My Role Model

My mother was visiting us a couple of weeks ago to get a little extra time in with my kids before they left for college. It is such a pleasure to see her with my kids.

My mom was always a great mother when I was a child. Oh sure, we had our fair share of female spats. But, mostly we truly enjoyed each other's company. Growing up, I had that blessing of all blessings - the complete assurance of both of my parent's love and support. I knew that even if I did something they weren't pleased with, they would still love me. I never doubted that for a minute. I do believe that is the greatest gift a parent can give a child - the assurance of unconditional love.
My childhood was during that first generation of mothers who worked outside the home. And my mother did. Of course, as I have told you all before, I had my wonderful maternal grandmother who lived with us and was there to greet me every afternoon as I got off the school bus. But, my mom wasn't there.
She never really relished that whole domestic goddess role anyway. Maybe getting married at 17 will do that to you. She wasn't the cookie baking, craft making, Martha Stewart kind of mom.
Which was fine with me. What kind of mom was she? She was the world's best listener. She was my constant cheerleader. And I never doubted that she was a mama lion if anyone ever wronged her baby.She is all those things as a grandmother as well.

Plus, her domestic goddess gene kicked in. At first I was startled, then overjoyed, to see her baking cookies with my kids. Or keeping an area of her closet stocked with art supplies for them. She keeps track of every play, concert, and performance they are in and unless some terrible tragedy strikes, she is sitting in the audience.
She congratulates them after the performance. Then she calls them once we get home to tell them what a great job they did.

She was a wonderful role model to me growing up of what a mother should be.

And now she is showing me how to one day be a grandmother.

Truth in Advertising

Yesterday I read that in three years, US cigarette manufacturers will be required to print 50% of their packaging with graphic images that portray the consequences of smoking. Shockingly, the US trails other countries in establishing this requirement. I can't understand why we are behind the times. It's not like we are the home to the cigarette manufacturers or anything.
This newfangled "truth in advertising" idea got me thinking. Why stop at cigarette packages? Wouldn't we all be better off if all packaging showed an image of what the product will truly do?

Fast-food hamburger wrappers would have the following photo on them.
I think that would eliminate the need for those microscopic nutrition guides they now post beside the counter, don't you? One look says it all.

Donut boxes could have this image on the front.
But why stop at food? I for one think that all wrinkle creams and high priced face products should be required to have this image front and center.After all, I know I look the same no matter what I use. Heck, I'm 47. No cream is going to make me wake up and look like a twenty-something. But maybe if I saw that image, I'd stop wasting my money.

Any of those lycra, slimming, take inches off clothing would show this image. Remember, the goal is truth.
Additionally, I would also think that any packages of cheesecake, ice cream, and in my case even Doritos would come with the following image.
Yes, I think I like this whole image idea.

Accepting our children's innate personalities

As the mother of four children, I am constantly amazed at the stark differences between my children. Why do we spend billions of dollars studying nature versus nurture when each home with 2 or more children is a virtual petri dish of scientific evidence?
My first two children were twins, as you all know. My son was naturally outgoing and self-confident. He was successfully flirting with waitresses by one year of age. My daughter was more cautious around strangers - even family members she hadn't seen in a while. A favorite family tale is of the time when she was around one and half and my in-laws came to visit. (You knew it would be an in-law story. These things never happen with our own parents.) She hadn't seen them in a few months and when they walked into our house, she was playing on the den floor. She froze in that position. And stayed there without moving for over an hour. Yes, I would say cautious was a good word to describe her.
Within a few years, she had also grown to be outgoing and confident. She could chat anyone up about anything.My middle son? Born to be reserved. We had a standing Friday morning play date at a great park in town. He and I would drive up, he would look out the window and say, "I didn't realize other people would be here." Every Friday. He was crushed on a weekly basis. In his ideal world, no one would have been there except the two of us.My fourth son? Huge circle of friends. Loves to have people over. If the phone rings, he is out the door.So what have I learned from this? Children are born with personalities, traits, and tendencies that have nothing at all to do with us. Not only that, some of these traits, such as a tendency to be more reserved and comfortable around fewer people, can't even be impacted by us. I tried. I still try. I forget and try to coax him into having friends over or going out. This does not go well. That whole saying about fury and a woman scorned? Nope. Worse fury is a teenager who thinks you are trying to manipulate him.
Why can I not leave him alone? I believe part of it is our culture's belief that being outgoing is infinitely preferable to being reserved. Even though I honestly don't believe that is true for each person, I find myself buying into it periodically. And another part of it is an underlying drive that we as parents have to make the road smoother for each child.Although the more I meddle with his innate personality, the more potholes I put out there for him.

Ah, parenting - such an easy job.

The one in which I fall off my literary perch

A couple of months ago I asked you all for some book recommendations (you can read my post here but I highly recommend you read the comments if you haven't because you all had great suggestions). I have managed to read a couple of the ones you suggested and plan to work my way through the rest. Summer just got the best of me. I think I read more in the cold months while I am also busy putting on more fat and generally getting very Jabba the Huttish.I do love to read. And I know you do too. But today, I thought it would be nice to have a different sort of confessional. Because you see, there are some books I have tried to read but can't. Well, maybe can't isn't exactly the right word. I'm certain I could read them. But, as a middle aged woman, I know life doesn't last forever. And it is way too short to read some books.
Even books that others consider classics. Which is what makes this sort of confession hard. While a large segment of the population might be offended if I said I wasn't going to read Twilight (which I did - although I don't think it is the bee's knees), people tend to look at you with that PBS documentary host down-the-nose-glance when you tell them you didn't care for a particular classic.I have a theory. I think almost all of us have grabbed that prize-winner off the shelf, started it, and then thought, "Who decided this was the cream of literature?" It is interesting to google "100 best books" and see the multitude of lists that pop up. Of course, lists like this are by their nature completely subjective. Some books make every list while others only show up on one. I'm always happy when I've read several on each list and agree that they were good books. So, I'm going to let you in on my dark literary secrets.I didn't like One Hundred Years of Solitude by Marquez. Oh, how I wanted to like this book. I plodded. I worked. I plowed. About half way through I decided I just didn't want to go any further. Unless I could go smack some of the characters in the book. Since I couldn't do that, I packed it up and gleefully drove back to the library.
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Nafisi. I wanted to like this one too. It was all the rage in book clubs for so long. And, my typical favorite genre is anything set in a different culture. But I couldn't do it.
And, embarrassingly enough, I don't like The Lord of the Rings trilogy. We own a resource book to help people keep up with the world Tolkien created for the books. My boys love them. My husband loves them. Not me. I didn't even like the movies and they at least had Orlando Bloom in them.
Isn't literature fascinating by its very subjectiveness? If we all loved the same books, we would lose so much variety and diversity in life. I'm always thrilled that our schools seem to do such an outstanding job exposing our children to a wide variety of genres and authors. I've watched each of my children develop an appreciation for types of literature they didn't realize they would enjoy at all.

I've also been the one to comfort the son when he came home and confessed that he had done poorly on a Shakespeare test that he had tried his best to prepare for. I told him that was fine. I always thought Shakespeare was overrated anyway.

Meryl Streep has Nothing on Me

Wednesday I drove three hours away from my house, ripped out a part of my heart and left it in the care of total strangers.
Yes, I took my son to college.

And I don't really care how many millions of mothers have done this same thing before me. On that day, it was my son. And me. And I have to say I didn't enjoy it.

Overall, it went well. Except for the fact that we arrived to find my son's roommate and his family enjoying the freshly redone and redecorated lobby of the dorm because they didn't have a room for our boys.No. No room in the inn. Even though we had been given a room number in early June. But, only two hours later, a room had been miraculously found. Thankfully, no stable animals had to be moved.We managed to get all of his stuff hauled into the room and still make it to the welcome ceremony for students and parents. If you will remember, they had asked all the parents for a photo of their child starting kindergarten. When we went into the gym for the ceremony, there was the large screen and the power point showing these adorable 5 year old faces. And the saddest soundtrack playing that I have ever heard. College administrators have an apparent cruel streak.But, we didn't cry. And that made us astonishingly proud of ourselves. As did the fact that I did not hurt or maim a single person during the housing debacle. All in all, a day to be proud of.

I didn't like coming home and knowing he wouldn't be here. And wouldn't come in later that night or even the next day. I wouldn't have to make sure there was orange juice in the fridge or an extra bag of tortilla chips in the pantry. No one would ask me to play Rock Band with them. No, I didn't like those things at all.
But I did like the video call I received a little while after getting home. And I loved hearing about the cool guys he has living on his hall and all the fun activities they have planned for the next few days.

To all of you who have sent kids to college before, I salute you. Even though my mama actually did tell me how hard this day would be, I thought that was just because I was such an extraordinary child. (Insert sarcasm here.) And to any of you who are sending them off for the first time like me - you may cry on my shoulder any time.

As for the majority of you for whom this day is years away, start practicing your acting skills now. Because driving away with a smile on your face is truly an Oscar worthy performance.

If the Cemetery is Rocking

If you watch the news or pick up a paper, you'd think the only thing on the minds of the American public are important issues such as health care, crime, and Michael Jackson. But I know that if that gets to be too serious for me, it doesn't take long to locate some true American ingenuity that will lighten my mood.Yesterday's search yielded just the right gem.

A widow in the little town of Los Angeles, California is having a tiny bit of trouble paying off her mortgage on her home. Elsie Poncher, like so many widows, just wants to leave her modest bungalow debt-free to her children.
I neglected to tell you that widow Poncher's mortgage is $1.2 million. Just your average senior citizen with problems directly related to a fixed income. Which brings us to how widow Poncher plans to accomplish paying off her $1.2 million mortage.

It's simple, really. You see, widow Poncher and her husband were forward thinking enough to buy two plots in Westwood Village Memorial Park for their finally resting places. Some of you may be thinking, "So what?". Well, I'll explain.Dearly departed Mr. Poncher is now residing in the crypt immediately above Marilyn Monroe.
Obviously, the solution to Mrs. Poncher's financial woes is to sell Mr. Poncher's crypt on Ebay. Yes, Mr. Poncher will be scooted over to the plot originally reserved for Mrs. Poncher and the lucky highest bidder will one day reside immediately above Marilyn Monroe. Or, as the Ebay ad says, be "looking face down on her". If a corpse can look face down on someone. Or face up. But, that may be fodder for another day.
Anyway, our enterprising widow Poncher started the bidding at $500,000 and her little plot (well, Mr. Poncher's little plot actually) was up to $2.5 million dollars as of Sunday.

Somewhere in this world is a person with $2.5 million dollars of disposable assets willing to scoot poor old Mr. Poncher out of his spot in the hopes that one day his (or her) remains will reside close to Marilyn's.

Plus, Hugh Hefner bought the plot beside Marilyn in 1992. Nobody in that cemetery is going to get a minute of rest.

Anniversaries, Elvis, and the Shriners

Yesterday, I shared my 23rd wedding anniversary with the anniversary of Elvis' death. Usually that sort of coincidence is not something anyone would have to give a second thought to. But my life played out a little differently.
I was married in Memphis. Also home to a little shrine called Graceland. And it is a shrine for those millions of Elvis fans from around the world that flock there, especially on August 16 each year. I didn't think about that when I was young and giddily planning my wedding. I wasn't much of an Elvis fan although I do have a vivid memory of my mother crying her eyes out the day he died. I chose a Saturday to get married that miraculously did not appear to conflict with the huge multitude of activities I had to avoid to please my expanding family (college football, various hunting seasons, etc - remember, I am in the south). I had always pictured myself getting married in the fall. Oh well. August 16 would have to do. Maybe it would be a cool day.
We found an old home that had been turned into a bed and breakfast and special event venue. We booked it in January. It would be perfect for the reception as well as to house my out-of-town family.
Caterers were found, florists were scheduled. I found a perfect dress for $100 (you all remember my frugality, right?) and booked a lovely hotel for our wedding night with the plan to leave on our honeymoon the following day. All systems were go.

Cue the music that let's you know all systems are about to go haywire.
August 16 rolled around that year, much like every other year in Memphis, as a hot, humid day. With rain. The rain delayed the beginning of the parade that closed the roads in mid-town Memphis between my quaint little house housing my relatives and soon to hold the reception and the church of my wedding. The parade that had something to do with Elvis and thousands of other people. Including Shriners. You have to love the Shriners.
The rain relented before the wedding began which left the air dripping with moisture. I dripped with moisture too. That perfect dress I bought in January 1986? Quite the height of fashion with full satin sleeves and skirt. One benefit was that I'm fairly sure I lost 5 pounds sweating and lugging that dress around on me all day.
The church was beautiful and the wedding went as I had always hoped and dreamed. Off we went to our reception in the beautiful old house.

Without air conditioning.
No one had thought to tell me when I booked it in January that it wasn't air conditioned. And I sure didn't think to ask in the middle of winter. Thankfully, I had put my bridesmaids in sleeveless dresses. Bridesmaids are always a walking time bomb when you put them in a dress they will never wear again - which I had. But at least they were the only ones not in long sleeves.

No one fainted and we didn't have to call 911 so I consider the reception a success. There are lots of photos of people with the biggest sweat stains you've ever seen and portions of the video where our dear friends and relations are griping about the lack of air conditioning. It's always been fun for us to watch since we were so excited, we didn't' really notice what was happening at the moment.
And off we went to our hotel for our wedding night.

With the Shriners.

Yes, they were staying in my bridal hotel. And let me tell you, the Shriners we were honeymooning with can toss back more than their fair share of libations. And sing. And play the lobby piano.

All. Night. Long.In summary, best laid plans - yada, yada, yada. But, something must have worked because 23 years later, we are still going strong.

And I wouldn't go back and change a single thing about that day.

Lessons Learned from a Kindergarten Teacher

My children were all blessed to have as a kindergarten teacher one of the finest women I have ever met. A truly gifted teacher and all around wonderful woman. She has two sons several years older than my oldest so I was also the lucky recipient of some parenting tips from this incredible woman.
One day she shared two pearls of wisdom with me that I will never forget. She told me she had two regrets as a parent - not standing up to her sons' teachers when she should have and not reading aloud to her sons as they got older.When a teacher you admire tells you she should have stood up to teachers more, it makes an impact. Gives you a certain sense of "empowerment" that you might not have felt otherwise.
And when she says to continue reading, you try to do that as well.

Sadly, we don't read aloud to our kids anymore but we plan to start that again now that those older, busy teens are moving away to college. That might be a lovely return to an old tradition to ease the shift in our entire house.But, until a few short years ago, we read to our kids - all of them - each and every night. Sometimes we let them chose what we read but more often, I researched books and brought ones into our lives that I thought they might not get exposed to otherwise. There are some fabulous children's and young adult books out there that don't make it onto the required school reading each year. I could do several posts just about them.

What I cherish the most, and I think each of my kids would agree with this, are the traditions we also established.

We read the Little House series each time we had a child in first grade. Which means that except for my youngest who was a newborn the first time we read them, each child heard them out loud three times. And what wonderful, classic tales. Every home, whether full of girls or boys, should contain that set of books.
We read the Narnia series when we had a second grader. Yes, there are some battle scenes and difficult moments in those books. Cozied up in your lap, a child can handle those and learn that difficulties do arise in life and he will be OK when they do. We love those books so much, we've named three cats after characters in those books - Lucy, Mr. Tumnus, and Bree. You gotta love a literary family.I have made so many mistakes as a mother. I'm sure several therapists will make quite a bit of money one day listening to my kids list the mistakes I committed. But I also bet they will one day read both of those series of books to my grandchildren. Because that was one thing I did right.

And on the rare occasions I find need, I stand up to their teachers.