Road Trip

I love road trips. The last vacation I went on with my parents was a road trip. It was JT, JT’s friend Todd, myself and our parents. We had no firm plans we just drove east. We were in high school so we were pretty good at entertaining ourselves….kind of freaky how far a chicken nugget can bounce down a highway. We played the longest game of “War” (my mom calls it Everlasting) ever…and also the shortest. Courtesy of paper and markers you can learn a lot about other drivers on the interstate…or they can learn a lot about you. Also, after an exhaustive study truck drivers will not blow the horn for you more than twice.

We stopped at most of the “scenic outlooks” that we passed. One was an old fire watch tower. All three of us kids started up, but only Todd and I made it to the top…it was a little wobbly. It was also at this stop that we captured a picture of JT peeing in the woods. At another stop, Todd fell down a steep hill and very nearly didn’t continue the road trip with us.

Most of the motels we stayed at had pools, so early on in the trip, we stopped and bought a rubber ball to play with in the pools. Supplies were limited, so we ended up with a Pocahontas ball…not exactly the boys’ first choice. Sadly the ball did not last the whole trip…but even a broken ball can be fun. Part of it made a loose-fitting swim cap and the other parts where good to throw at one another in the back of the van. It is on this vacation, at one of the pools, that I was pushed into the pool... dressed to go back to our rooms. That has been the only time I’ve been pushed into a pool…and I still need to get Todd back for that.

Road trips for me now, aren’t quite that fun…yet. The boys are still young to not find all that sitting tedious. We usually drive to IN about once a year, and this is the only time we let them watch movies in the car. Aside from the “are we still in Ohio?” question that I have to answer for about 6 hours...it’s really not a bad trip. D and I have a lot of good conversations and that is always entertaining. And these trips have made for some funny family stories. However, as most of them include bodily functions on the side of the road I will spare you the details….but ask L he will happily oblige you, if you are really curious.

The road trip with a goat was when I was very young. So after I get some more details and hopefully *fingers crossed* a photograph I will be sharing that with you soon.

We are on a road trip right now actually, and I’ve probably answered “yes” to the above question 4 times already.

Let Me Do My Job

I was treated to lunch the other day by my friends J and J for my birthday. All of our kids were with us. You might think that their babies would have been the loudest…or maybe you’ve met my children? One baby fell asleep in the high chair and the other contented himself sucking on his toes. They are so cute…

To be fair to my boys, they are in general very well mannered little men. They are also very good at being 5 and 7…very good…scary good. They started to get a little loud and I reminded them that there are other people here and to use their “inside voices”. This was effective for about 35 seconds, before I had to remind them again more firmly.

Both J and J told me that they (my boys) were fine and they weren’t being too loud or rowdy, implying that I was over-reacting. Me?! Over-react? I would never….. And have I mentioned that H can really talk…any worries that we had about him not speaking when he was 3 are a distant memory. Remember Car Ride from Home...? J and J, God love them, think it is cute the way he only stops to breathe.

I love J and J, they are great friends. They are at stages in parenting that I haven’t been in for a while. It’s hard not to say “just you wait!” Sometimes too hard…yesterday I said it. I said, “You don’t know….your kids don’t talk yet, just you wait!” Just wait till your child doesn’t stop talking for 5 hours strait and all you can do is cry. Just wait till you have to wring underpants out in the toilet more than once a day. Just you wait till you have to break up a fight over an invisible cheetah.

Another parenting situation from this spring, which I posted to FB:

Last night at Cub Scouts, the Tigers were doing an activity, and H (who is not a Tiger) was a little upset not to have anything to do. I was able to talk him down by explaining that when he becomes a cub scout he too will do activities at the pack meeting. He was fine, happy even, until Over-indulgent Mom 1 says “it’s okay he can make a centerpiece for the banquet” to which I say “no really, he’s fine”. Then, of course, dear H begins the I-am-not-getting-my-way-so-I’ll-cry-like-a-bone-is-sticking-out-of-my-body cry (I... know some of you parents are familiar with this cry) So I took the boy out of the room and we had a nice little chat about not always getting your way , then he stops and is fine and happy again. Then we re-enter the room and Over-indulgent Mom 2 says “really, we have enough.” Seriously?! I was not about to let him have his way after all that. When a child’s parent says “NO” that is the end of the discussion.

I don’t know that I’m doing the best job at parenting, and literally only time will tell. I do know that my friends J and J and even the Cub Scout Moms had the best intentions. They even probably thought that it would make me feel better, make me less stressed even. But for me, it has the opposite effect. Let me do my job! Let me teach my children how to handle disappointment and how to behave.

Under-Parenting

Usually it is the over-parenting that really annoys me, but yesterday we were at the pool…


We arrived early, snagged a shady spot, applied massive amounts of sunscreen and hit the pool. Then the masses arrived, which would be fine if parents did the right thing. What is the right thing? Oh, I don’t know…WATCH YOUR CHILDREN!!! I packed a snack for us and when L went back to our seats to get his goggles he said there was a little girl poking around in our bag. When we go back to our seat our snack was gone! The thing is, it really doesn’t bother me that she ate it, or that we didn’t have one, but what bothers me is that it could have been anything. It could have been a bag of peanuts or medication. Where was her mom? Just a little later I saw a mom rush over to a child (not her own) and pull his little body out of the water. The boy’s mom came and got him with an annoyed “mind your business” kind of thank you for the rescue-mom. She had been sitting at the side of the pool talking with friends while her two year old played in the crowded pool. But to be fair when she went for a smoke-break she did take him along.

What is wrong with these parents?!

It is your job, your responsibility to care for your children. No one is going to do it for you. Some parents expect others to do their job, they expect life guards to babysit, they expect grandparents to provide, and they expect teachers to do everything else. Since when is it the schools job to keep our kids from becoming overweight? Since when is it okay to expect your parents to watch your children every day without compensation? Since when did neglecting your children become “just a day at the pool”?

It’s your job parents! It’s your job to keep your kids active. Your parents raised their children, let them be grandparents. Just take responsibility.

That was just our first day at the pool, I knew I would need a lot of sunscreen, but it appears I better take extra “tact” with me to the pool.

Your Mama Can't Dance

Beginning at age 7, I took dance lessons. In the early years my mom had to drag me there some days. Later I enjoyed it, and then I loved it. I studied for 10 years, and taught beginning ballet and tap to younger (and sometimes older) students.

My teacher was terrific; I adored, admired, and emulated her. However, despite my grandmother having been a professional dancer and teacher, and my mother also teaching ballroom dancing in college, I was never particularly talented. Rather it was something I enjoyed and something that I worked hard at. I had the heart of a dancer, but the talent of an audience member. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t awful or anything and I don’t consider those 10 years a waste. I learned a lot from taking dance lessons; I learned confidence, presence, grace….French. I was flexible and fit. It opened opportunities for me in community theater, which led to some important and lasting friendships.

Recently I went to one of my nieces’ dance recitals. It wasn’t your typical 3-hour clap-n-nap, with endless Disney music or worse yet…little girls dressed and dancing like strippers. It was just two small groups performing 1 routine. It was nice. At the end the teachers invited the audience to get up and join the dancers in learning a few steps. My boys were up there in a heartbeat, and my sister too. I didn’t go. I couldn’t. I sat glued to my seat, a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

I’ve thought a lot about my response that day. Embarrassment and regret are the words that came to mind. When I was younger I presented myself as “a dancer” but I’m not anymore. Maybe I never was…but I worked hard and that was enough. I haven’t mastered a step, learned a routine, or sweated through a rehearsal in 12 years. I am not a dancer. I couldn’t get up that day to dance, because I’m a Used-to-Be, and somewhere in my mind, I thought that everyone would be able to tell….

Flashback Wednesday

This is me, probably around 11 or 12 I would guess. This is not a post about me, rather about the wallpaper. Look closely….yeah…those are dolls.

Don’t worry; most people would agree that it is creepy. I grew up with that wallpaper, but it never bothered me and truly I never even thought about it till my husband questioned how I ever slept with those dolls staring at me all the time. My boys don’t like sleeping in there, so they sleep in the other bedroom wallpapered in benign ships and compasses.

That wallpaper has been there my whole life, or longer…My parents built their house and lived in the basement while they finished the upstairs. When I was born, I believe the bedrooms were done, but the usable kitchen and bathroom where still in the basement. So it is possible that the wallpaper is older than me. Anyway, since it was always there, it never bothered me.

I liked it, actually. I would lie in bed and look at them. Some had blue eyes, some brown. I examined their dresses, shoes and hats. I counted, sorted, picked my favorites. It was comforting they way they looked at me, I never imagined anything evil or scary. In contrast to my son who doesn’t like wearing his pajamas with pirates on them, because “they might come alive in the night”….

I wonder now, if the wallpaper was the reason my elementary school sleepovers never went so well? All I know is that if my mom ever changes the wallpaper, I want some of it to frame. Even if I have to hang it in my closet so I don’t creep-out my family.

Now It Begins

Maybe only moms in my position will find this as momentous as the title would suggest.  H graduated from preschool...it's official he will be going on to kindergarten.  This has been on my mind a lot.  Kindergarten is a big deal, its the beginning, isn't it?  It's the beginning of formal education, and for a 5 year-old he can't even imagine the end.  He probably wouldn't want to start if he could imagine the end.

When I started college, I couldn't imagine writing a major research paper.  I couldn't imagine giving a 20 minute speech on my topic.  So when they told us our freshman year that we would do those things, I was scared.  I thought to myself "I don't think I can do this".  We all did it, of course, and before I knew it I was graduating from  college.

When D re-enlisted just short of 2 years into our marriage, I was scared.  I worried about deployments and being so far from my family.  I was scared, I didn't think I was cut out for it.  But now we are 8 years into this adventure and it turns out I CAN handle it.   Don't even get me started on how unworthy I felt as a mother (and still do sometimes). 

It turns out that those things aren't nearly as scary as you thought they would be.  Most things in life are like that.  So maybe sending my youngest off to kindergarten won't be a scary as I think?  I'll have to let you know, right now I'm still in the "I don't think I can do this" phase.

Summer Break is Here!

Summer break is finally here! Not even my first grader could rival my enthusiasm for the last day of school these past weeks. I am thrilled. I have my boys all day long! And while that almost sounds like something exhausting (it probably will be in August!) for right now, mid-June, I am excited.

The best part is that there are no school projects. We will still read and write and work on math but in so-subtle-they-won’t-even-know-they-are-learning ways. Like sock addition and subtraction, write what we need from the grocery, how many steps to the garbage can, and the “who wants to read to your brother while he sits on the toilet” game. NO!.....those are not chores they are family favorites! What we won’t do are school projects and busy work.

Every week L would come home with a word search with 19 or 20, 4-5 letter, words to be found in a letter square that was 10x10. Seriously?! Some letters would get used 3 times. Then there were the tricky ones like “knight” and “night”…. And he’s in the first grade, eventually I realized that he wasn’t even really learning his spelling words this way and started showing him where the words were…if I could find them!

In the last weeks of school, L had to make a diorama. I was not happy. Cover the box with paper, decorate, cut, arrange, paste, hang….it sounded like a lot of work…for me. But once he started and was excited about it, it was fun for me too. I hope I learned a lesson. I’ll let you know when second grade starts.

So what are we doing this summer besides chores learning? We are going to the pool. We are going in our long-sleeve UV protection shirts and slathered in sun screen. We are going to go early to get one of the few shady spots, we are going to play hard in the pool, and come home with that pleasant tired feeling (which on some days will be grumpy-why-did-we-have-to-leave-the-pool-tired, instead).

We will also be taking a trip to “The Farm”. In the eyes of my boys there is only 1, they are city-kids after all! This year our vacation, to my parents house, will coincide with not only kids (baby goats) and kittens, but also puppies and my birthday (so Mom, no gifts, just my favorite meal and strawberry shortcake and under no circumstances should there be candles…or whatever you had planned).

What I am looking forward to most in this summer, is feeling unhurried. I don’t want to rush anything. I don’t want to rush out of the door, or rush them to bed, I don’t want to rush any of this time I have with them. September will come too soon and with it… school and the words “hurry up!”

My Dad

Since Father's Day is this Sunday, this is a post about my Dad.  However, sometimes words fail me when I try to explain what it is that makes my dad so special.  Since pictures can often say so much...

I am my father's baby girl, which I exploit shamelessly.

My dad was in the delivery room when my oldest was about to be born.  It may sound strange that I was comfortable enough for my dad to be there....After a lifetime of him waking me when goats were born and making me watch a documentary on childbirth in middle school, and who can forget the amniotic sack that we stretched out after the colt was born....I knew it was something that would mean a lot to him.  Of the six of his children, he was only able to witness the birth of his youngest.  Sadly, the only witnesses to L's birth was hospital staff. 

My sons have a lot of important men in their lives.  Most importantly their father, my husband, D.  They have uncles and great uncles and grandfathers.  I think that my boys too, will one day find it hard to describe how special Grandpa is.

 

Finally I share a tradition:  Every evening when my dad would come in from the barn, he would stop at the front window and make "a face" at whoever was in the room.  We would always return "a face".  Even now, when I visit home, I find myself rushing with my little boys to the window for this little exchange.

I love this face.  I love my dad....big bunches.

Brothers

I have three brothers, two older and one younger. My older brothers were 12 and 10 years old when I was born. My little brother is 18 months younger than me.

Older brothers on TV fall into 2 categories: bullies or protectors. My brothers were neither. To be sure, I was and still am annoying (it’s a gift) but I was so much younger….I was too much of a baby to bully and I was far too young for them to bully the boys I liked. When I was old enough to date, they had married and had daughters of their own. All their protective instincts went to their daughters and rightfully so. I had some dates that needed some bullying from my older brothers, but I handled it. (cracking knuckles)

I have very few memories of them when they were in high school, or home from college. I remember they were “in charge” of JT and I one afternoon and they started to wrestle. I was terrified; I really thought they were trying to hurt each other. I’ve since learned that this is normal behavior and I am witness to it every day with my own boys. They went to the same college, but aside from riding home together I don’t think they spent much time together. Now there is a strange kind of distance between them, which is hard to explain. My older brothers are intelligent men, excellent husbands and amazing fathers. To them I wish a very happy Father’s Day (just a little early).

Now my little brother JT is a different story. Since the older kids (that’s what we called them) were not living with us for most of our formative years. JT and I were kind of a second family for my parents. Where the barn chores had been done by 4 now they were done by 2, where the older kids could play Parcheesi, we could only play checkers… JT was my best friend. We played cops and robbers, cowboys and outlaws. I played with GI Joe and cars and in exchange he would play Barbie and house with me. When we were younger I was certainly a bully, I would say “I’ll give you a dollar” to get him to do stuff. Naturally I never paid him. But as we got older and especially in high school I felt more than anything it was my job to protect him. Tragically one of his very good friends passed away on the way to school one morning, when they announced it over the loud speaker…I ran from my classroom to find JT. I’m sure he didn’t need me, but I needed to protect him somehow. I was worried when I left for college how he would do without me. I don’t think he ever needed me, or even knew how protective I felt. It’s a good thing we didn’t go to the same college; I probably wouldn’t have let him have much fun.

I am proud of my brothers. And I am proud of my sisters. Coming from a big family with double-digit age differences though sometimes challenging, is mostly a lot of fun. It’s never dull….or quiet.

JT is married now, and his wedding last year was the first time since my wedding that ALL of us have been together. Funny: after the wedding were all standing waiting for the photographer to take a family picture, she said, “Okay now just the IMMEDIATE family.” We laughed and more than one of us called out “we are immediate family” (there were 28 of us). I don’t want to think of the next time we may all be together…it may be under vastly different circumstances, unless we make it a priority.

Here’s to hoping we CAN make it a priority.

Sisters

Having an older sister is great, I am doubly lucky because I have two older sisters.

The story goes that when my mom was expecting (me) my older brothers were hoping for a baby boy and my sisters were hoping for a baby girl. The morning after I was born my dad went into the girl’s room first to tell them the good news: first that I was not born in the car, and secondly that I was a girl. They were so excited they screamed. Next my dad went into the boys’ room, but the screaming had woken them and they had already figured out that I was not what they wanted. They got their baby boy 18 months later, but that is another story. As a baby I was their living doll. They did a lot of this to me when I was little:

I don’t know if it was the age difference, because I had two older sisters, or a combination of both, but M became a second mother to me. M would “help” me decide what to wear in the morning, till the infamous “yellow socks” situation. I had a very pretty pink sweater that I planned on wearing to school one day (it had to have been 1st grade or kindergarten) and I decided that yellow socks would go nicely with the sweater. M refused to let me leave the room with the yellow socks. She put her leg up on the bed and blocked my exit. Once I pulled white socks out of the drawer she let me loose. Down in the kitchen I ran into my dad, who noticed I was upset. I explained to him about my chosen socks and he said to me, “Mary-pie you can wear what-ever socks you want.” What happened next I have suppressed from memory but my dad says “I really let M have it”. What I do remember is that I wore yellow socks that day. M went off to college the next year; she married and now has 3 beautiful daughters. Then she was a real mother and I was a very cheap babysitter (free actually). Not that I minded, I love my sister M. She could braid my hair to withstand a hurricane…so what if a swig of whiskey and a stick to bite were nessecary to remain conscience while she braided?…it was worth it. Now that we are older, I think she sees me as more of an equal than a child; after all we are often mistaken for twins.

My sister N, on the other hand, never really mothered me. N could do a very pretty braid, but it was rather delicate. When she went off to college I was only 9, but N wrote me postcards pretty regularly. After college, N would have me stay at her apartment and we’d go to the pool and “hang out”. When I went off to college, I really started to feel that N and I were peers. I would borrow clothes from her, and we’d call each other after break-ups. We were friends, actually. N married 5 yers ago and has two great step children.  Of my siblings, I talk to N most frequently. We have the same sense of humor which is not always appreciated by others…like last night we had conversations about the cadaver industry and “adult” movies (two completely separate topics, I should add).

I love my sisters and would like to officially and publicly apologize for all those times I took stuff out of your dresser drawers. Yes, it was me. Sorry.

Anniversaries

On D and I’s last anniversary, some friends offered to watch the boys so we could go out. We declined for several reasons. We just aren’t that comfortable leaving the boys with babysitters. I know they are well past infanthood, and it is unlikely they will drown in the shower, and H hasn’t choked in more than two years….but no one feels the weight of responsibility more than the child’s parents. Over-protective? Probably. The other reason we turned down the offer was because when we do go out, all we end up doing is worrying and talking about the boys anyway. So for our anniversary we stayed in. We ordered some Chinese food and watched Cops after the boys were in bed. To date that was the most pleasant anniversary ever.

On our first anniversary, I was 7 months pregnant and swollen beyond recognition. So my dear husband, hoping to keep my ankles and toes from actually exploding off my body, bought me a practical gift. I should mention I like practical gifts. New vacuum? Yes please. New washer and dryer? Thank you very much. Anyway he had seen a product ad on television for inflatable massage boots….that’s right…inflatable massage boots.

Sadly some of the hoses were broken and the boots never worked properly. Had they actually worked, it probably would have felt nice. As it was, though, he had to go back to rubbing my freakishly round feet. In case you are wondering what I got him for that anniversary?….a watch.  It really was the thought that counted, but that doesn't stop me from teasing him relentlessly.

I think that was the last anniversary we got each other gifts. I’m okay with that. I’m just happy that he has been home for most of our anniversaries. I joke that there is an Army policy that restricts a soldier from being home for more than one important date. He’s missed both of the boys’ last birthdays, but he will be here for my birthday and *fingers crossed* our anniversary this year. (I realize by writing that sentence I have jinxed the whole thing and he will now be gone for both…way to go, Mary.) This year we will probably do nearly the same as last year…watch Cops and eat wings. Incidentally, that is pretty much what we do every Saturday night (we really know how to party).

Vivid Dreams

I had an incredibly vivid dream last night. All of my dreams are vivid, at least the ones I remember. I’ve never had a dream that I knew was a dream.

Most of my dreams are strange, I travel through a string of locations that are mixtures of places I’m familiar with, I dream about people that I’ve maybe not thought of in years. I wake from those feeling confused and tired. I’ve also had some x-rated dreams that I will not go into detail about...but I woke one morning feeling an appreciation for the Jason Bourne movies…

The dream I had last night was different. It was in one location that was not diluted with any other place, and unfamiliar in a sense….it was a theater. All the people were strangers, save one. This one person was someone I think about on a very regular basis…though we’ll never meet. Who was it? My friends and family will not be surprised...Gene Kelly. But I have NEVER had a dream about him before…ever.

I’ve admired him for decades (good grief I can’t believe that “decades” is an accurate description). Since I was very young I’ve had pictures and posters of Gene Kelly in my room. I never had posters of anyone except him. Even now, pictures of Gene Kelly hang in my house….I can’t open the refrigerator or use the downstairs bathroom without seeing him (that only sounds a little weird, right?). In high school, I was dating a boy who got a hold of Gene Kelly’s address for me. So I wrote and waited…nothing. My boyfriend wrote too, and received two responses, one from Gene Kelly and then six months later a letter from his widow…I never received one reply. I will never forget the day he passed away. February 2 1996, my senior year of high school. Part of my grief was teenage angst to be sure, but some was real when it became clear that no matter how much of a fan I was, I would never meet him.

In my dream last night, I met him. As I left the theater where I had been watching a rehearsal, I met him at the theater door. In my dream it was an Oprah-like surprise. He was there to see me, because I was such a big fan. In my dream I couldn’t speak only weep. Finally I managed to say “I am your biggest fan” through my tears. He laughed and said, “I can tell.” That was it. That was my dream. I imagine that had I ever actually met him, my reaction would have been no different.

I finish this post with links to two of my favorite Gene Kelly scenes:

 I Got Rhythm, An American in Paris

Mexican Hat Dance, Anchors Aweigh

I suppose there is no small coincidence that these are scenes with children, considering how far back my admiration goes...decades.  (wow, it still seems impossible that I can use that word!)

I Just Don't Get It

There are so many things about people that I will never understand, too many to list really…

But I’m going to give it a shot anyway. These are not in any particular order and are far from complete:

1. The giant handle bars that some people put on their motorcycles

2. Beauty pageants…sorry scholarship events for children

3. Running a 100 miles for fun (I love my brother-in-law...but even he will admit to being a freak!)

4. Bigotry

5. Anti-Catholic sentiment among other Christian denominations

6. Dismissing slavery as a component of the Civil War.

7. Letting your underwear show…intentionally

8. Believing that sexual orientation is a choice

9. Piercing babies’ ears

10. Mooning people

11. Chewing gum

12. Atheists who don’t want you to believe in God either…why do they care?

13. People who hate NPR

14. People who watch The Real Housewives of …wherever

15. Civilians driving Hummers

16. Drivers who don’t signal

17. Smokers

18. People that are surprised and disappointed when politicians behave badly…I’m more surprised when they don’t!

19. Going to jail more than once….

20. Spending more than $100 on shoes

21. People that insist on brand-name clothing

22. Treating pets like children

23. Treating children like pets (I don’t know which is more confusing….)

24. One-uppers

25. The 97% posts on Facebook, “will you be the 3%? Then post this for an hour.”

26. Professional wrestling fans

27. Calling people who have to train for a 5K lazy

28. Hateful speech

29. Those without compassion

30. How anyone could dispute the “personhood” of an unborn baby

Lessons Learned: Hair Dye

I’ve dyed my hair exactly once. For a production of The King and I, we were given the choice to spray paint our hair (with stuff designed for that purpose) or dye it. The spray seemed like a hassle…so I opted for SEMI-permanent hair dye. As I’ve mentioned before semi-permanent is actually permanent, and this is how I found that out.

Just before I dyed it, I had attended a meet and greet at the college I was to attend in the fall. I met all the students who would be in my freshman seminar class…with BROWN HAIR.

Here is a before shot (parting my hair in the center is still a bad choice).

Here is the after, still wet, and very black. I went to church the following Sunday and someone referred to me as a “punk”.

Finally, I thought I’d share a photo of myself in costume and with a tan (spray-on). It made for a nice look. My dad always wanted a child with black hair.

After the show was over, I went to washing my hair constantly to get the color out. I used laundry soap, dish detergent, lava soap….everything I could think of. It didn’t work. I went to college that fall with black hair and brown roots…like some kind of crazy badger.

If I had deluded myself into believing that no one would notice….I was terribly wrong. It took forever to grow out, two years later I was able to cut the last bit of black out of my hair. The things we do for "art"!

I have virtually no pictures of myself during my freshman year of college. I wish I did now…it would be funny.

Driving Quiz

I’ve never had a formal driving lesson. Learning to drive at my house was a gradual process. First I started sitting on mom or dad’s lap to steer up the drive way. Then when I could reach the pedals I would switch places and with mom or dad and drive up the lane myself. Then I drove the tractor, we would all take turns driving the tractor and wagon while the others picked up rocks in the field. It is actually as futile as it sounds. So I’d been practicing my driving skills for more than 10 years when I turned 16. I went to the license branch took the written test and got my permit. Then six months later I went back to the license branch took the driving test and drove home legally for the first time…..

Shortly after I got my license I was cast in a summer theater production in a larger town 30 miles from my home. Rehearsals were in the evening from 7-10 pm. My dad, concerned about the late hour I would be driving home gave me little quiz before I left for my first rehearsal:

D: So, say you are coming up to a red light at the corner of Sherman and High streets and there are some “questionable” people on the corner….what do you do?

M: I would check that the road was clear and run the red.

D: Very good. Now what would you do if the “questionable people” walked in front of you or surrounded the car?

M: Run over the one in front, then go call 9-1-1.

D: Very good…break a leg…. (Then he showed me how to dim the dash lights)

I won’t be able to teach my boys to drive the way I learned, but I am pretty sure I will still have to warn them about the “questionable” people on corners. Mimes of course……what were you thinking I meant?

Celebrity Crush(es)

Oh, the crushes I've had.  I kept a journal in junior high and you can guess what its full of.....girl chatter and boys.  So instead of telling you the names of classmates I had crushes on I will share some of my past and current celebrity crushes:

The first was Harrison Ford followed by Sean Patrick Flannery (who A and I called SPF).  Sometime in middle school The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones was on television.   Having been an avid Indiana Jones fan it was a natural attraction.

Then throughout all of high school I had a crush on Tom Burlinson.  Weird....I just noticed the hats.



 Also through high school, I had mini crushes on Chris and Martin Krat,  and now I have re-crushes? on them.  They are super cute.



I should mention that I kind of have a thing for falconers.



 



Then there is the man that all women have crushes on.....it's true....don't fight it:  Mr. Darcy   I tried to explain to my husband why it's actually good that women compare all men to a fictional character.  We know that he's not real.  And if he was...we would probably think he was a big pansy.  I don't think he bought it...neither did I.

Then lastly there is the crush of all crushes....who needs no introduction:



Did you know he can sing too?

Run Mary, Run!

I really kicked some butt on the treadmill this morning....well...for me.  I've been running* outside for the last week and its hilly....nothing flat.  It goes between steep hills and long grades....it stinks.  But I'm told it will do good things for my rear end.

I don't run* fast.  I blame it on my short legs.  This is a perfectly reasonable excuse, I might add, because short legs mean that I take short strides, more strides make a mile, etc.  That could be it...or I'm just slow.  Either way....

I don't run* far.  Unless distance is relative to stride? 

I took a break and did some very basic calculations:

The average American woman is 66 inches tall with a stride of 30 inches.  Therefore it would take her 2112 strides to go a mile.

I've not measured my stride but I do know my height, so I've calculate my stride to be about 28 inches.  Taking me 2266 strides to go a mile.  If I only went 2112 strides that would leave me seven-hundredths shy of a mile. So... under the premise that miles are measured in strides:  a mile to an average woman is 5280 feet, a mile for me is only 4921 feet.  For every average mile I run I should get a "credit" towards future miles..don't you think?

Already I am better in math than I am at running*. 

* The term "run" or "running" is used very loosely by this author.

Naming

One of the first big challenges of parenting is picking the right name. You could get lucky and have a generational name...like a junior or a IV…but most times you are not. You search and debate, consider and veto until you pick just the right name. But there are so many ways to spell the name you’ve chosen. You could spell it the traditional way “Foyer” but then people would never know which way to pronounce it….so you decide to spell it phonetically…but which way do you want it pronounced? The snotty “Foy-A” or the more American “Foy-ur” But y’s are so over done….so you could spell it “Foiaaa” or “Foihur” Oh and because everyone wants a hyphen in their first name “Foih-Ay” Yes! That’s it! You should name your baby Foih-Ay…he’ll love it…or she…. it can go either way. Because where’s the mystery if you can always guess if it is a boy or a girl? It’s unique and EVERYONE wants a unique name these days. Traditional? No way….. Who wants to put a traditional name on a resume? Resume….that would be a good name too! “Reazuhmae” very pretty.


We recently got L’s elementary school yearbook….seriously? What are parents thinking? When I was in elementary school we never had to guess which way to pronounce someone’s name…  When I was little no one asked how I spelled my name...but now I get asked "and how do YOU spell that?"  um.... M-A-R-Y.  Really? 

I am proudly old-fashioned when it comes to names. Even when I didn’t like my own name, the names I would have rather had were equally as old fashioned… like Elizabeth and even Margaret. Dream big Mary!!!! 

Teachers

I can still name all my elementary school teachers (I may be off on the spelling):


KG: Mrs. Claybaugh (I actually went to 2 different schools, the first school I only went for one day before the school was closed down and I don’t remember her name)

1st: Mrs. Bollinger

2nd: Mrs. Kyler

3rd: Mrs. Butt (she was great, although I can’t think of a worse name for an elementary teacher)

4th: Mrs. Smith

5th: Mrs. Grant

I remember most of my middle and high school teachers, and I remember my college professors of course.

Aren’t they amazing? They take these tiny children who at the beginning can barely hold a pencil correctly and year after year turn them into students who do advanced physics and speak with enormous vocabularies. Not only that, they deal with the drama and angst from the students, and the hovering and second-guessing of the parents. Anyone who doesn’t think that teachers DON’T get paid enough, has not spent enough time with children. Children are crazy. I heard a comedian on NPR say this the other day “Having children, it's like... living with little mini drug addicts. Y'know, they're laughing one minute, and then they're crying the next, and then they're trying to kill themselves in your bathroom for no good reason. They're very mean and selfish; they burn through your money...” Imagine spending hours every day with 20+….I think teachers must be a little crazy too!

My oldest son is, in part, named after my favorite teacher. My senior year of high school, Mr. R was really sick; we were told that he probably wouldn’t make it. He was set to direct the spring musical, but couldn’t, of course, and so the musical director asked for my help in the choreography (she gave me a co-director credit that I didn’t deserve!). Mr. R recovered, but I didn’t see him until later in the summer. I was in a summer production of The King and I (semi permanent black hair dye is actually permanent, FYI!) and after a show, someone came into the dressing room and told me there was a Paul looking for me. Paul? Did I know a Paul? When I realized that Paul was Mr. R, I ran still barefoot back stage (a cardinal “no-no” but since we were all barefoot all the time, they were very diligent with the sweeping!) and hugged Mr. R. I am pretty sure I cried, I was so happy to see him, so happy that we hadn’t lost him. He told me that I’d done a great job and that I “looked comfortable up there”. Fittingly, “Thank You” were the last words I ever spoke to Mr. R., he passed away from the same illness my sophomore year of college.

Many of my friends are teachers, elementary, middle, high school; I’m even friends with some college Ph.D.s! Nice, right? (Yes JT…I would like a bozo button!)  How did I end up with so many crazy friends?

We are close to wrapping up the school year with the boys, I had a conference with H’s preschool teacher (there is a special place in heaven for preschool teachers) and L has only 2 weeks left of school. I am so grateful for the wonderful teachers that my sons have had. They are still very early in their academic careers, and I am certain they will have many inspiring and terrific formal teachers before they are done. I also hope they will have many inspiring and terrific informal teachers for the rest of their lives.

Dinosaur Land

This past weekend, we went to Dinosaur Land.  From what I can gather it was built in the 60's and is run now by the original owner/builder's grandchildren.  It was more than dinosaurs, giant octopus, mastodon, megalodon, and even King Kong.  They are not "accurate" in the strictest sense of the word, but......the place was great, admission for the 4 of us was only $18, the photos ops. alone made it worth it.  Unfortunately for you, I am no wiz with a camera and neither is D.  If you were...you could probably take some great shots. 

 

Here is a link to Dinosaur Land.