Late Resolutions

It is a very good thing that one of my resolutions is not to start being on time because I would have already epically, as the fellas like to say, failed!  I would be at least ten days overdue with this blog and would lack credibility on a monumental scale.  The truth is I probably would never dream of making being on time a resolution because I am not wired to succeed.  I know this in the very core of my being and I am not going to fight it.  I decided some time ago that I would try to do a better job of being on time and those very words demonstrate the lukewarm nature of my determination.  I do try; I simply do not aspire to be a leader in this area.  It is within my reach as much as being an astronaut is and I am simply not motivated by feeling either great disappointment when I am late or a rush of achievement when I am early.

I should caveat a little by explaining that certain events are inviolable.  I am never late when catching a flight, attending a wedding or a funeral, a doctor’s appointment, or a graduation ceremony.  Somehow these have carved out their own illogical category in my mind and I am not late for them.  My brain calculates and functions differently which tells me that I could be on time more than I am.  The rest of the time I am rarely drastically late.  It is usually only by a few minutes and it is because of two things.  First and foremost, I believe that I can slip in just one more thing before I leave.  In the morning that is putting in another load of laundry or feeding our plump little guinea pigs before I go and at work it is one final email before the next conference call.  Secondly, I fail to plan for certain events; I might be tracking to be on time and then I remember that we need to put out the recycling.  When joining conference calls I forget that I have to retrieve the code and dial the number before I am actually able to join the call.  It sounds so simple when I write it down and yet I make this mistake with frightening consistency.

While I may sound cavalier about my lack of expertise in this life skill, I do recognize that this really irritates some personalities.  My best friend is always punctual.  I am not sure why she puts up with me actually but thankfully she has adjusted, by which I mean she has lowered, her expectations to accommodate me.  Because I know that being late bothers some people in ways I cannot imagine I try my very hardest to be on time with them.  I could try to blame my inconsistency on being busy but I love being busy and active and I am typically a few minutes late whether I have one thing going on or twenty.  Certainly I have proven my point that I should not be resolving to be on time!

My resolutions?  I have scaled back my latte from the giant to the big because it was too much milk.  I still have my delicious daily coffee fix and the wonderful experience which comes with it when I visit my Starbucks family everyday so I cannot really convince anyone that I am depriving myself.  I am back at the gym and have been working on diversity in my workouts even though my temptation is to stick with workouts I know I can conquer.  I’ve reintroduced running and while it’s literally baby steps I’m making progress.  The big one that feels like a vote by me for me is that I have been working on some other pieces of writing as well as submitting some of my blogs to writing sites.  I’m trying to get more coverage and learn to be a better writer.  I could certainly “fail” at the first two resolutions but I don’t see how I can fail in the last.  Success may take longer or take a different direction or require re-writes but little by little I’ll get better.  Welcome 2012!

God Bless Stay at Home Moms

Day One 

Day One of being a temporary stay-at-home Mom was easy peasy!  In fairness, we opened Christmas presents on day one so the distractions were never-ending and everyone was happy and perfect in every way!  Plus, my partner in crime was by my side and handling four boys between the two of us is an equation that always seems to work out nicely.  My partner handed out endless batteries and untwisted those unmanageable ties used to keep things in their boxes while I cooked a ham and cleaned up the leftover twisty things wherever they happened to drop, which was seemingly everywhere.  Everyone went to bed happy and exhausted declaring this was the best Christmas yet…mission accomplished.

Day Two

My partner in crime headed to work and four still very happy boys woke up at their leisure.  They emerged to eat breakfast and retreated to different areas of the house armed with their electronic devices.  There was important stuff to do, games to download, music to listen to, statuses to update, and races to be won.  Everything went so smoothly I was lulled into a false sense of security and started the laundry and more clean up while giving them space to be kids.  When batteries needed to be recharged, literally, they all appeared again to plug themselves in and what ensued was a rousing game of poker.  None of the boys know the rules so in true form they made them up and changed them when convenient.  When the shrieks and yells got louder I decided to take a look and found four boys delightedly rolling all over the poker mat.  I have come to accept that since I am a girl I do not understand what boys love so much about rolling around on the floor.  Especially that floor which is littered with dirty clothes that never quite made it to the laundry basket, books, toys, and a discarded toothbrush.  I suggested lunch and having quelled them somewhat I went to make it.  I was barely out of the room before the craziness started again; nothing ill-natured, merely the shenanigans of an energetic bunch who probably should be made to go outside and expend some energy.  Lunch was served and what followed was the rowdiest, noisiest, silliest meal I have ever witnessed.  These four boys quite literally laughed at anything, the goofier the better; if it didn’t make any sense at all it was hilarious! These four boys had somehow multiplied exponentially and had become like handling ten.  I could not fathom these creatures but placed my hope in the fact that I admire several men, my partner in crime, my Dad, some good friends included, who have turned out well and they were probably like this once.  After lunch we headed to the YMCA where they swam for over an hour quite contentedly while I turned up my music and ran and rowed their craziness out of my bones.  In the lobby I saw a good friend I hadn’t seen in a while and we sat and caught up while the boys were getting dressed.  Eventually I had them all in my sights and we chatted a bit longer and when I looked up they were all looking at me with that lack of understanding I had at lunch when looking at them.  It’s true; men and women are from different planets.  I chuckled and bundled them into the car.

Day Three   

  

At 10 on the nose I announced that electronic devices would shortly be shut off and they would be exiting the building.  There were no arguments and I think they were as ready as I was to do what comes naturally to them.  It took a while for the plan to be finalized but eventually they were heading out the door clad in snow pants, jackets and boots.  When they returned at noon they were filthy, covered in mud from head to toe.  I had made soup and sandwiches and baked muffins since I was pretending to be a pro at this sort of stuff and everyone settled down to lunch.  They were back to their normal selves, which should probably be defined as ravenous punctuated by telling a story which was picked up by the next boy whenever a bite was taken or chewing was required.  We went swimming again and I was affirmed that the key to boy happiness and my sanity was mud, water and food.  Too much time in the virtual world was not good for any of us!

Day Four 

I went to get my hair done while my partner in crime took over.  I can only imagine that in the life of a true angel, a.k.a stay at home Mom, this day is eagerly awaited every few weeks.  The chance to not repeat oneself or have every conversation somehow end up with references to bodily functions is priceless.  When I returned to the tribe I was called Missy, in a semi-accusatory manner, by a teenager as if I had abandoned them.  I think that was a way of welcoming me back and missing me while I was gone, one can never be too sure with this crowd.  What I do know is that stay at home Moms are truly underestimated.  They must have the patience of saints, and the ability to ignore at least fifty percent of what they hear and not be as literal as I am about the other fifty!  I have several days left as a temporary stay at home Mom and I’m a work in progress so hopefully I will continue to evolve.  Most importantly, I do love these boys so if I run into my husband’s arms when he comes home it’s because I love him too  ;o)  

Twelve Promises of Christmas

Unbeknownst to her, my friend Karen inspired this piece.  She is a wonderful writer and a more faithful blogger than I!  I respect and admire her skills both as a writer and as a person who humbly tries to be her best everyday.  I love reading her posts and this week she has mentioned the angel made by little boy hands that went missing from the top of their tree in 2007 in her series called The Twelve Days of Christmas.  At the same time as wondering where that paper angel went I have been grappling with a theme for my blog this week.  Typically I play with a couple of ideas and one feels more “right” than the other and I let my feelings give my fingers the orders.  I had not hit upon the right fit until I read Karen’s Twelve Days series.   Here I offer you my take on a borrowed theme.  Karen – please forgive me and believe in the old saying that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me one heart to cherish forever.

On the second day of Christmas my true love offered to me two hands to hold for all time.

On the third day of Christmas my true love cycled victoriously with me up and over three mountain passes.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love committed with me to four crazy, fun, wonderful fellas.    

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love dreamed with me the first five countries we will travel to together.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love tuned up six bikes and off we went for a family ride.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love hung for me seven strings of Christmas lights – not his favorite thing to do ;o)

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sang to me eight 80s songs (and he danced too!)

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love and I painstakingly wrapped nine presents to ship.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love held me close and gave me ten hugs to keep me warm.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven smiles just by being himself.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve kisses under the mistletoe and the promise of a lifetime of love.

The Spirit of the Gift

From a pretty early age I liked the idea of buying gifts.  I would save my pocket money in the weeks leading up to Christmas and until I was old enough to catch the bus into the big town, I would walk to the village of Lees.  Thirty-ish years ago Lees had a small library, a dress shop, a sweet shop, and on the corner a chemists (aka pharmacy).  All were small shops with glass cases and an array of merchandise that was dazzling to my eyes.  I remember most of my presents being purchased at the chemists because they sold a little bit of everything.  I could find a box of jellied fruits for my Nan, a model airplane kit for my brother, jewels for my Mum, and soap on a rope for my Dad.  Even today soap on a rope makes me think of my Dad and whenever one of the boys presents me with pretty rings or shiny bracelets I can hear my Mum’s sweet laughter that sounded like wind chimes brushed gently by the breeze.   

Over the years I graduated to colognes and desired books for my Dad and at the peak of my gift selections I gave him a moustache trimmer.  This gift was talked about for many years and became the gold standard of gift giving in our home.  My Dad loved gadgets and reading the instructions from cover to cover, laying out the gadget in front of him and mastering each of its capabilities, and intermittently saying “Watch this” excitedly was all part of the fun for him (and for us but we never admitted that).  This gift was an immediate hit as it had numerous settings and speeds.  Once he had gone through this ritual practice run he was eager to try it for real and headed upstairs to trim his moustache all the while murmuring to himself that this was the best present yet.  After a while we heard a meek voice calling for us, “Diane…Nic…can you come here for a minute?”  My Dad emerged at the top of stairs looking surprised and bemused as we rounded the corner.  My Mum and I braked, gasped and burst into laughter; half his moustache was gone!  He tried to look hurt when we couldn’t stop laughing but instead he started chuckling and in a matter of moments we were all doubled over.  In fairness to my Dad he had not seen the look on his face which was even more amusing than his uneven facial adornments.  Finally, weak from laughter, my Mum stammered, “What happened?” and my Dad, sounding bewildered, replied with “It’s a bit more vicious than I expected.”  Over the course of the next couple of weeks we alternately compared him to a certain political leader of the past who led a certain unpopular political party and Charlie Chaplain.  Fortunately my Dad was a somewhat hairy man and the moustache grew back quickly.  No greater love has a father for his daughter than he who doggedly stuck to his story for years that this was the best present he ever received!  Truly, he used it frequently and every other present after that was always compared to the moustache trimmer.

From this experience I learned that it is the thought that goes into gift giving that matters to those you love.  This year I think we have hit some home runs.  Thanks to my amazing husband we started thinking about each of our recipients early in November and consequently had time to plan, devise and find exactly what we were looking for; as an added bonus all shopping was successfully completed before the end of November, an absolute first in my lifetime!  If you are reading this and you are a recipient, please know that if your gift is not everything you wanted we thought about you lots and hopefully that helps ultimately!!  I still love to see the reaction of those I love when they open their presents and I’m optimistic we will have at least four gasps this year; rest assured that no-one is receiving a moustache trimmer ;o)

European Vacation

We are planning a European vacation!  We have been talking about when to take a family trip to England for a while now and next year feels right.  That is not a statement I can substantiate definitively but the fellas are great ages to really enjoy this; they are old enough to travel well and young enough to soak it all in and see it through the eyes that we sometimes forget we have when we are adults.  In our infinite wisdom we decided that since we will be in the general vicinity we should also visit France and Germany on the same trip.  We have always enjoyed a good challenge but we then realized that 2012 is the year the Summer Olympics will be held in London and the year that Brits will celebrate the Queen’s 60^th Jubilee.  Not everyone may be familiar with the latter but it is a big affair if you are British and closes schools and results in street parties and potential chaos for travelers.  We thought about 2013, we discussed going earlier or later in the year, we stared at each other disappointed for about 15 seconds and then we decided we should map it out and see just how impossible this could be, surely not impossible enough to thwart us?

Subsequently we have been search engine fiends looking for killer deals, short listing places to visit and then adding three more, and being creative about ways to get from here to there and back again in about two weeks.  When I announced that I was making a spreadsheet my delighted hubby chuckled and said “Sweet, now I know we’re really going!”  We have to make sure everyone has finished the school year and we want to be certain we can make our annual trip to Iowa to visit family at a different time next year without throwing everything into disarray.  Then there are passports, arrangements to meet friends that I haven’t seen in years, plans to see friends that are temporarily living in Stuttgart, an uncle to be introduced, and reserving rooms in the Bed & Breakfast that used to be my parent’s home.  My hubby and I have a list of things we want to do that has to be culled and places to add that the fellas have suggested, not the least of which is the tallest Ferris wheel in Europe.  As an adult I am appalled that we would travel all that way to ride a big wheel but as a child I would have understood it unequivocally and this is their trip too so it has been added to the list.  The problem is not where to go and what to see, it is where to stop and we keep adding to the list rather than subtracting.  It seems like a wonderful problem to have and I realize how fortunate we are to be contemplating such an adventure together.

As a self proclaimed over-thinker my mind has wandered and tried to determine if the fellas will be remotely interested in visiting the school I attended and how we manage to visit the local pub with them in tow.  Will they appreciate the beauty and respect the serenity of Notre Dame and what to do if they say that the food that has been prepared for them is awful?  We’ve discussed and over-analyzed how to mentally prepare them for each day as it will be packed but we do not want to feel rushed.  There is so much fun in planning and anticipation and we want to plan the days and then let them flow, be spontaneous and drink in the experience, every delicious new moment.  For now I lie down with a picture of us huddled together having our picture taken at the top of the Eiffel Tower and it’s a great way to fall asleep!

Girlfriends

I underestimated the value and the strength of female friendship for a long time.  I went to an all girls’ school from the ages of eleven to eighteen so there was no shortage of female friendship and I may have taken that for granted.  I actually loved going to a Girls’ School because it removed all pretension of having to be cool, calm and collected around boys.  We were able to be silly and girly and we had the freedom, which I believe was the intention of our parents, to focus on our studies without the distraction of boys.  It did however serve to fuel a curiosity about the opposite gender that had to be satisfied largely on the bus ride home.  Some rather curious girls, who shall remain nameless, even propagated a stunt that was supposed to involve three members of the Girls’ School infiltrating the Boys’ School which was separated from us by a big wooden door.  As to how this was going to satisfy the mystery that are boys was not an integral part of that plan but as news of the plot spread there was increasing interest in its outcome.  In my memory that door is twenty feet high, about two feet thick and creaked loudly on the rare occasions it was slowly opened.  It was also right by the teachers’ lounge so no-one in their right mind would have chanced walking through it without clear and specific instructions from someone with authority. 

Therefore, it seemed perfectly logical at the wise age of about fourteen to think that a grand heist could be pulled off by crawling through one of the windows that was on a level with the driveway that passed the Boys’ School on the way to the Girls’ School.  Entry was discussed and planned with great detail but it appears that there was no escape plan; luckily that fell into place ultimately.  The first one in was the only one in because at the very moment of infiltration a teacher from the Girls’ School appeared nonchalantly around the corner.  Of course theories have since been exchanged about this perfect timing and the apparent unperturbed manner with which this teacher headed towards the small crowd by the window.  So pull her out or shove her in was the only choice and they shoved her in and the window slammed shut.  Feeling quite triumphant for a moment that one lone girl in a classroom of boys soon found out that she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb and consequently the next teacher that passed which was shortly thereafter, also with alarmingly good timing, escorted her back to the Girls’ School.  She did at least get to go through the door or the Iron Curtain as we called it, which gave her some credibility but then she had to explain what on earth she thought she was doing.  

Overall the Deputy Headmistress took it well and I thought she may have actually smirked when I tried to make it sound like I had innocently tripped and haphazardly fallen through a window but she was rarely given to such facial expressions so perhaps I imagined it.  I must have been convincing when I said that no-one was involved in my untimely and unfortunate dive so sentence was passed and I was given the first “detention” ever in the history of the school.  In fairness it lasted about twenty minutes on the last day of school because none of the teachers were interested in staying a moment longer than the end of the school year required.  I was also the local hero for about an hour so at least longer than my detention lasted.  This innocent fun and other episodes I can come back to at a later date did not alert me to the camaraderie of female friendship.  I merely took it for granted that there would always be women who shoved you through windows and for whom you covered when necessary.  I did not truly value what women bring to another woman’s life until I was far away from my family, living in Okinawa, Japan and needing someone to be my sounding board so that I would not worry my parents.  Only then did I realize just how much women need women.  We women need each other to patiently listen to all the details of our woes, we need each other as a conscience sometimes, and we especially need each other to tell us that he’s not got enough for us; our girlfriends are the few we will actually heed in this arena. 

As women we bring warmth and understanding and lack of judgment to each others’ lives.  We seem to understand, even when we cannot explain it, why something made our friend irrationally insane and we share those hurt feelings and want to protect each other.  We want the best for our girlfriends and mine seem to put my best interests ahead of their own in a remarkably selfless way that demands no thanks or explanation.  Women need each other to tell us that we are not crazy or rotten to the core for feeling the way we do sometimes and this kind of understanding makes us want to be better people.  We can live without fixing it but we cannot live without talking about it.  If the women in my life did not know how much I value you and love you, I hope that now you do…thank you!         

Fifty Years!

This is dedicated to love and hope and being with the right person through thick and thin.  This is written in celebration not sadness.  This is my opportunity to recognize the rarity of true love and the miracle of commitment.  This is a confession that I never understood how uncommon the partnership my parents shared was until we faced the most severe of challenges together.  Even then that understanding was not truly cemented until I met my husband and had the opportunity to share that same gift; true love, deep respect, and friendship.  This is a commemoration of two lives brought together by chance.  Two people who barely knew themselves before they bound their lives together in marriage and shared their dreams.  They had two children together, lived in almost twenty homes together, and owned a business together.  On November 4^th 2011 they would have celebrated 50 years of marriage together.

When my husband and I were engaged and busy making plans for our big day and life after that with our new family I decided to read the letters my parents had exchanged when they were engaged.  The letters were a joy to read and showed them young and in love and planning for a life together.  My Mum was rather bossy at times in these letters and my Dad was tender, neither of which I saw very often when I was growing up.  It was a dynamic that I saw more of the older I got and came to realize that my Mum’s quiet strength complemented my Dad’s ambition and big personality.  Equally, men of my Dad’s generation were not demonstrative but his tenderness was always there and he respected my Mum and her opinion with all his being.

One of the most beautiful moments I have ever witnessed, and I say again that this is written in celebration, not sadness, was when my Mum asked my Dad to share with her what he was going to say at her funeral.  Despite him trying to hide it, my Mum had worked out that my Dad had been writing her eulogy. My breath catches whenever I think of it and the bravery they demonstrated, my Mum for asking and my Dad for honoring her wish.  He asked to wait until he felt he had it perfected and then one evening he quietly said, and he was not a shy retiring man, that he was ready.  He had written it down but he did not look at the sheet of paper in his hand, instead he looked into my Mum’s eyes and never wavered for a moment.  He spoke slowly and steadily and before long my Mum and I were holding each others’ hands and had tears streaming down our cheeks.  He soldiered on, missing his partner and friend already but wanting to pay her this tribute, wanting the opportunity to tell her what she meant to him and what their life together meant to him before she was gone.  He finished with a poem by Leo Marks he had found and read to her before:

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause

For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours
And yours

I dedicate this blog to my Mum and Dad in celebration of their 50^th Wedding Anniversary.