Life's lessons....

Open letter to my sons,

My darling boys, I can't believe how quickly you are growing.  It seems like just yesterday our home was filled with diapers and baby food.  Now it's ipods and laptops.  As you know, each stage of life comes with new lessons to be learned.  After much consideration, I feel it's time for me to teach you one such lesson.

Ok...  there is a machine to the left of our kitchen sink.  This machine is called a dishwasher.  Say it with me:
D I S H  W A S H E R.  Good.  This wondrous piece of technology can wash our dirty dishes with very little effort on our part. That said, there are a few things we humans must do.  First and foremost, we must put the aforementioned dirty dishes from the sink into the machine.  You see, when I bought each glass, plate, spoon, etc home, I cut it's tiny legs off.   This means nothing can walk itself to the dishwasher.  Luckily for us, our sink is in close proximity to our dishwasher.  This means very little movement on your part.  All you need to do is scrape any food remnants into the trash..again conveniently located near said sink and dishwasher (although as teenagers, you rarely leave anything behind on your plates!!).  After the plate has been scraped, load the dirty dishes and utensils into the dishwasher.  It's pretty simple to figure out where things get placed but if you have any doubts, don't hesitate to ask me.  Once the dishwasher is full (note: not 1/2 full, not overfull) please take the 32 seconds it takes to add dish soap (the cup is labeled inside the front door) AND turn it on (this is a very important step!!)  Voila...in an hour or so- clean dishes!

Now I don't want to overwhelm you with information but when the only light still on is the "clean" light, you can (hold on to your boxers) open the door and put the clean dishes back in their assigned homes!!  The cycle then begins again because I know there will already be dirty dishes in the sink.

I know!!  It's almost too much to grasp isn't it??   Sigh...it is my greatest joy as a parent to get to share these things with the 2 of you.  I am so blessed.

All My Love,
   mom
xoxox

Ya gotta have friends...

Lately I've been thinking a lot about friends, mine in particular.  I was thinking of what friends mean to me. I have some friends that have come and gone from my life, leaving me with a life lesson.  I have friends whom I laugh and giggle (and bitch) with at work.  Other friends have slowly faded away with no hard feelings, only lives that have gone in different directions to the point that we no longer have anything in common.  Then there are my old friends.  By old, I don't mean they are actually old (although most are older than me)...I mean the ones that I've had the longest.  As preteens we were brought together as we were uncertain, insecure middle schoolers (or for you M.O. alums...Upper El ).  We went through puberty and braces together, first crushes and first heartbreaks, difficult parents and Mr. Cobb.  Even as we branched off with friends from other "cliques" we always came back to where we knew were safe..each other.  It was really quite extraordinary to be raised by 4 or 5 sets of parents...all of whom were looking out for your well being, pulling for you to succeed, listening to your teenage woes, rolling their eyes at you, and parenting you just like your own folks did.

Life has certainly intervened since our time hanging out by my folks' pool or Friday nights on Lori's couches (eating Doritos and drinking Pepsi) watching scary movies or well...any of the other agonizingly normal (and fun!) things we used to do.  We've gone to college, joined the military, gotten married, had babies, had our hearts broken, changed careers, bought houses, and one of us even found our acting chops!  And yet, despite all of that, when we are lucky enough to get together again, it's as though not a day has passed.  We pick up where we left off like it was just yesterday that we were heading out to the Diner for cheese fries and gravy.  Our old stories still make us laugh and we enjoy hearing about the goings on in everyone's everyday lives.  Recently I was blessed to reconnect with one of these "old" and very dear friends.  It's amazing how much I miss her after seeing her just 2 weeks ago!  I find it nearly impossible to believe we lost touch for 19yrs.  We have much to catch up on and yet it feels like no time has passed.  We will not be letting another 2 decades go by without each other!

It's funny, when I talk to my boys about this special group of friends, I will say "I was 11 when I got Miss Nancy" or "do you know how long I've had Mr. Eric??"  My pals and I have asked each other "When DID we get Steve?" I think the reason I fall into that terminology is because I feel, truly, like I received each of them, much as one receives a gift.  They helped shape my views on the world, my views on what friendship means and in their love for me, I see the very best of myself reflected back to me.  In some divine intervention many decades ago, we were picked for each other and although we have "grown-up" lives now, we still, in some long-ago determined way, belong to each together.

What's mine is mine...

If you are thinking of getting my sons a Christmas gift and are wondering what to get them, let me make a suggestion.  Socks.  Many, many socks.  They may not be all that thrilled with them but sometimes sensible gifts don't elicit a lot of excitement.  They'll get over it.

Allow me to back up a bit.  Simply put, I'm raising sock thieves.  For reasons known only to God, my sons go through an inordinate number of socks.  Not only do they disappear at an alarming rate, the ones that do make it back from the laundry room after being washed and dried are somehow still "crunchy"....I don't ask and you shouldn't either.  

In our house, everyone wears white gym socks, for the most part.  The boys like the "no see" socks and I like ankle socks.  The young lads aren't quite so discriminating once their socks have mysteriously disappeared.  Suddenly my ankle socks are just fine, thank you very much.  Finally I had enough!  I went out and bought myself a perfect lovely (and girly) package of ankle socks...complete with pink toes and heels.  Surely my teenage sons wouldn't dare pilfer my pink and white socks....would they??  I got my answer one night as we sat around watching TV.  Everyone was in comfy clothes, feet up on ottomans (why isn' the plural of that ottomen?).  I looked down and what to my wondering eyes should appear...but my socks on Kyle's feet!  The nerve!!  I shared my indignation with him and he had no shame. With eyes staring out of his freckly face, he simply said, "I couldn't find any of mine."  Alrighty then.  The next time I was at my local WalMart, I picked up yet another package of "girl" socks.  These had gray on them with either a baby blue or pink stripe around the top.  But knowing what I know, I knew further action needed to be taken.  I brought them into my room, and not only did I put them in their drawer, I covered them up with other random mismatched, old, stretched out socks!  Yup, my socks are in the witness protection program.  And if this idea doesn't work, I have just one last desperate option:  striped knee socks. 

You Have To Be Kidding...

Yes I've been going to the gym.  Stop nagging me, will ya?? (oh wait, I asked you to...sorry).  I've been going sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the evening with the boys (my oldest has introduced me to the joy of the resistance bands).  I'm even starting to enjoy it.  Ok, that's not entirely true but if I keep saying it, maybe I'll believe it. I'm still not going as often as I should but I'll get there.

Now, however, there is a new dilemma.  I'm trying to get "outside the box".  I am (was?) considering the idea of taking a class.  Not just any class...noooooo.  I want to try a spin class.  Stop laughing.  Seriously...cut it out.  Listen, I've been on the other side of the door while class was going on "in there"...I've heard the music turned up loud so as to drown out the moans of agony and the grunts of misery.  Let me add that on the outside of the door to class is a sign which reads: Do not enter this class unless you can answer YES to both of these questions: 1) I have eaten something within the last 3 hours  2) I am well hydrated.   Well hell, this does not bode well.  On the other hand, a friend of mine loves it and told me not to be afraid, which I took to mean I should be very afraid.  Alright I'll take the leap.  After we worked out the other night, on the way out, I stopped at the front desk and asked for a spin schedule (the first step is the hardest).  I ask if there is a beginners class...I'm no dummy!  The nice Y guy says, "nope".  Hmmm...ok then.  Then I remembered a sign on the door saying you have to sign up at the front desk for the class.  I inquire if I would have to sign up the night before if I wanted to attend the 5:45am class (can you IMAGINE starting your day in a worse way??  Me neither!)  Then some Y woman who doesn't often smile and in my experience is nothing more than the bearer of bad news says, "That class fills up fast.  They're waiting in the parking lot before we even open." (for those not in the know..they open at 5:30am) WHAT??  Let me get this straight.  They are waiting...before 5:30am to take a class that causes gutteral utterances that can only be compared to the sounds of a woman in middle of full blown labor...without an epidural!!  Now I'm not only supposed to get up before work...before anything, don my uber sexy sweats and head out into the increasingly cold morning air to work out but now I'm going to go the extra step and super-torment myself??  Have you met me?? Does this sound like something "I" would do?? Ya know what??  I think I'll just hit the snooze, pull up the covers and think about for just one more morning...

I Just Do Not Care....

Really, why should I care what the hair on the back of my head looks like??  I can't see it, therefore, it should not matter.  Let's think about this...if you're with me, than you're probably standing next to me blabbing something at me or listening to me blab, right?  If you're behind me, then you are probably someone I don't know in which case, I don't care if you like how my back-of-the-head hair looks..truly I don't.  

This is not a new development for me.  I've always been prone to ignore the back of my head.  When I was younger and a curling iron was the hair torture tool of the day, I curled my long, straight hair each day, hoping there would be a miracle and it would somehow "remember" to stay curly. (alas, it never did).  From my front view in the mirror, I'd be thinkin' I looked pretty cute and then I'd go upstairs and mom would say, "you missed the back."  (as in the ENTIRE back).  ugh.  In my defense, I was cursed with bad height genes.  With my challenged height comes challenged arm length...for God's sake I can't reach the back of my head in the way necessary to wield the curling iron.  Mom solved this dilemma for me....can you say perm?  Don't laugh, it was the 80's..it was fine.  

Now it's a few decades later and the back of my head is still the bane of my existence.  The curling iron has long since been put away (or sold at a garage sale for 50 cents) and there is a new duo of tools causing my angst.  The hair dryer and the round brush.  For those who are unfamiliar, let's just say that a round brush was invented sole-y to get tangled in your hair.  This leads to 2 choices, take untold hours and carefully pry each hair out of the brush or just grab scissors and lop off said chunk of tangled hair (not recommended)..oh and the 3rd choice, come out of the bathroom weeping, holding the cursed brush and ask someone who loves you (boyfriend, child, mom, sibling) to "PLEASE HELP ME GET THIS OUT!!"

This topic is on my mind because of this weekend.  I had a VERY important appointment Saturday morning in the form of catching a train to the International Chocolate Show in NYC (hey...it was important to me...don't judge).  Anyway, I was in the bathroom drying my hair with a new round brush whose bristles are a bit too close together.  As I contemplate being done, I hear my mother in my subconscious saying, "what about the back of your head??"  So I struggle to reach around with the brush in my right hand, dryer in my left and attempt to..well...do something.  I go to move the brush THROUGH my hair and this is where the trouble started...the brush wasn't GOING anywhere! I remained calm and thought "NO! NO! NOT THIS!! NOT NOW!!!" (ok, I wasn't so calm...don't judge)  I thought to wake Mark up to help, or maybe just go to the train station, brush dangling from my head. I was going to New York after all...once I was in the city, would they even notice my accessory???  Finally, I wrestled that blasted thing from my locks and as I breathed a sigh of relief, I realized the back of my hair was still damp.  As I raised the brush up to try again I suddenly had this thought: I have never paid attention to the back of my head...why start now???

Worry Wart...

So...my grandmother has Alzheimer's.  It's is what it is...that's life.  She is 87 and it's no big deal, right?  Except it is.  This is not new news.  But if you've ever been any part of this disease, you know that every day is, in fact, new.  You just never know what to expect.

Now I don't mind the retelling of story after story ("did you know a red headed woodpecker comes to my bird feeder every night at 6 o'clock??"  "no, I didn't know that grandma, that must be pretty neat.").  I don't mind that she doesn't remember that she has a wicked (newly acquired) sweet tooth.  I don't mind that she thinks it's been years since she's had fresh strawberries (even though there is a 1/2 eaten quart in her fridge.)  No, these things don't phase me at all.  In fact, these things make me smile...they even make me laugh.  After all, she still knows who I am and often refers to me by name.   This will not last and I, along with my family, are painfully aware that the day will come that she will not...and so I treasure each day that I'm still a part of her memory.   I'm so pleased that I got to spend so much "quality" time with her this summer and so honored that I was trusted to help take care of her.

The thing that's been on my mind isn't so much my grandmother (although she is never far from my thoughts) but my future.  See, Alzheimer's is genetic.  This brings about some questions and concerns.  First, there is a genetic marker that I can be tested for to see if I am at a higher than normal risk for this disease.  Would I want this test?  Would I want my mom to have it?  After much thought, I think my answer to both questions is no.  I had an ulcer at 16...I'm a worrier.  God knows I don't need to start worrying now about something that may or may not happen in many years.  Second, what will my role be with Alzheimer's in the future?  Will I be like my Aunt who has done everything humanly possible to care for my grandmother...and some stuff that was inhumanly possible.  Will that be my role? Caring for my mom as her mind slowly fades?  Will I have to make signs to remind her of the simplest things around her house?  Will I have to repeat things over and over b/c she is just unable to remember what I just said? Will I spend countless hours worrying myself sick whether today is the day that I will walk into her home and she won't recognize me?  Will I have to fight with myself over how long she can live on her own and when she will need even more than the extraordinary care I already offer her?  Will my brothers and sister be involved in these decisions?  Will we hold each other up or will we fight and argue over mom's care? Ok, maybe mom is spared and none of these things are an issue, God willing.  My next concern is do I get it?  Do I get diagnosed with Alzheimer's?  Cause I don't want it, thank you very much.  I worry that my children will need to take care of me.  (Will they even want to??)  I don't want to burden them.  I don't want to frighten them with the facts of what the future holds for the caretaker of an Alzheimer's 'patient'.  (God knows I'm already scared enough for all of us).  Will I go through this alone?  Will I have a love that will want to brave this battle by my side?  Will I struggle for long or will I be diagnosed later in life?? I know me and I know I will fret over not knowing my beautiful sons one day...for I feel that no longer recognizing those you love most is by far the worst of it all.  Ugh, now you can see how I got that ulcer!!

What to do? What to do??  It's not easy to absorb all of that is going on, all of the possibilities of what can happen in the future and all the questions that come with it.  I'm trying to remember that worrying about what may or may not happen only serves to take my attention away from now...from today...from all that is great in my life in this day.  I'm trying to remind myself to live in the moment.  I'm trying to show those around me that I love them every single day, in my words and my deeds.  I'm trying to remember to breathe.

Keepin' me honest...

Alright so a few months ago, I joined the Y (yes, the refer to themselves by just one letter now, as opposed to the very singable Y-M-C-A...but I digress).  Actually, I paid for the family plan so we can all go and enjoy what the gym has to offer.

My original plan was for me to wake up somewhere around 5:40am, LEAP out of bed (that's a joke for anyone who knows me) and hit the gym for about an hour.  This would give me time to get home and shower before work.  Of course, showering before work is almost a moot point given that we're usually in a full sweat by 10:30am!   As far as the boys go, I could then go with them in the evening...I could do more cardio while they work out OR I can drop them off and run my errands before picking them up OR Kyle can go with his friend Josh, who drives right past our house on his way to break a sweat.

As I stated, this was my original plan and I believe it's a good one.  If only it was working out that way.  Yes, I set my alarm and it goes off around 5:40am.  The leaping  part?  That's sort of where I'm getting into trouble.  I'm not so much leaping as I'm pulling the covers up a little tighter and hitting the snooze button.  Pathetic I know (in more promising news, Kyle IS heading to the Y with Josh on a regular basis).  As I lay in bed justifying my lack of motivation I promise myself that "I'll go after work".  Duh...as anyone knows, after a full day of work, coming home, any errands, chatting with the kids and sitting on the couch (fatal mistake), you definitely do NOT want to get back up, put sweats on and head out to do more "work", as good for you as it may be!!!  So this is my hope...I will post here, publicly that I will be getting up, as per my original plan and hitting the gym before work.  I will get it out of the way and feel good about it.  All I ask is that you keep me honest...  Ask me if I've gone and if I make some lame excuse (ie. "I was tired"...said in a whining voice), tell me to put on my big girl panties and get to the damn gym!!  I will be glad and thank you for it...someday!!