My ABC's

Abandon doubt
Be mine
Call if you're late
Dance at weddings
Eat dessert first
Flirt
Gamble on forever
Harbor a crush
Initiate romance
Just say "YES"
Kiss like you mean it
Love my dog
Make out more
Not in public
Open your heart
Pretend it's prom night
Quote your parents
Reciprocate
Share your toys
Trust
Uncork champagne
Value fidelity
Write love letters
Expect honesty
Yield to hate
RendeZvous

The Number Game

I don’t have a foam finger…a cow bell…an air horn…or a fancy stand up tent…what kind of a MONSTER am I? Hell, I wouldn’t be caught DEAD in a team jersey, let alone ‘bling it out’! Crucify me! I arrive ‘just in time’ to set up my chair under a tree (God, I hope there’s a tree), or bring my pink Victoria’s Secret umbrella to shield myself from the sun, although I am already slathered in 70+ SPF. It’s FOOTBALL DAY…every Saturday!!!!...for my son. GO TEAM! Since the minute he was born I knew he ‘had the build’ for sports. And if he didn’t, well, let’s just say that sports were shoved down his throat from the get go. His great grandfather used to hold him when he was born and say he was ’like a sack of potatoes’. His grandmother would say “oh, those apple cheeks”. His grandfather would say, “oh, what a loaf of bread ya got”. What the hell, who knew my kid was such a smorgasbord (whoa, first try and spelled it right???). I have watched him play soccer. He was #13 and #20. In tee ball he was #25. In flag football he was #7, # 35, #21, #4. In what I like to refer to as ‘why the hell am I letting my kid do this’ football (tackle football) he is #3, #21, and #32. I just learned he is #32. I thought he was # 3. FUCK, I can’t keep track of ALL THIS STUFF! I learned he was #32 because some mother next to me told me. Some other mother, who clearly is a better mother than me. Bedazzling your child’s name onto your shirt makes you a better mother, right? It sounds terrible. Who forgets their child’s number? I can’t help it, I was never good at math. Having a boy who plays sports doesn’t come with an instruction book. I do remember every minute of every day that I have had the pleasure of holding the job title of ‘Parker’s Mother’. One of my favorite quotes says, “Asking me to describe my son is like asking me to hold the ocean in a paper cup”. It’s impossible to say it all and have it hold all that he is to me. He is an incredible person. He came out that way. He is smart. He loves genuinely. He is compassionate about old people, and mentally challenged people, and those that are less fortunate, beyond compare. He is sensitive. He is determined. He is everybody’s friend. He is two inches taller than me! He is, today, 13. So, I glance up from my iPhone at the ‘World’s Best Mom’ next to me at this football game, after I update my Facebook status, of course. The rude shrill of the air horn awakens me and I understand why I don’t decorate myself with his number, or watch every play, or really know what the heck is even going on out on that field. It is because of ALL the numbers that my son was given to identify him to ALL the other people out there that are ‘counting on him’ and ‘watching him’, whether on the field or throughout his life, he has always just been plain old #1 to me…the mother under the pink umbrella…you know, the one on her phone at the top of the hill, under the tree!!!!!

Worth Holding Onto

"You can boil your life down to a single suitcase, if you desperately have to. Ask yourself what you really need, and it won't be what you imagine - you will easily toss aside unfinished work, and bills, and your daily calendar to make room for the pair of flannel pajamas you wear when it rains; and the stone your child gave you that is shaped like a heart; and the battered paperback you revisit every April because it was what you were reading the first time you fell in love. It turns out that what's important is not everything that you've accumulated all these years, but those few things you can carry with you."
— Jodi Picoult (Vanishing Acts)

Yo Momma's soooooo

"When I was little, I used to pour salt on slugs. I liked watching them dissolve before my eyes. Cruelty is always sort of fun until you realize that something’s getting hurt. There’s a word we learned in social studies: schadenfreude. It’s when you enjoy watching someone else suffer. The real question though, is why? I think part of it is self preservation. And part of it is because a group always feels more like a group when it’s banded together against an enemy. It doesn’t matter if that enemy has never done anything to hurt you-you just have to pretend you hate someone even more than you hate yourself.
Jodi Picoult (Nineteen Minutes)

On November 29, 1998, in Jefferson County, Texas, single mother Kenisha Berry, 20, placed duct tape across the body and mouth of her 4 day old son, and placed him in a black plastic trash bag. A couple collecting aluminum cans stumbled on the body. One year prior to this death she was accused of leaving another child in a field full of ants. He survived and his ant scars are still obvious today. Then there is Debra Mike, Dora Durenrostro, Caro Socorro, Susan Edwards, Caroline Yowd, Robin Row, Michelle Tharp, Debra Milke, and Patricia Blackmon, and I could literally go on for another page of names that were not ever mentioned in the media and barely mentioned in a news time blip. We continue to persist with the unrealistic beliefs that mothers don’t hurt their children. The American Anthropological Association states that more than 200 children are killed by their MOTHERS each year. In fact, homicide is the leading cause of death of children under 4 years old. Caylee Anthony was 3 and ½ years old…and the WORLD reacts with the first ‘social media trial’ in history.

We live in an information age. We thrive on instant news, apps, stimulation, web relationships, computer updates, around-the-clock news channels to ‘keep us informed’. We are SO WORKED UP we can’t even think without stopping for an instance to put ourselves in another’s place. Yet we go to church, practice yoga, meditate, download apps to meditate, vacation, and supplement with relaxing lotions to SLOW US DOWN. We live in a country that (thank God) gives us a chance (a chance) to have a fair trial if we are convicted of a crime. Many people far more important and brave have fought long and hard (and continue to fight) for rights that are allowed to American citizens. That doesn’t mean we all agree with the outcomes…my God if we all agreed we would have far less men and women killed in far-away wars….

Could social media become the DOWNFALL of hundreds of years of a democratic crawl for freedoms??? Now, I watched every minute of this trial that will go down in history. I kept up through Facebook, Twitter, iPhone apps, CNN, In Session, Nancy Grace, etc etc etc. This NOBODY mother living in Orlando has become a household name. Look, I’m a mom and I totally GET the disgust. The Casey Anthony freedom clock is ticking and in less than 48 hours America’s MOST HATED MOTHER will be ONE OF US…gasp….it’s ooookaaay! Justice may not have appeared to have worked. Crowds are picketing her neighborhood. Oh, and the death threats??!! Really??!! Isn’t that why we are here in the FIRST place?! Remember there have also been 272 people on death row exonerated in our country after being CONVICTED of crimes they didn’t commit. Oh, and 17 of those people were ALREADY put to death. Look, I understand the feelings of injustice in this case. I have my own opinions regarding what may have happened. In fact, we have all become well-trained crime scene investigators in recent years, so damnit, we are right!!! Well, truth is, this verdict may not be what we thought should happen. Often it isn’t! We, as citizens in this country need to STOP! Millions of dollars were spent by the town of Orange County to seek justice for Caylee. Casey did not have millions of dollars, like OJ. A jury found her innocent and she will be the monster walking among us by Sunday afternoon. She will not be protected behind mansion walls like other famous exonerations. She will shop at Target, hang out in bars, and maybe even get her fake job back at Universal Studios all while wearing her scarlet letter FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE! That is NOT freedom. That, my dear, is justice in disguise. That is one sentence that is a lot more difficult than sitting in a 6x4 ft cell for 20 plus years. If she really is the demon that we have seen she will reveal her true colors in the future. Let’s all slow down. Let’s pray for peace. Let’s enjoy the show, but realize this ‘show’ is a real life event for many people in this person’s life. Let’s use this to teach OUR children a lesson about love and honesty. Let’s enjoy the hype but resist the anger. Let’s not forget that everyone is somebody’s baby, sister, and friend regardless of the behaviors that they have. Let’s not hurt someone because we think they hurt someone else. That is not how we do it in this country! Let’s remember that there are many people in our city, state, and country that don’t know HOW to do the right thing and our compassion might make a difference to one of them, and if NOT, it might set a good example to those little ones who call YOU mommy or daddy!!!

Summertime Pleasures

For Ellen

You can't exist in this world without leaving a piece of yourself behind

The Box

It’s been sitting in the office for EVER! Yes, we have been in our remodel for three years now! I could trace my finger through the dust collecting on top. I never unpacked it …lazy..too busy…and I hate, absolutely hate to throw away memories; even the little mementos that remind me of a special event or a glimpse of the past. A memory hoarder. MH. I kept everything when I was little. I am happy to say that I still have some of the strange items from my treasure boxes. As I sorted through the myriad of what I like to call ‘crap’: erasers, glitter stickers, flavored chapsticks, basically everything you find on that $1 aisle at Target, I realized my kids are not comprised of this heap that is sitting in front of me anymore. In the years it has taken me to unpack the box, they have outgrown its contents. They are no longer the “Extreme Gymnastics is Awesome!” journal entry I found. They could care less about the list of everybody’s birthdays scribbled very orderly in a Hello Kitty notepad. And the Cruella De Ville autograph that I waited in line for an hour to get..yeah…you know…… at the bottom of the ‘Life Moves On’ crap box. You see, kids don’t care about the things that define them as ‘little’ like parents do. They have a goal and that is to be a ‘big kid’, ‘teenager’, a ‘grown-up’. That’s why I let them paint their rooms, define their ‘space’, and make their own life within the four walls they call ‘their room’. In fact, they don’t want that old stuff, and they don’t really want me around, unless of course they need a ride, money, food… I have lost my ‘Mommy Mojo’. Where at one time my height and strength (my most effective parenting tool) could restrain them into submission, they now tower over ME. I used to be able to tell them they were too little to sit in the front of the car; these are ‘rules’ made by policemen. Now, before we even grab our shoes to walk out the door all I hear is ‘Shot gun!’, ‘No, I already called it’, ‘Mom, He had it yesterday!. (Of course I do not react to this daily murmuring..this white noise). I know this ‘front seat’ prize has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the stereo. In fact, as fights erupt in our daily commute, I use that stereo as a weapon. Lady GaGa Warfare. If I’m REALLY mad, I turn it off!!! Gasp! Grunts! A lot of “How could you??!!”; that’s my favorite mean mommy tool! But, back to the box, as they have grown up I see less and less of the traces of their childhood. If only I knew how to decode their passwords and shuffle through their phones, because that is where their childhood memories are now. No more scribbles. No more cursive practice notes. No more play dough animals hardening to the point of cracking. Welcome, phone bills and the social network. That damn box made me realize that my kids may have outgrown the past, but I haven’t! Now you know WHY I didn’t want to open that box; that Pandora’s Box. So I go about working in my office, chauffeuring the car, cooking the meals, folding their laundry, picking up their rooms, as well as the dog poop in the yard. I am almost invisible. Almost. I’ve learned a very important tool to get me through these next years. It doesn’t involve manipulation. Or coercion. It’s called ‘listening’. They don’t need to spend ALL their time with me. God knows they are ‘busy’ little people. They don’t need to keep their bedroom doors open. They need their privacy. They don’t need the clean white walls in ‘their space’; paint it purple, and black, and red. It’s about them now, not me! They don’t need to dress the way that I used to ‘prepare’ them when they are little. They are not Barbie Dolls. They are their own unique person. They don’t need to make little art pieces to say they love me; they are to busy making and re-making themselves. I adjust to what they want to become. I guide them and offer them MY opinion, and hope that they eventually decide on ‘something in between’. I try to tell them that I have never been the mother of a teenager before, so bear with me; I am bound to make mistakes. We all do. So I follow them around collecting mementos that I think they will appreciate one day when they are older, with their own children. The things that will remind them of this very short, very precious time. A time when the whole family is alive and well. A time when family gatherings didn’t involve getting off of work, or driving hundreds of miles to get to them. I’m reminded of a Trace Adkins song that says,
“You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this”.
And so they don’t ‘miss’ it, I continue to collect their memories for them. I pick through the memories in that big brown box and move the memories to a more secure place in the back of my closet in a NEW box. I’ll open it from time to time. I’ll be reminded of how much they’ve grown. And someday when I’m gone they will finally be thankful that mom was a hoarder. A hoarder of their lives.

I want a bench when I die!

Snap

My ‘umbilical cord’ is stretched a little far for the next couple of days. You see, I’ve never really properly cut that cord. I like to think of it more as a bungee cord. They can try to get far but they will always bounce back to me. My children have never been the kids that ‘go away to camp’. They do not visit grandma, alone, in the summers. They rarely spend the night at friend’s houses. I pretty much know where my kids are and what they are doing (generally) 24/7. They like it that way, and so do I. All of our trips are with each other. Their friends come to our house on the weekends, because I like to think that my house is the most fun. They frequently text me throughout the day to make sure an event is remembered, or a plan is made. Sometimes they just text and say, ‘luv u xoxoxo’ (those are the best texts). I still remind them that they need to shower, and brush their teeth, and call their dad, and do their homework, and come down for dinner, breakfast, snack, etc. Sure, they know how to do this stuff, but I just like to remind them that their mom is on top of things…or maybe that their mom is still needed. I struggle through the eye rolls, and the door slams, the ‘whatevers’, and the ‘leave me alones’. That is part of being a mom; a good mom. But, I don’t leave them alone; at least not for too long…So naturally a ‘school overnight trip’ sent shivers down my spine; much like my daughter’s first prom, Ashley’s horse jumping; driving with friend’s to school. I spent the last four days packing my little one, my ‘Sugar Lump’, for his school trip. What would he need? What would he forget to do if I’m not around? How do I fit ALL the years of parenting and guiding into one duffle bag for a three day trip? If I could have I would have typed out step by step instructions on what he should do each day, what should happen in an emergency, what to do if he’s hungry, has to go to the bathroom, can’t sleep. I unpacked and re-packed his bag with him; I called it a ‘dry run’ for when he’s really camping with his school. He hated EVERY MINUTE OF IT. We practiced getting in the sleeping bag at night, how the luggage will come out of the carousel at the airport, where the Benadryl and batteries are located, how to carry all the stuff when he gets there. It was more for me than for him, and I think we both knew it! Can this person survive without me was all that was echoing through my head. The bag represented me and all that I provide for him. All those painful growing up steps that are so necessary is often so hard on the Mom. From the first day at preschool, the first team game, the first sleepover, the first concert, the first sporting event, I’ve led him through every step of the way so that he never was fearful or unprepared. He thinks I’m crazy. He thinks I’m ‘such a mom’. His sisters have been great about telling him how much fun he will have and settled my fears as well. So, as it was, I WAS the last mom to leave the airport and wave goodbye. I DID watch him until he was just a tiny speck going through security so he would KNOW that I was there. He DID turn to see if I was there at that very last second...and I WAS…I didn’t let him down….he DID make a gesture that resembled a ‘scoot’ or ‘go away’ motion...well, it could have been a wave…maybe. …My daughter said, “I think he will have fun, but I think he will cry at night”! WHAT?? Not the words I want to hear. Why? Because he misses me, he’s scared, he’s hungry? Maybe all three??!!! A writer, Elizabeth Stone said, “Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body”. Well, my little heart in on an airplane, bus, and then a boat right now. Probably having the time of his life. Exactly what I want him to have. I jammed a little note deep inside his duffle bag that says ‘I love you. Love, Mommy’ and a tootsie roll. I hope he reads it when he gets ready for bed…at least I’ll know he has a little something in his tummy …. At least I will have the peace of mind knowing that even though he grows up and experiences his own life, the umbilical cord is never too stretched for a random ‘I love you’……a little bit of candy to sweeten the thought….

My Dad

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

Cartwheels to Car Wheels...

Yesterday a child came out to wander/Caught a dragonfly inside a jar/Fearful when the sky was full of thunder/And tearful at the falling of a star……
…and that little girl turns 15 today… and I realize that 15 springs and 15 summers later, well, not much has changed…She burst into this world with so much wonder AND so much anxiety. She was so easily over stimulated. If I could bottle the energy and creativity, the wonder and the anxiety, the dreams and the determination, the concern and the trepidation, it would be my HANNAH. Born under Haley’s Comet, which comes only once every so many years, so does this unique and special ‘once in a lifetime’ person. As easily as she would startle as a baby with loud sounds, she now has music flowing through her veins AND her bedroom door. As she used to delight in the daily walks to find her favorite ‘tiny, baby flowers’, she now adjusts, daily, the theme of her bedroom. As she used to suck on a binky until her Kindergarten year started, she now has an iPhone permanently installed to her ear. As she carefully turned cartwheels over and over in the yard, she will now be turning car wheels by the end of this year. As she took her first steps that led her to horseback riding and eventually dancing on a daily basis, she continues to try her wings in this big, big world. I have guided her and instructed her since the beginning, and I still do every day of her life (whether she knows it or not). She has taken on her own life and created beauty all around her. When you have a teenager you begin to notice little snippets of beauty that are present. You see, at one time I even had to vacuum the house with her in a baby backpack, she now is rarely seen on a daily basis, as she fills her days with friends and events. As she creates her own life, I am witnessing a beautiful person emerge. She has strong beliefs that she never bends upon. She has an infectious laugh that lights up her entire face. She loves with a faithfulness that most adults would long to possess. She can NEVER, EVER bear the thought of any person being alone, hungry, or sad. She believes in angels and spirits who guide her. She follows NOONE and creates her own path. She possesses ‘emotional turrets’ and says whatever she feels, whether appropriate or not. She has dreams to be a doctor, and a firefighter, and a missionary, and a forensic scientist, and a volunteer in an old age home, and a world traveler…sounds like a lot, but they are HER dreams. I’ve told this story before, and if you’ve heard it, tough, you are going to hear it again; we frequently search out fires for the pure thrill of it. During a recent ‘fire stalking’ my daughter said, and without conviction, “UGH WHY CANT I JUST GROW UP SO I CAN DO THAT AND BE A FIREFIGHTER!”. I instantly knew what she meant by this comment. She wanted to help, experience it, live through the emotions of it, and feel the excitement!!! So many teenagers are lost in boyfriends, drugs, and fitting in, that they lose that LUST for life. Hannah hasn’t! As Lonestar sang in a song, “Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle”, because it passes so fast. So As I go through these last couple years with her living in my home; as I hear her say that ‘she’s not a baby anymore’, as I watch her love and care and dream; I am reminded how important it is to always give her hope and praise; never let her ever forget how beautiful she is; and if she ever feels that there’s no one else and she is alone, I’ll be there! (I may be standing outside of a bedroom door which was slammed in my face, but I’LL BE THERE!)