The kitchen is getting pretty awful but there are still some dishes that are clean. The living room is almost in-passable. I’ve spread [...]]]> “Happily Oblivious” is going along well. At least I’m having a good time. I spent the day carding and spinning and watching the game. They lost so I took a nap.

The kitchen is getting pretty awful but there are still some dishes that are clean. The living room is almost in-passable. I’ve spread my hobbies around pretty good. The son made limeade this morning and made a comment like, “Are you two gonna drink all this in the next 10 minutes or can I expect it to last?” I almost laughed out loud, since this is what I say, verbatum! (It’s almost gone…I’m sloshing!) I have the bathroom to the point that you can’t see the vanity top. What fun!

My husband still doesn’t think this will teach my son anything. Maybe not, but I do expect that by the end of the week they will both know exactly what I do around here!

Pacing and out of sorts, unable to [...]]]> I must admit that the events of this summer had caught up with me. My son is temporarily living here again…we had to get him out of the gang neighborhood before he got killed…and it’s amazing how quickly you forget what it’s like to live with a self-centered slob.

Pacing and out of sorts, unable to focus on anything; I was distracted and frustrated with the messes that were appearing right before my eyes and the food that was disappearing just as fast.

I decided to sit outside for a bit. Fresh air, yadda yadda. My son comes out and sits next to me. “WhatsamattaMa?” Yeah, once in a while he gets sensitive and aware, becomes a good listener and actually has good advice. This time he says I should follow my own advice and let the past be the past. Just take care of yourself. Don’t worry about so many details. He suggests that I be “Happily Oblivious”, like him.

Well I almost choked! It that what it’s called when you leave all the lights on everywhere you go and take your clothes off in the middle of the living room and leave them laying there, and leave the milk out over night? I started to argue and lecture, but someone slapped the back of my head and I said, “Oh yeah?” instead (a great thing to say when you shouldn’t say anything).

So I agreed to “Happily Oblivious” for 1 week, and he had to go tell his father that this was the plan (husband is uncertain at best).

This was at about 5:30pm. “Happily Oblivious” started out with me turning on a few lights, changing the channel to the Brewer’s game, “Oh were you watching something?”, and ordering a pizza for myself.

I fully intend to let the dishes pile up, not cook unless I feel like it, and leave my “stuff” out in the bathroom, etc. I can be oblivious, happily! I am eagerly waiting to witness the reaction to no clean dishes, my clothes in the middle of the living room, and being completely unavailable to taxi anyone around.

I will post a quick entry at the end of each day during this experiment. My guess is that he will realize how his “Happily Oblivious” affects those around him. The worst thing that could happen is that I take a week off from all the fussing and picking-up that I do and will have to catch up next weekend.

I’ve blogged about my son in the past. I won’t go into details here. Suffice it to say, I’m worried. I have the mother’s [...]]]> The music artist Jewel says this in a song, “Not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful and useless in times like these”. She must have penned that lyric before she had children.

I’ve blogged about my son in the past. I won’t go into details here. Suffice it to say, I’m worried. I have the mother’s intuition that he is making choices that are very dangerous. I’ve talked and talked. I’ve tried being less involved. I’ve tried being more involved. I know… he’s 23. The feeling of utter helplessness is unbearable. I want to hold him close, protect him and spank the tar out of him all at the same time.

When I meditate about this, the answer I hear is to completely let go. Trust in the universe, Mother Nature, God, the powers that be, etc. Believe that my son will make the choices that he is supposed to make to learn the lessons in this life that he is supposed to learn.

I am trying. Worry is wasteful and useless in times like these.

Dad loved to get together [...]]]> My father, Michael, died when I was 28. He was a very hard-working dad who always had time to listen or joke around with us, when he wasn’t catching a nap. It’s been almost 20 years since his death. My sisters and I maintain a tradition that we call “Dad Lunch”.

Dad loved to get together and eat. No question where I get that from (although Mom does love food too). Typically, Dad would show up at one of our houses with really good deli ham, bagels, cream cheese, giardinera (an Italian pepper relish), Lays potato chips and Pepsi. Sometimes we would have cheesecake or his very favorite, tapioca. We would catch up on whatever. He would play with the kids, he loved the grand-kids, and then he would nap. He also loved a good back rub. He used to tell us that he’d give us all the money in his pocket for a back rub. Of course, it was usually change. But that’s okay.

So our Dad lunch includes all his favorite foods and we remember and laugh. We share stories with the kids and grand kids.

I miss his laugh and sense of humor most.

In 1988, Mom married Ted. For a few years there I had a Dad and a Step Dad. It was kinda weird, but they knew each other and we often got together. All of us. Ted understood the situation amazingly, and had a ton of compassion. Dad was sick.

Over the last 20 odd years, Ted has been Dad. Or Pop as I call him. Papa Ted. It’s difficult to put into words what Ted has meant to this family. He adopted us wholeheartedly. We did the same of him. He cherishes my mother. She has flourished with the perfect companion.

But Ted is so much more than father figure, husband, Papa Ted, Grandpa Ted. He has been counselor, adviser, listener, breadwinner. He always has a bit of wisdom or good advice. You can always count on him for encouragement. You can always count on Ted to include you in his prayers.

Ted has many talents. He writes, draws, spins, weaves, and loves his computer games. He is also a human calculator. Mom relies on this quite a bit for knitting math. A brilliant man. He loves to play with the Grand Kids. My grandaughter likes hide and seek and making scary faces at him so he says AARRGGGHHH! And she laughs and laughs. He has a great sense of humor.

So I would like to take a moment and say, “Thanks Pop”. You mean the world to me! I love you.

Last but not least…my husband. Scott is by far the best father that any woman could ask for for her children. He has an amazing sensitivity and often was more comforting to the kids than I could be. His heart is HUGE! Hard working, ethical, honest, thoughtful, trustworthy…they all fit. Get me the thesaurus. I could go on and on. By now he is blushing, since he is also very modest. Thanks hon, you’ve done a great job!

Happy Fathers Day!!

I don’t personally know any fallen heroes. I have a handful of family members that have served or are serving in various branches of our mighty military. I am [...]]]> During the holiday season, we’ve felt the special glow that extends outward from all of us.  Some ask, “why don’t we act like it’s Christmas every day?”

I don’t personally know any fallen heroes. I have a handful of family members that have served or are serving in various branches of our mighty military. I am thankful to each of them for their time and sacrifices. I can not imagine the magnitude of such a loss if a loved one should be killed in the line of duty.

I think a lot about the wars we are fighting. The politics of these wars are shameful and tragic. Yet our brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, moms, and dads are there, doing their best and giving their all. And some of them don’t come home.

Our President is asking that we all pause today, set down the hot dog, beer, whatever, and remember. Why don’t we do this every day? They deserve it!

It’s simple really, in comparison. We don’t need to learn how to play TAPS. We don’t need to march in our own parade. Just stop and remember.

http://www.intercom.net/~terrypl/MemorialDay.html

This growth spurt isn’t about height. It’s [...]]]> My son is having a growth spurt! I’ve been measuring these for 23 years now. I wish I had at least a picture of the closet door edge that we marked his height on through the years. He’s probably 6’1″ or so. A tall handsome man. Sparkling blue eyes.

This growth spurt isn’t about height. It’s about independence and maturity. He has his own apartment now. He picked it out. He paid for the first few months of rent. He signed the lease. He is taking care of utilities and calling the landlord because the refrigerator isn’t working. He is deciding where to keep his towels and which cupboard is for dishes. He seems to be enjoying all of this. And he should be. “Do I put the couch here or here? Which way should the bed face? What should I cook for dinner?”

It’s scary to let go, especially with all he’s been through. But I am getting used to it. We talk every day. He’s meeting new friends and taking advantage of his proximity to downtown and the Lake Michigan lakefront. He’s job hunting. Probably girl hunting too. I am proud of him for taking these bold steps. I am proud of me for opening my hand and letting him fly away.

Mom said this part was hard. I didn’t believe her. But the feeling of pride helps to heal the worries.

My Dad’s parents owned a farm. Grandma Mary and Grandpa Iggy. She was Italian and he was Polish. That in itself made things interesting, and for some incredible [...]]]> I dozed in my chair today. Saturday afternoon naps are such a luxury. The window was open a little, and I awoke to the memory-jogging sweetness of lilacs.

My Dad’s parents owned a farm. Grandma Mary and Grandpa Iggy. She was Italian and he was Polish. That in itself made things interesting, and for some incredible holiday feasts.

Grandma loved to garden. She had mixed borders along the driveway, around the Madonna statue, and under the birdbath. She also had a bed that circled the hedge of lilacs. This hedge was huge. Probably 20 feet tall by 10 to 12 feet across and 50 feet long. I don’t know how many bushes were there to begin with, but the growing habit of lilacs created an almost continuous jungle of 6 inch diameter trunks with a dense canopy of heart shaped leaves and heavenly blooms.

We congregated there often. By “we” I mean my cousins and siblings. 9 girls (the boys were off doing other things). We would mill around the house for a while until some adult would say, “You kids go out and blow the stink off”! Aunt Sarah, Grandma’s sister, was famous for that line. We would groan and shuffle out, stand around on the patio for a bit and eventually end up playing somewhere.

There were lots of places to play. The barn was a favorite, the huge maple tree in the front yard, down by the creek…But in the spring we usually ended up in the lilac bushes. Each bush formed a clump. Trunks rising from an almost central point. They would lean out away from each other, creating a small room. Perfect for playing house. Each girl had their own clump. It was like a neighborhood. We would scrounge up old pans and pretend to cook, clean, hang laundry etc. Inevitably, one of our “children’ would have an emergency and we would all pull together in the imagined crisis. Hours flew by. The adults handed sandwiches and drinks through our “doors”. We would finally come in or go home after chasing fireflies and June bugs, or getting chewed by mosquitoes. Exhausted and grimy, we were all happy. Memories had been made and imaginations grown.

My daughter has some lilac bushes in her back yard. They aren’t as big or as old as Grandma’s, but next time I’m at her house I am going to show my granddaughter how to “blow the stink off”.