biggest piece of skin you have ever seen. Still have the scar to this day. The bathroom looked like a Hitchcock crime scene, my mom put a towel on my leg, I was screaming, naked, hysterical and the blood kept coming and my mom kept saying, "I told you would be sorry." Sympathy was never her strong point.
After the blood stopped, she showed me how to do it and the monkey hair was successfully removed. And I have had to shave my legs everyday since the crime scene day. Yes, I was sorry.
So, a few weeks ago, Addie and I were off to a baby shower. She wore her favorite short skirt. Along with her super pale, bruised legs, the monkey hair really did stand out. "Mom, please can I shave today?"
"Yes, but you will be sorry. Hold on a minute". I wanted to help her. The crime scene whipped into my head and I was not prepared for blood, flesh and a tourniquet.
Well, she got the green light and she went for it, and didn't listen.
She shaved her legs for the first time without any soap, shaving cream, water, nothing. The first two minutes were euphoric.
The next two hours were hell. She had to apply so much lotion to get rid of the dryness I thought she would slide off the seat in the car.
At the shower, she won a prize, hand lotion. She grabbed that lotion and reapplied.
They are growing up. I am happy, sad and scared. A normal path of emotions for any mom.
Earlier this week, I brought home Chinese food. There has been little mention of the "button" lately.
Until the fortune cookie that my daughter got.She read it and then said, "this Chinese man who wrote this must know the "button". This is his fortune."
She handed it to me and I smiled and threw up in my mouth at the same time.
She was correct. The "Chinese man" was also correct. This fortune applied to all of my babies. I just wish that I would have gotten a fortune cookie that said, "Relax mom. It will ALL be okay."
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Angels with Casseroles
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Angels with Casseroles: Last week, we received word that Franklin's younger brother died very suddenly. And very unexpectedly. Very. It was hard. The sibl...
Angels with Casseroles
Last week, we received word that Franklin's younger brother died very suddenly. And very unexpectedly. Very.
It was hard.
The siblings discussed plans for the service and I committed to the luncheon here afterward. And, because I am the only one here, committed to programs and the memorial service and house guests. All in the name of love.
At some time during the week, days before the service, an epic cold knocked on my door. The kind of cold where you don't care what you look like, you just stick the Kleenex up your nostrils and go with it. That was me. Three consecutive days for the worst rain ever, the head cold from hell and I have 60 people coming to my house. And house guests. And work. And my husband is out of town.
It was after ten pm one night when a friend called me. "What are you doing?"
"I am in the garage planting pansies for the weekend."
"It is after ten".
"I know, but I need to do it now because I have cooking and cleaning to do."
"Are you okay, you sound funny?"
"No, I am getting sick. Of course I am getting sick because I have so much to do and my husband is out of town."
That was it, that was all I said.
The next rainy, rainy night, with my sore throat and nose than ran like a faucet, my door rang. Hot broccoli and cheese soup was delivered to my door.
I personally was going to let my kids eat whatever they wanted and here was homemade soup coming to my door. And the next night, more food.
And then, on Saturday, after the Memorial Service, Angels with Casseroles appeared. They came from up the street, down the street and across the street. Monkey bread for breakfast, beef stroganoff, meatballs, green bean casserole, chicken casserole, you name it, it came.
It was no secret, my brother-in-law loved to eat. He appreciated good food. And here it was. In his honor. Delivered by angels.
As my sister-in-law was going through the food line, she said, "all casseroles are good, they are usually made with love." I loved that statement.
My brother is one of "those" people who doe not like he food "to touch" and he hates casseroles. Hates. I know it is a strong word but he hates casseroles.
My family loves them.
I couldn't help but think of my mom when I was a kid. As soon as she got the word that somebody had passed, she was on a cooking frenzy. I never understood the concept. Food, at a time like this? I guess I wasn't a stress eater then. I am now, I get it now.
It isn't the casserole, it is the love that is mixed into the recipe. It is the "I know you are slammed and life goes on and you have kids to feed and you have invited people to your house to break bread in the person's honor...and I know you will have my back some day." And, it makes you feel loved. And it helps in giving your special person a proper send off. Thank God for Angels with casseroles.
It was hard.
The siblings discussed plans for the service and I committed to the luncheon here afterward. And, because I am the only one here, committed to programs and the memorial service and house guests. All in the name of love.
At some time during the week, days before the service, an epic cold knocked on my door. The kind of cold where you don't care what you look like, you just stick the Kleenex up your nostrils and go with it. That was me. Three consecutive days for the worst rain ever, the head cold from hell and I have 60 people coming to my house. And house guests. And work. And my husband is out of town.
It was after ten pm one night when a friend called me. "What are you doing?"
"I am in the garage planting pansies for the weekend."
"It is after ten".
"I know, but I need to do it now because I have cooking and cleaning to do."
"Are you okay, you sound funny?"
"No, I am getting sick. Of course I am getting sick because I have so much to do and my husband is out of town."
That was it, that was all I said.
The next rainy, rainy night, with my sore throat and nose than ran like a faucet, my door rang. Hot broccoli and cheese soup was delivered to my door.
I personally was going to let my kids eat whatever they wanted and here was homemade soup coming to my door. And the next night, more food.
And then, on Saturday, after the Memorial Service, Angels with Casseroles appeared. They came from up the street, down the street and across the street. Monkey bread for breakfast, beef stroganoff, meatballs, green bean casserole, chicken casserole, you name it, it came.
It was no secret, my brother-in-law loved to eat. He appreciated good food. And here it was. In his honor. Delivered by angels.
As my sister-in-law was going through the food line, she said, "all casseroles are good, they are usually made with love." I loved that statement.
My brother is one of "those" people who doe not like he food "to touch" and he hates casseroles. Hates. I know it is a strong word but he hates casseroles.
My family loves them.
I couldn't help but think of my mom when I was a kid. As soon as she got the word that somebody had passed, she was on a cooking frenzy. I never understood the concept. Food, at a time like this? I guess I wasn't a stress eater then. I am now, I get it now.
It isn't the casserole, it is the love that is mixed into the recipe. It is the "I know you are slammed and life goes on and you have kids to feed and you have invited people to your house to break bread in the person's honor...and I know you will have my back some day." And, it makes you feel loved. And it helps in giving your special person a proper send off. Thank God for Angels with casseroles.
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