To my girls, on Valentine's Day

To my girls, on Valentine's day:

I know for a fact that you will probably consider the past nine months one of the worst periods of your life - for your entire life.  I can't know how much it hurts to lose your dad.  I still have mine. We share grief for your dad, you and me, but with different dynamics.  I am so proud of the way you have been able to carry on with school, hold jobs, make the more grown-up choice, and just keep on becoming the beautiful, strong, idealistic and witty women your dad would have wanted you to be.

Each Valentine's day, we got very special candy, didn't we?  He absolutely loved checking Consumer Reports for the best-rated chocolates and having them delivered to us, no matter where he was in the world at the time.  I can't be just like him, but I hope you have already gotten your Valentine goodies from me.  I know it's a 'sweetheart' day; but there are forever loves in the world, and you two are my forever loves.  I wanted to tell you and everyone else a few things I'm proud of - it's always a good thing to tell someone when you're proud, and not take it for granted that they know.  You are both amazing, and here are some of the reasons why:

I am proud of your perseverance.  Neither one of you skipped a beat in continuing school.  Some people would probably have taken some time for themselves, or cut back to make life a little easier for a while.  The two of you jumped right back in to classes and keep looking forward. You remind me a little of your dad when he was on a 'frenzy'.  Remember?  Those times he was so focused on a task that we sometimes didn't even get to eat until he got what he needed?  I tried to explain it to you when you were little, and I tried to inject in the explanation that it could be a very good trait.  I believe you picked some of that up along the way.

I am proud of your progress.  Is that the same thing as perseverance?  Not really.  You could have persevered with school and still not have moved forward.  But in your cases, you are making the necessary grades, you have the degree plans in the works, and you have both grown so much emotionally and intellectually that you have narrowed down and decided on a career path. You also both have worked since your dad has been gone - not everyone can do that and do well in school also. That's a huge challenge and I am so proud of the steps that both of you have made to start making all of your dreams come true.

I am proud of the patience you've had with me, and your protection toward me.  Although we sometimes approach tasks at very different speeds, you have let me do things in my own time and in my own way.  I believe that you have suppressed your own wishes for when certain things would get done, just to protect my emotional health and let me make sure that I am doing everything right for the three of us.  You also give me great advice, the kind of advice we give in our family. (Like.."tell them the car turns into a superhero at night and any marks are battle scars"....) And I'm sure there's been a time or two that you just made excuses for me and told someone to just leave me alone. ("I'm going out for a while, Mom, but if you need me, you call...I'll come right home.")

Most of all, I am proud of your passion for life, no matter what.  Your dad would be proud, too.  Whenever one of you went through a 'quiet phase', it worried him.  He wanted you involved - (even if it meant him sitting through musicals and dance recitals) and he wanted you to set goals and work hard to reach them, just as he did.  He wanted you to think your own thoughts, not be a 'sheep', and he wanted you to be well-versed enough in your beliefs to intelligently challenge those with whom you do not agree. I want that, too, but make sure you do it in a nice way! (Although you should let me know when you reach the McCarty milestone of being banned from a forum for your opinions.  I'll take his place and celebrate with you.) You are still able to laugh and cry, as well as live your life to the fullest, which you know your dad totally believed in.

I hope one day you can love someone as much as a parent loves a child.  There is no end to that love. It exists in the parent for no other reason than the fact that you, the child, exist. But there's an added bonus:  When I look at you, listen to you, and watch you live life, I see your dad.  It reminds me that even though he's gone, so much of him will live on through the two of you. I love you, Mallory and Maddy, with all my being. Forever.

The Most Special Kiss 1/14/14

Thirty-three years ago tonight, I went on a date with a guy on my boyfriend's hall, because my boyfriend was busy.  My boyfriend said, "Whatever you do, just don't kiss him goodnight.".  There's nothing like a challenge, is there?  There was definitely a goodnight kiss; we owned up to it and I said goodbye to the boyfriend -who was a really great guy in his own right, it just didn't work out that way! The new guy's name was Scott, and we saw each other every night for a month, until Valentine's day. We were pretty head over heels.  January 14, 1981.  We even scheduled our wedding on July 14, 1984, to reflect that date.

I didn't know he wouldn't live to see only thirty-three years from that kiss. Today, January 14, 2014, I have had a dead car towed from my garage, called two different bank accounts to see what paperwork they actually require to change names/ close accounts, called the college savings plan to find out  the same info, tried to call the Norway tax office to get details on paying the Norwegian tax, and printed out a ream of papers to change the IRA to my name.  He's been gone eight months and I just got the affidavit from the court to be able to do these things.  (Well, the car didn't require court papers, that's just my luck.)

I wish I had clever or cute words to tell you that life sometimes hurts like hell.  My heart feels withered even though laughter and smiles still occupy my face.  When I do ordinary things, it takes twice the effort, because I really don't care as much anymore. That goodnight kiss thirty-three years ago tonight was wrong, it was cheating; and I hope I apologized and moved on correctly.....but it was also the most special kiss of my life.

What the Unicorn Girl Said - 1/5/14

It's still all around; the Christmas stuff.  I've started kind of moving it to one table, so I can eventually put it away so, so neatly.  That's how my mind thinks. There's really only three things on that table.  I feel that when I pack it all away, he is gone from Christmas forever.  Replaced by the one that we did totally by ourselves.

Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away.  Well, mostly.  I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep.  I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will.  I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.

I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house.  I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days.  Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box.  I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready.  Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not.  I'll just have to wait and see.

I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays.  At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories".  I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it.  (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!)  I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly.  The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag.  After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.

So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well.  And there was the envelope.  I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case.  I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time.  Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another.  Then, two envelopes.  The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting.  I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away.  I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it.  The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.

Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later.  I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year.  I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover.  Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it.  Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines.  It's really time to clean out!  I opened the card and started reading.  Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days.  Sweet, innocent, young.  But right in the middle, there it was.  The part that brought me to tears.  How could I say this after only six months?  I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".

If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next.  And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it.  If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life.  It could come true, it could be made real.  Just be aware of that.  It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness.  Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.

My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:

"I can't wait to see you again.  I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand.  You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."

My (burned out) light bulb moment 12/1/13

I have been shoring up the defenses.  "The holidays are hard...".  Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me.  Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me.  So I prepared.  I have stayed busy.  I had company.  I had the kids around.  I cooked.  We shopped.  Busy, busy, busy.  The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great.  We had fun.  It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means. 

Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet.  We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!)  We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness.  The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends.  The quiet was relaxing.  I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house.  Still, I thought I was prepared.  The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns.  I had answered everyone that checked on me.  I held my head up, I held grief at bay. 

Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart.  I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up.  I did the usual, and hid it away.  Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....".  I can't help it, it's natural.  We got the girls fed, packed and ready.  Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road.  One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do. 

After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree.  We didn't get to that.  No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree.  Easy, and a start.  I love this tree.  I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful.  I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out.  I unplugged and re-plugged.  I changed the fuse.  I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those. 

I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's.  Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine.  I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me.  I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive.  I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!"  It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence.  I would have been able to complain to him.  Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own.  A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other.  And, being married, or being family, you support that other person.  I miss the person I could "bitch to".  I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things.  That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times.  And sharing those moments is a habit.  I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board.  The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome.  It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.

After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree.  It looks perfect now.  What's dark can be made light again.  The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though.  Hopefully they "hide them very well".  Bring on Christmas.  I'm carrying my tissues.

Holiday Lessons from the Animal Kingdom - or - Why the Cat Threw Up 11/27/13

The cat threw up already.  It's only Wednesday, day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and there's some purging going on around here. Poor Roxy.  She's not really purging, you all know cats don't do that, right?  But she is suffering a common holiday malady: invasion of space and routine.

I love the holidays.  I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends.  I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well.  We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott.  We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching.  And of course, cooking and eating.  So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.

Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty.  She's about six months old and cute as can be.  She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August.  I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July.  She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes.  Basically, it's nobody.

Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough.  (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?)  So everybody is walking around all stressed out.  Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!"   It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here.  My cat gets stressed and throws up!  I know, gross. 

But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted?  Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day?  I personally embrace change of routine on my terms.  For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!" 

I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms.  My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress.  Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this!  We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world.  Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together.  And no throwing up.  (at least, not from stress!)  Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.

A Twist of the Knife 9/8/13

I feel numb.  Maria, the girl I lived with in the dorm for four years - lost HER husband last night.  Her text to me started with "I've joined your club."  Ouch. This is not a sought-out membership.  I don't even know yet what happened.  Everyone is curious.  When someone dies, and they're in their fifties, and haven't been sick, everyone wants to know what happened.  I do too, I just have other feelings that are right up there with the curiosity.  I feel the same numbness, the same feeling of the world stopping, the same lost feeling that followed me home from the hospital on that night four months ago.  When death happens, those of us that always have an answer, that always figure out a way to fix things, that always try to make things work better; we are struck dumb.  There is no way to make it better.  There is no magic word, pill, book, way of talking, exercise, food.....nothing can change death.

Maria is a smart woman.  She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends.  She's not a weak person.  I like to think that the above description fits me, also.  (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.)  But this is why I hate to see her "join the club".  It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'.  We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man.  We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen.  We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy.  It worked.  We got along.  When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott. 

Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding.  I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding.  (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.)  She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl.  Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life.  It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back.  And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida.  Maria and Tamre'  - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family.  Then we went back to Tamre's room.  Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together.  Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses.  I appreciate them being there for me so much.  Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.

Then, that text.  Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack.  My Scott was fifty-two.  Doug was fifty-three.  Maria and I are both moms left with two girls.  What a club.  I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word.  She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately.  I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta.  Let's call it a club meeting.  I don't want to invite anybody else.  Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it.  When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.

The First Day Blues 8/19/13

First day blues.....I got 'em.  I prepared myself to go back to work, I did.  I wrote another piece to tell people how I feel, but please treat me normally - and they did!  I love them!  I went in with dear friends last week who helped do some of the not-fun work in the classroom!  I'm ahead of my usual game! (So I thought....)  Then, it happened.

I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment.  I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away.  It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone.  I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane.  And that won't change.  After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue.  Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it.  The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad. 

In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep.  Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years.  Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!"  it says.  Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later.  Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people.  They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!!  Woo-hoo!  All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee.  I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins.  "Time for our ice-breaker!"  With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea.  Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details.  But was my mind on the game?  NO!  There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is?  Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over.  That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video.  Great ideas, of course.  They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good.  But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?

The meetings weren't too bad.  It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions.  Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given.  Not great, but not bad. 

The hard part was a simple thing.  Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet.  You know, who to contact in case of emergency.  I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again.  The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost.  Lunch with my team was good and fun.  But being in the classroom just feels different now.  All afternoon to work in the classroom, too!  But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends.  Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today.  They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.

The point is....there's no point.  I am alone.  But not totally.  Pouring these words onto the computer helps.  I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold.  Maybe tomorrow.

Only One First 8/12/13

We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car.  My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting.  My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment.  It was a match made in heaven.  "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer.  Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be.   Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most.  We all cooed and baby-talked to her.  Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio.  I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.".  We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first". 

I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy.  Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of  'firsts'.  And nobody will say "Awwwww!"  These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life.  I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together.  I research and calculate and figure and plan.  The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost. 

My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter.  We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone.  With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars.  We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs.  Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department.  With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.

It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability.  It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay.  It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business.  They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend. 

I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work.  It should be a breeze, right?  I had already done all the research!  First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it.  The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense.  I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk. 

Thank goodness for the phone!  It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together.  I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit.  I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk.  They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying!  After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office.  Then, the next question threw me.

Did I want to add a complete warranty?  (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!)  It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea!  Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script!  Oh no!  Who can I ask?  I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up.  When will I learn to carry tissues?  Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed.  All by myself. 

That's it!  Write it up!  Pay the total!  Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house.  That sounds easy.  Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back.  I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache.  I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first".  It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either.  The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once.  They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend:  In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well.  It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it. 

Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor.  I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect.  You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true.  You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?"  There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.

But Peeps have always been yummy!! 3/23/13

Yummy - that's what I thought of Peeps.  Yes, Peeps - the marshmallow treats, chicks and bunnies, pastel colors, most people only buy them for the Easter baskets because they're pretty.  I even joined the "Peeps fan club" once upon a time.  I've got the t-shirt, cap and member card to prove it!  But I was crushed this week when I bought a box of Peeps and tried to eat a few on the way home (car calories don't count, right?) - they tasted like cardboard!  How could this have happened?  I was the Peep queen - my mom would mail them to me when I was in college!  When I lived in England, I learned the term "gone off".  It means you don't like something anymore.  "I've gone off Chinese food since it made me sick..."  I guess I've gone off Peeps.  Have they changed?  Is it my taste buds?  Did I simply age out of the marshmallow/sugar taste?  Why can't things stay yummy?

Yummy was Easter with little four and six-year-old girls. They had beautiful new dresses with white buckle shoes and lacy socks.  They truly believed that the Easter bunny had eaten those carrots and left those dirt prints on the carpet.  They went to church with me and listened and bowed their little heads to pray.  They ran all over the back garden after church, hunting the eggs that Dad had hidden, the older sister helping the younger one, and even sharing with her.  Those were yummy years. 

I suppose I would have gone off the four and six-year-old age had we managed to get stuck there.  Anything can grow old.  As I write this, I'm thinking "What's yummy about the college age kid?"  There are answers.  True answers.  The college age kid has to do their work on their own and make decent grades.  That's happening.  And it's yummy.  It's just not as cute or frilly or fun.  The college age kid has to decide what kind of adult they are going to be.....no small task in today's world.  I find it extremely yummy that my 18 and 20-year-old girls always find themselves on the fair side of any issue.  Right now, they are almost fair to the point of being liberal bleeding hearts, but that's college kids, eh?  Those are the kind of people that can end up making a difference in this world, and I'm so pleased to see that little truths I taught them at ages four and six have matured into caring, sensitive attitudes-sometimes mixed with outspokenness and activism-at ages eighteen and twenty.

So, come to think of it, there is still some yummy around here - it's just a much more mature flavor of yummy that the child-like sweets.  I've gone off a few more things besides Peeps in the past fifteen years, but I will never go off loving my children and the adults that they are becoming.  I can only hope that they find their own yummy - in every stage of their lives.  Happy Easter, everyone.

Spring Break doesn't mean you have to break something! 3/17/13

I walked out this morning to warn the next-door kids to watch out.  They were riding bikes and scooters in the cul-de-sac, swarming everywhere like bees.  When I told them that a wrecker was bringing one of our cars to the house, the nine-year-old girls' face lit up with curiosity.  "What happened?" "Why won't it go?" "What were they doing?"  Evidently, my college-age daughter's experiences are like an episode of 'Gossip Girl' in her eyes. 

You see, college-age kid (I'll call her '18')  went to Galveston Beach with three other college-age kids.  Spring Break.  No "gone wild", but kids, probably some beer, cars, bikinis, sun, waves.....it's an eternal theme.  So, 18 thought that since everyone was driving onto the sand, she could, too.  She knew not to drive on loose sand, but somehow got stuck anyway.  When you're a teenager and get stuck - and somebody offers to help, you say yes.  Some big pickup truck tried to loosen the car from the rear - and the front bumper got caught on the sand and came off.  Well, mostly off.  It was hanging loose with a lot of broken plastic underneath.

18 was wise enough to call me at that point, when there is evidence, my kids always know to own up right away.  What could I say, but "tie it back on and come home"?  Unfortunately the car shut itself down - some electrical issue, no doubt - and they ended up stuck on the side of the road.  We had roadside assistance tow it to a friend's house, because the 80 miles to home would have cost over $200.  I drove the hour down there to pick up the crew and delivered them all safely home. 

Hubby is always away when these things happen, so he sends decisive answers at 3 am by e-mail.  "She takes your truck back to school.  Pay to have car towed home.  You drive other car."  Short and sweet.  I like it that way, because it makes me think that he took the news very calmly.

I sent her back to school in her sister's car, and found a tow for under 200.  So when I saw the swarm of bikers, I knew I had to not only warn them to be careful, I had to get that little zinger in to their dad- "Enjoy the bike years, they're over before you know it!"  Based on how interested his daughter was in the college kid's exploits, he had better stay on top of things - you keep looking out through the same old eyes, but life changes mighty fast.