What Goes Around

When I was in third grade, I hit a period of separation anxiety. I did not want to go to school. I wanted to be home with my mother because I felt safe there and really school wasn't all it was cracked up to be. At the time I was thinking this would make my mother happy that I wanted to be with her. I would cry my way to the nurses' office and wait patiently to be picked up by Mame Hall ( my grandmother for all intents and purposes). Mame would give me a hard look, which I would shrug off and once I was home it was Price is Right and As The World Turns and some serious time reading all the Carolyn Haywood books I could get my dad to let me take out of the library. I did not realize then how much my mother probably agonized over what was wrong with me really. Why did I need to be home after being in school 3 years already?



Thursday morning last week couple weeks back , the oldest child ,who is now in first grade, decided that school is just not for him and for better or worse he decided to cry his way out of going on Thursday. I had to call the school and explain to the school nurse that I did not think he was sick, only that he was having some separation anxiety or perhaps that aliens had switched my child during the night, leaving something akin to an alien in my house. She doubted the alien story and told me she would alert his teacher. When the teacher called I explained that he was near hysterics and I wasn't sure what to do. "bring him in. It will only get worse if you let him have his way today.' I thought "He's all yours ,sister." But calmly said. "We'll be there in ten minutes." I should have realized it would take me that much time to peel him off the ceiling first.

I put his brother and sister in the car and went back into the house,knowing I would have to carry him out . and I couldn't find him. Our house is not that big. It is 2 floors so after searching downstairs I headed up. My patience was not thin at this point it was thread bare. I looked everywhere and the last place I looked, under our bed, there he was. He held on to the bed frame so tightly I had to literally peel his fingers off one by one. ( Something my husband found so amusing when I called until he had to peel the kid off the kitchen island the next morning.)

I did have to drag him out to the car and drag him into school , where his teacher and the Principal then dragged him down the hall. He was crying for me and holding his hands out like someone being dragged off to prison. All I could do was walk away. I cried all the way home.

He got off the bus with a smile on his face. His teacher emailed to say he did fine once he got to school, although it did take him awhile to settle down.

He pulled this for about two weeks, with MOnday beign the worst until one day he came off the bus smiling this big smile and I looked down at that swet face and said "You're done. If you cry tomorrow morning about going to school I am giving away your Nintendo and you will lose computer and TV priviledges for a week." His smile faded quickly. He nodded his head and said "Okay mama I promise."

He has kept his promise.

Now I have an idea of how awful I probably made my mother feel. I am sure she forgave me or perhaps never felt the need to forgive me. As a mother you don't hold that kind of grudge. I think I played it harder than my mother did, though. I am thinking my father might have stepped in to stop my own tantrums about going to school. I am thinking if my mother had had more leverage....thank goodness for Nintendo.

Life with Cooper

My middle child is named Cooper, after Gary Cooper one of my favorite actors of the golden age of Hollywood. So far though he is not living up to the name in the quiet ,suave way of his namesake. Yesterday he hit his older brother with a bag and when he was confronted by me he calmly explained that the "bag is soft,mom". While he was with his aunt and grandmother yesterday he was having a conversation on the phone with two friends named PeePee and PoopPoop and apparently they were getting on his nerves since he told my sister in law he had to hang up on them harder and harder but they just kept calling him back.

This morning after getting his older brother on the school bus for the first day of school I could not find the large bottle of juice I know I purchased just three days ago. I put Cooper and his baby sister in the car and took them to the fabulously cheap grocery store one town over the bridge. All the while Cooper is saying to me," The juice is in the trunk" We don't have a trunk. We have a crossover with three rows of seats. I had looked in the car for the juice bottle, my husband looked in the car for the juice bottle and we both scratched our heads wondering what could have become of 96 ounces of apple juice. All the while Cooper is saying "the juice is in the trunk".


We get to the grocery store that has a happy sign that states they open at 9 am...it is 8:30. I have no where else to go and nothing to do. So I decide to head back home and just stop at the small town grocery store and pay way too much for juice just to get us through the morning. As I am loading said children back into the car I happen to move a beach towel from off the floor and there in the back seat of the car is the bottle of juice.

Cooper smiles and says ,"I told you there was juice in the trunk."

Did I mention he's only three?

The Sandals

When I was growing up I spent many summer days at a pool in our town called the Lions Pool, simply named because it was run by our local Lions' Club. My father was a member and worked each spring at getting the pool ready for summer. It was not a fancy pool. In fact it was at it's beginnings a mud hole and a swimmer could find themselves treading water next to an occasional snake. Lucky for me they eventually paved over the area and made it a large pool that mimicked a swimming hole. It had a very shallow end that gradually got deeper. And a deep end that didn't get much deeper than maybe 5 feet. Life guards at four stations and a snack bar. Truly, as a kid it was a little piece of heaven.

I don't live in my hometown so every now and again I will take a nostalgic drive around to places I loved growing up. I took such a drive a couple months back when I had two sleeping children in the car and wanted to kill some time before taking the kids to the pediatrician. I drove down Norton Road, eyeing suspiciously the new homes that have sprouted. Noticing a Gothic looking monster complete with a turret. It made me shudder. I once rode horses with my friend Tracy through those fields. I drove on down the hill and nearly wrecked my car. There before me was the saddest sight I had seen in some time. I pulled over to the side of the road and dialed my husband. As soon as he said hello I could barely talk.

" The pool, they tore up the pool. Houses, houses." Of course being my husband and quite use to tears and having grown up in the same town, swimming in the same pool , he knew exactly what I was saying.

"The Lion's Pool? Really? It's gone?"

I shook my head and he sighed. Which is, as a side note the really great thing about marriage, your body language begins to speak over the phone.

Two weeks ago I was working at the Y, sitting in a rocking chair with an unhappy child on my lap. I looked down at my sandals and noticed they were virtually falling apart. They are old. They are savagely worn and frayed and I am sure if I were ever on "What Not to Wear" they would throw them out. I love these shoes. My mother bought these shoes for me 9 summers ago. They have melted to my feet. You can see the impression of my toes. The sides are on the verge of exploding and exposing my pinky toes.

I looked up at my friend Amy and said, "I have to get these fixed." Now Amy is just the right person to say this to. Any other friend would have said, "Dude, they are falling apart. Get a new pair." But Amy understands sentimentality and she also understands frugality, of which I am a victim of both. And she told me where I can get them repaired and handed me a tissue.

I have established that I cry easily. But you may think, why cry over a pool? Why be sad over a pair of shoes that have more than served their purpose? I don't always like change. I am not fond of progress when it swipes at my childhood. I have very vivid memories of Lion's picnics at the pool, swimming in that God awful cold water in June and then swimming through the peeling paint in August. And I remember the day my mother bought me those sandals.

So as I think about that pool and how so many may not think it is a big deal that it is gone, I have to wonder why couldn't it be repaired? Why is it that we are always in such a hurry to throw away something because it needs fixing. Sometimes taking some time and effort can give the sweetest reward. "What Not to Wear " be damned, I am keeping my sandals.

Friends

When I was a camp nurse, many years ago after I graduated from college, I had to conduct the evening vespers. Believe it or not I struggled with this. It was a church based camp but not so much that I was expected to give a sermon. Evening vespers had been mostly done by the director or assistant director and had some lesson that capped off the days activities, more or less. But since I had done more than just sit in my cabin waiting for the injured, tired and homesick, the assistant director thought I should also take part. I am not always much of a public speaker and you have to admit speaking to a group of tweens is not always that easy. It can be a tough crowd.

The night before it was my turn I was sitting in the camp kitchen with the cook , who was funny by my standards. We pretty much laughed each night while I sat having a cup of tea or coffee and he worked preparing the next days adventures in food, as he called it. I had one more friend who was the cook's assistant who was usually there as well. And we all laughed. I loved those evenings. I loved camp. This particular night it struck me how fascinating camp was. We were all from very different backgrounds. Some of us were out of college, some hadn't even gotten there yet. Some counselors were athletic and loud and some were motherly, gentle. I started thinking about all of them and why I liked each one, what they meant to me. The following night that is what my vesper was all about. It was about each person I had been working with for the past weeks and why I liked them. I then played Peter Gabriel's song. "Don't Give Up" . What can I say, sometimes I do have a flare for the dramatic. And it was a hit with all those tweens.

17 summers have past since then and I can say that I still use that vesper in my daily life. I use it to remind myself of the good people I am surrounded by. The ones who are athletic, the ones who are loud. The ones who make me laugh. The ones who inspire me to be better and the ones who inspire me to let things go. The friends I have had since I was a toddler and the ones I met just in the past year. The friends who have to come to me again after a pause in our friendship, for whatever the reason and the friends who never let our friendship pause. The friends whose expertise I call on to get me through aches and pains and child rearing. The friends who have picked up where my mother left off and the ones who live too far away to hug me in person. The friends who have been able to say I am sorry and the ones who can't quite put that into words.

In May , my husband and I attended a wedding of a very good friend and we were surrounded for the day by very good friends. At one time during the day I looked around me and realized how awesome and possibly how rare it is to remain friends for such a long time with so many people. All of them guys, by the way. Once my husband and I reconnected with him came this wonderful return of many guy friends from junior high and earlier, with whom there had been a pause. Now with them came wives and girlfriends who are now part of my camp of funny and fabulous friends, who are cherished for who they are and what they add to my life.

In August the camp will hold a reunion weekend. My husband asked if I would go. I am tempted, hoping to see some of those wonderful people I worked and lived with for a summer. The cook and his young assistant , who I know is now a father . Some of the couselors who were loud or motherly. To remember the nights sitting in a brightly lit kitchen with laughter and the warmth of summer all around me. It would be fun, although I am hoping though that I do not have to conduct vespers, my list of friends and why I love them would take too long.

Smorgasbord

This morning I was standing at my kitchen window, cleaning my tea cup for that beautiful first cup of morning tea, when I spied the Devil with huge brown eyes staring me down. Standing in the middle of my yard, in the early morning light was the Devil in fawn's clothing. Yes, I did say Devil and for those of us who toil in our gardens that is what these creatures are.





They are the prima dona's of the animal world. They don't scavenge like a raccoon. They are not sneaky like a fox. They aren't skittish like the coyote. They are brazen, bold, blinded by their own cuteness. They are conniving. They know they are graceful and beautiful to watch. That is why they move in that deliberate way. Have you ever wondered why they stop and stare at you from the side of the road? Just to make sure you are watching when they bound into the woods and disappear.

If you don't have a garden then you probably feel as I once did, that they are sweet wondrous creatures and why not share a little lettuce with them? But once you have caught the gardening virus and your temperature rises with each chewed leaf and nibbled tomato plant it's a whole new game. A game of wits and speed. A game of staring down and scaring away. As I stood in the kitchen and stared out my window, eyes locked with Satan, I started developing my strategy. But I knew neither us of would back down.

Another deer made his way out of the woods and stopped short when he saw his companion still in the middle of our yard. I think the deer in our area have a communication going. I think Walt Disney was onto something when he created Bambi. They do talk and right now they are talking about our garden. We have the only garden in our immediate neighborhood ( because everyone else has pretty much given up and getting anything they can actually eat once the deer are done feasting). So I believe the chain of communication has spread wide and far. When they are tired of the grass and other "wild " things they migrate through the woods and over the golf course and find their way to the buffet on Penfield Hill Road. They talk about the sweet leaves of tomato plants and parsley and nibbles of carrots and pepper plants. They discuss how best to jump over our rustic yet inefficient fence and the best time to avoid the dog ( who by the way was in the front yard as I was staring down the deer in the back yard).

So we're upping the anty. A higher fence, bells to make noise when they get close to plants that are staked. And a recording of my voice saying ," Don't even think about it." There has to be a way to outsmart them. Ignore their looks. Ignore those big brown eyes , bring on the challenge. Game is on!

yesterday

Today is Drake's last day of school. I am sad. Not because he will be home all day all summer( get back to me in a couple weeks) But really because he is growing up and doing it much too quickly. I started to cry when he ran out the door to the bus today. Of course, we have established that it doesn't take much to make me cry. It is just hard to imagine him a first grader. More so than kindergarten. Kindergarten just seemed like preschool with a bus. Of course it isn't. The curriculum is slightly mind boggling. I guess it was the half day.

I have decided to end the school year with some celebrating, even though it feels like March and cannot possibly be the beginning of summer. I have made cupcakes that spell out "welcome Summer". I bought some fun things to keep both boys busy, at least for the rest of the afternoon. But somehow moving on to first grade feels monumental and in need of some bells and whistles.

I remember moving on to first grade. I remember being in first grade. I loved it. I loved my teacher, Miss Bacon. What a fabulous name for a first grade teacher. There was also Mrs Rothstein who yelled at me once for yelling at her from the front of the room. She may have been nice after that but I truly don't remember. I do however remember Mrs Griswold, second grade, who gave me a Richard Scary book at the end of the year, which I still have. She signed it and everything. We also share the same birthday so I get a card every year from her. She did however have her doubts about me , I am sure, since I never stopped talking long enough to enjoy our "special arts" class on Friday afternoon. I probably still have the half done latchhook rug in my parent's attic.

There was Mrs Stachelak , who was just plain pretty and tall and had a great laugh. And Ms. Rubenstein, at least I think that was her name. All I really remember of her was I never actually saw her stand up. She was always behind her desk and directing us kids to close doors, open windows, gather supplies. I think if she had stood up half the third grade would have fainted dead away.

And of course fourth grade, Mrs Devokatis. She was cool incarnate. She let us chew gum...in class! After lunch she read a chapter from a book, we could chew gum and one lucky student got to hold her banana bookmark, which if I do remember corrrectly was quite dog-earred. She introduced me to Judy Blume with "tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing". I just didn't think it could get better than fourth grade and then came fifth...

Mrs Bober and Mr Read and Mr Peronace. They laughed togather a lot. They stood outside their classromm doors talking and laughing while the students filed from room to room. I remember my book report for Mrs Bober in fifth grade. She asked what George Washington Carver discovered and I guessed peanuts much to my relief since I had not finished the book. It was boring. Mrs Bober also played the piano and Mrs Kume, the music teacher, directed our plays. I was Becky in Tom Sawyer. It was the shortest lived acting career on record but I had an awesome costume!

So I guess I remember so many good things it feels like I was just there and now I have a kid who is embarking on this journey and it seems well, surreal. How can we possibly be in elementary school at the same time?

My Inner Girlie

I have never liked pink very much. I always watched my friends with detached fascination as they dressed their newborn girls in nothing but pink, occasionally some lavender but mostly pink. All I could think to myself was , "isn't there anything else but pink for little girls?"

The answer is no. I now have a precious little girl and as usual I am regretting those mean thoughts. Because really there is almost nothing but pink for little girls. Every store looks like a Pepto Bismol convention. I haven't had ot buy anything but if I did I would be hard pressed to find something other than pink to put her in. I have been fortunate to get all kinds of hand me downs from friends who have gone the girl route already. And truth be told it is almost all pink and what is not I am hesitant to use. I know, eating my words yet again. Factor in that it takes me upwards of 45 mintues to pick something out for her and my inner girlie has been found.

I also have found the temptation to dress us alike. I am not sure what inspires this but for any of my friends who might have done this and I made fun of them, forgive me. I am beginning to understand. I am not loathing pink. I am not opposed to Piper looking like me. And I will say if her hair is curly it may not bother me as much as I once thought it might.

A good friend of my sister's gave Piper her first piece of jewelry. A beautiful pink pearl bracelet. This past weekend friends of ours gave her a beautiful pink sweater and I found myself thinking how nice they will both look together. I hardly ever coordinate myself this way! I may have to start dressing better just to keep up.

So will I start wearing pink and skirts and worrying more about my hair? I don't know for sure. Pink is easy, skirts are do-able but the hair, well I gave up on that fight long ago. So if you see me wearing a pink skirt and my hair looks a little more tame don't be shocked just soak up the moment, it may not last long.

Cornmeal and The Housewife of Hartford County

I had said in my last post I would start eating cornmeal for lunch for a week beginning this last Monday. I forgot it was Memorial Day so I upped it to starting on Tuesday. Then I realized we have a wedding on Saturday. But I decided I would do it anyway, eat the cornmeal before we left for the wedding and then enjoy some appetizers. I think I am missing the point.

One of my friends called and asked why exactly I was going to eat cornmeal for a week. My response was to learn something about myself,test my discipline and hopefully change the way I look at the food I eat.

So far I have learned I have no discipline and I still look at food with a lust for flavor. I have not started this cornmeal lunch yet either. On Tuesday I was called to work at the Y and by the time we got home I fed everyone, including myself in a hurry. I forgot all about making some yummy cornmeal until I opened my pantry to get something else and the ingredients just yelled at me from the shelf.

I confessed to Alicia. I explained I was either really losing my memory thanks to 3 kids and lack of sleep or I really just don't want to eat the stuff. It could be both. Alicia made it through her week and Amy is still eating her gritty lunch. I am not made of the same stuff. But it's okay. At least I know what I am made of.

I think I'll pack it in and just write a check. If I can help someone else from not having to eat cornmeal 3 times a day that may be enough of a lesson for me.

The Cornmeal Challenge

On Monday mornings I work the Y with 2 very good friends but if I continue to spend this concentrated amount of time with them I may abandon my family and head to the Peace Corps, wearing a bandanna and a t shirt with an emblem screaming "World Peace".

I will preface this also by saying I have spent many hours on my own saying there must be something good I can contribute when I have so much. Now I have found 2 women who not only do good things but also know much more than I do about volunteering, giving,
and have now given me some food for thought on world hunger. This brings us to this past Monday when Amy and Alicia began having a conversation about eating cornmeal. It doesn't sound too interesting on the surface but the whole gist behind the cornmeal is it is what hungry people the world over walk miles to get a bowl of. And let me tell you I have tasted it and I wouldn't walk a block.



Amy is eating the stuff every day for lunch for a year and will donate the money she would have spent on lunch to "World Vision" ( http://www.worldvision.org/) . Alicia is eating it three meals a day for one week. ( You can follow her week on her blog listed below) Anyway, I am the most watered down version of this because quite honestly after having "lunch" with them on Tuesday I honestly cannot bring myself to eat it more than 5 times. It is the equivalent of eating overcooked grits laced with sand and perhaps a pinch of mud. Alicia was thrilled that Amy helped her "cook" the stuff the right way. I am telling you there is no right way.



On Tuesday morning ,prior to my lunch date, I took the kids out for some errands and on our way home I was very hungry. I had only had a small bowl of cereal knowing I would be eating gruel for lunch and figured after all Alicia had told me I was better off being very hungry. But here is how the psyche works folks...



On my way down Rt 66 in Portland there is a hot dog stand and I was suddenly overcome with the urge to stop. I have lived here 3 years and have NEVER had the urge to stop. Next to that is Farrell's restaurant which has a sign announcing specials and this one said "Karen stop and have some Prime Rib" well okay it just said "Prime Rib special" but it may as well have had my name on it. And of course we passed the DQ and the Dunkin Donuts........ugh. I cannot tell you the last time I felt so hungry and all because I knew the only thing I had coming to me was gruel.



I had lunch. It was awful. But it really made me think about the millions of people who are poverty struck in this world. People who walk to get a bowl of this cornmeal to fill that angry, empty space in their bellies. The don't know how fabulous garlic tastes. Or how wonderful a hot cup of tea is first thing in the morning. Or the delight in licking your fingers clean after a sauce laden spare rib. They know only gruel and perhaps are grateful for it.

I realized in this one day how fortunate we are to have not just basic foods at our finger tips but all kinds of food. And yet we are so spoiled. We complain when the price of lettuce goes up. But did you ever get to the store and find there was no lettuce? Or when prices go up on your favorite brand of cereal? Or fresh fish? It honestly never occurred to me to just be grateful to be able to pick what I need and what I want.

So you are asking have I been eating this gruel...not yet. I procrastinated buying the ingredients, probably because I really don't want to eat it. I will start on Monday and we'll see how the week goes. I'll keep you posted.....

Pardon me while I cry....

My day started normally...boys fighting over the TV , baby crying, husband crying because he was up at 5 with the baby because I went to the gym. I prayed for noon as I do on many days that start off this way, knowing that when noon comes and the oldest gets on the bus there will be some peace and perhaps some quiet for a few short hours.



As I waved good -bye to the bus and smiled to myself , I turned to find the middle child sound asleep on the floor and the baby half asleep in the swing. When the baby stirred and made that face that caused her to look like a 90 year old man I snatched her up quick and ran up the stairs. I rocked her in the playroom and she fell asleep. I wasn't in the mood to risk putting her down. I was tired and , although I did need to clean I aborted that idea and found the red net flix package and promptly put in "Marley and me". That was the first mistake of the afternoon. Of course you have to know that the movie doesn't have a happy ending. It's about a dog's life and as all of our lives end, this dog's ends with the story. I did read the book, loved it, but fell short of finishing the last pages because I already knew the ending and didn't care to make myself cry. The movie was a different story and as I watched and laughed through most of it when it came to the end I was a blubbering idiot.



Just watching the old dog lying on the stretcher as Own Wilson tells him he really isn't the world's worst dog ( I actually think we have that title in our house) pulled at every sentimental string my body has and the tears just fell like leaves in an autumn storm. And as the trees look sad after the storm I can only say the same for me when the movie was done. I cried so much my face had a sheen to it and my eyes were small slits beneath all the swollen skin.



The movie finished in time for kid number two to wake up and kid number one to come off the bus. Kid number one promptly went to the computer and kid number two only wanted some juice and a Thomas video. Easy enough. Baby still sleeping , now comfortably on our bed, so time for a little Oprah. I had no idea what she had on but I was hoping for something funny.



Wrong. I got a farewell to Dr Oz. Which on the surface should not have been anything sad since he is only moving to his own show in September. But they brought out all the people he has helped. Including a four year old boy he saved after Hurricane Katrina. Now the tears would just not stop. It is really just ridiculous and I would like to claim post partum but since we are now 8 weeks out I am not sure that is fair.

I will say I think a good cry is healthy, even essential. And I am quite good at it. I don';t have that beautiful Demi More in Ghost cry, it's more like Jim Carey impersonating Demi Moore but regardless crying is helpful is unknotting all those emotions that build up. SO if you happen to pass me one day and I look like Jim Carrey impersonating Demi Moore no need to stop and give me a hug, it'll pass and I'll be back to normal in no time....I'm a pro.

To Twitter or not to Twitter

My curiosity got the better of me one day last week when Barbara Walters was egged on by the ladies of the View to start "Twittering". I have heard of Twittering for awhile now....well actually since Piper was born since I have to sit for extended periods feeding her and my brain is too tired to really read anything. I have succumbed to the evils of day time television. Anyway, everyone famous seems to be on Twitter so I signed up to see what all the fuss is about....I still don't get it.

I signed up and then scoped out some famous people , like Oprah, who apparently was making dinner plans with Hugh Jackman. Do I really need to know this? Am I jealous? Well, yeah who wouldn't want to have dinner with Wolverine........you wouldn't even need a knife!

I found that Demi Moore was in LA for a fundraiser and that she "follows" Tony Robbins......in fact quite a few famous people follow him. And then I got caught in this labyrinth of sentences. One sentence on one person's page sent me to someone else's page and it was ......well worse than Face book. At least on Face book I am stalking my own friends. On Twitter I clicked on people I don't know to see how they know someone else. It's really quite ridiculous. Who has time for this stuff?

So I am signed up, but you cannot follow me because I am not entering what I am doing. Who wants to know I just got out of shower to the sound of my boys pummeling each other and my infant screaming? Or that I just finished cleaning my bathroom. Or that the bottoms of my feet are so rough the pedicurist had to pull out the electric sander. It's hardly worth bragging about. And probably more information than anyone needs........

After much internal dialogue and debate and encouragement from my husband,I have decided to start this blog. It is an effort to keep my sanity with now 3 small children and not enough time to call each of my friends and spend countless hours weighing out the benefit of one preschool or another or where to find the best post partum bra. Now I can just wax on as I please and hopefully the mumbling that my husband claims I do frequently will stop. He has recently stated the mumbling has gotten "creepy" . In my own defense, it is a professional hazard. As a nurse I am constantly in a state of "what do I need to do next?" "what did I forget?" And so I became adept at talking to myself. Of course as the years have passed I guess I have forgotten the art of talking to myself without moving my lips.....thus making the whole scenario a bit "creepy ' for the hubby. What he also does not realize is this could be genetic. My mother hated going to her grandparent's house because her grandmother used to have conversations with her reflection in the dining room hutch. So blogging may only heighten the problem as now I may be thinking of things to write about and thus the mumbling will continue at length. We'll see .......